Written for the h/c meme at livejournal community spn_hurtcomfort.
Prompt: Sam, Dean (gen): Sam and Dean are in a car accident and Dean is more worried about the damage to the car than the damage to himself, even though he's actually quite badly hurt.
Deer on the Hood
The first thing Dean was aware of was a blinding headache, making him stifle a groan. He lifted a hand to rub at his aching forehead only for it to bump into an arm. After some deliberation, he decided it wasn't his own and he forced his eyes open.
"Jesus, Dean. Dean? You in there?" Sam said, his face swimming in and out of focus. Dean squinted and blinked to clear his vision; tried to orient himself. They were in the car. Sam seemed okay, and had his hand on the side of Dean's head to angle his face, apparently to get a good look at the bump that Dean could literally feel growing out of his forehead. Outside it was pitch dark and the rain was pelting on the roof. Something was obscuring the hood. Jesus Christ!
"Jesus fucking Christ," Dean muttered, pushing Sam's hand away and straightening up in his seat. He remembered. "That fucking deer hit my car!"
"I think we hit it, actually," Sam said, looking at Dean with a worried frown. The hand he'd had on Dean's head looked sticky red.
"That yours?" Dean asked, while raising a hand to his head to feel at the damage. Not too bad, he thought, touching the raised cut, though he felt blood run thick over his fingers. Head wounds tended to bleed like a son of a bitch. He swiped the blood on his pants.
"All yours," Sam says. "You slammed into the steering wheel. I braced myself in time."
"Okay," Dean breathed, reaching for the door handle. Sam was all right, so he could focus on his next priority.
"What're you doing?" Sam asked disbelievingly and grabbed for Dean's arms. "You're gushing blood!"
Dean fended off Sam's hands and opened the door. "'m fine, you little wuss," he said. "Gotta check out the car." He pushed himself up and out and lost a few seconds to darkness before he could blink his vision clear. Perspective was lower than he'd imagined as he found himself on his knees, a hand still clutching the car handle tight.
"Shit, Dean." Sam appeared next to him, his hand under Dean's arm to help him to his feet. Dean's head was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, the blood rushing in his ears.
"Motherfucker," he muttered, looking around Sam's shoulder.
"I told you to stay put," Sam bitched.
"Jesus fuck, just look at it," Dean moaned, taking in the dead animal lying on the hood, its legs sticking out. He could see the cracked windshield angling out behind it. The fender didn't look too hot either. He dreaded seeing the hood. "Shit motherfucking christ fucking deer fuck!"
"Dean, can't I just check you out before you check out the car?" Sam asked, exasperated.
Dean ignored him. "Help me get it off. Can't see anything like this. You grab the back."
"Dammit Sammy, will you stop saying my name and just grab the motherfucking ass of that motherfucking deer!"
Sam pushed both hands through his sopping hair, making it stick up like he was a demented porcupine, looked for a moment like he would scream, then dropped his arms. "Fine. Whatever. What do I care?" He stomped to the other side of the car. Dean heard a distinct "fucking stubborn moron" but chose to ignore it. All the yelling was making his brain leak out of his ears, and he was so tired he could just–
Dean rubbed at the side of his face. He couldn't feel what was rain and what was blood anymore, but his vision was starting to swim in a familiar way, like when he'd been clocked over the head by that Rawhead with the stick and ended up–
"Dean, look at this!" came Sam's distracted voice.
Dean shook his head – bad decision as stars peppered his vision – but managed to grope around the car to see what had Sam's panties in a bunch. Confused, he stared at the little deer – baby deer? calf? – that Sam was kneeling next to and petting.
"I think we killed it's mother," Sam said, turning wide, freaking doe eyes to Dean.
"Aw Jesus, Sammy," Dean moaned, wiping rainy blood out of his eyes. "Just leave it and help me get this sucker off the car. Then we can get off this godforsaken road and to a fucking garage."
"We can't just leave it here," Sam said, scandalized. "It's too young to survive. It'll die."
"Put a bullet in it then," Dean barked, knowing even without the ability to focus what the wounded expression on Sam's face would look like. The little thing balked forlornly.
"Aw, fucking hell," Dean muttered, pinching his nose between the eyes before stumbling blindly back around the car. He grabbed on to the roof and leaned on his arms. Sam's face was a pale smudge in the dark.
"Fine. You get junior in the backseat, I'll get momma off my car, and let's never talk of this again," Dean grunted, clutching to the side of the car as he swayed on his feet.
"Shit, Dean, you look worse," Sam said, his worry shifting from the tiny creature back to his brother. "Just sit down already. Let me just…"
"Oh, shut up, Sam!" Dean slurred and pushed himself off the car. In two seconds he'd gritted his teeth and shoved the dead deer off his baby. Less than two more and his head had exploded, he leaned over sideways to puke up everything he'd eaten that day, and felt himself faceplant into the mud. Fuck this shit, Dean thought, and checked out.
When he next opened his eyes he was on his side in the backseat, bundled in a dry blanket with a ripped-up shirt wrapped around his head and a little, fast-breathing body warming his belly. His head was pounding and he knew it was going to be one hell of a concussion. Shutting his eyes, he pretended he'd never woken up, and that his arm had wrapped itself around the little creature by itself.