It's a short chapter. Sorry. Thinking of doing this in short instalments cause I'm lazy and should be doing uni work instead. Hope you enjoy!
Warnings: what I see as squeamish-y gross wound stuff. Also will be wincest, therefore incest trigger warning. Don't like, don't read. Please don't be rude or make obnoxious comments about it being "gross", they're consenting adults and rude people make me sad and highly irritated. Ciao xx
It was supposed to be just a routine hunt. Sneaking in during daylight through the loft of some derelict old barn the vamps had decided to haunt, garrotting the heads off the two camped up there before surprise attacking the three below. Sammy wasn't supposed to get jumped by some newly turned kid after all – or so they thought – the vamps were disposed of. Sammy wasn't supposed to have a hunk of his left oblique torn out by the serrated fangs of some newbie. And for the love of everything good, Dean wasn't supposed to let his little brother fall and get debris in the wound as he pounced on the little monster.
It just wasn't supposed to be like this.
The wound was infected. Skin swollen taut and shiny red around entry, edges puckered and slightly green as liquid oozed from its fleshy residence. The ER wasn't an option, obviously. Cas wasn't answering his prayers. And he didn't think whiskey and dental floss would cut it, this time, but in this dinky-ass town all medical supplies were hoarded by the hospital.
Dean swore as he paced back and forth in front of Sam's bed. How could he be so stupid to let Sammy get hurt on his watch? He should have known that that kid was tucked away under the haystack. He should've done something, anything, different, anything to stop his little brother from getting hurt.
He glanced over at the figure sprawled out on the scratchy comforter. Sam had stopped gushing blood a few hours ago on the drive back, but Dean hadn't anticipated an infection to take root so quickly, and to such an extent. At least he was unconscious for now…
Gritting his teeth, Dean knelt down next to his giant of a brother on the bed, bottle in one hand and needle and floss in the other. He delicately poured the alcohol onto the wound, ignoring the grunts and screeches it elicited, and commenced pushing the sides of the gash together.
"C'mon Sammy, work with me here," Dean grunted, eyes squinted in concentration.
Pushing the tip of the needle through Sam's skin was a horrific experience, even of itself. The taut skin resisted intrusion, and when it finally went through it did so with a shluck that had him cringing and his patient screaming, even in his state of unconsciousness. Tight, neat stitches had the wound pulled together, but Dean was worried. At the rate of swelling, they might just burst open and there'd be a whole new slew of shit to deal with. For now, he could only feed Sam anti-inflammatories and the strongest over-the-counter painkillers he could get at the candy store.
Watching like a hawk, Dean sat back to wait. And wait. And wait.
Sam was burning up, hot, dry skin radiating heat across a two foot radius, and Dean was running ragged trying to make sure the clothes were cool, unaided by the fact that within 30seconds they'd be hot to the touch. Sam's stitches hadn't yet burst, but the swelling hadn't gone down and it was leaking some yellowy-greenish liquid that reeked.
Dean pre-empted the inevitable and removed the stitches, sights set on draining the pus oozing from his brothers back. Making creative use of the various trashcans and enclosed shower caddy's provided by the motel, these various receptacles were soon filled with the discharge.
Finally, the liquid seemed to have stopped, and the skin not quite as shiny and swollen as it was, Dean poured more whisky on the site and sutured it back up.
12 hours passed and Sam's fever still hadn't broken, though the putrid pus hadn't returned. Dean was still poking a potent mixture of all sorts of medical goodies down Sam's throat when possible, but there was little else left to do but sit and wait for his brother to wake up.
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