![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
citrusjavaPairing/rating: Sam/Dean or Sam&Dean
Words: ~1190
Warnings:spoilers for aired episodes, quick, unbeta'ed, blood and patching up, self harm themes
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kalliel, who prompted for Sam and Dean interacting in that way that isn't clearly yes or not romantic or sexual, without being aware of it.
Summary: It's been a long while since Dean stitched up Sam after a hunt.
It's been a while since Dean needed to patch Sam up. Hasn't done it since the mark, Sam bleeding himself out just to save Dean from his own mess up. Sam cutting up his arms like he's nothing. The memory is copper in Dean's mouth.
Dean shoves a few bills at the motel clerk, no time for credit cards or charm, helps Sam out of the car, grabbing the duffle with Dad's old medical kit. He hopes the supplies are all there, are good.
Hasn't patched Sam up for a lot time before that day, too. Fuck.
Leads Sam to the staircase.
Almost since before they got a home base he hasn't. He is not sure what Sam did while Dean was off singin Right Said Fred or deep frying taquitos. Sowed himself up , probably. Flashed a fake ID at a hospital, maybe. Dean was on his own killing vampires, killing demons. Killing people, killing victims. Anyone, really. Maybe when you settle down, monsters are mostly domestic.
Fuckin' staircase, only room available was on the second floor, and Sam can barely hold himself up, blood making Dean's shirt sticky, seeping into Dean's skin. Shit, shit. Sam's doesn't comment on the pain, never does, but his face gets paler, hair everywhere, sticking to the gash in Sam's brow, gets all in Sam's eyes.
Dean pushes it away, irritated but gentle. List of things Dean's done bad in his life is too long for an extra soak. Sam's neck relaxes under Dean's fingers, and Dean gently supports Sam's head. Hard enough without mentioning it.
"gonna get you upstairs, fix you right" he murmurs. Needs to hear someone say this is all right, will be all right soon.
Sam smiles soft, bleary. Breathing warm, open mouthed against Dean'shand. Braces himself, nods. The muscle in his jaw works under Dean's fingers, then Sam is pulling Dean up the next step, Dean lifted suddenly as Sam shifts their height.
"Sam, what th-"
Sam smiles again, triumph like a blink, and Dean wants to ruffle his pain in the ass little brother's hair, and kick his ass too.
They reach the room, finally, and Dean puts Sam on the king bed, leans him against the headboard. "Sit there. Drink this". Gets the whiskey and medical stuff from his duffle, goes to get some water.
By the time he's back, Sam is a few shots in, eyes glazing, softening to a glow. Good. He looks less pale, less distressed.
Dean starts to remove Sam's shirt, careful. It's stuck to the wound, for all Dean tried to keep it off the clotting blood during the drive. He cleans and disconnects it as much as he can, gentle job, like tuning Baby's delicate metering rod spring.
Sam is sitting still, but his fingers dig into Dean's overshirt.
That's it, this one is going to hurt. Dean meets Sam's eyes, and for a moment he is thrown by the soft trust in them. Sam nods. "It's OK. Do it". Dean braced a flat palm against Sam's stomach, steadying. He pulls the fabric off, breath hitching with Sam's. Sam lets out a long sigh as Dean stops the bleeding, gets Sam ready to be stitched up.
Sam holds onto Dean's had on his stomach, steadying his breathing. "You know" he says, words slightly slurred. "You were the only one I wanted to turn, when I was a ghoul-pire". Dean frowns at the memory, almost doesn't catch the soft "only one I need".
Dean swallows. "You said ghoul-pire".
"Too drunk to say Nechzeve".
Sam leans his head back, long throat working as his body relaxes. Dean continues working, clean, Sam's flesh knitting together right, Dean's doing his job, putting Sam together. He will never be calm when Sam's like this. But one of Dean's favorite sorts of relief is being able to feel Sam's muscles moving, Sam's blood going right, Sam's skin,
alive and direct in his hands.
Allows himself, just for a moment, to place a hand on Sam's back, where the scar used to be. Just to make sure.
He's almost done now, focused on his work.
he can feel Sam's mood shifting before Sam speaks, something about the feeling under Dean's hands
"I'm weak, Dean" Sam sounds breakable. Dean's first thought is blood loss. Them he looks up into soulful dark eyes. Dean's insides freeze. "Gonna get you tucked in in a minute, Princess, sleep it off"
Sam's fingers close tighter in Dean's shirt, twitch nervously "I said I didn't understand the visions. But you and I both know".
" We don't know. Don't know that these are visions". He wants to stand up, to gesture, at least.
"You don't even know who is sending them, Sam"
"I don't want to do this either, Dean, but - we only have one lead. We can't just do nothing"
Sam's blood pumps faster, and Dean is not even done stitching yet. "Settle down. Done enough driving you with your guts out for the day".
"We need to talk about this, Dean".
"Going anywhere near the cage is black eyes for you and me an the end of the world, you know that". He's gonna tie Sam to the bed and not let him leave till
whoever's in Sam's head this time backs the hell off. Motel room will do in a pinch, if there is no panic room on hand.
"It doesn't have to be like that this time, Dean" Sam's voice is earnest, understanding. Dean pauses. R elaxes in hands with some effort. "This time you won't have to save me".
Dean's fingers fumble the needle, and it is a good thing he'd stopped. "I'm not leavin you to rot in there!"
would never do that. Would never - hit a dog.
Would never do it again.
Sam's voice is level. "I just need to talk to him, Dean. I'm not going back in".
" Sam, you are not going back in because this isn't happening
You are not going down there. End of story". Dean needs to kick over a table or something, something vicious and known.
Sam swallows. Looks at his hands, and it is not assent.
"You would". Sam's voice breaks to inaudible. "Dad would".
"Dad? What the hell- When the hell did you start caring what Dad would say?"
"Since he would be right".
Dammit. No, no. Dean is on the bed, clutching Sam's face again, because he can't do this, can't have this conversation.
"I can't keep losing you, Sam. I can't do it. Please". When did his voice get so raw?
Sam's eyes are full of pain, but insistent. No, no.
"Please. Sam, don't do this. Promise me".
Sam holds onto Dean's arms, bracing, clutching. "Dean...."
"Promise me".
"You can't ask that".
"I'm begging you". And he means it. Can't do it, can't take another loss, can't take losing Sam one more time, not again, not anymore. Not without driving them both off a cliff. Heaven, hell, the void, can't do this again, anything.
Sam searches his eyes, then nods, curt, hand on the back of Dean's head, thumb caressing. "OK, Dean. OK".
Words: ~1190
Warnings:
Notes: For
kalliel, who prompted for Sam and Dean interacting in that way that isn't clearly yes or not romantic or sexual, without being aware of it. Summary: It's been a long while since Dean stitched up Sam after a hunt.
It's been a while since Dean needed to patch Sam up. Hasn't done it since the mark, Sam bleeding himself out just to save Dean from his own mess up. Sam cutting up his arms like he's nothing. The memory is copper in Dean's mouth.
Dean shoves a few bills at the motel clerk, no time for credit cards or charm, helps Sam out of the car, grabbing the duffle with Dad's old medical kit. He hopes the supplies are all there, are good.
Hasn't patched Sam up for a lot time before that day, too. Fuck.
Leads Sam to the staircase.
Almost since before they got a home base he hasn't. He is not sure what Sam did while Dean was off singin Right Said Fred or deep frying taquitos. Sowed himself up , probably. Flashed a fake ID at a hospital, maybe. Dean was on his own killing vampires, killing demons. Killing people, killing victims. Anyone, really. Maybe when you settle down, monsters are mostly domestic.
Fuckin' staircase, only room available was on the second floor, and Sam can barely hold himself up, blood making Dean's shirt sticky, seeping into Dean's skin. Shit, shit. Sam's doesn't comment on the pain, never does, but his face gets paler, hair everywhere, sticking to the gash in Sam's brow, gets all in Sam's eyes.
Dean pushes it away, irritated but gentle. List of things Dean's done bad in his life is too long for an extra soak. Sam's neck relaxes under Dean's fingers, and Dean gently supports Sam's head. Hard enough without mentioning it.
"gonna get you upstairs, fix you right" he murmurs. Needs to hear someone say this is all right, will be all right soon.
Sam smiles soft, bleary. Breathing warm, open mouthed against Dean'shand. Braces himself, nods. The muscle in his jaw works under Dean's fingers, then Sam is pulling Dean up the next step, Dean lifted suddenly as Sam shifts their height.
"Sam, what th-"
Sam smiles again, triumph like a blink, and Dean wants to ruffle his pain in the ass little brother's hair, and kick his ass too.
They reach the room, finally, and Dean puts Sam on the king bed, leans him against the headboard. "Sit there. Drink this". Gets the whiskey and medical stuff from his duffle, goes to get some water.
By the time he's back, Sam is a few shots in, eyes glazing, softening to a glow. Good. He looks less pale, less distressed.
Dean starts to remove Sam's shirt, careful. It's stuck to the wound, for all Dean tried to keep it off the clotting blood during the drive. He cleans and disconnects it as much as he can, gentle job, like tuning Baby's delicate metering rod spring.
Sam is sitting still, but his fingers dig into Dean's overshirt.
That's it, this one is going to hurt. Dean meets Sam's eyes, and for a moment he is thrown by the soft trust in them. Sam nods. "It's OK. Do it". Dean braced a flat palm against Sam's stomach, steadying. He pulls the fabric off, breath hitching with Sam's. Sam lets out a long sigh as Dean stops the bleeding, gets Sam ready to be stitched up.
Sam holds onto Dean's had on his stomach, steadying his breathing. "You know" he says, words slightly slurred. "You were the only one I wanted to turn, when I was a ghoul-pire". Dean frowns at the memory, almost doesn't catch the soft "only one I need".
Dean swallows. "You said ghoul-pire".
"Too drunk to say Nechzeve".
Sam leans his head back, long throat working as his body relaxes. Dean continues working, clean, Sam's flesh knitting together right, Dean's doing his job, putting Sam together. He will never be calm when Sam's like this. But one of Dean's favorite sorts of relief is being able to feel Sam's muscles moving, Sam's blood going right, Sam's skin,
alive and direct in his hands.
Allows himself, just for a moment, to place a hand on Sam's back, where the scar used to be. Just to make sure.
He's almost done now, focused on his work.
he can feel Sam's mood shifting before Sam speaks, something about the feeling under Dean's hands
"I'm weak, Dean" Sam sounds breakable. Dean's first thought is blood loss. Them he looks up into soulful dark eyes. Dean's insides freeze. "Gonna get you tucked in in a minute, Princess, sleep it off"
Sam's fingers close tighter in Dean's shirt, twitch nervously "I said I didn't understand the visions. But you and I both know".
" We don't know. Don't know that these are visions". He wants to stand up, to gesture, at least.
"You don't even know who is sending them, Sam"
"I don't want to do this either, Dean, but - we only have one lead. We can't just do nothing"
Sam's blood pumps faster, and Dean is not even done stitching yet. "Settle down. Done enough driving you with your guts out for the day".
"We need to talk about this, Dean".
"Going anywhere near the cage is black eyes for you and me an the end of the world, you know that". He's gonna tie Sam to the bed and not let him leave till
whoever's in Sam's head this time backs the hell off. Motel room will do in a pinch, if there is no panic room on hand.
"It doesn't have to be like that this time, Dean" Sam's voice is earnest, understanding. Dean pauses. R elaxes in hands with some effort. "This time you won't have to save me".
Dean's fingers fumble the needle, and it is a good thing he'd stopped. "I'm not leavin you to rot in there!"
would never do that. Would never - hit a dog.
Would never do it again.
Sam's voice is level. "I just need to talk to him, Dean. I'm not going back in".
" Sam, you are not going back in because this isn't happening
You are not going down there. End of story". Dean needs to kick over a table or something, something vicious and known.
Sam swallows. Looks at his hands, and it is not assent.
"You would". Sam's voice breaks to inaudible. "Dad would".
"Dad? What the hell- When the hell did you start caring what Dad would say?"
"Since he would be right".
Dammit. No, no. Dean is on the bed, clutching Sam's face again, because he can't do this, can't have this conversation.
"I can't keep losing you, Sam. I can't do it. Please". When did his voice get so raw?
Sam's eyes are full of pain, but insistent. No, no.
"Please. Sam, don't do this. Promise me".
Sam holds onto Dean's arms, bracing, clutching. "Dean...."
"Promise me".
"You can't ask that".
"I'm begging you". And he means it. Can't do it, can't take another loss, can't take losing Sam one more time, not again, not anymore. Not without driving them both off a cliff. Heaven, hell, the void, can't do this again, anything.
Sam searches his eyes, then nods, curt, hand on the back of Dean's head, thumb caressing. "OK, Dean. OK".
no subject
Date: 2015-12-27 04:28 pm (UTC)Much love!!
no subject
Date: 2015-12-27 07:19 pm (UTC)