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josselinAnother piece of this, out of order of course.
Part 1
Dad figured out that the cat-thing could be killed with a mixture of herbs, of all things, and Dean figured out that the best way to get the herbs close to the cat-thing was to shoot it a bunch of times first. This didn't work as well as one might have hoped, and Dad went off to smash the eggs and cover them with herbs while Dean limped back to the car.
By the time Dean had managed the drive back into town the lights in the motel room were off, which meant that Dad still wasn't back yet. Dean bit his lip and grimaced as he pulled his keys out of the ignition. He could feel his back sticking to the leather of the seat, and unsticking himself, standing up, and walking inside was going to be a painful procedure. Dean had been hoping Dad would be back to help him. It was always awkward to bandage one's own back.
Dean pulled the door handle and pushed the door open, and then gritted his teeth and pushed himself out of the car. He couldn't help a hiss of pain as he got out, trying not to stretch too much.
Lindsey was standing across the parking lot, leaning against his truck with his arms crossed in front of him, watching Dean. Dean closed his eyes for a moment and started trying to think of plausible excuses, groaning inwardly when Lindsey pushed himself off his truck and strolled over to where Dean was standing, one arm supporting himself as he leaned on his car door.
"Damn...cats," Dean said weakly, one hand awkwardly trying to cover the bleeding gashes on his lower back. Lindsey payed no attention to what Dean was saying and pulled Dean's hand away from the gashes. "It's just a scratch," Dean continued, though his voice caught on "scratch" as Lindsey pulled off a piece of his shirt caught in the cuts.
Lindsey clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Well, these things happen," he said, pushing Dean up onto the curb and closing Dean's car door for him. He maneuvered Dean into Lindsey's own room as Dean half-hysterically wondered about Lindsey's sanity. Seven-clawed wounds did not just "happen," at least not often, even in Dean's world. Lindsey took it all in stride, sitting Dean down on the closed toilet seat in the bathroom and prompting him to lean forward to give Lindsey some light. Lindsey had a well stocked first aid kit, coming up with an assortment of guaze bandages and rubbing alcohol. He handed Dean a flask of another kind of alcohol, and advised him to "Drink up. This is probably going to hurt."
That was advice Dean was happy to take, and then he leaned into the shower stall obligingly, as Lindsey pushed him a bit. "Is it bad?" Dean asked thickly, worrying. It hurt a hell of a lot, and there was a lot of blood, and Dean really didn't want to have to go to the hospital and try to get stitches. He wasn't sure if he had an ID that had health insurance on him, not to mention that he'd have to explain it all to Lindsey, and Dad wasn't even back yet.
Lindsey made a noise in his throat. "It's not deep, but it's poisoned."
Lindsey disappeared into his room for a second, and returned with a small vial of red fluid. Dean raised an eyebrow at him. "Antidote," Lindsey said, and pushed on Dean's shoulder again to make him lean over, and then began painting the red stuff onto the wound. It burned a helluva lot, and Dean gritted his teeth, and cursed, and couldn't help the fact that his eyes started to water. Lindsey stopped for a minute, waiting and letting Dean sit up, and Lindsey blew on the first scratch that he'd already painted, as though he were giving some chick a manicure and trying to get the nails to dry, but his breath felt good, felt cool in relation to the burning.
There was a towel sitting next to the sink, and Lindsey tossed it at Dean, and said, "Six more," and Dean let out a gasp that was half a sob, and then Lindsey pushed on his shoulder again and Dean braced his hands on the edge of the shower stall and clamped the towel in his teeth.
Between the fifth and the sixth scratch Dean took the towel out of his mouth and gritted out "You keep Gibrish demon antidote *on you*?"
And Lindsey grunted a little bit, and said, "Nah, 's kinda multipurpose."
"I've got to get some of that," Dean said, and then he was clenching his hands white knuckled around the edge of the shower again, because Lindsey was doing the last claw marks. Out of the corner of his eye Dean could see that the liquid gave off a strange red gas as it interacted with his blood and the poison in the wound.
"It's not cheap," Lindsey warned, and it took Dean a second to get that he was still talking about the antidote.
"How'd you get it?"
"I stole it," Lindsey said, and then he sat up, and grinned, and Dean chuffed out a relieved breath just because that was over, and then Lindsey poured a bunch of rubbing alcohol over Dean's cuts and Dean cursed a lot more.
Lindsey spread some ointment on the wounds (Dean was just thankful that the ointment didn't hurt as much) and taped up his lower back with gauze and bandages. Dean had a few more swigs from Lindsey's flask of whiskey, and when Lindsey finally urged Dean to stand up Dean found himself unsteady on his feet, wobbling and bracing himself heavily on the wall.
"I'm drunk?" Dean asked quizzically, because he hadn't had that much to drink, and Lindsey put a shoulder under Dean's armpit on the good side and started to walk him into the bedroom.
"It's the poison," Lindsey said, and Dean felt like he should be more worried about that than he was, but it was hard to focus on anything mroe than the burning in his back and the warmth of Lindsey up against his side.
Part 1
Dad figured out that the cat-thing could be killed with a mixture of herbs, of all things, and Dean figured out that the best way to get the herbs close to the cat-thing was to shoot it a bunch of times first. This didn't work as well as one might have hoped, and Dad went off to smash the eggs and cover them with herbs while Dean limped back to the car.
By the time Dean had managed the drive back into town the lights in the motel room were off, which meant that Dad still wasn't back yet. Dean bit his lip and grimaced as he pulled his keys out of the ignition. He could feel his back sticking to the leather of the seat, and unsticking himself, standing up, and walking inside was going to be a painful procedure. Dean had been hoping Dad would be back to help him. It was always awkward to bandage one's own back.
Dean pulled the door handle and pushed the door open, and then gritted his teeth and pushed himself out of the car. He couldn't help a hiss of pain as he got out, trying not to stretch too much.
Lindsey was standing across the parking lot, leaning against his truck with his arms crossed in front of him, watching Dean. Dean closed his eyes for a moment and started trying to think of plausible excuses, groaning inwardly when Lindsey pushed himself off his truck and strolled over to where Dean was standing, one arm supporting himself as he leaned on his car door.
"Damn...cats," Dean said weakly, one hand awkwardly trying to cover the bleeding gashes on his lower back. Lindsey payed no attention to what Dean was saying and pulled Dean's hand away from the gashes. "It's just a scratch," Dean continued, though his voice caught on "scratch" as Lindsey pulled off a piece of his shirt caught in the cuts.
Lindsey clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Well, these things happen," he said, pushing Dean up onto the curb and closing Dean's car door for him. He maneuvered Dean into Lindsey's own room as Dean half-hysterically wondered about Lindsey's sanity. Seven-clawed wounds did not just "happen," at least not often, even in Dean's world. Lindsey took it all in stride, sitting Dean down on the closed toilet seat in the bathroom and prompting him to lean forward to give Lindsey some light. Lindsey had a well stocked first aid kit, coming up with an assortment of guaze bandages and rubbing alcohol. He handed Dean a flask of another kind of alcohol, and advised him to "Drink up. This is probably going to hurt."
That was advice Dean was happy to take, and then he leaned into the shower stall obligingly, as Lindsey pushed him a bit. "Is it bad?" Dean asked thickly, worrying. It hurt a hell of a lot, and there was a lot of blood, and Dean really didn't want to have to go to the hospital and try to get stitches. He wasn't sure if he had an ID that had health insurance on him, not to mention that he'd have to explain it all to Lindsey, and Dad wasn't even back yet.
Lindsey made a noise in his throat. "It's not deep, but it's poisoned."
Lindsey disappeared into his room for a second, and returned with a small vial of red fluid. Dean raised an eyebrow at him. "Antidote," Lindsey said, and pushed on Dean's shoulder again to make him lean over, and then began painting the red stuff onto the wound. It burned a helluva lot, and Dean gritted his teeth, and cursed, and couldn't help the fact that his eyes started to water. Lindsey stopped for a minute, waiting and letting Dean sit up, and Lindsey blew on the first scratch that he'd already painted, as though he were giving some chick a manicure and trying to get the nails to dry, but his breath felt good, felt cool in relation to the burning.
There was a towel sitting next to the sink, and Lindsey tossed it at Dean, and said, "Six more," and Dean let out a gasp that was half a sob, and then Lindsey pushed on his shoulder again and Dean braced his hands on the edge of the shower stall and clamped the towel in his teeth.
Between the fifth and the sixth scratch Dean took the towel out of his mouth and gritted out "You keep Gibrish demon antidote *on you*?"
And Lindsey grunted a little bit, and said, "Nah, 's kinda multipurpose."
"I've got to get some of that," Dean said, and then he was clenching his hands white knuckled around the edge of the shower again, because Lindsey was doing the last claw marks. Out of the corner of his eye Dean could see that the liquid gave off a strange red gas as it interacted with his blood and the poison in the wound.
"It's not cheap," Lindsey warned, and it took Dean a second to get that he was still talking about the antidote.
"How'd you get it?"
"I stole it," Lindsey said, and then he sat up, and grinned, and Dean chuffed out a relieved breath just because that was over, and then Lindsey poured a bunch of rubbing alcohol over Dean's cuts and Dean cursed a lot more.
Lindsey spread some ointment on the wounds (Dean was just thankful that the ointment didn't hurt as much) and taped up his lower back with gauze and bandages. Dean had a few more swigs from Lindsey's flask of whiskey, and when Lindsey finally urged Dean to stand up Dean found himself unsteady on his feet, wobbling and bracing himself heavily on the wall.
"I'm drunk?" Dean asked quizzically, because he hadn't had that much to drink, and Lindsey put a shoulder under Dean's armpit on the good side and started to walk him into the bedroom.
"It's the poison," Lindsey said, and Dean felt like he should be more worried about that than he was, but it was hard to focus on anything mroe than the burning in his back and the warmth of Lindsey up against his side.
