Challenge Words: Use a Lyric or a Band name (Birthday drabble for Wynefred), eyes
Warnings/Spoilers: Mid 6th season drabble, post-Unforgiven
Seems Like Old Times
Sam ceased his trampling through the woods. "Did you hear that?" he turned around to ask Dean, who had uncharacteristically let him take point.
Dean jutted his head to the right. "About a hundred yards ahead of us," he half-whispered.
Sam inclined his own head to the left, meeting Dean's eyes in silent communication. Sam was relieved to see no wariness in his brother's eyes, merely acceptance of his plan of attack. Dean slipped by Sam, disappearing into the trees to Sam's left and Sam continued forward along the trail, which bent to the right about ten paces later.
Two Winchesters against a werewolf seemed like a no-brainer when they'd discussed the hunt this afternoon. Dean had polished his favorite gun and carefully inspected the silver bullets before loading them into his weapon. Sam had checked his own gun, finding it well-oiled and ready for action. His soul-less self had clearly used the weapon often, but Sam knew better than to ask Dean about that. He didn't ask Dean about a lot of things, Sam mused as he strode down the path. Am I afraid of what he'll say? Or afraid that he'll freak out, worried that I'm disturbing the Wall again?
A twig snapped suddenly, bringing Sam back to the here-and-now. Angry eyes glowed in the dark and the snarling, growling werewolf leaped towards him. Momentarily, Sam heard hell's bells and thought he glimpsed Lucifer's malicious smile. He braced himself for the unavoidable, interminable pain he knew was coming—
Sam watched transfixed as Dean plowed full-tilt into the springing werewolf, sending both of them sprawling in a rolling tangle of arms, legs, fur, teeth and claws. The thrashing ceased and Sam heard a plaintive dog-like whimper in the abrupt stillness. Moments later, Dean appeared, nonchalantly wiping the blade of his silver knife against a cluster of leaves. Only Sam saw that his brother was using the branch to steady himself, as well.
Rushing forward, Sam worriedly approached his brother. "Dean! Where'd it get you?"
"I'm fine." Dean's protest was ignored as Sam spotted the growing blood stain on his brother's side.
Sam reached towards Dean's jacket, face paling as he pulled it open, exposing the fresh wounds. "Dean! Did it—"
"Claws only, Sam. No bites. M'not gonna turn, or howl at the moo-" Dean's eyes fluttered and he pitched forward, easily caught by Sam's ready, steady arms.
"This is gonna hurt," Sam warned as he deftly lifted the makeshift field bandaging from Dean's side. He had slapped the bandage on Dean's collapsed form and carried Dean back to the Impala, then relocated his brother to the bed by the door in their motel room. Sam doubted if Dean was even conscious, but he couldn't just dump the holy water on his brother without warning. He took a deep breath, unscrewed the cap from the flask and poured the evil-cleansing fluid over the gouges from the werewolf's claws. The holy water sizzled and Dean groaned and squirmed, the pain reaching him even in unconsciousness. Sam gently held his brother still, murmuring "Easy, easy, now."
The sizzling stopped and Dean quit fighting, his glazed eyes gazing trustingly at him. Sam bit his lip and felt his muscles tense as he sat in the chair he'd placed between the two beds. He poured a second dose over Dean's wounds. "Sorry." Sorry seems to be the hardest word—
Dean's head rolled in jerky movements against his pillow, and Sam heard a few grunts, but of course his big brother wasn't going to admit that Sam's healing was hurting him. When it came to shielding his brother from bad things, Dean had the protective instinct in excess, as Sam knew from countless incidents. Like this one.
After a few minutes, the fizzing ceased. "Th-that s-sucked," Dean said weakly.
"But it worked," Sam said after scrutinizing the clawed area on Dean's side, noting the swelling was lessening already. "Next time, just yell. I do know how to protect myself. I am—" Sam floundered, inexplicably stumped by arithmetic. Do Hell-years count?—"an adult."
"Dams'lin distress," Dean affectionately teased.
"Who carted your ass back to the car?" Sam demanded.
"Never said y'weren't a big girl."
"Take these," Sam held out two pain pills and made sure Dean swallowed them before handing over a glass of water.
"N bossy, too, like the cow," Dean said after swallowing.
"Elsie," Sam corrected, retrieving the water glass and placing it on the nightstand between the two beds.
"Rest my case," Dean said drowsily.
"Just rest," Sam flicked the light off, waiting for Dean to drift into medicated sleep. You and me against the world…
A/N: Happy belated birthday to Wynefred. I started writing this before your birthday and ended the day after mine;-) There's a few lyrics in here, but did you catch the band name? NXS