Spoilers: Nothing specific
Pairing: Slight Sam/Dean but can be read as Gen
Warning: Language and some preslash Wincest elements
Word Count: 890
Summary: "Only you’d sit on a friggin’ rattler, dude." How Sam's ass needed to be saved by his brother.
Author’s Notes: This isn’t the proper treatment for a rattlesnake bite. Consider that this is set in the SPN world where getting shot in the shoulder will just immobilize a person for a little while and by the next episode, you’re right as rain.
"After I do this, it never happened, got it?"
"Dean, will you do it now? Before I start convulsing?"
Dean sighed, flashing hot breath down Sam's back. "Only you'd sit on a friggin' rattler, dude."
What Dean did next, they won't speak about, as agreed, but all things considered it was...okay it was really weird. And it wasn't that bad. Sam decided he never needed to reveal that second thought ever. Because there are some things that just shouldn't be said.
Dean spat the venom on a wide cut of flat rock with unintended perfect aim. Bull's eye, the dead center, and Dean didn't even gloat about it.
"God." Dean looked like he wanted to shudder but the only thing that restrained him was his pride. Because Sam might not be allowed to talk about what made him shudder, but Sam would be free to mock Dean's reaction for the rest of their lives. And he would, with great relish.
"I had my mouth on my brother's ass." Dean left the and now I'm scarred for life unspoken but it weighed between them heavy as the late summer air.
Sam winced as he pulled his jeans up. Dean had been maybe too dedicated to getting all the venom out. Just a bit, if the dull throbbing pain in Sam's backside was any indication. He might've just, in fact, given Sam a hickey, one that'll be huge by tomorrow. An ass hickey. Really, that was just the icing on the cake to this day.
The last rays of the dying sunset, ones so bright they felt almost as strong as the sunlight of high noon, hit Sam right in the face when he turned to Dean. Squinting, Sam said, "Hey. Uh, thanks."
For a split second Sam thought Dean was about to do an Elvis impersonation. He curled his lip but said nothing as he wiped his mouth fiercely as though that could be a way of getting rid of memories. Scrubbing them out. Sam wondered if maybe he could make a Lady MacBeth reference to lighten the mood but decided against it when Dean finally responded.
"Man. The things you're grateful for. And you call me the freak."
Dean started walking back to the car, not asking if Sam needed any help. Which he didn't. Who wouldn't want to limp their way to a car with a spreading ass-hickey bruise?
"No, not a freak," Sam answered, overdoing his huffy you're so weird voice, knowing Dean would understand he's joking. "A short freak."
"Who just saved your ass." A beat passed before Dean realized his mistake. He turned around and said, "Aw, dammit. I didn't say that."
"At least you didn't sit on a rattlesnake," Sam offered as he tried to hide his slight limp. He'd ask if that snake was maybe a demonic snake, but there'd be no point as Dean had wasted the sucker the moment it had started to squirm away after attacking Sam's ass.
Dean had very strong opinions on snakes. It was something that had begun thanks to Indiana Jones and his fear of snakes, but Dean had never feared a snake, he just distrusted them the same way anyone with a functioning brain should distrust a scorpion. Then there was last week's decision to cool off at a rundown movie theater which had been playing Snakes on a Plane. That had furthered Dean's anti-plane stance and cemented his distrust of snakes. Although Sam did have to agree with Dean that the movie once again proved that Samuel L. Jackson was a real motherfuckin' badass.
They were close to the car, just within eyesight and Sam foolishly believed that this would be the end of it. Then the light, the light of doom, struck Dean's eyes. Some people would call it a twinkle in his eyes, but twinkles, unlike this light, weren't evil.
"The virtue of my ass is a-okay, but you, Sammy, you just gave up your ass."
This won't stop unless Sam killed it now. It would become a neverending running joke. Hey Sammy, I never took ya for an ass man, or Dude, see that girl there, she's totally got a thing for bruised ass, and always, Watch out Sam, don't fall on your ass, never know who's gonna take a bite!
Accepting the first aid kit from Dean, he dropped trou in front of his brother so Dean would have to get in the car and leave him alone. Sam settled for putting on a thick white bandage and taping it closed a bit sloppy in his rush to get it done. The bandage stayed put, which was all he needed for the moment. They had to find a hotel tonight anyways considering Dean had been muttering about a good long shower for the past ten hours.
When he'd gotten himself in more or less decent condition, Sam eased himself into the car, wincing when his ass made contact with the seat. Before Dean could make his next joke about Sam's snakebitten ass, Sam said, easy as anything, "Since I just gave up my ass to you, when are you going to return the favor?"
Dean sputtering for the next twenty miles was priceless. If he could, Sam would make a mix tape of that and be content to listen to it for hours on end.