Team Dean: Charley Horse
A little bit of hurty Dean for your entertainment ...
CHARLEY HORSE
Rating: T for Dean's naughty mouth
Genre: Humour/Hurt/Comfort
Word Count: approx 800
It had been a hard, miserable hunt.
The thoroughly nasty piece of work spirit had taken the threat of it's imminent demise most ingraciously, leaving the Winchesters battered, bruised and exhausted. Job done, they had eventually limped back to their depressing bile-coloured room via an equally depressing diner, both brothers ready to fall asleep standing up.
Despite his crushing fatigue; Dean, mud-caked and filthy, had insisted on having a shower before he laid down his weary head. As he disappeared into the bathroom, the last thing Sam remembered was the gurgling hiss of the ancient plumbing as it rattled to life.
Somewhat cleaner than his brother, due to the fact that Dean had taken the brunt of the spirit's ire, Sam was happy to fall into bed grubby and stinking. He would enjoy his well-earned shower in the morning; anyway, by then the hot water would be replenished. He just KNEW Dean would use it all; he had that bloody-minded 'screw your baby brother' grin all over his jaded face.
The musty grey pillow with the indeterminate green stain on the edge of it cradled Sam's head like comforting arms and sleep took him swiftly and without question.
He didn't even remember Dean stumbling damp-haired out of the bathroom and flopping limply into his own bed with a blissful sigh.
xxxxx
AAAAAUUUURRRRGGGHHHH!
Sam's eyes snapped open on hearing the agonised cry, and he tumbled out of bed, staring in panic across the room half expecting to see Dean being eaten by a rabid ghoul.
Instead, he squinted through the darkness and his swimming, sleep-muzzed vision gradually made out the disturbing image of his brother, legs akimbo, writhing in agony on the bed amidst a tangle of sheets and kicked-off comforter.
"Oh crap c-c-crap crap oh balls balls B-BALLS …. GAAAUUUHHRRGHH!"
As Sam scrambled across the room, he could see the grotesquely knotted calf muscle in Dean's bare leg telling him all he needed to know.
"'kay bro', I'm coming," he mumbled through a yawn, ducking timidly to avoid a flying heel across the bridge of his nose. Groping through the darkness, he eventually managing to grab Dean's flailing foot at the third attempt and braced it against his chest.
At the enforced stretch in his abused calf, Dean's pained howls rose dramatically in volume, pitch and obscenity.
"OOOOOOOH C-CRAPPIN' ASSB-BUTT … FRIG-FRIGGIN' ASSDICKS DOUCHEBALLS … GAHHHHH SAM H-HELP ME … FAH-FAH-FUDGIN' HURTS …"
Sam blinked, and glanced at the clock.
2.00 am.
He was too tired for this kind of crap!
Yawning again, he lurched backwards and forwards, wrestling the thrashing limb as he kneaded the rock hard knot and reflected wistfully that the last time he cradled someone's foot to his chest and massaged their leg, the foot was small, delicate and beautifully pedicured and the slender, shapely leg was neither musclebound, scarred, nobbly or hairy.
Dean arched and recoiled beneath Sam's patient touch; his pain-crazed howls subsiding into gasping sobs punctuated by the occasional grunted expletive. A pitiful sight, his fringe clung limply to his sweat slicked brow as he panted harshly, crimson-flushed cheeks puffing out with each forced gasp.
Sam tried very hard to ignore a sudden, fleeting and highly disturbing visual of his brother giving birth.
Eventually, he felt Dean relax with a shuddering sigh, the knot in his calf slowly dispersing as the muscle slackened.
"Better?"
Dean nodded breathlessly, hiding his tear stained eyes beneath his raised forearm.
"I keep tellin' you to drink more water and eat less salt," scolded Sam.
Dean's limp hand coiled into a fist and showed his brother a raised finger to demonstrate exactly what he thought of that suggestion.
Sam rolled his eyes; "don't mention it …jerk," he snorted dryly, carefully placing Dean's trembling leg back down on the bare mattress. Gathering the scattered bedclothes off the floor, he deposited them in a heap on top of his motionless brother, before trudging back across the room to his own bed.
Laying back, he relaxed as his pounding heart gradually slowed and sleep once again gathered him into it's comforting arms.
xxxxx
AAAAARRRRGGGHHHH … FR-FREAKIN' CRAPBAGS! NOT AGAIN …
Sam rolled over with a groan, and looked at the clock.
3.00 am.
Oh man, it was going to be a long, long night!
xxxxx
end
And here's some funny, pained-looking Dean, just because I felt like it ...
CHARLEY HORSE
Rating: T for Dean's naughty mouth
Genre: Humour/Hurt/Comfort
Word Count: approx 800
It had been a hard, miserable hunt.
The thoroughly nasty piece of work spirit had taken the threat of it's imminent demise most ingraciously, leaving the Winchesters battered, bruised and exhausted. Job done, they had eventually limped back to their depressing bile-coloured room via an equally depressing diner, both brothers ready to fall asleep standing up.
Despite his crushing fatigue; Dean, mud-caked and filthy, had insisted on having a shower before he laid down his weary head. As he disappeared into the bathroom, the last thing Sam remembered was the gurgling hiss of the ancient plumbing as it rattled to life.
Somewhat cleaner than his brother, due to the fact that Dean had taken the brunt of the spirit's ire, Sam was happy to fall into bed grubby and stinking. He would enjoy his well-earned shower in the morning; anyway, by then the hot water would be replenished. He just KNEW Dean would use it all; he had that bloody-minded 'screw your baby brother' grin all over his jaded face.
The musty grey pillow with the indeterminate green stain on the edge of it cradled Sam's head like comforting arms and sleep took him swiftly and without question.
He didn't even remember Dean stumbling damp-haired out of the bathroom and flopping limply into his own bed with a blissful sigh.
xxxxx
AAAAAUUUURRRRGGGHHHH!
Sam's eyes snapped open on hearing the agonised cry, and he tumbled out of bed, staring in panic across the room half expecting to see Dean being eaten by a rabid ghoul.
Instead, he squinted through the darkness and his swimming, sleep-muzzed vision gradually made out the disturbing image of his brother, legs akimbo, writhing in agony on the bed amidst a tangle of sheets and kicked-off comforter.
"Oh crap c-c-crap crap oh balls balls B-BALLS …. GAAAUUUHHRRGHH!"
As Sam scrambled across the room, he could see the grotesquely knotted calf muscle in Dean's bare leg telling him all he needed to know.
"'kay bro', I'm coming," he mumbled through a yawn, ducking timidly to avoid a flying heel across the bridge of his nose. Groping through the darkness, he eventually managing to grab Dean's flailing foot at the third attempt and braced it against his chest.
At the enforced stretch in his abused calf, Dean's pained howls rose dramatically in volume, pitch and obscenity.
"OOOOOOOH C-CRAPPIN' ASSB-BUTT … FRIG-FRIGGIN' ASSDICKS DOUCHEBALLS … GAHHHHH SAM H-HELP ME … FAH-FAH-FUDGIN' HURTS …"
Sam blinked, and glanced at the clock.
2.00 am.
He was too tired for this kind of crap!
Yawning again, he lurched backwards and forwards, wrestling the thrashing limb as he kneaded the rock hard knot and reflected wistfully that the last time he cradled someone's foot to his chest and massaged their leg, the foot was small, delicate and beautifully pedicured and the slender, shapely leg was neither musclebound, scarred, nobbly or hairy.
Dean arched and recoiled beneath Sam's patient touch; his pain-crazed howls subsiding into gasping sobs punctuated by the occasional grunted expletive. A pitiful sight, his fringe clung limply to his sweat slicked brow as he panted harshly, crimson-flushed cheeks puffing out with each forced gasp.
Sam tried very hard to ignore a sudden, fleeting and highly disturbing visual of his brother giving birth.
Eventually, he felt Dean relax with a shuddering sigh, the knot in his calf slowly dispersing as the muscle slackened.
"Better?"
Dean nodded breathlessly, hiding his tear stained eyes beneath his raised forearm.
"I keep tellin' you to drink more water and eat less salt," scolded Sam.
Dean's limp hand coiled into a fist and showed his brother a raised finger to demonstrate exactly what he thought of that suggestion.
Sam rolled his eyes; "don't mention it …jerk," he snorted dryly, carefully placing Dean's trembling leg back down on the bare mattress. Gathering the scattered bedclothes off the floor, he deposited them in a heap on top of his motionless brother, before trudging back across the room to his own bed.
Laying back, he relaxed as his pounding heart gradually slowed and sleep once again gathered him into it's comforting arms.
xxxxx
AAAAARRRRGGGHHHH … FR-FREAKIN' CRAPBAGS! NOT AGAIN …
Sam rolled over with a groan, and looked at the clock.
3.00 am.
Oh man, it was going to be a long, long night!
xxxxx
end
And here's some funny, pained-looking Dean, just because I felt like it ...