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spn_summergen2016-08-28 12:04 pm
summergen-mod.livejournal.com) wrote in spn_summergen2016-08-28 12:04 pm
Fragility, for a_diamond
Title: Fragility
Recipient: a_diamond
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1451
Characters: Sam, Dean, Cas
Warnings: minor injuries
Summary: After a hunt, human!Cas discusses with Sam and Dean what it's like to be injured. How do humans deal with their fragile bodies?
A/N: This turned into more of a rumination than an exact fill of a prompt, but I hope it meets the spirit of what you were looking for!
"How do humans deal with being so fragile?"
Sam didn't look up from where he was rubbing a washcloth over Castiel's arm, trying to make sure he'd gotten all of the gravel out of the flesh. "We're actually pretty strong," he said. "I mean, for one, women have to be in order to give birth, right? And guys, I guess we just tough it out."
"But knowing all of the time that at any second, it could all be ripped away from you." Castiel winced as Sam came across a tiny piece of rock and gently pulled it out with tweezers before setting it on the formica tabletop. "How do you deal with it?"
"I suppose it's why a lot of people seek out religion," Sam replied. He gave the washcloth one more pass and reached for the gauze. "Most of them don't realize it, though. I mean, they don't think about it like that because their lives aren't in danger on a regular basis."
"Because we're awesome," Dean called out from where he was lying on the bed, icepack on his forehead.
"Shut up and keep resting," Sam shot over his shoulder.
"It's just a bump, man."
"You went head first into a tree," Sam ground out from between his teeth.
"That is what I mean," Castiel said, raising his free arm to point in Dean's direction. "You encounter injuries like that over and over again, both of you, but the human body was not made to withstand that kind of treatment on a regular basis."
"I'm just made exceptionally well," Dean smirked.
"Shut up," Sam said again. He laid the gauze over Castiel's arm and neatly taped it in place. "There," he said, checking one more time on the butterfly bandage over Castiel's right eyebrow. "Were you hurt anywhere else?"
"My arm took the brunt of the fall," Castiel replied. His normally pristine white shirt was shredded on the right side, his trenchcoat stained and ripped. "I would have appreciated more advance warning before being pushed to the ground, but I understand that the situation can change rapidly on a hunt."
"No kidding," Sam muttered. He leaned back and grabbed the second washcloth he'd brought over, going to work on the gash on his forearm where the blood had already dried.
"Do you want me to help?" Castiel asked.
"No, it's fine, I've got it," he said.
"You are accustomed to this sort of thing," he said, waving at the wrappers of gauze and bandages on the tabletop. "Patching yourself up. Patching each other up."
"Years of experience," Sam replied.
"But you still feel anger when your brother saves your life?"
Sam glared at him. "That's not why I'm angry."
"I believe the obscenities you were spouting as you drove us back here coincided with him taking the blow meant for you," Castiel replied.
"Astute observation," Dean drawled from the bed.
Sam gritted his teeth. Another shut up probably wasn't going to do any good, so maybe he could just ignore Dean. "I'm angry because he stepped in front of me, yes. He got hurt for me when he didn't have to."
"You would rather than you were hurt instead."
Sam held up his arm, showing the two long, parallel scratches from wrist to elbow. Castiel tilted his head to the side in acknowledgment, and Sam resumed cleaning away the dried blood.
"You still took care of him before yourself."
"Head injuries can be serious," Sam replied. "And my arm had stopped bleeding, anyway."
"How will you know if Dean's head wound is serious or not?" Castiel asked.
"Well, he was knocked out, but only for a few seconds. Otherwise, we would have gone to the hospital."
"Takes more than a horny owl to put me down for long," Dean called. "Though the level of pink in this room might do me in if we have to stay here too much longer."
Sam sighed. No matter how many times he'd explained that it was a horned owl they were seeking, the ishkitini of Choctaw mythology, Dean had insisted on mis-naming it. And while the Magnolia Motel was definitely very pink, it was mostly clean and had no other guests to remark upon the three bloodied figures staggering out of the Impala a few minutes ago.
Too bad Sam couldn't leave that kind of useful information in a Yelp review.
"You are familiar with these symptoms because you've encountered them before," Castiel said.
"Too many times," Sam muttered. He looked critically at his forearm. Given that the bleeding had stopped, the cuts from the owl's talons probably weren't too deep. For a moment, he again felt the rush of its massive wings and heard its screech ringing in his ears. Right before Dean had shoved him away and taken the brunt of those massive wings.
"Will it need stitches?" Castiel asked. "That's what you need to do when you have a deep cut, right?"
"It's not that deep," Sam replied. "Just a band-aid will do."
"Let me see it, Sam." Dean was struggling to sit up on the bed, the icepack still pressed to his forehead.
"It's fine, Dean. Now lie down."
Dean muttered to himself but did as he was told, which made Sam wonder if the head injury wasn't worse than he had thought.
"What would 'too deep' be?" Castiel asked. He looked at his own forearm, although the square of gauze was covering all of the abrasions.
"It's been about an hour, so if it hadn't stopped bleeding, that would be a problem." Sam replied. He fished out a butterfly bandage from the first-aid kit. "See, look." He put a finger on each side of one of the gashes and carefully spread it apart. "It's just a flesh wound."
Dean snorted but didn't say anything.
Castiel leaned closer, taking in the cut. He didn't touch Sam's arm, but he did examine it closely. "I see," he finally said, sitting back. "Thank you for showing me. It seems like useful information now that I'm confined to the same kind of fragile body as you."
"You--you're welcome." Sam shook his head as he shot a quick squirt of Bactine over his arm. He dried it and applied the bandage. Judging the length of the gashes, he added a second bandage. "There. Good as new in a few days."
"Will it leave a scar?" Castiel asked.
"It might." Sam gave him a rueful smile. "I don't really worry about that sort of thing."
"You're not bothered by scars?"
"Chicks dig scars," Dean called.
Sam had to look away quickly to hide his smile. "I suppose they're like reminders," he said. "Of what we've made it through. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger and all that."
"So it's not that you're fragile." Castiel was sitting up very straight, head slightly cocked to one side. "It's that you're resilient."
Sam exchanged a look with Dean, who had set the icepack down on the nightstand between the two beds. "I guess you could see it that way."
"Hmmm." Castiel regarded his arm for a long moment. "Being human--it has been quite the educational experience already."
"Let's hope you don't have to learn too much more about either fragility or resilience," Sam said, clapping Castiel on the shoulder as he stood up.
"Agreed," Castiel said. "Although the latter is something the two of you have taught me much about already."
Sam shrugged one shoulder. "Like I said, we just tough it out."
"You do far more than that." Castiel shook his head. "Angels have no idea how strong humans really are. Even after all these years of watching you. They see weakness where instead they should see strength. And I was guilty of that as well."
"Yeah, well, right now I just want to get some sleep and build up that strength so we can get out of this Pepto-Bismol room in the morning." Dean rolled over onto his side. "Cas, you're sure you're fine with the couch?"
He nodded. "I can practice being resilient."
Sam looked dubiously at the threadbare couch that looked older than any of them. Well, him and Dean, at any rate. Then again, if it had stood the test of time, it had to be made of some pretty strong stuff, too.
Sam fell asleep thinking of the rush of wings. He dreamed that he could see his skin knitting itself back together, one molecule at a time, until his arm was whole and healthy again. And even if it would take more than one night for the healing to happen for real, it would eventually.
Until the next hunt, when it would happen all over again.
Recipient: a_diamond
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1451
Characters: Sam, Dean, Cas
Warnings: minor injuries
Summary: After a hunt, human!Cas discusses with Sam and Dean what it's like to be injured. How do humans deal with their fragile bodies?
A/N: This turned into more of a rumination than an exact fill of a prompt, but I hope it meets the spirit of what you were looking for!
"How do humans deal with being so fragile?"
Sam didn't look up from where he was rubbing a washcloth over Castiel's arm, trying to make sure he'd gotten all of the gravel out of the flesh. "We're actually pretty strong," he said. "I mean, for one, women have to be in order to give birth, right? And guys, I guess we just tough it out."
"But knowing all of the time that at any second, it could all be ripped away from you." Castiel winced as Sam came across a tiny piece of rock and gently pulled it out with tweezers before setting it on the formica tabletop. "How do you deal with it?"
"I suppose it's why a lot of people seek out religion," Sam replied. He gave the washcloth one more pass and reached for the gauze. "Most of them don't realize it, though. I mean, they don't think about it like that because their lives aren't in danger on a regular basis."
"Because we're awesome," Dean called out from where he was lying on the bed, icepack on his forehead.
"Shut up and keep resting," Sam shot over his shoulder.
"It's just a bump, man."
"You went head first into a tree," Sam ground out from between his teeth.
"That is what I mean," Castiel said, raising his free arm to point in Dean's direction. "You encounter injuries like that over and over again, both of you, but the human body was not made to withstand that kind of treatment on a regular basis."
"I'm just made exceptionally well," Dean smirked.
"Shut up," Sam said again. He laid the gauze over Castiel's arm and neatly taped it in place. "There," he said, checking one more time on the butterfly bandage over Castiel's right eyebrow. "Were you hurt anywhere else?"
"My arm took the brunt of the fall," Castiel replied. His normally pristine white shirt was shredded on the right side, his trenchcoat stained and ripped. "I would have appreciated more advance warning before being pushed to the ground, but I understand that the situation can change rapidly on a hunt."
"No kidding," Sam muttered. He leaned back and grabbed the second washcloth he'd brought over, going to work on the gash on his forearm where the blood had already dried.
"Do you want me to help?" Castiel asked.
"No, it's fine, I've got it," he said.
"You are accustomed to this sort of thing," he said, waving at the wrappers of gauze and bandages on the tabletop. "Patching yourself up. Patching each other up."
"Years of experience," Sam replied.
"But you still feel anger when your brother saves your life?"
Sam glared at him. "That's not why I'm angry."
"I believe the obscenities you were spouting as you drove us back here coincided with him taking the blow meant for you," Castiel replied.
"Astute observation," Dean drawled from the bed.
Sam gritted his teeth. Another shut up probably wasn't going to do any good, so maybe he could just ignore Dean. "I'm angry because he stepped in front of me, yes. He got hurt for me when he didn't have to."
"You would rather than you were hurt instead."
Sam held up his arm, showing the two long, parallel scratches from wrist to elbow. Castiel tilted his head to the side in acknowledgment, and Sam resumed cleaning away the dried blood.
"You still took care of him before yourself."
"Head injuries can be serious," Sam replied. "And my arm had stopped bleeding, anyway."
"How will you know if Dean's head wound is serious or not?" Castiel asked.
"Well, he was knocked out, but only for a few seconds. Otherwise, we would have gone to the hospital."
"Takes more than a horny owl to put me down for long," Dean called. "Though the level of pink in this room might do me in if we have to stay here too much longer."
Sam sighed. No matter how many times he'd explained that it was a horned owl they were seeking, the ishkitini of Choctaw mythology, Dean had insisted on mis-naming it. And while the Magnolia Motel was definitely very pink, it was mostly clean and had no other guests to remark upon the three bloodied figures staggering out of the Impala a few minutes ago.
Too bad Sam couldn't leave that kind of useful information in a Yelp review.
"You are familiar with these symptoms because you've encountered them before," Castiel said.
"Too many times," Sam muttered. He looked critically at his forearm. Given that the bleeding had stopped, the cuts from the owl's talons probably weren't too deep. For a moment, he again felt the rush of its massive wings and heard its screech ringing in his ears. Right before Dean had shoved him away and taken the brunt of those massive wings.
"Will it need stitches?" Castiel asked. "That's what you need to do when you have a deep cut, right?"
"It's not that deep," Sam replied. "Just a band-aid will do."
"Let me see it, Sam." Dean was struggling to sit up on the bed, the icepack still pressed to his forehead.
"It's fine, Dean. Now lie down."
Dean muttered to himself but did as he was told, which made Sam wonder if the head injury wasn't worse than he had thought.
"What would 'too deep' be?" Castiel asked. He looked at his own forearm, although the square of gauze was covering all of the abrasions.
"It's been about an hour, so if it hadn't stopped bleeding, that would be a problem." Sam replied. He fished out a butterfly bandage from the first-aid kit. "See, look." He put a finger on each side of one of the gashes and carefully spread it apart. "It's just a flesh wound."
Dean snorted but didn't say anything.
Castiel leaned closer, taking in the cut. He didn't touch Sam's arm, but he did examine it closely. "I see," he finally said, sitting back. "Thank you for showing me. It seems like useful information now that I'm confined to the same kind of fragile body as you."
"You--you're welcome." Sam shook his head as he shot a quick squirt of Bactine over his arm. He dried it and applied the bandage. Judging the length of the gashes, he added a second bandage. "There. Good as new in a few days."
"Will it leave a scar?" Castiel asked.
"It might." Sam gave him a rueful smile. "I don't really worry about that sort of thing."
"You're not bothered by scars?"
"Chicks dig scars," Dean called.
Sam had to look away quickly to hide his smile. "I suppose they're like reminders," he said. "Of what we've made it through. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger and all that."
"So it's not that you're fragile." Castiel was sitting up very straight, head slightly cocked to one side. "It's that you're resilient."
Sam exchanged a look with Dean, who had set the icepack down on the nightstand between the two beds. "I guess you could see it that way."
"Hmmm." Castiel regarded his arm for a long moment. "Being human--it has been quite the educational experience already."
"Let's hope you don't have to learn too much more about either fragility or resilience," Sam said, clapping Castiel on the shoulder as he stood up.
"Agreed," Castiel said. "Although the latter is something the two of you have taught me much about already."
Sam shrugged one shoulder. "Like I said, we just tough it out."
"You do far more than that." Castiel shook his head. "Angels have no idea how strong humans really are. Even after all these years of watching you. They see weakness where instead they should see strength. And I was guilty of that as well."
"Yeah, well, right now I just want to get some sleep and build up that strength so we can get out of this Pepto-Bismol room in the morning." Dean rolled over onto his side. "Cas, you're sure you're fine with the couch?"
He nodded. "I can practice being resilient."
Sam looked dubiously at the threadbare couch that looked older than any of them. Well, him and Dean, at any rate. Then again, if it had stood the test of time, it had to be made of some pretty strong stuff, too.
Sam fell asleep thinking of the rush of wings. He dreamed that he could see his skin knitting itself back together, one molecule at a time, until his arm was whole and healthy again. And even if it would take more than one night for the healing to happen for real, it would eventually.
Until the next hunt, when it would happen all over again.