Word count: 450
Rating: PG for one curse word
Genre: Gen, H/C, Schmoop
Summary: Just what happened to Dean’s old leather jacket?
Author’s Note: Thanks for being my impromptu beta jennytork
Sam sighs, unable to handle his brother’s miserable silence any longer. “I tried to salvage it, Dean.” He says quietly, focusing on the section of Dean’s torso he was trying to mend back together.
Dean grunts softly as Sam tapes up the newly stitched skin. “It was Dad’s.” He replies mournfully.
“I know, man. I know. But those claws ripped it to shreds. And the more I tried to clean off the blood, the more it just fell apart. If I really washed it the way it needed to be, the thing would’ve just been trashed anyway.” Sam explains earnestly.
Dean’s shoulders only seem to sag more. “I know you tried. S’not your fault. Just really liked that jacket.” But it was more than that and they both knew it.
Sam puts the Ace bandaging and gauze back into the first aid kit and takes in his brother’s pale face. “Here,” He turns, digging around in his own duffle for a moment before producing a braided strip of soft, brown leather. “I tried to use what little wasn’t stained and stuff.” Sam shrugs sheepishly, hoping it was enough.
Dean’s eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline, only stopping when they tug at the butterfly bandage on his temple and he winces slightly. He reaches out to take the bracelet, thumb running over the familiar material feeling soft ridges. Frowning curiously, he flips it over to find protective sigils stamped along the underside. Dean’s lips curl up into a smile. “Thanks, Sam. I love it.” He says softly, already moving to try to tie it on.
Sam stops Dean from holding his wrist against his bruised torso to tie the bracelet with his free hand. Instead, he ties it on himself.
Dean smiles to himself as he watches his brother bowed over him in concentration. Unable to resist the familiar gesture, he lifts a hand to Sam’s shaggy head and ruffles his hair. “You did good, kid.”
Sam smiles, dimples making an appearance. “Yeah? Good.” He pats Dean’s arm and lets it go before helping his brother lay back against the pillows.
Dean takes the proffered painkillers without any needling and hands the empty water glass back to Sam. “Now go get me some pie, bitch.” He smirks.
Sam huffs. “You’re such a jerk.” He says, though they both know there isn’t any heat in it. He was already grabbing his own perfectly intact jacket and the keys to the Impala.
“Oh shuddup, you love it.” Dean grins, eyes closed. He was already unconsciously fingering his new bracelet.
“Why, I don’t know.” Sam teases softly, knowing he was completely full of shit.
So maybe Sam did owe Dean a slice of pie or two. After all, his brother did just push him out of the way of a black dog.