Spn fic! Helpless / teen!Chesters / PG
Jan. 27th, 2008 03:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withimpunityTitle: Helpless
Pairing/Characters: Teen!Dean and tween!Sammy (16, 12)
Rating: PG
Summary: Hunting he could handle; find the demon, fight the demon, kill the demon. He couldn’t fight this.
Words: 1010
A/n: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
roseganymede who’s feeling sickly and wanted some big brothers taking care of sick little brothers comment fic. Also, my first actual SPN fiction. O_O
Dean paced the balcony of the motel room; back and forth, back and forth, puffing nervously on the cheap cigarette he held between shaky fingers. He wished Dad would hurry up and get home, but he didn’t know why. It’s not like he didn’t know how to take care of Sam when he was sick, he’d done it plenty of times before. Gave him his medicine, checked his temperature every hour, made sure he got plenty of rest, and ate lots of canned soup and drank a buttload of Gatorade. Still, he wished Dad was here to tell him what to do. Calm his nerves.
“How ya feeling, Sammy?” He came back inside and sat on the edge of Sammy’s bed, touching the back of his hand to Sam’s forehead. “Christ, I could fry an egg on your head, kid.”
“That would be messy,” Sammy muttered, eyelids twitching even though they were still closed. His face was so damn pale, reminding Dean a little too much of a corpse. No, he stopped that thought before it had a chance to go further. Sammy’s going to get better. It’s just the flu.
He hated feeling so helpless, just sitting there watching Sammy tossing and turning in the bed, twisting the sheets around his body, whimpering and moaning into his pillow like he was being tortured. Hunting he could handle; find the demon, fight the demon, kill the demon. He couldn’t fight this; it made his hands itch, curl into a fist and want to hit something, made his fingers ache to wrap around cool metal and squeeze, hear that deafening, satisfying bang, feel the tingle reverberate through his hands and up his arms.
“Dean,” Sammy moaned, barely loud enough for Dean to hear as he writhed in the bed, his body fighting off the one hundred and two fever as hard as it could.
“What is it, Sammy?” Dean asked, leaning over Sam’s bed so he could hear him.
“C-cold,” Sam stuttered and Dean could feel his body trembling beneath the covers. “I'm gonna die, aren't I, Dean?"
Normally Dean would have laughed, threw his head back and snorted and told Sammy to stop being such a wuss, but the fear in Sammy’s voice was real, and instead of making Dean’s body shake with laughter, it shook with something else. “Scoot over,” he said gruffly, pulling the covers back to crawl into the bed with his brother. He wrapped the sheets and quilt tightly around Sam and pulled him against his chest, feeling the sweat begin to bead on his skin as Sammy’s fever spread through him like a wildfire.
“Listen to me,” He said, lips grazing the top of Sammy’s head as he spoke, holding Sammy’s shaking, trembling body in his strong arms. “You are not going to die. You’ve got a fever and you’re body is just trying to fight it off, Sam. You’re going to be fine.”
Sam moaned softly, painfully, and writhed against him. “Don’t know that,” He muttered.
Dean reached down and pinched Sam’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, making him look up at him. “Nothing is going to happen to you, Sammy,” He said, maybe a little firmer than he’d meant. It almost sounded Sammy wasn‘t the only one he was trying to convince. “I won’t let anything happen to you, ever.”
Sammy turned his head, letting it fall into the curve of Dean’s palm. He hummed pleasantly, Dean’s skin a cool welcome to his scorching face. “Mmm, love you, Dean,” Sammy murmured, eyes closed, half-delusional from the fever. He pushed his hands under the hem of Dean’s old Zeplin shirt, sighing at the coolness of his skin. The heat spread from the tips of Sammy’s fingers all the way up Dean’s body, making him feel like he was the one with the fever. He almost wished he was.
“That better?” Dean asked, noticing the way Sammy had become quiet and still in the bed, fingers and hands searching out new patches of cool skin where his hands hadn’t already been.
“Yeah,” Sammy muttered. “M’hot again.”
Dean didn’t hesitate, pulling away from Sam for a moment to tug his shirt off over his head, letting Sammy cool his face on his bare skin. He closed his eyes, pushing his fingers through Sam’s shaggy brown hair as Sam pressed his cheek against his chest.
“Thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump, thump,” Sammy mumbled almost incoherently, memorizing the pattern of Dean’s beating heart as his fingers traced over Dean’s ribs. “Pretty, Dean.”
“What’s that, Sammy?” Dean asked, his fingers stilling in Dean’s hair.
“Pretty,” Sam murmured, turning his head so that his lips brushed across Dean’s warming flesh. “Wish I was pretty like you.”
“What are you talking about, Sammy?” Dean asked, cupping his little brother’s face in his hand, turning his face to look at him.
“Everybody likes you better,” Sam mumbled, turning away from Dean, his words melding together as he spoke, only half-conscious of what he was saying as he tried to press his face against Dean’s chest again.
“That’s not true, Sam,” Dean said firmly, taking hold of Sammy’s shoulder to force him to look at him. Sam’s groggy eyes rolled up, peering at him through light brown fringe that had fallen over his eyes, pink tongue darting out to lick dry, chapped lips; Dean sucked in a breath of air. “Jesus, Sammy. You’re beautiful.”
Sammy cocked his head to the side, like a puppy who didn’t quite understand his command, as Dean slid his fingers into his hair again and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Sammy’s moist forehead. Sammy whimpered and wrapped his arms around Dean’s body, leaving no space between them.
“M’cold again, Dean,” he whined, nose brushing against Dean’s collarbone as he shivered in his brother’s arms.
“S’all right, Sammy,” Dean whispered, lips moving over mousy brown hair. “I’ve got you.”
He listened as Sammy’s breathing slowed and he finally stilled on the pillow, whispering something to Dean with his eyes closed right before he fell asleep. Dean wasn’t sure, but he thought it might’ve been thank you.
Pairing/Characters: Teen!Dean and tween!Sammy (16, 12)
Rating: PG
Summary: Hunting he could handle; find the demon, fight the demon, kill the demon. He couldn’t fight this.
Words: 1010
A/n: For
roseganymede who’s feeling sickly and wanted some big brothers taking care of sick little brothers comment fic. Also, my first actual SPN fiction. O_O Dean paced the balcony of the motel room; back and forth, back and forth, puffing nervously on the cheap cigarette he held between shaky fingers. He wished Dad would hurry up and get home, but he didn’t know why. It’s not like he didn’t know how to take care of Sam when he was sick, he’d done it plenty of times before. Gave him his medicine, checked his temperature every hour, made sure he got plenty of rest, and ate lots of canned soup and drank a buttload of Gatorade. Still, he wished Dad was here to tell him what to do. Calm his nerves.
“How ya feeling, Sammy?” He came back inside and sat on the edge of Sammy’s bed, touching the back of his hand to Sam’s forehead. “Christ, I could fry an egg on your head, kid.”
“That would be messy,” Sammy muttered, eyelids twitching even though they were still closed. His face was so damn pale, reminding Dean a little too much of a corpse. No, he stopped that thought before it had a chance to go further. Sammy’s going to get better. It’s just the flu.
He hated feeling so helpless, just sitting there watching Sammy tossing and turning in the bed, twisting the sheets around his body, whimpering and moaning into his pillow like he was being tortured. Hunting he could handle; find the demon, fight the demon, kill the demon. He couldn’t fight this; it made his hands itch, curl into a fist and want to hit something, made his fingers ache to wrap around cool metal and squeeze, hear that deafening, satisfying bang, feel the tingle reverberate through his hands and up his arms.
“Dean,” Sammy moaned, barely loud enough for Dean to hear as he writhed in the bed, his body fighting off the one hundred and two fever as hard as it could.
“What is it, Sammy?” Dean asked, leaning over Sam’s bed so he could hear him.
“C-cold,” Sam stuttered and Dean could feel his body trembling beneath the covers. “I'm gonna die, aren't I, Dean?"
Normally Dean would have laughed, threw his head back and snorted and told Sammy to stop being such a wuss, but the fear in Sammy’s voice was real, and instead of making Dean’s body shake with laughter, it shook with something else. “Scoot over,” he said gruffly, pulling the covers back to crawl into the bed with his brother. He wrapped the sheets and quilt tightly around Sam and pulled him against his chest, feeling the sweat begin to bead on his skin as Sammy’s fever spread through him like a wildfire.
“Listen to me,” He said, lips grazing the top of Sammy’s head as he spoke, holding Sammy’s shaking, trembling body in his strong arms. “You are not going to die. You’ve got a fever and you’re body is just trying to fight it off, Sam. You’re going to be fine.”
Sam moaned softly, painfully, and writhed against him. “Don’t know that,” He muttered.
Dean reached down and pinched Sam’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, making him look up at him. “Nothing is going to happen to you, Sammy,” He said, maybe a little firmer than he’d meant. It almost sounded Sammy wasn‘t the only one he was trying to convince. “I won’t let anything happen to you, ever.”
Sammy turned his head, letting it fall into the curve of Dean’s palm. He hummed pleasantly, Dean’s skin a cool welcome to his scorching face. “Mmm, love you, Dean,” Sammy murmured, eyes closed, half-delusional from the fever. He pushed his hands under the hem of Dean’s old Zeplin shirt, sighing at the coolness of his skin. The heat spread from the tips of Sammy’s fingers all the way up Dean’s body, making him feel like he was the one with the fever. He almost wished he was.
“That better?” Dean asked, noticing the way Sammy had become quiet and still in the bed, fingers and hands searching out new patches of cool skin where his hands hadn’t already been.
“Yeah,” Sammy muttered. “M’hot again.”
Dean didn’t hesitate, pulling away from Sam for a moment to tug his shirt off over his head, letting Sammy cool his face on his bare skin. He closed his eyes, pushing his fingers through Sam’s shaggy brown hair as Sam pressed his cheek against his chest.
“Thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump, thump,” Sammy mumbled almost incoherently, memorizing the pattern of Dean’s beating heart as his fingers traced over Dean’s ribs. “Pretty, Dean.”
“What’s that, Sammy?” Dean asked, his fingers stilling in Dean’s hair.
“Pretty,” Sam murmured, turning his head so that his lips brushed across Dean’s warming flesh. “Wish I was pretty like you.”
“What are you talking about, Sammy?” Dean asked, cupping his little brother’s face in his hand, turning his face to look at him.
“Everybody likes you better,” Sam mumbled, turning away from Dean, his words melding together as he spoke, only half-conscious of what he was saying as he tried to press his face against Dean’s chest again.
“That’s not true, Sam,” Dean said firmly, taking hold of Sammy’s shoulder to force him to look at him. Sam’s groggy eyes rolled up, peering at him through light brown fringe that had fallen over his eyes, pink tongue darting out to lick dry, chapped lips; Dean sucked in a breath of air. “Jesus, Sammy. You’re beautiful.”
Sammy cocked his head to the side, like a puppy who didn’t quite understand his command, as Dean slid his fingers into his hair again and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Sammy’s moist forehead. Sammy whimpered and wrapped his arms around Dean’s body, leaving no space between them.
“M’cold again, Dean,” he whined, nose brushing against Dean’s collarbone as he shivered in his brother’s arms.
“S’all right, Sammy,” Dean whispered, lips moving over mousy brown hair. “I’ve got you.”
He listened as Sammy’s breathing slowed and he finally stilled on the pillow, whispering something to Dean with his eyes closed right before he fell asleep. Dean wasn’t sure, but he thought it might’ve been thank you.
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Date: 2008-01-29 02:28 am (UTC)Oh, I am SO going to the special hell. Least I've got good company, right?
And yes, this isn't nearly as dirty-fun, but you need to go read it: Tutorial (http://samdean.archive.nu/viewstory.php?sid=1356). The Petrelli brothers teach the Winchester brothers a lil' something <3