It's Just a Scratch
Word: Scratch.
Word Count: 100.
I would contort myself all over the place to own them. Unfortunately that's not how it works...
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Sam twisted his arm behind him, fingered the gashes in the denim, eyed his bloodied reflection.
"Let me help," Dean pushed into the room.
"It's just scratched."
"Uh-huh…" A touch at his shoulder and somehow Sam's facing the dingy shower curtain, jacket on the floor.
"Dude, it's not that bad." He fidgeted as Dean pulled his ruined shirt off. "I've got it covered."
"And Cirque du Soliel's looking for a contortionist. This'll burn." Holy water and alcohol in the cuts, deep breaths through clenched teeth, antiseptic, bandages, and Dean's voice the whole way through, steady and soft and always there.