Is It Hot In Here? 3/3 THE END

[soncnica]

Title: Is It Hot In Here? 3/3 THE END
Author: soncnica
Rating: PG-13
Genre/pairing: Gen
Characters: Sam, Dean
Word count: cca. 1.930
Summary: Dean's got a poisonous thorn stuck somewhere in his body… Sam will have to heat up the knife.
Warnings: Umm none? Maybe some blood?
Disclaimer: I seriously only own the grammar/spelling mistakes. Everything else is not mine! NOT MINE!
A/N: My notes can be found in the story.

Sorry I kept you waiting for so long.

Enjoy…

---

Dean steps towards the bed, observing it from the corner of his eyes, because to him it doesn't look like a bed, but more like a medieval torture device where he'll burn alive if a part of it touches his skin. He turns around and wants to say so to his brother, but then he feels a soft, barely there touch on his bare shoulder that nearly makes him fall onto the bed, but he catches himself at the very last moment.

"Dude…"

"Sorry, sorry, just… look, the sooner we do this, the sooner it'll be done."

"What?"

Because really, what kinda logic is that?

"Just lay on the bed, man."

"Alright, alright, stop being a pushy bitch."

"Stop being a sissy jerk."

He rolls his eyes, because yey, awesome comeback there, brother, but rolling his eyes is not his brightest idea, because the room really likes that and it starts to spin wildly throwing him out of his axes and makes him stumble a little. He closes his eyes, grips his head with his left hand, the bed with his right and leans forward, trying to find his centre again, but it's not working… not working at all.

"Dean?"

He hears his brother say from somewhere far, far away and Sam's voice sounds like his brother is stuck in a jar. A jar full of marmalade.

"Mhm…" he wheezes out, just because he feels like he needs to reassure his little brother that he's still alive, although barely.

"You 'kay?"

Hell, no, 'm not okay… damnit Sammy, where have you been for the last hour?

"Fine, 'm fine." He manages to say, because he found his centre, the room ain't spinning anymore and he can relax. Not entirely, because hey, he still has boiling water running through his veins, but at least the room stopped fuckin' with him.

Small miracles are awesome.

He turns around and sits on the bed. Sits down real carefully, first palms down to check the bed's temperature and yes, he means just that, but his palms tell him that it's a-okay, so his behind follows.

He sighs when he settles down on the soft mattress, pats it and looks up at Sam who's standing there watching him like he's a specimen in a test tube locked in a laboratory's closet because he has to be there, but no one wants to touch him. And yes, he has issues but damnit, he's gonna burn alive and this is no time to think otherwise, because he can feel flames spread like a river all over his body… oh man.

"Sam, I think…," he swallows, "we should do this fast. 'm not… 'm not okay." he groans out and it's like he swallowed hot coal because his throat feels so raw and hot.

"Okay, just lay down, alright… come on, I'll be fast."

Are the famous last words Dean hears before he lays down with a sigh, when the coolness of the blanket meets his back and rolls over onto his belly.

He twists his head to his left, sees Sam pick up a lighter, some Whiskey and a knife; a knife that he sharpened just the day before and oh crap, oh crap, that knife is gonna cut into him and it's gonna be sharp and it's gonna hurt and really, why is he panicking, because 's not like he hasn't been cut, sliced, stabbed and shot worse that he'll be right now.

It's the heat talking, that's all there is.

So… this is it… no going back now.

When he feels Sam's hand spreading itself out on his lower back, he rises up on his elbows, looks over his left shoulder and says: "This'll hurt, huh?"

Sam looks at him with that sympathy in his eyes that only his little brother can achieve and breathes out: "I think you should bite the pillow, man."

Dean groans and turns around, hiding his face into the pillow and pulling some of the fabric into his mouth, his tongue gluing itself to the yellow fabric as soon as it hits it.

He feels Sam's hand on his back again... cold palm over hot skin… and it makes him jump because hello, contact, but Sam's: "Relax, man." makes him all but turn into butter that has been left on the sun too long and he liquefies into the bed.

He doesn't see Sam kneeling on the floor by his left side, the wound at his reach. He doesn't see Sam wipe the knife with some Whiskey. He doesn't see Sam heat up knife's blade, the tip of it glowing red when he's done. He doesn't see Sam sticking the tip of the knife just underneath the thorn, cutting around it a little, cutting a little deeper…

Dean doesn't see all that… but he sure feels it.

-:-

He's in Hell, 's what it is. Yes he is, because this can't be anything else but that. Hell. There is no other explanation for all this heat inside of him, all around him.

It's cold heat… the kinda cold heat when you hold a snowball in your hand for way too long and it starts to burn your skin.

Hell.

The sonsofbitches: "… bitch!" came for him and dragged him down to the pit to have some more fun with him, 's what this is. It just has to be.

"Bite the pillow, man. Come on, Dean."

He blinks. He's hot. Burning up. Poisoned. Shit, crap, damnit, stupid!

Hell. Cold, freezing Hell with its cold, freezing heat: "Damnit, son of a bitch!"

"Pillow Dean… bite the pillow."

He groans, but bites the pillow, muffling his next cuss with the smoke smelling fabric.

He can feel Sam's palm on his lower back, his brother's thumb sliding up and down, left and right over his skin, his spine… that should be burning his skin into a crisp, but really… it feels so awesome, because it's the only thing that he can feel down there… everything else is just heat on top of heat on top of scorching heat. Maybe… if he'd really wanted to test it… he thinks that he could fry an egg on his back.

"Breath man, 'm almost done."

Dean breathes out through his nose loudly, because the air gets kinda compressed between his nose and the pillow and it hits his cheeks and he whines, because his breath is hot on his already overheated skin and dear Lord but he's never gonna have sex again... with a witch.

"You're gonna feel just some pressure okay… bite down, we don't need anyone coming to check on us."

Oh yeah, because that would be swell. Some bald, fat dude coming breaking down the door, because he wants to be a hero and all that, and seeing one half naked dude on the bed with another dude's bloody hands gripping his hip and yeah… that… that would be awesome.

So to avoid that kinda awkwardness, he bites the pillow. He grips it with both of his hands, turning his knuckles white, grunts and groans, hearing vaguely how the fabric tears under his blunt nails, bites into it and chokes on a scream that wants to escape his mouth so badly, but can't because his mouth is stuffed full of the cigarette/beer/please let it be sweat smelling pillow.

Fun times.

He thinks for a second, just one fleeting second, that this is how it must feel like, if you are operated on when the anesthesia doesn't kick in. When you are awake and aware but you can't scream or talk or move but you can hear, see, feel everything. Yeah, he reads a lot, so sue him.

He whimpers and digs his fingers deeper into the torn pillow and thinks: 'm never reading anything again.

He concentrates on Sam's palm, on his brother's thumb still sliding up and down his spine, left and right on his lower back and he wants to know how Sam can do two things at the same time, because he really should be concentrating on pulling out that thorn and not… fucking treating him like he's gonna break… but then again, that touch is the only thing keeping him from lashing out, kicking his brother and running away.

Damn it.

-:-

He screams into the pillow and tries to rise up from the bed, but his brother, annoying as ever, puts some pressure on his hand that's lying splayed wide over his back: "Almost have it, Dean." and that makes him scream louder and bite harder, because that touch just becomes too much.

He pants. Gasps for air like he's a fish on dry land and scared that he won't see water ever again.

"Saaaaammmmm…" he whispers when the heat on his side becomes too much, when he can't control himself anymore, when the pressure of that fuckin' thing being pulled out of his body becomes too much and he loses the fight with consciousness.

When Sam pulls out the little black thorn the witch used to poison her victims, Dean is passed out cold.

-:-

Sam smirks watching the bloody thorn in his hand. It's… shaped like an ice cream cone, sharp at the bottom and wide on top. It's brown-ish, maybe more orange-ish, or maybe kinda ochre-ish… it's hard to tell really. Maybe it's green-ish. Whatever it is, it's dangerous and needs to be destroyed.

He gets up and carries it to the bathroom, picks an ashtray on his way, and burns it in the ashtray in the sink.

It's all kinds of anticlimactic really, after all that thorn put his brother through.

There's no smoke, no shooting sparks flying everywhere, no sizzling to be heard; it's just like a piece of paper burning up. But paper at least leaves some ash behind, but this thorn… there's no ash that remains in the ashtray… there's just… nothing that would indicate that there was a bloody, heat inducing thorn burned in the ashtray.

"Huh."

The witch was good, he has to give her that. Leave no evidence behind… good, good.

Because really, what would he do with the ash? Dump it down the drain and hope that the thorn doesn't materialize again and gets stuck in someone else.

Because that? Is really not that farfetched.

He washes the blood from his hands, washes the knife, washes any evidence of blood and panic and fear and shaky hands.

He walks back to his brother and gasps freakin' gasps like he hasn't seen this a million times before… okay a hundred times before… the wound is not there. There is nothing there, but skin and some sweat still lingering on Dean's back. But the blood and the freakin' huge wound… it's all gone.

Oh the witch wasn't good, no, scratch that, the witch was freakin' amazing. Probably one from the old school.

She left nothing behind, no evidence, just nothing, well except for a satisfied man.

And she saved him the trouble of stitching and bandaging his brother up.

She was awesome, really.

He resists running his hand over the spot where just minutes ago he was digging in the knife, cutting into his brother, battling with gauze to stop the bleeding… he thinks that he did enough of touching for one night and covers his brother with a blanket.

He sits down on his own bed, pushes his soap smelling hands through his sweaty hair and breathes out a long breath.

It's gonna be a long night.

"Happy new year, man." He whispers and watches his brother snuggle deeper into the torn pillow.

THE END

CHAPTER 1 _II_ CHAPTER 2
 

 

Comments

[thruterryseyes.livejournal.com]

nicely done!!!

[soncnica.livejournal.com]

heya! :)

thank you! :) 'm glad you liked it, awesome, thank you :)

S.

[borgmama1of5.livejournal.com]

You were incredibly mean to poor Dean!

But you did it well.

[soncnica.livejournal.com]

LOL :))))) I do love Dean in pain... *sigh* *shakes head* 'm gonna hurt Sam next... just because :) LOL
thank you so much for reading this :)))

S.