once & done: destiel one shots

Dean gets seriously injured during a hunt

Prompt: Dean gets seriously injured during a hunt. Cas is human and can't heal him. Sam blames himself (poor Sammy).

+

"Dean, hang on," Sam pleads, applying pressure to his thigh with his hands. He'll bleed out in minutes if Sam doesn't get a tourniquet on it. He whips off his belt and orders, "Cas—grab the first aid kit."

Cas, who has been hanging back a safe distance since Dean fell, blinks and stammers, "Of course." He rushes from the room.

Sam loops his belt around Dean's thigh, tightens it until Dean groans, but he has to stop the bleeding. His hands are slick with it. He uselessly wipes them on his jeans, takes off his shirt, and packs it against the wound.

Cas races back, breathless, and holds out the first aid kit.

"Keep him quiet," Sam orders under his breath. Cas looks frightened, but he nods rapidly and lowers himself to the ground, beside Dean's head. He rests a hand on Dean's cheek.

"'fraid that's not gonna work this time," Dean croaks.

"No," Cas says quietly. "But Sam is going to help you."

Sam tears open a pack of anti-bleeding granules, pours them into the wound, and packs them in. He holds his breath and counts: twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two...

Seconds never seem as long as they do when Dean is injured. He forces a smile, looks to Dean, and nods encouragingly.

"This blows," Dean says. He shifts his gaze to Cas and adds, "And not in the fun way."

Cas just chuckles and smooths a thumb over Dean's cheekbone. "If you say so," he says. Sam blushes and looks away.

"When we get back," Dean slurs, "we're gonna fix that."

"Think the blood loss is making you a little bit delirious," Sam mumbles.

He lets up with his hands, just enough to check if Dean is still bleeding. The granules have softened into a gel. The clot is holding. He breathes a little easier, rocks back on his haunches.

"We should get you to a hospital."

"No," Dean insists. "I just need...to sleep."

"You need a couple pints of blood," Sam counters. 

"Just get me to a motel, Sammy."

Sam looks at Cas and sighs.

+

Sam takes the wheel. Cas holds Dean in the backseat, turned sideways so Dean is resting in the vee of his legs. Cas's arms surround him, and Dean's injured leg is as straight as they can get it on the seat. Every time the tires hit a rut, Dean moans.

Inside, they lay Dean out on the bed, pile towels under his thigh. Sam cuts away his jeans. Cas plants himself next to Dean's head and resumes stroking his face, his hair while Sam cleans him up, gets the needle and thread. He murmurs soft things that Sam can't hear.

It takes a long time to stitch the wound, but it's a good thing Dean's so out of it, because he won't remember the pain so much tomorrow. His eyes are closed, and he squeezes Cas's hand, leans into the palm on his cheek.

Dean is an idiot. He'll never understand that Sam can take care of himself, and he almost got himself killed. Again. But Sam loves him for it, and stitches him diligently, with as much professional detachment as he's able.

When he's done, he stumbles back from the bed and washes his hands. He doesn't look in the mirror. He fishes a bottle of whiskey from their bag and takes a few sips to calm himself, then checks on his handiwork.

Dean's skin is ashen, but he's breathing easily. The stitches are ugly but neat. Cas pets Dean's chest and says he's fine to sit with Dean for a while, so Sam strips off his blood-soaked clothes and starts the shower and wills himself to stop shaking.

+

He steps out of the bathroom in a roll of steam, towel held to his hair, and has to stop and smile a little. Cas is lying next to Dean on the bed. His eyes are closed, and Dean has shifted so his face is pressed into Castiel's neck. 

Leave it to these two emotionally constipated morons to wait until one of them is near death to get over their shit. Of course, Dean might pretend he doesn't remember anything in the morning, but Sam has a feeling Cas won't let him. He spreads the blanket over them and snaps a picture, just in case.