Drabble Meme
The first ten people to comment on this post get to request a drabble from me. In return, you have to post this meme in your journal.
And following teithiwr's example, the meme need not be spread because I am kind. (And needy for longer fic, which I'd prefer to see. Hey, I'm honest.)
Still open!
For thehighwaywoman: Sam/Dean, stitches:
Dean sits on the edge of the bed with a huff. His shoulder already feels stiff, pain lancing down his arm if he so much turns his head. Its awkward, is what it is. He's the one that's supposed to be taking care of Sam.
Sam drops the rest of their gear near the table before rifling through for the first aid gear. "Can you get your shirt off?"
Dean starts to peel it off, trying to keep from grunting. (He isn't whimpering like a two-year-old with a scraped knee. He isn't.) He doesn't get very far, though, before Sam comes over.
"Let me," he says. The look on his face says don't argue with me and what the hell did it do to you?. Sam pulls the fabric away gently, making apologetic soothing noises when Dean hisses in pain.
"Dammit, Sam," he growls as the fabric pulls out from one of the deeper gashes. He doesn't mean it but... "Fuck!"
"Maybe if you behave yourself," Sam says, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
Its inspiring enough that when Sam applies the rubbing alcohol and starts in with the needle, Dean doesn't so much as flinch.
_____
For teithwir: Dean geeking out about comics:
Dean couldn't help but hum to himself as he let himself in to the motel room.
Sam sighed from where he was hiding behind his laptop. "I won't let you touch my computer, so you go get nudie mags?"
That pulls him from his thoughts. He should have bought a few, might do Sammy some good. Or at least make him turn red up to his hairline. "Huh?" he says instead, and makes a mental note to do that later.
His brother points vaguely somewhere toward his side. "The magazines?"
Dean looks down. Oh. Those. "Psh, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. Don't you know Batman when you see him?" He pulls the booklets out from under his arm and walks over to flaunt the comics in Sam's face. At least the confusion was warrented - the back covers of more than a few featured a very risque statuette of Catwoman unzipping her costume. "Snacks?"
Sam had been looking at the comic books skeptically, but rolled his eyes at the offer of Slim Jims and Little Debbie cupcakes. "Aren't you a little old for comics?" He paused a moment. "Where did you even get those?"
Dean looked at him like he had seven heads. "Have you ever read, oh, anything by Frank Miller? I thought I taught you better than that Sam." He dropped down on the bed and cracked open the first Slim Jim. "Would you believe me if I told you they were in 7-Eleven? Never thought I'd see the day, man. Dunno what's with all this RIP shit though. I can't believe they'd kill Batman. Ever." He flipped open the first issue and settled back. "Morrison better not screw this up."
Sam stared at him for a long moment, debating whether or not he should bother asking who Morrison was.
_____
For Refur: Dean POV, hurt Sam, lost and in the rain:
The rain was pouring down in a solid, unending wall of pressure, water white in the air despite the growing darkness. It plastered Dean's hair to his face (as if it wasn't already hard enough to see) and pounded deep into still sore bruises. It gave him something to hate.
Which is sure as hell a lot easier than panicking.
"Sam!" Dean bellowed. Damn kitsu-whatever (why couldn't they just call it a seven-tailed fox?) got them turned around and split up. Not that he could figure out why the hell a Japanese shape-shifting fox spirit would be hiding out in the Shenandoah Valley (shit, there was nothing but woods for miles), but it had howled when he clipped it with silver bullets.
Y'know, right before it disappeared.
"Sam!" he called again. And yeah, okay, he was starting to panic.
There was a crash off somewhere to his left. He was already moving towards it before he heard the gunshots. But Sam crying out? That had him running.
"Sam," he shouted. Damn foliage kept getting in the way, he couldn't go in a straight line. "Can you hear me?"
"Here..." Dean changed direction instantly. "I'm here..."
Dean damn near tripped over the kitsu-thingy's body when he finally found his brother. It sent him stumbling and sliding in the mud and the leaves til he finally gave in to the tangling of limbs and gravity. Landed right next to Sam though.
"Well that," Sam huffed, wearing his very best pretty-princess-stuck-in-the-mud bitchface, "was certainly a dramatic entrance." He didn't do a very good job of trying to hide his grimace. But first thing's first.
"D'you kill it?"
"Full clip of silver to the chest, I sure as fuck hope so."
"That's my Sammy." Dean allowed himself a small grin as he picked himself up off the ground. "You hurt?"
Sam just grunted. Wasn't as good as No, but it was certainly better than I'm fine. He'd taken a couple swipes to the shoulder, five-fingerd gashes that looked like they hooked around the back of Sam's kneck and down across his chest. Dean pulled the cloth of his shirt away gently to inspect them; they weren't deep, and weren't bleeding much. Sam's leg though...
It was twisted at a bad angle. Shit.
"I'm gonna need to set that," Dean said. He watched his brother flinch, then nod. He couldn't see much else of his brother's expression with the rain slicking his hair down into his face. Dean clenched his jaw as he knelt, but he forced himself to speak. "I ever tell you about the succubus I dusted a few years back?" He didn't wait for Sam to answer, just carried on while he found where he needed to put his hands. "Dad and I had split up. He was working some thing in New York City, so all I had for back up was some wanna-be. Guy was a mess, nearly got us both killed. He just didn't know how to keep it in his pants..."
A sickening crack wrenched a scream out of Sam. He curled forward wimpering, putting his head down on Dean's shoulder. Dean wrapped his arms around him (girliness be damned).
"I've got you, Sammy. It's gonna be alright."
And following teithiwr's example, the meme need not be spread because I am kind. (And needy for longer fic, which I'd prefer to see. Hey, I'm honest.)
Still open!
For thehighwaywoman: Sam/Dean, stitches:
Dean sits on the edge of the bed with a huff. His shoulder already feels stiff, pain lancing down his arm if he so much turns his head. Its awkward, is what it is. He's the one that's supposed to be taking care of Sam.
Sam drops the rest of their gear near the table before rifling through for the first aid gear. "Can you get your shirt off?"
Dean starts to peel it off, trying to keep from grunting. (He isn't whimpering like a two-year-old with a scraped knee. He isn't.) He doesn't get very far, though, before Sam comes over.
"Let me," he says. The look on his face says don't argue with me and what the hell did it do to you?. Sam pulls the fabric away gently, making apologetic soothing noises when Dean hisses in pain.
"Dammit, Sam," he growls as the fabric pulls out from one of the deeper gashes. He doesn't mean it but... "Fuck!"
"Maybe if you behave yourself," Sam says, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
Its inspiring enough that when Sam applies the rubbing alcohol and starts in with the needle, Dean doesn't so much as flinch.
_____
For teithwir: Dean geeking out about comics:
Dean couldn't help but hum to himself as he let himself in to the motel room.
Sam sighed from where he was hiding behind his laptop. "I won't let you touch my computer, so you go get nudie mags?"
That pulls him from his thoughts. He should have bought a few, might do Sammy some good. Or at least make him turn red up to his hairline. "Huh?" he says instead, and makes a mental note to do that later.
His brother points vaguely somewhere toward his side. "The magazines?"
Dean looks down. Oh. Those. "Psh, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. Don't you know Batman when you see him?" He pulls the booklets out from under his arm and walks over to flaunt the comics in Sam's face. At least the confusion was warrented - the back covers of more than a few featured a very risque statuette of Catwoman unzipping her costume. "Snacks?"
Sam had been looking at the comic books skeptically, but rolled his eyes at the offer of Slim Jims and Little Debbie cupcakes. "Aren't you a little old for comics?" He paused a moment. "Where did you even get those?"
Dean looked at him like he had seven heads. "Have you ever read, oh, anything by Frank Miller? I thought I taught you better than that Sam." He dropped down on the bed and cracked open the first Slim Jim. "Would you believe me if I told you they were in 7-Eleven? Never thought I'd see the day, man. Dunno what's with all this RIP shit though. I can't believe they'd kill Batman. Ever." He flipped open the first issue and settled back. "Morrison better not screw this up."
Sam stared at him for a long moment, debating whether or not he should bother asking who Morrison was.
_____
For Refur: Dean POV, hurt Sam, lost and in the rain:
The rain was pouring down in a solid, unending wall of pressure, water white in the air despite the growing darkness. It plastered Dean's hair to his face (as if it wasn't already hard enough to see) and pounded deep into still sore bruises. It gave him something to hate.
Which is sure as hell a lot easier than panicking.
"Sam!" Dean bellowed. Damn kitsu-whatever (why couldn't they just call it a seven-tailed fox?) got them turned around and split up. Not that he could figure out why the hell a Japanese shape-shifting fox spirit would be hiding out in the Shenandoah Valley (shit, there was nothing but woods for miles), but it had howled when he clipped it with silver bullets.
Y'know, right before it disappeared.
"Sam!" he called again. And yeah, okay, he was starting to panic.
There was a crash off somewhere to his left. He was already moving towards it before he heard the gunshots. But Sam crying out? That had him running.
"Sam," he shouted. Damn foliage kept getting in the way, he couldn't go in a straight line. "Can you hear me?"
"Here..." Dean changed direction instantly. "I'm here..."
Dean damn near tripped over the kitsu-thingy's body when he finally found his brother. It sent him stumbling and sliding in the mud and the leaves til he finally gave in to the tangling of limbs and gravity. Landed right next to Sam though.
"Well that," Sam huffed, wearing his very best pretty-princess-stuck-in-the-mud bitchface, "was certainly a dramatic entrance." He didn't do a very good job of trying to hide his grimace. But first thing's first.
"D'you kill it?"
"Full clip of silver to the chest, I sure as fuck hope so."
"That's my Sammy." Dean allowed himself a small grin as he picked himself up off the ground. "You hurt?"
Sam just grunted. Wasn't as good as No, but it was certainly better than I'm fine. He'd taken a couple swipes to the shoulder, five-fingerd gashes that looked like they hooked around the back of Sam's kneck and down across his chest. Dean pulled the cloth of his shirt away gently to inspect them; they weren't deep, and weren't bleeding much. Sam's leg though...
It was twisted at a bad angle. Shit.
"I'm gonna need to set that," Dean said. He watched his brother flinch, then nod. He couldn't see much else of his brother's expression with the rain slicking his hair down into his face. Dean clenched his jaw as he knelt, but he forced himself to speak. "I ever tell you about the succubus I dusted a few years back?" He didn't wait for Sam to answer, just carried on while he found where he needed to put his hands. "Dad and I had split up. He was working some thing in New York City, so all I had for back up was some wanna-be. Guy was a mess, nearly got us both killed. He just didn't know how to keep it in his pants..."
A sickening crack wrenched a scream out of Sam. He curled forward wimpering, putting his head down on Dean's shoulder. Dean wrapped his arms around him (girliness be damned).
"I've got you, Sammy. It's gonna be alright."