Disclaimer: Thanks to Onyx Moonbeam, I do own a handy coffee mug sporting the phrase: driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole. And a pretty picture of Dean. But I do not own anything else.
Word Count: 100.
Featured Word: Cramp. This is fun.
"Breathe, Dean," Sam coached, voice calm but tight with empathy.
Dean's calf cramped, curling his foot to an unnatural angle. He warred between guarding it protectively and getting as far away from it as possible. Left him coiling uncomfortably in the dirt.
"Don't touch it, Sam," he half-ordered, half-begged.
"Try to relax, Dean," Sam evaded his brother's hands and gently grasped his lower leg.
Dean arched on his back, sucking in and holding his breath.
Sam massaged gently, breath catching in time with Dean's muffled whimpers.
Working his fingers deeper into the muscle, Dean gritted out, "Sadistic Bitch!"