COUNT ON ME
WOW: blunt.' Sam has his own way of dealing with those more - painful - jobs. Dean doesn't appreciate it quite as much as he should!
Disclaimer: I own nothing except for a twisted imagination and an overworked laptop.
'Blunt instruments inflict more pain'.
Laying on the bed, Dean vocally disputes that belief as he watches Sam hesitate queasily before removing the knife embedded in his shoulder.
"Born ready, do it."
Flexing long fingers, Sam swallows.
Hand braces Dean's shoulder, carefully grasps the knife handle.
Dean tenses, eyes squeezed closed.
A nod; Dean swallows a shuddering breath.
Chilly fingers clench the comforter beneath them
Dean bucks; looses a choking howl.
Thick gauze pad appears, Sam's muttered apologies are balm.
He's repaid with a murderous glare.
"What happened to three, bitch?"