puchuupoet (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
puchuupoet) wrote2020-08-27 03:52 pm
puchuupoet) wrote2020-08-27 03:52 pm
Entry tags:
fic: heatstroke
Title: heatstroke
Author:puchuupoet
Word Count: ~1,000
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Gabriel/Dean
Rating: Teen (currently)
Heads-up: Injuries, bruises.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened, completely fictional.
AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26137699/chapters/63588583
Notes: Something I'm playing around with to help with writer's block. Also cause it'll make someone happy.
"Tell me why again, please, Sammy," Dean mutters into the phone. "Why you said 'sure, we'd love to go hunt something in Texas in the middle of the summer.' Cause I'm still having a hard time wrapping my head around this one."
Sam's response is tinny, the reception at the town's library hit or miss, he claims. Dean's pretty sure it's cause they're two towns apart, owing to that library being the closest library to their motel. He’d normally question that sort of distance, but Sam seems comfortable with it, and if Dean’s gotta be honest, the space has been good for him as well.
"It's fine, man, it's just. You know how hot it is, right?" Wrangling the phone between his ear and shoulder, Dean grabs the bag of groceries from the trunk. "Nah, you stay and get that librarian to help you out more. I've got stuff to work on here. I'm picking the next case though."
He pockets his phone before grabbing the motel key, thankful for the brief walk between the Impala and the room. Unlocking the door, he can hear the weak puttering of the AC doing its best. Readying himself, eyes closed, he savors that first step into their too-small room, away from the sun and dust.
It's everything he had been hoping for on the drive back from the store. Cool air, a full fridge, and the room to himself with nowhere to immediately go. Dreaming of a cold shower and ice cream, Dean backs into the door, closing it with a harsh noise. An equally broken noise responds, causing all those happy thoughts to vanish as he grabs for his gun, groceries dropped unceremoniously to the ground.
"Welcome home, sweetheart," Gabriel manages to croak out, hand up in a half-hearted wave. "Please don't shoot me."
"The fuck." Dean stares, trying to take it all in.
"Yeah, yeah, sum it up perfectly, why doncha." Gabriel drops his arm, wincing at the movement. "Any chance you'd be a doll and grab me some ice?"
Holstering his gun and grabbing the groceries, Dean heads to the kitchenette. "You want something to drink with that?" He can hear a huffed out laugh, followed by a weak cough. "You okay?"
"Water, please. And not even close, Dean-o."
Dean frowns, shoving the Drumsticks and frozen pizzas into the freezer before pulling two ice trays out. There's no plastic baggies around, but Dean manages to safety pin a towel around the loose ice.
"Here ya go," Dean hands off the towel, watching as Gabe pulls his shirt away from his body to stuff the bundle up it. There's wincing, some soft swears as he adjusts it, but Gabe soon has it comfortably up against his ribs. "So. You gonna tell me what happened? And why you're here instead of... anywhere else?" It's more surprise than any other emotion driving that last question, and Dean hopes Gabe picks up on that part. He's not mad or anything, seeing him here, just. Confused, his brain supplies.
"There was a fight. Fights have winners and losers, bucko."
"That doesn't tell me shit." Dean ignores how Gabriel's ignoring sharing any details. There's bruising on his hips, purples and greens that both dip under Gabriel's jeans and run up underneath the ice pack.
"I fell sort of in the middle of the two." Gabe groans as he shifts on the couch. "Still alive, just, y'know. Ribs got in the way of things." The shirt gets tugged back down, the intent behind the gesture clear.
"So snap it all better." Dean sets the glass of water on the side table before bee-lining it to the freezer. "Ice cream?"
"Magic fingers aren't operational right now, buddy. And do you really need to ask."
That's what gets Dean to pause, to twist around to really take Gabriel in. There's a sallowness there, tired eyes that register as exhausted to Dean, hit him like a gut punch as human, and Castiel's the only other one Dean's seen that type of hurt on before; someone not used to receiving that deep lingering physicality.
"So it'll take more than a quarter to turn you on?" Dean winces at the wheezing laugh he earns; at the contrast of it against the paleness of Gabriel's fingers as he grips the arm of the couch. "Shit, I shouldn't have."
"I'll forgive you if you hurry up with the ice cream you promised me," Gabe gets out, and Dean moves, grabbing two Drumsticks before double-checking the AC, making sure it's still at full blast.
Dean fumbles a bit before sitting down on the couch, balancing the treats so that he's able to unwrap one ice cream cone before handing it off to Gabe. He pointedly ignores the way Gabe looks at him, watches as Dean unwraps his own and has to chase down the already-melting ice cream as it threatens to drip onto his jeans.
Dean takes a moment, crunching through the chocolate layer and savoring the burst of pain in his temple. Physical pain...it sucks, yeah, but it's contained, it can be controlled. It's a fixable aspect in this whole mess.
"So," Dean lets himself settle in a bit more, turning to face the other man. "What happened to the ribs?"
Gabriel grimaces at the reminder. "Was caught off-guard, that's all."
"Broken or bruised?"
"Cracked, I think," Gabe meets his eyes. "Can't tell you more about the fingers though."
Dean allows himself a shrug before standing up, shoving the rest of the cone into his mouth. At least one good idea got to happen. "You're here, I gotta first aid kit. One thing at a time." Glancing around, he offers a hand. "Let's get you into bed first."
Gabriel stares at the hand in front of him, taking in a shallow breath as his eyes flicker between Dean’s face and the ice cream still in his own hand. Dean sighs. “Fine, you finish that, I’ll grab the kit. Better?”
“Much.” Gabe settles a bit, focusing on chasing after the melting bits with his tongue, and then it’s Dean’s turn to try and pull his gaze away from the sight before him.
Author:
puchuupoetWord Count: ~1,000
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Gabriel/Dean
Rating: Teen (currently)
Heads-up: Injuries, bruises.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened, completely fictional.
AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26137699/chapters/63588583
Notes: Something I'm playing around with to help with writer's block. Also cause it'll make someone happy.
"Tell me why again, please, Sammy," Dean mutters into the phone. "Why you said 'sure, we'd love to go hunt something in Texas in the middle of the summer.' Cause I'm still having a hard time wrapping my head around this one."
Sam's response is tinny, the reception at the town's library hit or miss, he claims. Dean's pretty sure it's cause they're two towns apart, owing to that library being the closest library to their motel. He’d normally question that sort of distance, but Sam seems comfortable with it, and if Dean’s gotta be honest, the space has been good for him as well.
"It's fine, man, it's just. You know how hot it is, right?" Wrangling the phone between his ear and shoulder, Dean grabs the bag of groceries from the trunk. "Nah, you stay and get that librarian to help you out more. I've got stuff to work on here. I'm picking the next case though."
He pockets his phone before grabbing the motel key, thankful for the brief walk between the Impala and the room. Unlocking the door, he can hear the weak puttering of the AC doing its best. Readying himself, eyes closed, he savors that first step into their too-small room, away from the sun and dust.
It's everything he had been hoping for on the drive back from the store. Cool air, a full fridge, and the room to himself with nowhere to immediately go. Dreaming of a cold shower and ice cream, Dean backs into the door, closing it with a harsh noise. An equally broken noise responds, causing all those happy thoughts to vanish as he grabs for his gun, groceries dropped unceremoniously to the ground.
"Welcome home, sweetheart," Gabriel manages to croak out, hand up in a half-hearted wave. "Please don't shoot me."
"The fuck." Dean stares, trying to take it all in.
"Yeah, yeah, sum it up perfectly, why doncha." Gabriel drops his arm, wincing at the movement. "Any chance you'd be a doll and grab me some ice?"
Holstering his gun and grabbing the groceries, Dean heads to the kitchenette. "You want something to drink with that?" He can hear a huffed out laugh, followed by a weak cough. "You okay?"
"Water, please. And not even close, Dean-o."
Dean frowns, shoving the Drumsticks and frozen pizzas into the freezer before pulling two ice trays out. There's no plastic baggies around, but Dean manages to safety pin a towel around the loose ice.
"Here ya go," Dean hands off the towel, watching as Gabe pulls his shirt away from his body to stuff the bundle up it. There's wincing, some soft swears as he adjusts it, but Gabe soon has it comfortably up against his ribs. "So. You gonna tell me what happened? And why you're here instead of... anywhere else?" It's more surprise than any other emotion driving that last question, and Dean hopes Gabe picks up on that part. He's not mad or anything, seeing him here, just. Confused, his brain supplies.
"There was a fight. Fights have winners and losers, bucko."
"That doesn't tell me shit." Dean ignores how Gabriel's ignoring sharing any details. There's bruising on his hips, purples and greens that both dip under Gabriel's jeans and run up underneath the ice pack.
"I fell sort of in the middle of the two." Gabe groans as he shifts on the couch. "Still alive, just, y'know. Ribs got in the way of things." The shirt gets tugged back down, the intent behind the gesture clear.
"So snap it all better." Dean sets the glass of water on the side table before bee-lining it to the freezer. "Ice cream?"
"Magic fingers aren't operational right now, buddy. And do you really need to ask."
That's what gets Dean to pause, to twist around to really take Gabriel in. There's a sallowness there, tired eyes that register as exhausted to Dean, hit him like a gut punch as human, and Castiel's the only other one Dean's seen that type of hurt on before; someone not used to receiving that deep lingering physicality.
"So it'll take more than a quarter to turn you on?" Dean winces at the wheezing laugh he earns; at the contrast of it against the paleness of Gabriel's fingers as he grips the arm of the couch. "Shit, I shouldn't have."
"I'll forgive you if you hurry up with the ice cream you promised me," Gabe gets out, and Dean moves, grabbing two Drumsticks before double-checking the AC, making sure it's still at full blast.
Dean fumbles a bit before sitting down on the couch, balancing the treats so that he's able to unwrap one ice cream cone before handing it off to Gabe. He pointedly ignores the way Gabe looks at him, watches as Dean unwraps his own and has to chase down the already-melting ice cream as it threatens to drip onto his jeans.
Dean takes a moment, crunching through the chocolate layer and savoring the burst of pain in his temple. Physical pain...it sucks, yeah, but it's contained, it can be controlled. It's a fixable aspect in this whole mess.
"So," Dean lets himself settle in a bit more, turning to face the other man. "What happened to the ribs?"
Gabriel grimaces at the reminder. "Was caught off-guard, that's all."
"Broken or bruised?"
"Cracked, I think," Gabe meets his eyes. "Can't tell you more about the fingers though."
Dean allows himself a shrug before standing up, shoving the rest of the cone into his mouth. At least one good idea got to happen. "You're here, I gotta first aid kit. One thing at a time." Glancing around, he offers a hand. "Let's get you into bed first."
Gabriel stares at the hand in front of him, taking in a shallow breath as his eyes flicker between Dean’s face and the ice cream still in his own hand. Dean sighs. “Fine, you finish that, I’ll grab the kit. Better?”
“Much.” Gabe settles a bit, focusing on chasing after the melting bits with his tongue, and then it’s Dean’s turn to try and pull his gaze away from the sight before him.