A/N: Ok, so here's number three... Once again, hope you enjoy my random ramblings :) And, as per usual, feedback appreciated! Eternal thanks to ohmygodnotthecar for great beta-ing and making me feel slightly less insane...
Please... DON'T be put off by the title of this one - NO WINCEST EVER.
Disclaimer: Believe me, I wish I owned them.
Fetish
"Hey Sammy. That's it – open your eyes. There you go. Had me worried for a bit there, dude."
Sam blinks furiously, trying to register exactly what Dean has just said. "D.. Dean?" His voice sounds shaky, unsure, and God, why does his head hurt so much? He puts a tentative hand to his forehead as he pushes himself up slowly from the floor, Dean's hands grabbing his arm, the same steadying force he's always been.
"Come on, man – sit down for a bit. That was some impact. The bookcase is not your friend, Sammy."
"Wha... bookcase? Gotta be... kidding." He groans as he lets his head fall forward into his hands, somehow hoping that if he presses hard enough he could maybe push the pain away. And not looking around the room helps with the weird spinning sensation.
"'Fraid not, Sam. That siren packed one hell of a punch." Dean feels Sam tense under his concerned touch – quickly reassures. "Don't worry, it's dealt with. One more evil son-of-a-bitch down." The relief and cocky arrogance both clear in his voice now, but he doesn't care. Sam's safe and that siren won't be killing anyone else now, that's for damn sure. Our work here is done.
But he allows the concerned expression to settle in once more as he gently lifts Sam's head, checks his eyes. "Ouch, yeah, that's a bitch of a concussion. We'll get you back to the motel, clean you up. As usual, Sammy – you look like shit."
"Yeah – thanks," comes the sardonic reply. Sam wishes he could think of something else to say, just one witty comeback, but his head's still spinning way too much.
Dean helps him out of the chair, walks right next to him all the way back out to the car, just in case. Sam settles in the passenger seat, knows enough not to close his eyes and try to sleep just yet. "Sammy,"starts Dean as he revs the engine and pulls out onto the road.
"Yeah, Dean, 'sokay – 'm not gonna go to sleep," Sam mumbles back.
"I know that, dude. I was just gonna say – I think maybe you should talk to someone. Like, a specialist, or something." He sees the look of confusion creasing Sam's brow, chuckles to himself as he finishes his thought. "'Cos this fetish of yours for evil chicks and destructive relationships, it's starting to get out of hand. I mean, Meg was kinda hot, but a siren?" A satisfied smirk spreads across his face, only made wider by the muttered, monosyllabic response from the passenger seat. "Jerk."
