"You Only Hurt the One You Love" Meme!
Alright, everyone, it’s nearly Valentine’s Day! You know what this means? It’s the perfect opportunity to show our love for our favorite Winchester by doing what we do best - hurting him, maiming him, making him sick, putting him through emotional torture. Y’know, the usual.
Welcome to ohsam’s “You Only Hurt the One You Love” meme!
( Read more... )
Welcome to ohsam’s “You Only Hurt the One You Love” meme!
( Read more... )
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They’ve only been at the graveyard for an hour or so. There’s a restless spirit roaming the town, a man named Mr. Frederickson who’s got a nasty habit of going after the descendants of people who had wronged him in his life. A simple and uncomplicated hunt for once. Just the thing to get Sam’s mind off - well, everything.
Sam’s been quiet since they left Palo Alto. Dean can’t say he’s surprised; Sam’s always been a brooder. He’ll sulk and mope to his heart’s content. When he was a kid, not even their dad could shake Sam out of a mood when he really dug his heels in.
But this - this is different. This kind of tragedy, of heartbreak, isn’t something that’s gonna heal in a day. So Dean does the two things he does best: hunting and taking care of Sammy ( ... )
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He’s sucking in these awful short gasps and clutching at his chest with one hand, the other grabbing at Dean’s shoulder.
“Sam, what’s wrong? What about your chest?” Dean asks in a panic.
His hand comes up to cradle Sam’s cheek, the unnatural coolness against his palm, before sliding down to Sam’s neck to find his pulse. It takes a second but when he finds it it’s racing. It feels like a goddamn racehorse against the pads of his fingers. Dean doesn’t know the numbers but he knows nobody’s pulse should be that fast, and God, what the hell is happening, where the fuck did this come from?
“Guh- Dean-“
“Okay, Sam, okay,” Dean breathes, trying to get his composure back. Help Sam. Help Sam.Dean rearranges them with some difficulty ( ... )
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Dean’s eyes are glued on Sam’s chest, the rhythmic rise and fall soothing his frayed nerves. “So, uh. What do we do now?”
“I’d like to keep him overnight for observation, but I’m not particularly concerned about a relapse or another attack. I also want to put him on a couple anti-arrythmics, which will help regulate his heartbeat. Anti-coagulants, too. But rest will be key over the next few days. The less strain put on his heart, the better.”
“No wheelchair races, then?” Dean jokes weakly, relaxing at the sight of Sam alive and breathing next to him and the idea of a plan.
The doctor smiles. “Not for a while. I would advise avoiding exercise for the immediate future.”
No hunting, Dean translates mentally. “Will do ( ... )
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