Cutting Humor – A Brother's Bond

This was originally intended to be a oneshot, but now I guess it's not. It's not a second chapter either, it's more of a sequel by request.

Someone asked for the flipside, "I'd love it if you did another chapter where it's Dean who gets cut and Sam has to take care of him." Well, that was all it took to get my mind running, and now…. here ya go…

Four weeks and six hotels later…

"Okay college boy, let's hurry this up."

"Yeah well, the clock starts when you get over here and let me look at it." Sam sits on the closed lid of the toilet, holding a small bag of medical supplies. He's pulled the desk chair in for Dean to sit on, its tall wooden back set against the sink. All he needs now, is Dean.

Dean is in the main room, twisting awkwardly, attempting to see his back in the dresser mirror. "Damn it! It's a mess."

"I wouldn't know," Sam yells impatiently from the bathroom. Dean finally gives up, walks over, and turns his back to Sam.

"Fine. Here. Look." Dean's shirt is slashed open, and dripping with blood. The fabric hangs, mostly covering a long painful gash across the upper right side of his back.

"Yeah, you're shirt's in the way," Sam says.

"What, you can't see it through the gaping hole?"

"No, not really."

"Oh," Dean turns to face him, "so when that bastard slashed my back open, my shirt pulled a David Copperfield and stayed in one piece?"

"Dean, quit being a pain in my ass, and just take off your shirt."

"No." Sam can't believe the tone in Dean's voice, if he didn't know any better, he'd say Dean was…

"I'm sorry, are you… pouting?"

"Yes." Dean says still pouting.

"Um… okay." Sam is a bit caught off guard.

"That bastard destroyed my favorite shirt." Sam reads the back of Dean's shirt through the growing blood stain. It has the words 'Black Sabbath' across the top, with a list of cities surrounding the image.

"I thought your favorite shirt was the Metallica with the star thing on the front?"

"Oh, right," Dean says. "That bastard destroyed my second favorite shirt."

"Well, destroyed or not, you still need to take it off."

Dean sighs hard. "Fine." He reaches and pulls the shirt off over his head, dragging blood up the back of his neck, and all through his hair.

"Maybe we can fix it," Sam suggest. Dean continues to tug at the shirt, which is awkwardly caught on his head. It pulls into a deformed stretch, then gives way to a long and horrendous rip. "Well, probably not now," Sam adds.

"Crap!" Dean holds the destroyed T in a messy heap. "It's completely trashed." He gazes at it longingly. Sam puts a caring hand on his Brother's shoulder.

"Do we need to hold a memorial?" Sam smirks.

"Shut up!" Dean tosses his shirt in the trash can. Sam tries to look at Dean's back, but Dean is still fidgeting about restlessly. Sam rolls his eyes, grabs Dean hard by the shoulders, and forces him down onto the chair. Dean sits facing the sink, his legs straddling the chair, his arms crossed and pressing into its high back. He shoots Sam a dirty glance, but Sam disregards it and gets to work. He wipes the cut down, finally getting a good look.

"It's not as bad as I thought," Sam admits, "but you still might need stitches."

"How 'bout no," Dean states. Sam sighs, heavily exhausted by his Brother's non-stop attitude. He rummages through the bag on the toilet, and pulls out a tube of superglue, still attached to the cardboard packaging. Dean twists slightly, his eyes landing on Sam's hands.

"What'd you think you're doing with that?"

"I'm gonna close the cut." Sam explains, waiting to hear what the problem is now.

"Dude, it's my back, not a model plane." Dean turns fully around, guarding himself.

"Don't be a baby." Sam pulls the cap off and pokes the top open. "Turn around." He steps toward Dean, holding the glue out in an aggressive manner. Dean stands abruptly.

"Whoa! Put the glue down MacGyver!"

"Are you kidding me? Dean, this stuff's totally safe."

"Says who?"

"It's all over the internet."

"So's porn, but you don't see me trying out everything I see there!" He pauses a moment to reflect. "Well, maybe some of it."

"Dean!" Sam watches as Dean darts towards the toilet, shoves his hand into the bag of supplies, and angrily rummages through.

"Where are they?"

"Where are what?"

"They! The butterfly closures!"

"Good God!" Sam says. "What's this freakin' obsession you have with butterfly closures?" Dean turns and glares at Sam.

"Why aren't they here?"

"We're out, that's why. They were either used, or mangled when I cut my hand, so it's the glue, or the emergency room. You choose!" Dean takes in a deep breath and looks as if he's about to yell, then stops himself. He calms down slightly, then surprisingly resigns and sits back down in the chair.

"You'd better be right about this," he demands. Sam jumps to it before Dean can change his mind. He wipes the blood away for the second time, then rushes through putting the glue on. He squeezes the cut closed with his right hand, then pours out a thick line of glue, covering the gash completely. He holds it together for over a minute, then turns and looks at the tube.

Dean hears Sam mumbling something behind him. His eyes shift about suspiciously. He turns his head.

"Are you reading the directions?" Dean says incredulously.


"Haven't you done this before?"

"Quiet, I don't know how long it needs to set."

"What? Give it to me!" Dean grabs the tube away. Sam stands in a frustrated huff, as Dean works his way through the label instructions. "Bla bla bla, bonds surfaces, bla bla… warnings. Glue may damage fabrics. Good thing I took my shirt off. Glue may cause irritation. Yeah, I'm pretty irritated."

"Dean, please!" Sam begs.

"Wait," Dean says throwing a hand up, "bonds skin instantly."

"Instantly?" A small detail occurs to Sam.

"So we're good."

"Uh…" As Sam tries to let go of the cut, his eyes scrunch shut and he bites his lower lip. "That depends on your definition of good."

"What'd you mean?" Dean doesn't like Sam's tone.

"Huh… well… you uh… you might be stuck with me."

"You didn't!" Dean stands abruptly; Sam's hand jerks along, stuck fast to his back.

"Owe!" Both Bothers cry out in unison.

"Awe… Sam..." Dean whines.

"It worked," Sam smiles sheepishly, "the cut's closed."


"Check the tube," Sam says, "there's gotta be something that removes it." Dean goes back to scanning the instructions, finally blurting out…

"Nail polish remover."

"Great, do we have any?"

"I don't know princess, do you?"

"Um…" Sam tries to think this out. "We could go to the emergency room."

"Yeah, cause that's just how I wanna spend my night. Sitting in the ER, with my kid Brother glued to my back!"

"I could be glued worse places." Sam suggests weakly. Dean slowly turns and gives him a perplexed annoyed look.


"I'm just saying…"

"Well stop." Dean thinks for a moment. "Where's the box, maybe there's more instructions." Sam grabs the box out of the garbage and scans it.

"It says we can try warm soapy water."

"Water? They write 'polish remover' on the tube, but the slab of card board you throw out says 'water'?"

"Warm soapy water," Sam corrects. "You wanna try it?" Dean stares at Sam, wondering if his Brother has lost his mind. "Right," Sam says, and reaches for the bar of hotel soap on the sink. Dean quickly stops him.

"That shit's never gonna work, hang on, I'll be right back." Dean starts to leave, but Sam grabs his arm.

"Hello! Glued to you!"

"Oh, right. Come on." They awkwardly shuffle to the main room. Dean opens his bag and rummages through it. "Here." He hands Sam a bottle of liquid bath soap, and keeps rummaging.

"What's this?" Sam asks.

"It's soap."

"I can see that, but..." Sam stops short as Dean pulls out a puffy purple mesh bath pouf. "Are you… are you holding a bath koosh?"

"A what?" Dean questions.

"A koosh."

"Dude, what the hell is a koosh?"

"I don't know, the thing you're holding."

"It has a name?"

"Well what do you call it?"

"I don't. It's just the thingy that makes the bubbles."

"You like bubbles."

"I don't have a problem with them. Although, I'm starting to have a problem with you."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'll a… " Sam snickers to himself. "…get off your back."

"Yeah, that's real funny. Now move." Dean guides them back to the bathroom, as Sam reads the soap container.

"Lavender and chamomile?"

"The hotel soap dries out my skin," Dean snaps. As they enter the bathroom, he kicks the desk chair out of the way. Sam continues to read.

"Stress relieving shower massage."

"I need like a gallon of that shit after an average day with you. Now give it to me." He grabs the soap from Sam and pours some onto the bath pouf. He runs it under the water and rubs it, building up the suds, then harshly hands it back to Sam. "See, bubbles! Now get to work!"

"Yes sir, Mr. Bubbles." Sam starts to gently scrub away at the adhesive while Dean grips the sink.

"Koosh… what'd you read that on the internet too?" Dean mocks impatiently. Sam begins a casual confrontation.

"So ah…. butterflies and bubbles… lavender and stress massages… are you sure there wasn't nail polish remover in your bag?"

"Is it working or what?"


"Yeah well, hurry it up Hot Lips," Dean snaps at him, finally pushing Sam past his breaking point. Sam stops scrubbing, and yanks harshly at his last stuck finger.

"Owe!" Dean yells as the quick but sharp pain pulses through his back.

"I'm off." Sam smiles smugly.

"Yeah, thanks for the great bed side manner," Dean walks away, and throws himself onto the first available bed. He grabs the TV remote, and clicks through the stations on mute. Sam leans in the doorframe of the bathroom watching his Brother, his face deep in thought. After a minute, he walks to the other bed, grabs his bag, and starts going through it, slowly pulling out everything he owns. Finally, he locates what he's looking for. He throws the folded square of fabric at his Brother. It hits Dean in the chest, then falls into his lap.

"What' the…" Dean grabs it and looks at it. "This is a bran new Black Sabath tour shirt."

"I know."

"It's just like mine. Where the hell did you get this?"

"From you."


"Dean, you dragged me to that concert, something about educating me properly. Then you drank yourself into a stupor, and closed the night by buying us matching shirts."

"But this looks new," Dean furrows his brow, "have you ever worn it?"


"That's just sacrilege."

"Whatever, guess your teaching methods didn't stick."

"Wait, if you don't wear it, why do even still have it?" Dean asks.

"Well," Sam pauses, then shrugs, "because you gave it to me."

Dean just blinks, absorbing the moment. "Sammy… I don't know what to say man." He stares at the shirt, genuinely touched.

"You're not gonna cry on me are you?"

"I think I'll pull through," Dean says, his tone switching back to sarcasm. Sam shows a faint smile, as Dean pulls the shirt on.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." Sam picks through his stuff, grabbing a pair of shorts and a shirt. Without glancing up, he has to ask. "So, how long have you been hiding the girl soap from me?"

"Don't knock my soap," Dean threatens. "That stress relieving shit works."

"Does it relieve chronic stress induced by you?"

"Actually, yeah. The box says 'relieves Dean induced stress'. I'd show it to you, but I threw it out."

"Uh hu."

"Try it if you don't believe me."

"Fine, I will."

"Whatever," Dean adds. As Sam heads into the bathroom, Dean shouts after him. "Just keep your sticky hands off my freakin' koosh!"

Well there ya have it! As I said before, all reviews are appriciated, so if you've got the time, let me know what you think : )