for hoodietime's tage challenge: repressed memories.
1. sam's first stitches.
"Hold him down, Dean." John's hands are shaking, slipping in his youngest son's blood. It's everywhere.
"N-no, seriously, Dad. We need a hospital. This is really bad."
Sam is thirteen and this is not how his first real hunting trip is supposed to end. The floor of the tent is slick and red, the lantern light casting dark shadows.
He can hear Sam's teeth chattering and fuck, no- his brother's hand grabs at his leg and squeezes.
"S'okay, Sammy. Dad, please."
"Damn it, Dean. We don't have time to drive. He wouldn't make it."
Which is, of course, something you want to say in front of the patient. Sam's eyes flicker to his brother, who grimaces and rubs a reassuring hand across his chest.
It takes them almost two hours to get home, even with John laying into the gas pedal as much as the country highways will allow.
It takes twelve stitches to close up the hole in Sam's leg.
It takes a fucking lot out of him, is what it takes, so he does his best to forget and move on. The memory is pushed to the back of his mind, and becomes fuel for his nightmares.