Word Count: 300
Prompt Word: Steady
Extra: I know this is a bit long but I just had to get this idea down and it refused anything less than 300 words! Also, this is a belated birthday drabble for Woodburner. Not as much brotherly bonding or Sammy to the rescue as I would have liked, but I didn't want to go another one hundred words over!
AND this is set when Sam is 15ish and Dean is 19ish
It's one thing to get hit by a car, but another to fly into a stationary one.
It had begun like always –
"Ready, steady... go!" Identical grins flickered and they were off, scaling the junk in the Singer Salvage Yard to reach some designated pile of scrap – the finishing line, the podium.
Just on rule: don't touch the ground.
Five minutes in and Sam groaned, sweeping the hair from his eyes to get a better look. Dean had made it – there he was, taking his last leap onto the top of a burnt-out vehicle. The burnt-out vehicle.
Roaring in euphoric delight, Dean called across to his little brother, caught in some tricky dead-end tower of trash. "Hey, Captain Slow!" He yelled, doing a crude victory dance (the only time dancing was ever acceptable), "When you finally get your sorry ass over here, you can kiss–"
Dean slipped; a sickening metallic thud, then another; the crisp smash of glass, a soft groan – wicked silence.
Sam jumped down, running over the dusty earth towards Dean shouting his name, the golden rule broken, forgotten.
A whispered, "over here," was all he needed to find him, spread-eagled on the hood of a car; a spider-web shatter on the windshield, spreading outwards from where Dean's head had connected.
"Help me up would ya, Sammy?" Dean murmured; wracked with tremors as he reached out to his little brother.
Sam was on him in a second, holding him down with a firm gentleness. "Dean, no... don't move." His eyes flashed to where the glass fragments shone like rubies. His stomach lurched. "I'm getting Bobby."
"No." Dean said; the words strangely pleading. "Call him. Left pocket."
"But it's only–"
"Stay here."
"I–"
"Please, Sammy."
Sam nodded. He understood.
Dean smiled; aching, grateful.
"'Still won though."