Rating: PG - Gen
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Dean sprains his ankle out in the middle of the woods.
"Well, I've got some good news and some bad news."
Dean had never cared much for that phrase. It was like forcing what was always a shitty situation into some yin and yang of balance that was the crap of your Zen. Rationalizing the horrible with some bright side that wasn't all that bright. Dark even. Usually the good stuff just turned out to be a fraction less than what happened to be the worst.
"What do you wanna hear first?"
He also hated that inevitable question. When would you exactly like to get that fantastic verbal knee to the balls? Before or after the nice soothing frozen bag of peas you got to sit on? Or in this case, a few half hearted kind words because he was pretty sure the nearest thing of any practical use was about at least 20 miles away. Besides that, they were in the middle of the woods and about a half an hour from the country two lane where they'd parked.
Why was evil always so freakin' inconveniently located?
But, as it turned out, their purpose here had borne no evil fruit so to speak. It was part of the job to follow leads and rumors and in their blurry nature, they didn't always pan out as sometimes suspected. And when the work got slow, they did what just about any bored employee did to pass the time. They found distractions. Dean had noticed over the months and times like these that Sam tended to start talking. Not in any terms of conversation but in a babble of factoids and information. To Dean. To himself. To no one at all. It was like the kid couldn't switch his brain off if he tried.
It was usually in the form of the various delightful hobbies he had picked up in and around his sojourn into formal higher education. So, with not having found any cursed trees or toadstool rings, his younger brother had started droning on about what happened to be at hand all around them.
Did Dean happen to know that the black-backed woodpecker not only nested in spruce, balsam fir, pines or Douglas-fir but also in maple, birch, cedar and sometimes even utility poles?
He had admitted that no, he hadn't known that at all.
It may have also been of interest to Dean that the great horned owl subsisted on a large diet of mammalian prey including all coexisting rodents, squirrels, mink, skunks, raccoons, armadillos, porcupines, domestic cats and dogs, shrews, moles, muskrats--
In his eventual self defense, Dean usually started an internal drone of his very own. His head today had been filled with some particularly choice guitar rifts from the 74' Jailbreak compilation album.
They had eventually collectively decided that the exhausting nature hike was more or less a waste of time. In fact, they were on their way back to the car when they had a sudden and startling halt to their progress.
With a groan, Dean let himself fall back from the uncomfortable tense sitting position he'd been holding. The cold fat drops of rain that dripped down out of the tree above him were vaguely refreshing. The damp soft bed of pine needles under his back were almost comfortable. There was a soft rumble of thunder from somewhere up above in the white sky.
"Ah, what the hell, gimme the good news first." He always thought it never hurt to be an optimist every now and then.
Sam was crouched down next to him, one knee in the mud.
"Well, it's not broken."
That was indeed good news. Sitting up again on his elbows, Dean winced at every slight movement that created an amount of pain that didn't seem like it could be possible. How exactly could one small part of the body as a whole cause this level of agony? It was lame and unfair. It wasn't like he asked for much in terms of the daily outcomes of life.
Not that he'd never experienced the like before.
Slash a wrist open while scaling a chain link fence? He'd done that more than once or twice on a chase. Last was on some beast that liked to disembowel late night joggers. Dislocating his shoulder knocking down a steel reinforced door to avoid the precious time it took to pick a lock? Done it five times. One more time and he'd be able to do it on demand like fucking Houdini. Puncture wounds. Third degree burns. More bumps, scrapes and bruises than he could ever hope to count. All self stitched, wrapped, taped and he was up and ready to go. Piece of cake.
Once he'd even been temporarily chemically blinded after he'd accidentally stepped into the path of their father's potent and self mixed brand of mace. He remembered stumbling to the car before he realized he could no longer see and therefore could not drive.
Even Dad thought that one had warranted a trip to the hospital.
Dean felt himself start to laugh a little bit but abruptly stopped with a yelp when Sam pushed his boot back on.
"You should really watch where yer goin'." Sam offered sagely as he held out his hand.
Dean thought of how if he had been able to get up on his own, that he'd give Sam the hardest kick to the ass that he was capable of. Instead, he let Sam help him gingerly stand, his knee bent up to keep his foot from touching the ground.
He looked back over his shoulder at the source of his predicament.
The thing was, he would have been watching where he was going if it weren't for Professor Sam's ruthless biology lecture. Dean had been busy searching the trees above to marvel at one of the little feathered bastards that his brother had insisted was so interesting. It was right about then that quite suddenly his ankle caught and he was doing a header hard into the forest floor.
Right over a gnarled exposed tree root.
He had hurt himself often and in various ways over the years but this was by far the most profoundly stupid.
"So..." Dean finally asked. "What's the bad news?"
"Yer not going to like it."
"Lay it on me."
"There's no way can you walk on that..." Sam sighed. "I'm gonna have to carry you out of here."
Dean carefully absorbed the undignified ramifications of that. Always a little hopeful of his ability to bend whatever reality happened to be at the moment, he gave a small tentative test of pressure down on his foot. Wavering unsteadily in Sam's grip under his elbow, he hissed when the unbearable throb in his undone boot tripled and sent a shock up his leg like a lightening bolt.
He nodded back to his brother in a slow terrible acceptance.
"Could be worse?" Sam suggested.
Dean hated that expression too.
"You could have to carry me instead."
Dean felt himself grin back despite it all.
So the glass had to be half full or half empty.
If that was the way things had to go, he supposed he should count himself lucky that the damn thing had anything in it at all.
Good news and bad news! The good news is that my pals urdsama & jinkamoo are going to be mine all week! whoo! Oh the neverending vodka and cook outs and sushi and all nighters and air conditioning and slumber party it shall be! I've mightily missed those whores.
The bad news is that means the fic-a-day-a-wtf-how-am-I-still-writing-e
But wait! There's still some good news ... Slumber Party also means never-ending SPN rewatching* ... ALL 22 HOURS... (if only the DVDs were already out so we could watch deleted scenes together from our sleeping bags, but alas...) and fiction and art brainstorms will abound! Therefore when I come back I expect to be refueled with lots of new ideas. Recharge of creative batteries if you will. And hopefully, while I have her in my clutches I can get Olga back into her the_dean_show groove... bwahahaaha!
*My spell checker wanted to change this word to rewetting. HAHAAHAHHAAHA!!!!11!