Enkidu07's Drabble Challenge
Prompt word: white
Word Count: I cheated on this one and wrote a triple drabble. 300 words on the dot.
Other players in the challenge are now too many to list here! There're lots of people swinging on the swings on this Supernatural playground. You can find the list of names at Enkidu07's profile page and/or OnyxMoonbeam's profile page. Also, to find all of the lovely drabbles, there's a sweet little C2 community out there to subscribe to and enjoy. You can find the link on their profile pages mentioned above.
Disclaimer: Neither the boys nor anything related to Supernatural belongs to me. I'm just having some fun with the boys, playing around with Eric Kripke's sandbox.
What's Black and White and Red All Over
By: Vanessa Sgroi
Dean blinked languorously at the ugly gash on his thigh, trying to decide whether black or the current white thread looked more obscene pulling the ragged edges of his flesh together. He frowned in fierce concentration. "Pink," he muttered, lifting his bleary gaze to Sam.
Sam finished the last stitch before looking up. "What?"
The older Winchester gestured vaguely toward the wound with his hand. "Pink thread would look worse than black or white."
"Ooookay." Sam placed a hand on Dean's forehead, frowning as he felt too much warmth for his liking.
"Purple too. And yellow. But red—red might not look too bad."
Sam cleaned the now-stitched laceration with the remaining holy water then gently smeared antibiotic ointment over the inflamed skin before covering it with gauze. After quickly washing his hands in the bathroom, Sam raided the first aid kit once more, victoriously brandishing two ibuprofen when he returned to Dean's side with a bottle of water. "Here—take these. They'll help with the fever."
"I d-don't have a fever," protested Dean groggily.
Sam wrapped his fingers around the back of his brother's neck, watched a shudder wrack through him.
"Dude, your fingers are freezing!" complained the older sibling.
"No. My fingers are fine. YOU have a fever. Take 'em."
For once, Dean docilely complied, relishing the cool feel of the water as it cascaded past his suddenly parched throat. When he finished, he sunk further down into the bed, eyes drooping. He sighed when Sam settled the blankets over his aching body. "So I can save all the girly pink thread for you?" he mumbled as gray fuzziness began to overtake both body and mind.
Sam rolled his eyes. Yep, fever. He's making no sense whatsoever. "Sure, Dean, you can save all the pink thread for me."