Red Meat Codas

by faequeentitania

Summary:

A collection of drabbles I wrote in the emotional fallout of "Red Meat".

Chapter 1) Aftermath: In the moments between the sound of the gunshot that killed Corbin and Dean's talk with Michelle, he lets himself fall apart a little.

Chapter 2) Character Bleed: They've shot some pretty heavy episodes before, but Red Meat was one that Jensen was really grateful to put behind them. All he wanted now was to spend some time with Jared that didn't involve fake blood and bullets.

Chapter 3) Confession: Dean just wants to get the hell home and let Sam rest. He just wants to put this horrible, miserable hunt behind him and get some sleep. But Sam can see right through him, and he won't let Dean get away with his bullshit.

Notes:

I'm going to leave these at a GA rating, though there is some generous use of the F-word in the third story. We can handle that, can't we?

Chapter 1: Aftermath

Dean was so used to covering up his fear with sarcasm that there wasn’t any thought before “Took you long enough” fell from his lips like the utter jackass he was.

The echo of the gunshot was still ringing in Dean’s ears and he felt seconds away from flying apart at the seams; his mind consumed with nothing but Sam in the OR, the doctors patching him up despite the chaos they had brought into the medical center.

The door opened and Dean rose immediately, anxiety radiating through every nerve in his body. He listened to the doctor explain what had happened; how his brother had gone into shock when he was suffocated, how it had shut his body down, but Sam was going to be okay. Sam was stitched up and someone out there was certainly looking out for him because a wound like that by all means should have ripped through something vital, but it hadn’t.

Dean absorbed this information in slow motion, his world only starting to turn properly again when he was allowed in to where Sam was resting.

Sam looked up as he came in, giving him a small, tired smile and Dean’s knees nearly buckled with the relief that washed over him. All of the emotions; every terrified, grief-stricken, heartsick, horrible one he had suppressed and suppressed and suppressed in the last 24 hours erupted through the numbness and he was at Sam’s side in an instant.

Sam grunted as Dean wrapped his arms tight around him, leaning over Sam where he was propped up in the hospital bed, looking so goddamn battered and bruised it made Dean feel physically ill.

“It’s ok,” Sam whispered, guiding him gently down to sit beside him on the bed and winding his long arms around Dean, “It’s ok, Dean, I’m ok.”

Dean shook his head, not trusting his voice, the burn of bile still lingering in the back of his throat from throwing up all those fucking pills barely four hours ago.

Four hours ago, when he thought Sam was dead.

“Shh...” Sam was murmuring, stroking his hair and pressing his lips to Dean’s neck, his warm breath suddenly the entirety of Dean’s focus. If he concentrated, he could feel where Sam’s heart was beating against Dean’s own; a steady and calm counterpoint to the mad dash happening in his Dean’s rib cage.

“Hey, come on,” Sam said softly, his hand pulling gently at Dean’s shoulder, “I wanna go home, ok? Let’s go home, Dean.”

Dean took a shuddering breath and pulled back, looking at Sam’s bruised and exhausted face and vowing again and again to himself that he would never see Sam’s broken and bleeding body on the floor ever again. Just one of the many lies he told himself to survive.

“Yeah,” he croaked, nodding, “Ok, Sammy. Home.”