DARKSUPERNATURAL, this one is for you. You are such an amazing person and a writer and this is the least I can do to thank you for just being who you are. I'm really happy, no, I'm lucky to have you as my friend. hugs
I know you will understand this story, especially one big part and a few little parts of it, where Sam is holding onto something very important to him. Love ya, girl.
I own nothing, bleh….nothing at all. And this is happening in season 1, because I love season 1 so...go with me on this one. And maybe I should warn for some gore, well not much, but it might be enough for some. Oh and some bad words escape Sam's mouth…oops. And sorry for the grammar mistakes! LOL
The night with its bright moon made the clearing of the forest look ancient. Everything was glistering with the silver light, everything was looking old but young at the same time; grass covered with dew, shiny spider webs that had no flies in them yet, only little sprinkles of water, tall trees and small bushes that were hiding the black car from anyone and anything.
The shadows among the close by trees were shifting, dancing, living. Shadows that haunt you when you're not looking, shadows that sneak upon you when you shift your eyes forward and keep your back in the dark.
Long tree branches, looking like old man's hands, sneaking down to the floor, caressing the leaf covered forest floor.
No animals except for some crickets, no noises except for the constant hum and crack of trees swinging in the slight breeze.
"Dean!!!" and three pants one after another, tumbling together in the otherwise silent scenery.
"Who's gonna hear me?"
"See me care?"
"Well I don't."
Sam smiled: "Jerk." And choked down another ripple of pain that ran up his body, but couldn't conceal that it did fucking hurt. This one was the worst until now and it took away all coherency he had until then.
"Sammy, hey, look at me." it was an order somewhere in those softly spoken words, but Sam just couldn't find it. Nothing was making much sense to him at the moment, getting butchered in the warm summer night.
One twirl of his fingers between his bracelet and his wrist. He could feel his heart beating, fast…so fast.
He did however raise his head up, leaning all his weight on his elbows and looked into Dean's bright eyes. His stomach muscles protested at the sudden change in position, but he ignored them and concentrated on Dean's mouth forming the next few words: "Sam just…look…four more, okay? Four more and then we're outta here."
Sam wanted to cry right there and then, but he interlaced his fingers with the bracelet and left out a whine.
His eyes were already watery; his face already scrunched up in pain and all he needed now was for Dean to…
"Dean!!! Oh…God!!!!!" that did it and Sam's head flopped back, landing with a thud. He left out a sob and a tear, which ran from the corner of his left eye. It rounded his mole and landed directly on the leather upholstery of the back seat of the Impala. He wheezed out air and clenched his teeth, cursing at his own weakness. Dean will never let this down.
"Sam, sh, sh, sh, just three more. Three more, 'kay?!"
Sam panted harshly and directed his eyes at the ceiling. Everything was dark. Dark in the car, dark outside and dark in his mind where the pain shut off the light.
He tugged on his bracelet again, feeling strangely comforted.
His leg was on fire. No other way of describing it, but slow, torturous fire that was slowly spreading up his body, making a pit stop in his stomach, and he really wanted to throw up or something, because the pain was making his stomach flip-flop in a very nasty kind of way.
He tried to breathe somewhat normally, because he knew that if he stopped, he would find himself in a whole new world of trouble…but all that he could do was gasp for warm air that ruled in the car. His mouth was dry, his face cowered in sweat, his hair drenched with it, droplets of it running down his temples and the side of his neck, being soaked up by the collar of his black T-shirt. And soon those gasps turned into struggles for breath, when the fear of more pain, finally caught up with him.
He ran his finger around his bracelet.
"Sam, just…don't forget to breathe." Dean breathed out, his deep voice becoming softer with each word he said.
He resumed his work on Sam's leg, picking out splinters of thin, sharp and long wooden sticks, that…well let's just say that a certain plan from a certain person somehow…backfired.
And so, here they were, in the middle of nowhere, Sam lying on his back on the backseat of the car, dangling his legs out of the car and Dean crouching in front of them, picking out splinters from Sam's calves.
One splinter ran from his ankle all the way up to his knee; Dean could see it beneath Sam's skin. That one is gonna be a bitch, Dean thought so he left it for later, and concentrated on the 'easy approachable' for the moment.
"I," a breath, "am," a sigh, "breathing." a sob.
"Yeah well, don't forget to do that in the future too." Dean said gently and swabbed some more alcohol around another hole a slender splinter did in Sam's calf.
"'kay, just two more, Sammy, just two more."
"Yank them out, I don't care, just…damn it…God…Dean!!!" More tears leaked out of the corners of Sam's eyes when Dean pulled out another splinter.
They were long and sharp; they pierced right through the meat and the muscle in Sam's leg. When Sam was making them, he compared them to knitting needles, long, slender and with a sharp end. They embodied themselves into Sam's legs, only four in his left leg, but his right leg looked like a pin cushion. Sam was only groaning when Dean was working on his left leg, but now, only one more until the end, Sam was in serious fuck!!! pain.
Dean was mentally throwing up with each splinter he pulled out, the sound of that act was a sickening squelch, like someone was walking around with water in his shoes, blood and pieces of meat still stuck on the sticks when he pulled them out and everything was too red and smelled of blood and Dean gagged a few times; being seriously on the verge of throwing up.
"Sammy, how you doin' there?" concern was dripping from Dean's voice and Sam latched on it and shook his head 'no'. His hands were resting on his stomach, putting pressure on it, to try and not vomit, and his fingers played with the thin black string on his right hand.
He couldn't talk, not with the sharp pain that settled in his stomach and spine. It was like someone was ripping his legs apart bit by tiny bit, skin, muscle, meat, blood…
He gripped the sides of the backseat, scraping the upholstery for sure, but Dean would just have to suck it up, because fuck it hurts!!!
He was gripping Dean's shirt when they first started, but when he almost ripped it apart, Dean pushed him to lie down on the seat.
"Okay, Sam…listen to me."
Sam was lost in the blackness of the car's interior, but when Dean flashed his flashlight into his face, Sam groaned and admitted that there was a world outside the safety of the Impala. A world that carried way to much pain right now.
"Dean, we," a pant, "done?" even to his own ears Sam sounded like he was four and begging for ice cream or something equally important.
"Sam, one more, okay? One more and then we'll be done." With this hard part. But no sense in telling Sam that, because he really hoped that Sam will be a lot unconscious when they finish this hard part and move to the next hard part. He just had one more splinter to pull out, the last one that was going from Sam's ankle way up to Sam's knee. Through his muscle, on the left side of Sam's calf.
"Okay, okay. Just…rip it out…damn it, Dean…just pull it out!!!"
"Sam, it's not that easy. I can't just pull it out, I don't want to like damage you or something."
"Damage me?" Sam opened his mouth to laugh but the salty sweat made its way into his mouth and he swallowed his laughter and let out a groan.
"I mean permanently." Not like Sam wasn't a shishkebab already, and no telling what the damage the splinters did to Sam's legs. He did clean everything thoroughly, but field medicine was always just that…field medicine, first aid. Just something to bring you back from the edge of death and then…well…you go ahead from there.
Sam choked and closed his eyes, fingers digging strongly into the leather.
He really didn't want to talk about permanent damage with his brother, not now when he was bleeding to death, or so it seemed to him, from his legs and all the crickets had gone silent. Not ever, period.
"Just pull it out, god damnit!!!"
He couldn't talk anymore, he just whined, a low hitching whine that was almost like a cry.
"Okay, okay. Ready?"
Dean left out a breath and moved his hand to grip the end of the thin, hard wooden splinter that was sticking out above Sam's ankle but before his fingers even brushed the stick, Sam yelped.
The wind stopped.
"What're you doin'? Tears leaked out of Sam's eyes freely now, and he didn't care about anything any more. The Whiskey Dean offered to him awhile back was starting to loose its grip and he could feel everything. Every little vibration even if it was made miles away from his leg.
"Ah," Dean raised his eyebrows, "…what I need to do?!"
"Well don't, Jesus…God." Sam whined and let out a choked sob.
Just a slight touch of Dean's fingers to the stick made every nerve in Sam's body rise up and fall into fire. He can't do this, he can't.
He tried to rise up and run away, but a warm hand in the middle of his heaving chest stopped him.
"Whoah, Sam…lay back down."
Sam looked at his brother and flinched. The warm bloody hand that made a dark impression on Sam's black T-shirt right in the middle of his chest, made bile raise up in his throat.
Dean's eyes told volumes; more then words ever could.
"Just take it easy, would ya? Seriously Dean, man just…take it easy."
"First you want me to rip it out and now you want me to be gentle? Make up your mind, Sam." Dean smiled, but one look on Sam's flushed cheeks and sweaty hair, pain filled eyes and bobbing Adam's apple, Dean relented: "I'll be gentle, okay? I swear, now just lie down slowly before you fall down and bash your head. 'm not gonna be treating a concussion too, 'kay?"
He laid back down, and put his hands on his chest, that was moving rapidly up and down, his heartbeat so fast, it wasn't even beating anymore; it was just there.
Sam fumbled with his bracelet, the thin, black cord that was snuggled closely around his wrist. He couldn't see it in the darkness because it was black, everything was black…but behind closed eyes he could see it, black and soothingly wrapped around his wrist.
It was a solid mass under his fingertips, something he could focus his mind on, something real in the hell fire of pain.
"Yeah, go for it…" he panted out, not actually meaning it, but...it had to be done.
He could feel Dean's fingers approach the splinter, feel how they curled around the end of it, feel the slow, steady burn when Dean started to pull.
Sam gripped the bracelet: "Dean!!!!" feeling the burn intensify with each pull and drag Dean made: " ARGH!!!"
He almost ripped his bracelet with the force he tugged on it, the string eating itself into his wrist but in the end he relaxed, let it go and slipped into blissful nothingness.
"Sammy?" Dean asked into thin air.
He unwound Sam's long bony fingers from the bracelet, tugged his arms to rest by his sides and pulled him all the way into the car.
"Okay Sammy, the worst is over." Not really.