Disclaimer : Sam and Dean Winchester and all of Supernatural isn't mine. I'm only borrowing them temporarily. This writing is for pleasure only. No profit is intended.
A/N: This silly piece has been bouncing around my computer for way too long. In honor of tonight's premier, I thought I'd toss out the first part. I hope it lightens your day.
Piggy Back
"I'm gonna have to carry you."
"Over your dead body."
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. FIRST, if I was dead, I couldn't carry you anyway. And SECOND, if you kill me, you are going to sit here and rot until….well, you ROT!"
"Rotting is at least dignified."
"That does it!" And with that, Sam leaned over, grasped his brother's arm with an iron grip and hoisted the protesting man up into a rough fireman's carry. Dean screamed in anger, and not a little pain, while Sam bounced him slightly up and down to settle the 185 pounds of weight across his shoulders, clutching Dean's left arm and undamaged left leg. Dean's right leg was a mass of mangled wounds, tightly bound in strips of Sam's green flannel shirt. Blood welled through the cloth in a dozen spots and oozed sluggishly down toward the ground.
They had been arguing for the better part of an hour in the hot Florida sunshine, as Dean attempted to hobble one-legged back to the car. Apalachicola National Forest was not a place of easy breezes and palm tree studded beaches. It was mostly thick palmetto scrub. Half the plants wielded wicked thorns, the other half housed a multitude of stinging, or biting insects. Vines and gnarled roots covered the rutted and low rolling terrain. In short, it wasn't a place to 'hobble'
The hour of arguing was accompanied by a dozen foot snarls on vines, two face-plants from tripping on roots and one frantic fire ant stamping when the branch Dean used as a crutch sank six inches into a fire ant mound and became mired. The enraged insects swarmed up the wood and covered half of Dean's arm before they realized what had happened. Both boys were peppered with angry bites before they got clear of the bugs. At the end of the hour, Dean had sunk in exhaustion to sit on a half-rotten, mossy log casually flicking off spiders lodged in the wood. They had covered no more than a half mile in that hour.
Sam had paced back and forth, raging against the situation. It had to be nearly 100 degrees and 1,000% humidity. Death Valley was cooler than this place! Mothmen didn't really exist. Or Skunk Apes. Or any other stupid-ass creature Dean had come up with as a sorry excuse for a hunt. Didn't Dean realize that not only was his leg mangled from the rusty metal of that animal trap, but his leg was probably broken as well? Maybe the bone was crushed! Hell, he'd probably have to amputate the damn thing later using only a pocket knife and string. And did he mention that it was scalding hot out here? Sam raged on and on scratching furiously at the white pimpled fire ant bites on the back of his hand and swatting mosquitoes.
After one particularly nasty slap against his neck, Sam grimaced that the blood-smeared insect goo on his palm, wiped the mess off on his leg, declared his intent and hoisted Dean roughly up. Fury drove his strength to new heights, as Sam stormed through the woods toward where the Impala was stashed, ten or more miles away.
It was actually more like twenty.
For the first full five minutes of the trek, Dean could do nothing more, from his rather upside down position, than cling Sam's torso and swear. Creatively. Pointedly. Vigorously. Body parts were threatened in meticulous detail. Still Sam strode on.
The next five minutes were consumed with evil little paybacks drawn from memory of their childhood and teenage years. First, Dean tried to jam a knuckle into Sam's backbone and run it up and down the spine. Unfortunately, Sam's tremendous stride made steady pressure difficult, not to mention impossible when Sam ran Dean's head through a patch of really tall weeds on purpose.
Then Dean jabbed the fingers of his free hand into Sam's armpit from behind groping to find the one spot that ought to have his brother writhing in tickle-agony. Sam merely clutched his arm to his side so hard that after a minute of pressure, Dean's fingers started to go numb. And Sam's armpit was really, really sweaty. Grossed out, Dean pried his digits back wiping them off on Sam's shirt.
That's when he noticed it. Tired blue boxers were peaking out of back of Sam's jeans. Using whatever leverage against Sam's iron grip holding him on his shoulder, Dean grasped a handful of cloth and yanked. Hard. It was the mother of all wedgies.
With a snarl, Sam stopped abruptly, managed to transfer his grip on Dean's arm and leg to one hand and with lightning speed and accuracy, reached up over his shoulder to grasp the back of Dean's own pants and pulled just as hard. Twice. Dean gasped in response stunned by the combo wedgies and shoulder in his groin. The sensation was enough make him stop thinking about the pain in his leg. Sam quickly adjusted his own pants and moved forward again, muttering under his breath.
Dean's head bounced in time with Sam's steps. He was really reaching his limit. He hurt, he couldn't manage to unwedge his own boxers, and now all his blood was rushing to his head making him feel sick.
"Sam"
The ground continued to rush past.
"Sam"
Cicadas sang a storm of music in the dense thicket.
"Sam"
More palmettos. More blackberries. More tall grass.
"Sam"
Dean wondered if he could find enough blackberries to make a pie. He loved pie. His leg hurt and he deserved pie, never mind that he had never made a blackberry pie before. Or had an oven. Maybe he would just buy a blackberry pie. He wouldn't let Sam have any.
"Sam"
Oh look, a rabbit.
"Sam. I'm going to be sick."
More palmettos. Was that a snake?
"Really Sam, one more step and I'm going to puke right down your leg."
Then Dean realized that he meant it. He was going to be sick. The ground moved queasily below him.
"Sammy." Dean wheezed. "Please."
The motion stopped. The world twisted and turned and suddenly he was staring at blue skies peaking through tall pines. Sam's sweat-streaked and worried face came into focus. His brother was panting from exertion and the heat. Dean could count five mosquito bites on Sam's cheeks.
"Dean? You ok?"
A warm, plastic bottle of water appeared in front of his face. Dean drank gratefully, wishing it was cold. "Thanks." Slowly his stomach settled as he sipped. "That's better."
Sam heaved a sigh and plopped down next to him. He accepted the overly warm water with a similar grimace. Sam stank, but Dean didn't mind. Sam took a sip of water and passed back the bottle.
Dean took his own sip. "You win." He passed the bottle again.
"What?" Sam drank again.
"You heard me. You win. I'll let you carry me, just so long as I'm upright. Damn leg is killing me." Levering himself up on one elbow, Dean took back the bottle, finished it off and looked critically at his leg. He wondered idly if it really was broken. Sure hurt enough. Broken would suck.
Sam took the empty bottle and crammed it in his light backpack. Dean could see that there were two more full bottles in there and a pulverized sleeve of saltines. Fat, round peanut M&Ms rolled in the bottom freely. The bag must have burst. He reached in and wrangled up a handful of candies before Sam zipped the bag shut. Sharing half, both brothers crunched in silence. Sam looked thoughtful. Dean dreaded the outcome.
"Piggyback." Sam said, scratching at his face.
"Excuse me?" Dean replied incredulously. "And stop scratching. You know that only makes the itching worse."
Sam rolled his eyes, but left the bites alone. For a minute. "I'm gonna have to carry you piggy-back."
"Piggyback?"
"Piggyback. As in you're the piggy and I carry you on my back."
"What are we? Five?"
"You're five!"
"Real mature there, Samatha."
"What's your problem? It's just a name."
"A lame, girly name! I want something more...manly."
"Fine. Manly it is. Back to the fireman's carry!"
"No. Sam, no!" Dean shuddered. " And leave those bites the hell alone! Do you want craters in your face!"
"You have craters in your face!"
"You wished you had my face!"
"Ow! Why'd you slap me?"
"I told you to quit scratching! Now you are making me want to scratch."
"Jerk!"
"Bitch!"
Both brothers glared at each other, mosquitoes buzzing in their ears. Nearby, a red rat snake slithered in the weeds, capturing both their attention. They watched for several minutes as it smoothly disappeared into the scrub.
"We'll probably die of snake-bite long before we make it back." Dean took the backpack and settled it on his own back.
"Don't be stupid. That wasn't a venomous snake. It didn't have a triangular shaped head." Sam climbed to his feet, extending one hand to Dean.
Dean took the proffered hand and carefully hoisted himself up onto his good leg with a grunt. "Not all poisonous snakes have those," he huffed. "Could be deadly."
Sam took Dean's arm on his good side and shouldered it. Carefully, he helped his brother hop over to the nearest pine to brace against, agilely avoiding another ant mound. "I don't know if that snake is poisonous, but it's definitely not venomous. Here, I'll crouch down for you. Can you jump at all?" Sam waited for Dean's nod before turning around to crouch in front of his brother.
"Lower, Sasquatch."
Sam crouched some more.
"Jeeze, could you not be so tall!"
He dropped another inch.
"Planes can fly lower than you are getting. Come on, Sam!"
Sam dropped another couple of inches. His knees both cracked loudly as Sam swore a very bad word.
"You look like a giant toad." With that Dean heaved himself up and onto Sam's broad back.
In his mind, Dean just knew he had leapt two, maybe three feet. Plenty of height to climb on his little brother's back. Graceful as a gazelle.
What really happened was he lurched up a couple of inches, just enough to clutch at Sam's shoulders and wrap his legs around his brother's very narrow hips as the man stood. It was like wrapping around a fire station pole. There was only one way from there, down.
And down he went. Slowly, painfully, and with great embarrassment, Dean slid down his brother's long body until he thumped back onto the ground. Unfortunately for the both of them, Dean's face ended up right in Sam's...
"Dude!"
Sam leapt forward with a what-the-hell expression on his face, bumping Dean's bad leg on the way. Dean gasped in pain and clutched at his leg
"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry..." Sam trailed off gingerly peeling back the bloody bandages. He hissed in sympathy at Dean's pained grunt. The gashes were inflamed, but not bleeding. The whole mess really needed a thorough cleaning. Sam mentally checked Dean's vaccination records for the last tetanus shot. Back at Stanford, a pysch professor once described Sam's way of remember things as having a mental filing cabinet. She said Sam had nearly an eidetic memory. But instead of just remember a visual imprint, Sam had a curious combination of sight and smell.
"2001," Sam muttered.
"2001, what?" Dean gritted, slapping Sam's hands away.
"Your last tetanus shot. Looks like you are getting another hit in the ass." Sam shifted back on his haunches. He had to find a better way to get Dean on his back. Maybe if he got on all fours.
"You're going to get hit in the ass! No one is touching my ass! It's a needle free zone."
Sam just stared.
"I'm serious, Sam. No shots."
Sam continued to stare unblinking, a cloud of gnats forming around his head. Dean stared back hoping against hope that the gnats wouldn't find him, too. Sam was silently willing the gnats to attack Dean. In the end, they both lost. In seconds, both brothers had gnats swimming in their eyes. Sam won the argument.
"Lock-jaw," Sam sneered, one eye twitching. One breath later, "Cheeseburgers."
"Argh! Fine! Fine, I'll get the damned shot." Dean tore his eyes away in defeat, rubbing furiously. "I hate Florida. Love cheeseburgers, but hate Florida."
Sam laughed and pulled himself to his feet, offering a steadying hand to Dean. "That's not what you said last weekend on St George Island. I thought you wanted to move there, retire and watch bikini babes all day." Privately, Sam loved the pure beauty of the white sand beaches and mounds of sea oats, so different from the California beaches he frequented with Jess.
"Well, I've changed my mind," Dean grumbled hoping a slow turn around. "Here, help me up on this log. Maybe that'll help."
Sam looked at the log dubiously, wondering if it would hold his brother's weight. With a shrug, maneuvered Dean over to the least decomposed section and practically lifted him up onto the log. A small, green lizard darted away.
Dean clutched Sam's shoulder for balance as he carefully hopped on his good leg. After settling a minute, he gave a nod to Sam, who slowly turned, crouched and presented his back.
"Here goes nothing..."
With that, Dean firmly gripped his brother's shoulders and pulled Sam a little back toward himself. Sam grunted and obliged by inching back. Dean lifted his bad leg and carefully attempted to wrap it around his brother's slim hip. Sam grabbed firmly under the thigh and held it steady. So far, so good.
"On three." Dean gave a nod, wiping the sweat off his forehead with him arm.
"One." Sam braced himself.
"Two." Dean flexed his good leg for the launch.
"Three."
The science behind what happened next was easy to calculate in the aftermath. The resultant downwards force in pounds per square inch of a 185 pound man leaping with one leg far exceeded the structural integrity of one rotting pine log, riddled with termites and other creepy crawlies.
Dean leapt. The log crumbled. Instead of pulling the rest of his body onto Sam's back, Dean instead slammed awkwardly with said pounds per square inch, directly into the small of Sam's back, causing a domino effect. Sam shot forward while still clutching Dean's leg, his feet snarled in the log debris.
And down they went.
tbc...
A/N My teenage daughter's favorite come-back is to simply shoot back the same comment as a snark. I had imagined that Dean would do the same to an exasperated Sam.
"Any thoughts? I'd love to hear from you :) Surplus
