SPN fic
It's the same thing I posted the other day, I just want it here now that the
spnflashfic challenge is done for the week.
Swamp Thing
700ish words
Sam/Dean
“Are you fucking kidding me? We’re stranded on a desert island, Sam! What the fuck!”
“It’s not really an island, Dean. It’s more of a peninsula,” Sam said reasonably. “And it’s pretty tropical,” he added. “Not really much of a desert.”
“So not the point, Sam! We’re stuck at the end of it. Might as well be a damn island!” Dean roared. He subsided, panting, back against the trunk of the palm tree that was holding him upright. He reached a hand up to his wounded shoulder and poked at it experimentally. It hurt, but he’d live, at least for now. Pulling his hand back, he waggled his fingers at Sam, showing him the blood out of habit. Too bad it didn’t freak him out the way it used to when he was ten years old. Sam was no fun anymore. Dean’s fault.
“Dude,” Sam said, rolling his eyes.
“Whatever,” Dean said, wiping his hand on his jeans. Which brought the whole leg injury thing to his attention again. “It think my ankle’s sprained, Sammy,” he sighed.
“Could you be any more of a pain in the ass? If you hadn’t tripped over your own feet, we could have gotten back to the car before the tide came in.” Sam gazed morosely at the expanse of water separating them from the Impala, gleaming in the sunset across what looked like ten miles of ocean. It was probably only 50 yards, really.
“We could swim for it,” Dean offered.
“Right,” Sam snorted. “And we could both drown when you and your ankle sink like a stone and you choke me while I try and save your ass.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while after that. Now that the sun was down, the air took on an unmistakable chill and Dean shivered. His shoulder had stopped bleeding, but it hurt like a bitch. He stretched his leg out in front of him, rotating his foot, testing his ankle. Yep, still sprained. He looked over at Sam, who leaned back against his own tree, watching Dean.
Dean smiled in what he hoped was a winning manner. “You warm enough over there, Sammy? Wanna share my tree?” He tried for a leer, but judging by the response he got, it probably looked more like he had gas. He shivered again and Sam’s face softened. He stood up and made his way over to Dean’s tree, looming over Dean like the giant mutant he was.
“Sit down, you freak,” Dean groused. Sam lowered himself down next to Dean, fidgeting around until he managed to get his own back against the tree, with Dean leaning against Sam’s chest. Dean thought about protesting the near-embrace, but decided warmth trumped dignity and shut the hell up.
“I’m starving,” Dean said about a half hour later, when he realized Sam had dozed off. He shoved his elbow back and Sam grunted.
“I swear to God, Dean,” Sam said, his voice rough with sleep. “Shut the fuck up about food. There isn’t any. You’re just gonna have to wait till morning.”
“You need to start carrying snacks in your duffel, Sammy,” Dean said, smiling at the irritated flick of Sam’s fingers on the back of his head.
“Right, cuz I’m the one who needs to eat every fifteen minutes.” Sam’s arms came up around Dean’s waist and he folded his hands on Dean’s stomach. “How’s the shoulder?”
“I’ll live,” Dean said.
Silence for a beat, then, ‘Yeah. You will.” Sam’s arms tightened around him. Dean laid his head back against Sam’s shoulder.
Dean waited until he felt Sam relax behind him once more. Killing the swamp monster must have really taken it out of him, the big wuss. When he was sure Sam was asleep, Dean dug his elbow into his side again. Sam groaned and batted at him feebly.
“Sam. Hey, Sammy, wake up.” Dean paused, then said, “I gotta take a leak.” He grinned at the mumbled curses in his ear. “I can’t walk, dude. You gotta help me here.”
“Kill you myself,” Sam muttered, as he helped Dean to his feet. Dean grinned and leaned into his side, patting the arm that supported him. It was going to be a long night, but Dean wasn’t planning on getting bored.
spnflashfic challenge is done for the week.
Swamp Thing
700ish words
Sam/Dean
“Are you fucking kidding me? We’re stranded on a desert island, Sam! What the fuck!”
“It’s not really an island, Dean. It’s more of a peninsula,” Sam said reasonably. “And it’s pretty tropical,” he added. “Not really much of a desert.”
“So not the point, Sam! We’re stuck at the end of it. Might as well be a damn island!” Dean roared. He subsided, panting, back against the trunk of the palm tree that was holding him upright. He reached a hand up to his wounded shoulder and poked at it experimentally. It hurt, but he’d live, at least for now. Pulling his hand back, he waggled his fingers at Sam, showing him the blood out of habit. Too bad it didn’t freak him out the way it used to when he was ten years old. Sam was no fun anymore. Dean’s fault.
“Dude,” Sam said, rolling his eyes.
“Whatever,” Dean said, wiping his hand on his jeans. Which brought the whole leg injury thing to his attention again. “It think my ankle’s sprained, Sammy,” he sighed.
“Could you be any more of a pain in the ass? If you hadn’t tripped over your own feet, we could have gotten back to the car before the tide came in.” Sam gazed morosely at the expanse of water separating them from the Impala, gleaming in the sunset across what looked like ten miles of ocean. It was probably only 50 yards, really.
“We could swim for it,” Dean offered.
“Right,” Sam snorted. “And we could both drown when you and your ankle sink like a stone and you choke me while I try and save your ass.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while after that. Now that the sun was down, the air took on an unmistakable chill and Dean shivered. His shoulder had stopped bleeding, but it hurt like a bitch. He stretched his leg out in front of him, rotating his foot, testing his ankle. Yep, still sprained. He looked over at Sam, who leaned back against his own tree, watching Dean.
Dean smiled in what he hoped was a winning manner. “You warm enough over there, Sammy? Wanna share my tree?” He tried for a leer, but judging by the response he got, it probably looked more like he had gas. He shivered again and Sam’s face softened. He stood up and made his way over to Dean’s tree, looming over Dean like the giant mutant he was.
“Sit down, you freak,” Dean groused. Sam lowered himself down next to Dean, fidgeting around until he managed to get his own back against the tree, with Dean leaning against Sam’s chest. Dean thought about protesting the near-embrace, but decided warmth trumped dignity and shut the hell up.
“I’m starving,” Dean said about a half hour later, when he realized Sam had dozed off. He shoved his elbow back and Sam grunted.
“I swear to God, Dean,” Sam said, his voice rough with sleep. “Shut the fuck up about food. There isn’t any. You’re just gonna have to wait till morning.”
“You need to start carrying snacks in your duffel, Sammy,” Dean said, smiling at the irritated flick of Sam’s fingers on the back of his head.
“Right, cuz I’m the one who needs to eat every fifteen minutes.” Sam’s arms came up around Dean’s waist and he folded his hands on Dean’s stomach. “How’s the shoulder?”
“I’ll live,” Dean said.
Silence for a beat, then, ‘Yeah. You will.” Sam’s arms tightened around him. Dean laid his head back against Sam’s shoulder.
Dean waited until he felt Sam relax behind him once more. Killing the swamp monster must have really taken it out of him, the big wuss. When he was sure Sam was asleep, Dean dug his elbow into his side again. Sam groaned and batted at him feebly.
“Sam. Hey, Sammy, wake up.” Dean paused, then said, “I gotta take a leak.” He grinned at the mumbled curses in his ear. “I can’t walk, dude. You gotta help me here.”
“Kill you myself,” Sam muttered, as he helped Dean to his feet. Dean grinned and leaned into his side, patting the arm that supported him. It was going to be a long night, but Dean wasn’t planning on getting bored.