PULSE POINT

WOW: Dawn. A troll hunt has gone horribly wrong leaving Dean in bad, bad straights (quelle surprise). Sam finds reassurance from an unexpected source. Wishing an awesome happy birthday to the lovely Laedieduske.

Disclaimer: I don't own them and trust me, no scabby troll would get within a mile of them if I did.

xxxxx

Sam could feel it.

Thrumming beneath his hand; beating a rapid, thready tattoo, the pulsing rhythm of Dean's life.

Echoing the fear in Sam's racing heartbeat.

The aortic pulse.

As blood from the tusk wound bisecting Dean's stomach pooled across the soft contours around it, glistening under the same dawn light that destroyed the trolls and soaking into the shirt Sam pressed against it, it stained Dean's pale, sweat-slicked skin and the shredded remains of his t-shirt.

Shocked muscles flexed weakly as Dean panted and fretted, and always there was that throbbing beat.

The beat of Dean's existence.

The beat of Sam's hope.

xxxxx

end