Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or the characters …
Summary: Sam and Dean return to their motel after a simple hunt is completed. In their profession, they should have already learnt not to leave wounds untended.
Written by Kokoda2007
Sam stripped down to his underwear.
He shivered as the damp air washed over his bare skin.
Under the weak light cast by the dim globe, Sam peered at himself in the grimy bathroom mirror. The mirror hung slightly askew above the bathroom sink, inadequate really even for shaving. Unable to move backwards in the confined space, Sam gave up on trying to view the injury near the back of his shoulder. Instead, feeling the thin trickle of blood forming an unbroken line down his back, he hastily turned on the shower before the crimson drops made their way on to the floor.
Shivering slightly in the cold, it took longer than expected for the water to run warm, and he kept an unsteady hand under the spray, waiting, seeking his opportunity to immerse his body in the comfort of warm water.
Finally, satisfied with the temperature, if not the water pressure, he stripped off his boxers and stepped into the shower, adjusting the shower head outwards as there was no possibility of standing underneath the inappropriately low fixture. He slowly rotated, allowing the water to hit his body from all angles and wash away the day's sweat and dirt. Looking down, he couldn't fail to notice the red tinge to the escaping water as it moved steadily towards the drain.
Cupping his hands together under the warm spray, he waited each time for them to fill before splashing the contents over his face and head, running his hands through his wet hair to disperse the water and shake out the grime. Satisfied with the results, he ran a weary hand across his face, rubbing the water from his eyes and brushing the hair back from his face. He would have loved to remain under the warm water for longer, but knew Dean was waiting in the other room, no doubt struggling to curb his impatience to start his own shower.
One final rotation under the water and he turned it off, stepping out of the shower stall reluctantly. Trying again to look in the mirror proved futile, the small room was now immersed in the humid steam and the mirror fogged beyond salvation. Regardless of how many times he swiped across it to clear the fog the mirror again quickly clouded, hiding his reflection.
Grabbing one of the thin motel towels off the rack, he dried his hair before patting the water off the rest of his body. He could feel the small trickle of blood that continued to make its way down his back, uncomfortable in its sticky trail. Searching the small bathroom, he could find nothing to use to stem the viscous flow. Not wanting to destroy the single remaining clean towel - Dean would kill him – he instead picked up his discarded t-shirt, folding it haphazardly a few times before holding the wadded fabric to the wound, applying gentle pressure.
Leaning his head against the cold wall tiles, he closed his eyes and waited. Waited for the flow to ebb. He could feel the cloth becoming damper with the soaking blood, so he the held it a little tighter, applied just a fraction more pressure, resolutely ignoring the corresponding pain this caused.
He bit down hard on his lip, preventing a moan from escaping.
Eyes closed, he became lost in his thoughts as he blocked out the ache radiating through his body with every heartbeat.
"Sam, come on man, hurry up." Dean pounded his fist on the bathroom door.
Sam jarred out of his trance, momentarily confused by his surroundings.
"Ah …yeah …just a sec…"
Realising that he'd lost track of the time, he glanced around, bemoaning the fact that in his haste to beat his brother to the shower he had neglected to grab any clean clothes. Slowly, he pulled away the blood soaked t-shirt from his wound, thankful that he didn't feel the blood start to immediately flow again. He threw the bloodstained garment into the corner of the room, to rest amongst his other discarded clothing. Looking at the dismal excuse for a towel, he pulled it around his himself tightly. It was only just large enough to wrap around his lean waist, and necessitated him keeping a firm hand on the join to prevent it from slipping.
Raising his free hand to the door, he turned the knob and pushed it slowly open.
Dean paced impatiently outside the closed bathroom door, berating himself for the umpteenth time for letting his younger brother get the slip on him and get first shower. He was dirty, cold and wet. He'd already kicked off his mud caked boots near the motel door, but the rest of him was filthy and drenched from head to toe. They'd just finished a fairly easy salt and burn, although the burn part had proved a bit troublesome due to the torrid rain and muddy conditions. But hey, he smiled to himself, even under challenging conditions, he could start a fire. Sometimes it just took him a little longer than others. Sam had kept the unruly spirit occupied; giving him those extra couple of necessary minutes to light a spark and send the pesky spirit back to …wherever. All in all, he thought, a successful night.
As another small shiver racked his body, he contemplated pounding on the bathroom door again, hurrying his brother up. He held his clean clothes in his hand, well away from his sodden body, his irritation growing. He just wanted a hot shower and to hit the sack. It was close to midnight, and after spending the evening digging up the spirit's water logged grave, he was exhausted. He moved closer to the bathroom door and raised his hand, ready to really pound this time. The shower had been shut off a few minutes ago but Sam hadn't emerged, and his patience had reached an end.
His fist was raised ready to strike when the door opened, emitting Sam in a billow of steam. Dean felt the warmth coming from the small bathroom and moved instinctively towards it.
"Better have saved me some hot water," he tossed in his brother's direction as he moved purposefully into the bathroom, kicking the door closed in his wake.
After leaving the humid warmth of the bathroom, Sam felt the chill in the bedroom hit him with a rush. He gripped the towel around his waist a little tighter as he rummaged through his bag for some clean sweat pants and t-shirt. Retrieving the items, he quickly dropped the damp towel and slipped into the dry clothes before easing himself down onto his bed. Still cold despite the fresh dry clothes, he pulled back the covers and climbed into the bed. Pulling the covers tightly up to his chin, he shivered against the cold sheets, desperate for his body to generate some warmth now that it was cocooned under the covers.
From his prone position, he watched the bathroom door, waiting for Dean to finish up in the bathroom. Feeling the dampness underneath him, he knew that his wound was bleeding again and that he probably needed a few stitches. He had meant to ask Dean to do it when he came out of the bathroom, but one look at his brother's drenched clothes and fatigued features and he'd decided it could wait until Dean had showered and got into some dry clothes. He didn't want him to needlessly catch a cold or get sick. He could wait a few more minutes.
Watching the still closed door, he finally heard the water shut off, followed by the resonant sound of Dean's humming, no longer obscured by the shower noise. He smiled as he recognised one of Dean's favourite Led Zeppelin songs, something he hummed when he was relaxed and in high spirits. Shifting slightly, trying to get comfortable, he waited patiently for his brother to emerge from the bathroom.
Within moments his eyes drifted closed, signalling his defiant body giving up the wait and succumbing to sleep.
Dean hummed under his breath as he towelled himself dry. He luxuriated in the feeling of being clean again, the grave mud finally being cleansed from his body. He now revelled in the fresh scent of the motel shampoo and soap as he pulled on his clean t-shirt and sweats before brushing his teeth.
Eagerly anticipating the waiting bed, he made his way back into the bedroom, immediately seeing the sleeping form of his brother enclosed under the covers on one of the adjacent beds. A soft snore emanated from Sam, and he wondered briefly how his brother, who usually had such difficulty sleeping, could lay under the glow from the exposed light globe and sleep so soundly.
Moving quietly, he crossed the room and switched off the main light, shrouding the room in the dim light from the outside neon light which filtered in through the flimsy curtains. Silently, he made his way to his own bed, promptly climbing under the frigid covers and pulling them up to his shoulders.
"Night Sammy" he whispered, waiting for, but not expecting a response. A gentle snore was his only reply.
Turning onto his side and pummelling the lumpy pillow into shape, it took him only minutes to find a comfortable position. His body relaxed against the quickly warming sheets, allowing him to seek the solace of peaceful sleep.
To be continued...
Author's note: This story was inspired by the first sentence – which I've had written down for a while. I'm hoping not to get carried away – this should just be a short three chapter story.
Thank you for reading. If you've reached this point it should mean you've read the whole chapter. I'd appreciate a review, letting me know what you think. Please!