![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I wrote fic! And it has nothing to do with S4!
Disclaimer: Not mine, and probably just as well, as I have no series budget
Rating: Some language. They’re boys.
Characters: Sam, Dean
Spoilers: None
Genre: (Supposedly) humor, some hurt!Dean
Summary: Sam needs to find alternative means of transport when the Impala is out of commission. Not Dean approved.
Author comments: No idea if a similar fic has been written before (though it probably has, with a fandom this prolific), but if so, I haven’t gotten across it so far.
FOUR FLAT TIRES
As soon as Sam realised that his brother had been taking half an hour to get 2 cokes and a snickers bar from the vending machines, he grabbed for the lighter and bug spray and hurried through the motel’s hall to the machine. Cursing, he took in the scattered coins and plentiful splatters of shiny red wetness on the floor.
They’d known that there was a possibility the damn thing had a mate, but they hadn’t been able to find any sign of it in the cave. Looked like it had found them instead.
Grabbing the “all you need to kill a Mothman” bag they’d packed earlier that evening for the very same reason and running into the parking lot, he skidded to a halt in front of the Impala.
Four slashed tires. Oh Jesus, Dean was going to have a cow.
There was no time to worry about the car though. He frantically turned his head around the lot looking for an alternative. There was only one other car. "Aww, crap," said Sam. Then he stole it.
He got there just in time. Dean was slumped in the middle of the cave and the Mothman (Mothwoman? Morthgirl? She-Moth?) seemed ready to start chowing down the main course. Killing the sucker, they’d learned, wasn’t so hard as long as you remembered they burned like hair on fire and smelled much worse. Sam lighted the bug-spray.
“Dean! Hey, Dean,” Sam dropped to his knees next to his sluggishly moving brother and quickly checked him over. “You okay?”
Dean mumbled something that sounded like “Zznah?” and knocked Sam’s hands away from him when they started feeling up his arms and legs for breaks. “Smy?”
“Yeah,” Sam said, grabbing Dean’s head and turning it into the little moonlight that shone into the cave to check the large, bleeding cut that ran from hairline to eyebrow on his brother’s face, making Dean try to flinch away. It seemed to be the main of his brother’s injuries. He quickly pulled off his second layer of T-shirt and pressed it gently but firm against the gush of blood, making Dean hiss. He knew head wounds tended to bleed like a geyser – hell, he’d seen and experienced it often enough – but the wound looked pretty nasty even for their standards. Half of Dean’s head and most of his shoulder and left side were covered in blood.
Dean grunted and tried to fend him off. “Recognise th’s grabby hands an’where,” he complained, rolling over to get up. Halfway to his knees he grabbed for his head with both hands and started to sag back.
“Let me help,” Sam said, taking hold of Dean’s arm and lifting him up over his shoulder. Dean held on to the now soaking T-shirt himself, pressing down as if to push out the pain. “How are you feeling?”
Dean’s head bobbed forward and even though he tried to plant his feet, most of his weight rested on Sam. “Urrgh,” he said.
“That great, huh?” said Sam, starting a very slow track back to the lifted car. “Hospital bad, you think?”
“Urrgh,” Dean repeated, then rolled his head up against Sam’s chest. “Nah, y’ can fix me up fine. ‘Snothing new, ‘ere.”
“Yeah,” Sam hedged, frowning. He could fix the cut himself, but if Dean started to see gremlins or hear the ant people whisper in his ear, like last time, they were so going for a little ER visit. They cleared the cave and made their way through thicker brush until they reached the road where Sam left the car.
"Where's m' baby?" Dean groaned, turning his hanging head left and right like a dog who won’t let go of a stick.
Sam swallowed. "Okay now, don't freak out, all right, but the Impala's sort of out of commission right now," he said, holding desperately onto Dean as his brother, who definitely couldn’t stand on his own, fought to be released. Probably so he could look Sam in the face and yell.
"Whah th' fuck?" Dean slurred instead, unable to shake Sam's monster grip. "Whass' wrong wi' m' car?! Whers’ she? Jesus, Sam, will y' get y' giant paws off me!"
"Dean. Dean. Dean!" Sam injected, as Dean continued to struggle. "The car is fine, okay! Just flat tires, I promise."
Dean stilled in Sam's arms. "Yeah?" He looked up at Sam with big giant eyes. It might even have been endearing if the copious and gristly blood and loose skin covering half his face didn't make the sight something out of a nightmare instead.
"Yeah," Sam nodded quickly. "Just flat tires." He hoped that was true and the engine hadn't been messed with. He hadn't bothered to try. "Nothing you can't fix, right? I got us another car for now."
"Y’ sure she's all righ'?" Dean asked, slumping against Sam again. His head fell back to Sam's chest and Sam propped him up properly. Damn, his brother was heavy!
"Yeah, she's fine, Dean. Can we worry about you bleeding out now? And wow, you really need to lay off the M&Ms."
"Shu'up," was all Dean said, and that worried Sam.
"Okay, let's get you in." Sam steered Dean over to his stolen car.
"Wher's it?" Dean asked, feet half-stepping, half-dragging in the mud.
Sam steeled himself. "It's right here. Just shut up, okay, Dean. Just get in, all right."
Dean managed to lift his head and he blinked the blood from his eyes. Did a double take. His feet stopped moving along and instead parked themselves in a dead stop.
"Aw, hell no!"
"Dean..." Sam's tone begged.
"Aw, hell no!"
"Dean, we have no choice. You’re gonna have to get in!"
"Aw, fucking hell NO, Sam!"
Sam grabbed his brother under the arms and practically lifted him from his leverage and propped him against the car to open the door.
"Over m’ dying body!" Dean growled, trying to fight off his manhandling brother. "I'll rather fucking walk, Sam!"
"You're not walking," Sam said, calmly now as his brother’s pushing weakened. Dean wasn't going anywhere except in.
"Y' couldn' get any other car, eh, Sammy, y' fucking girl, y’ jus' had to humiliate me. 'S fucking yellow too." Dean spat, then suddenly relented and leaned back against the back of the car, breath heaving. "Holy fucken’ shit." He lifted the hand holding the T back to his forehead and pushed. The part of his face still showing skin looked a pasty gray.
Sam waited a moment until Dean seemed to catch his breath, then held on to him with one hand and opened the car door with the other while explaining: "There was no other car, Dean, no other choice, okay. Why're you making this so hard? Just get in and the sooner we can get out, right? This isn't exactly comfortable for me either, obviously!”
"Yeah, breakin' m' heart ‘ere," Dean muttered, then as Sam was busy tossing the shotgun into the back – the back! Hah! – of the car, Dean decided to make a last bid for dignity. "Sayonara, Sammy," he said and twisted his shoulder out from Sam's hold. Turning around, he managed two bumbling, fleeing steps until a starburst took his vision and he hit the dirt, face-first.
"Jesus, Dean," Sam breathed as he crouched down to roll his brother over. He wiped at the mess of congealing blood and mud on his brother's face. "You better not have died just to keep from getting in that fucking car." He found his brother's thready pulse with a sigh of relief. He wondered, did Dean just really try to get away, or did he purposely make himself pass out to not have to consciously live through the next moments?
Getting up off his knees, he grabbed Dean's arms and lifted his brother's bulk up and into the passenger’s car seat with a groan. "You better not be faking this, you jerk," he complained, while he tried to arrange his brother into some semblance of a sitting position, even though moving anything in the car, like an arm or leg, or an eyelash, was a near impossibility. “I won’t believe you if you say you don’t remember this one.”
Dean stayed stubbornly silent, head leaning forward and blood dribbling onto his lap. Sam didn’t think he was faking. Was he? He shut the door on his brother and walked around, opening the driver’s door.
Sam got in and folded his legs around his ears. "Jesus, fucking Smarts," he muttered, and bent in half to start the car.
End
Rating: Some language. They’re boys.
Characters: Sam, Dean
Spoilers: None
Genre: (Supposedly) humor, some hurt!Dean
Summary: Sam needs to find alternative means of transport when the Impala is out of commission. Not Dean approved.
Author comments: No idea if a similar fic has been written before (though it probably has, with a fandom this prolific), but if so, I haven’t gotten across it so far.
As soon as Sam realised that his brother had been taking half an hour to get 2 cokes and a snickers bar from the vending machines, he grabbed for the lighter and bug spray and hurried through the motel’s hall to the machine. Cursing, he took in the scattered coins and plentiful splatters of shiny red wetness on the floor.
They’d known that there was a possibility the damn thing had a mate, but they hadn’t been able to find any sign of it in the cave. Looked like it had found them instead.
Grabbing the “all you need to kill a Mothman” bag they’d packed earlier that evening for the very same reason and running into the parking lot, he skidded to a halt in front of the Impala.
Four slashed tires. Oh Jesus, Dean was going to have a cow.
There was no time to worry about the car though. He frantically turned his head around the lot looking for an alternative. There was only one other car. "Aww, crap," said Sam. Then he stole it.
He got there just in time. Dean was slumped in the middle of the cave and the Mothman (Mothwoman? Morthgirl? She-Moth?) seemed ready to start chowing down the main course. Killing the sucker, they’d learned, wasn’t so hard as long as you remembered they burned like hair on fire and smelled much worse. Sam lighted the bug-spray.
“Dean! Hey, Dean,” Sam dropped to his knees next to his sluggishly moving brother and quickly checked him over. “You okay?”
Dean mumbled something that sounded like “Zznah?” and knocked Sam’s hands away from him when they started feeling up his arms and legs for breaks. “Smy?”
“Yeah,” Sam said, grabbing Dean’s head and turning it into the little moonlight that shone into the cave to check the large, bleeding cut that ran from hairline to eyebrow on his brother’s face, making Dean try to flinch away. It seemed to be the main of his brother’s injuries. He quickly pulled off his second layer of T-shirt and pressed it gently but firm against the gush of blood, making Dean hiss. He knew head wounds tended to bleed like a geyser – hell, he’d seen and experienced it often enough – but the wound looked pretty nasty even for their standards. Half of Dean’s head and most of his shoulder and left side were covered in blood.
Dean grunted and tried to fend him off. “Recognise th’s grabby hands an’where,” he complained, rolling over to get up. Halfway to his knees he grabbed for his head with both hands and started to sag back.
“Let me help,” Sam said, taking hold of Dean’s arm and lifting him up over his shoulder. Dean held on to the now soaking T-shirt himself, pressing down as if to push out the pain. “How are you feeling?”
Dean’s head bobbed forward and even though he tried to plant his feet, most of his weight rested on Sam. “Urrgh,” he said.
“That great, huh?” said Sam, starting a very slow track back to the lifted car. “Hospital bad, you think?”
“Urrgh,” Dean repeated, then rolled his head up against Sam’s chest. “Nah, y’ can fix me up fine. ‘Snothing new, ‘ere.”
“Yeah,” Sam hedged, frowning. He could fix the cut himself, but if Dean started to see gremlins or hear the ant people whisper in his ear, like last time, they were so going for a little ER visit. They cleared the cave and made their way through thicker brush until they reached the road where Sam left the car.
"Where's m' baby?" Dean groaned, turning his hanging head left and right like a dog who won’t let go of a stick.
Sam swallowed. "Okay now, don't freak out, all right, but the Impala's sort of out of commission right now," he said, holding desperately onto Dean as his brother, who definitely couldn’t stand on his own, fought to be released. Probably so he could look Sam in the face and yell.
"Whah th' fuck?" Dean slurred instead, unable to shake Sam's monster grip. "Whass' wrong wi' m' car?! Whers’ she? Jesus, Sam, will y' get y' giant paws off me!"
"Dean. Dean. Dean!" Sam injected, as Dean continued to struggle. "The car is fine, okay! Just flat tires, I promise."
Dean stilled in Sam's arms. "Yeah?" He looked up at Sam with big giant eyes. It might even have been endearing if the copious and gristly blood and loose skin covering half his face didn't make the sight something out of a nightmare instead.
"Yeah," Sam nodded quickly. "Just flat tires." He hoped that was true and the engine hadn't been messed with. He hadn't bothered to try. "Nothing you can't fix, right? I got us another car for now."
"Y’ sure she's all righ'?" Dean asked, slumping against Sam again. His head fell back to Sam's chest and Sam propped him up properly. Damn, his brother was heavy!
"Yeah, she's fine, Dean. Can we worry about you bleeding out now? And wow, you really need to lay off the M&Ms."
"Shu'up," was all Dean said, and that worried Sam.
"Okay, let's get you in." Sam steered Dean over to his stolen car.
"Wher's it?" Dean asked, feet half-stepping, half-dragging in the mud.
Sam steeled himself. "It's right here. Just shut up, okay, Dean. Just get in, all right."
Dean managed to lift his head and he blinked the blood from his eyes. Did a double take. His feet stopped moving along and instead parked themselves in a dead stop.
"Aw, hell no!"
"Dean..." Sam's tone begged.
"Aw, hell no!"
"Dean, we have no choice. You’re gonna have to get in!"
"Aw, fucking hell NO, Sam!"
Sam grabbed his brother under the arms and practically lifted him from his leverage and propped him against the car to open the door.
"Over m’ dying body!" Dean growled, trying to fight off his manhandling brother. "I'll rather fucking walk, Sam!"
"You're not walking," Sam said, calmly now as his brother’s pushing weakened. Dean wasn't going anywhere except in.
"Y' couldn' get any other car, eh, Sammy, y' fucking girl, y’ jus' had to humiliate me. 'S fucking yellow too." Dean spat, then suddenly relented and leaned back against the back of the car, breath heaving. "Holy fucken’ shit." He lifted the hand holding the T back to his forehead and pushed. The part of his face still showing skin looked a pasty gray.
Sam waited a moment until Dean seemed to catch his breath, then held on to him with one hand and opened the car door with the other while explaining: "There was no other car, Dean, no other choice, okay. Why're you making this so hard? Just get in and the sooner we can get out, right? This isn't exactly comfortable for me either, obviously!”
"Yeah, breakin' m' heart ‘ere," Dean muttered, then as Sam was busy tossing the shotgun into the back – the back! Hah! – of the car, Dean decided to make a last bid for dignity. "Sayonara, Sammy," he said and twisted his shoulder out from Sam's hold. Turning around, he managed two bumbling, fleeing steps until a starburst took his vision and he hit the dirt, face-first.
"Jesus, Dean," Sam breathed as he crouched down to roll his brother over. He wiped at the mess of congealing blood and mud on his brother's face. "You better not have died just to keep from getting in that fucking car." He found his brother's thready pulse with a sigh of relief. He wondered, did Dean just really try to get away, or did he purposely make himself pass out to not have to consciously live through the next moments?
Getting up off his knees, he grabbed Dean's arms and lifted his brother's bulk up and into the passenger’s car seat with a groan. "You better not be faking this, you jerk," he complained, while he tried to arrange his brother into some semblance of a sitting position, even though moving anything in the car, like an arm or leg, or an eyelash, was a near impossibility. “I won’t believe you if you say you don’t remember this one.”
Dean stayed stubbornly silent, head leaning forward and blood dribbling onto his lap. Sam didn’t think he was faking. Was he? He shut the door on his brother and walked around, opening the driver’s door.
Sam got in and folded his legs around his ears. "Jesus, fucking Smarts," he muttered, and bent in half to start the car.
no subject
no subject