Fix You.

Summary. . . . . . To the Winchester's hospitals are a place to avoid, so mending broken bones and bullet wounds are usually done on a motel bed.

Disclaimer. . . . . Born from the genius that is Kripkie, I'm just loaning them.

A.N. . . . . . . Teeth clamped down, three words that just wouldn't leave me alone and from that this piece of drabble was born. Title taken yet again from a Coldplay song. I hope you enjoy it, Peanut x

His teeth ground down and gnawed at the worn and battered leather, before viciously clamping down as a particularly fierce spasm rocked it's way through his body. Saliva built up and pooled against the barrier, slowly penetrating the porous membrane to create it's own stain to add to the collection that already decorated the strip; a harsh and constant reminder of how many times it had been used for this purpose, instead of the one it was created for. It fell lax from his mouth as his body protested the intrusion of the probe, it's metal feelers stretching and pushing against flesh and bone, searching for the object that had torn it's way through the soft muscle of his thigh.

He screamed himself hoarse, into the crook of his arm, as the bullet was dislodged from it's resting place, it's dented edge scraping against his femur before beginning it's backward journey, the hole it had created expanding painfully to accommodate the added thickness of the forceps, causing trembles to shake his whole leg, regardless of how hard he tried to keep the limb still and stable. He sucked in a ragged breath through teeth that now clamped deeply, bloodily, into his lips, holding it subconsciously in as the round was ripped and dragged through his tender fibers, until with a sickening squelch the agony subsided to a dull throbbing pain and he breathed deeply before falling gratefully into unconsciousness.

A deep burning sensation awoke him from the darkness, combining with a smell that was all too familiar, to let him know that the wound was now being cleaned. He imagined the peroxide bubbling and frothing over the edges of the wounds side, it's color gradually turning pink as fresh blood mixed with it. He bit back a sob as a ratty motel towel mopped up the vicious liquid, before fresh gauze was tightly compressed against the puncture, in an effort to prevent the loss of more of his lifeline. His breathing increasing as the pressure was removed and he swallowed down more saliva at the thought of the process and the agony that was to come,

He tried not to look, but morbid curiosity won out and he was unable to prevent his eyes from traveling down his brother's arms and to hands that expertly began to thread the sutures' through the needle, his siblings trained eye finding the tiny hole the first time, causing him to groan as even the small respite of renewed trying, meaning the pain would be put off for a while, disappeared. He guzzled down the whiskey that suddenly appeared in front of him, relishing the sting and burn as it worked it's way down his parched dry throat, continuing to drink and push away the hands that tried to take this small comfort away from him, ignoring the growl it created from his sibling, loving the tingle it sent rushing through his veins, but with his strength weakening the bottle was soon taken away, and the gloom descended once more.

He shook his head in response to the worn leather that was once again offered, demanding instead that he "just get on with it" before throwing an arm across his eyes, and bracing his very being for the torture that was about to be created by the one he loved more than anything else in the world. Teeth crashed together, the sound loud and obtrusive in the otherwise silent room, as the sharp edge began to burrow it's way through his damaged and tender flesh, each pull of the cord feeling like inch thick rope instead of the fine thread that it was, sending waves of nausea rolling around his stomach, threatening to expel the very liquid that was making this whole process manageable. He stopped counting the bite and pull at eight, as the agony to his abused flesh became too much, and the blackness beckoned once more, enveloping him within it's folds, his mind calm, safe in the knowledge that his brother was there to fix him.

A.N. . . . . . . See! I said it was drabble, but it wouldn't leave me alone. This is a one shot, there will be no added chapters to this one, I just wanted to do a motel fix up. As for the identity of the hurt brother, well I'll leave that up to you to decide who you would like it to be. Thank you all so much for reading. Catch you later, Peanut x