Title: Blood, Sweat, and Sam: Shock.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
A/N: Happy birthday Soncnica! This is my contribution to the group project 'Blood, Sweat, and Sam' in belated honor of your birthday! Sam was captured and is left battered and bruised. Luckily big brother is on it and has him safe and sound back at the hotel. All that's left is some TLC.
"Shhhaking, Dean. Can't sto-oppp shhaking."
"I know. Try to relax." Dean tucks a rough blanket around Sam's pale chin. Takes a second to slide another pillow under his feet.
"Shhaking away. It's too cold." Sam pushes at Dean's hands. Dean stills his feeble attempts and tucks Sam's arms back to his sides, carefully avoiding putting pressure on the jagged lacerations that run along his arms.
"It's not that cold. You're going into shock. You have to calm down. You can pass out if you want to."
"How bad?" Worried eyes search Dean's.
"It's not bad. A few scrapes. You're a little dehydrated." Dean channels warmth and calmness into Sam's worried eyes.
Sam finally relaxes back and Dean starts to carefully rinse the dried blood from his arms. The hairs are matted together creating a rough coating over his skin.
"Ow." Sam jolts, whole body tensing.
"What'd she pull you through, anyway, a meat grinder?"
A laugh bursts out of Sam, then a tensing hiss, then he chuckles shakily into the blanket.
"Ooo-kay. Someone's a little punchy."
Dean cleans slowly, assesses the damage, mentally notes which of the wounds need to be bandaged, which will heal better left exposed to the air. Sam titters off and on, giddy exhaustion wrenching tears from his eyes.
"Deep breath, okay? Slow everything down. Breathe." Dean puts a hand over Sam's belly, rubs gently. Then he flicks the blanket aside a little to see if the scrapes on his torso are still oozing.
Sam breathes. Seems to pull himself together.
"Here, small sips. Let's get you hydrated."
Sam tries. Sips until he sputters and Dean lets him pull away.
"Good. You're good."
"Yeah. Sucks, dude. How're you feeling?"
"Ha. Yeah. Disinfectant next. Ready?"
"Okay. One more sip first." Dean pulls him up a little more, keeps a hand on Sam's nape while he drinks. His fingers glide through sweaty hair.
"No problem, Sam."
"No. I mean. Thanks. For finding me."
Dean looks up at Sam's hazy gaze. He's still breathing too heavy, intermittent shivers wrack his frame. He carefully doles out another sip of the electrolyte drink.
"Sam. Yeah. No problem."
"Yeah?" Dean lowers Sam back to the pillows, begins his rhythmic dabbing dance again, this time with alcohol instead of soap and water.
"Next time, find me before the meat grinder, okay?"
Dean grins and Sam finally passes out.