#featuring: jo harvelle (tvintedspvrk)

[bloodsaltedshifting]

@tvintedspvrk || bruises and bruising || accepting!

[care] – sender provides physical care for receiver’s bruises (ice pack, wrapping them up, etc) { from jo harvelle ? 👀 }

dean got yanked into a back room of the roadhouse soon as he stumbled on inside. shoulda seen the other guy was right on the tip of his tongue (sam woulda quoted him if he wasn't in just as bad shape and being taken care of in another room) and shoved right down onto a chair with a scrunch of his face and a pout that said hey that hurt without having to say a word. yeah, yeah. showing up at the roadhouse with a bunch of caked, wet, semi-wet and kinda drying blood on his face, neck and various other parts of his body now hidden by a torn up shirt cause his coat was shrugged to the floor in a glare of a command might've warranted this kinda urgent care treatment but--he didn't want her to panic.

"i'm okay... we made it outta there. and the bad guys.. well. they're not bad guys anymore." they're not anything anymore. but a pile of ash and fur and bits and pieces of bone that are ground into ash and dust. no bite marks. no scratches. just dead things that used to go bump in the night but now? more like.. plop and woosh! oh look! he made a joke. in his head. cause the look on her face said he better keep that one locked up in the dean's thinking it but better not sat it category. cause it's close to five o'clock in the morning and she kinda looks like she might've been in bed by the time they wandered in.

no patrons. the sign off. the sun about to be on the horizon.

oh damn.

"great pajamas. the flannel pants look? suits ya. is that a creedence shirt? please tell me i'm rubbing off," he can't see if it is. but he's trying to prove he's alright. just sore. still bleeding a bit and swelling in a couple spots. "just needed a reason to come by and see my favorite lady..."

[bloodsalted]

oh she's pissed.

dean quickly snaps his mouth closed. gets ready for the tongue lashing he can tell is on the tip of her tongue. waiting. coming. rushing towards him like a freight train ready to squish him on the rail like a bad penny. nose scrunches as she slips into his lap. he's got an apology ready. a deeper one than he planned out earlier. something to sooth her nerves but the okay seems to trigger her towards relief. that's a little bitter. little less painful for both of them. mainly him. cause he knows what she can dish out when she's angry enough.

seen it before. doesn't wanna see it again.

one arm wraps around her middle as she cleans him up. there's a nervous, anxious thrill he has every time she's this close. he hasn't felt like this in a long time for someone. that looking forward to seeing her. that rushing up the stairs (except when he's in this shape and then it's more like a quick limp) to the door where he knows she'll be behind. there's something inside his chest that woke up when he laid eyes on her. stayed burning long after they parted ways. he was fucking singing reo speedwagon in the car because of her. that says god damn tons.

head falling back as he opens more of his skin to her touch (even if it's muted by a cloth) her being able to clean the dried blood off--dean inhales sharp through clenched teeth when a jolt of pain moves along his side but is quick to hum, quick to smile, quick to pretend like there's little to nothing wrong now that she's calmed down. doesn't want to worry her all over. doesn't want to ruin how it feels seeing her once the anxiety of getting a mouthful wears down.

her thumb, her palm. he leans into both. then deflates when off his lap she goes. "m'not a kiss ass but i will if you want me to." oh that joke seems to have surprised him that he said it out loud. easily told by the way he stops. eyes round. like a damn rabbit right before it ends up under the wheel of a car on a dark desert highway somewhere. "moving on from that," he gives her a side glance and quickly adds in. "you left the bottle. s'mine now.." and he leans enough to pick it up off the floor and drink straight out of the neck. he's gonna need that warmth, the numbing of the liquor if he's gonna get over the knock around..

or she can come back with that touch of hers again? and he'd be fine. no needles needed. just maybe some butterfly clips. please no needles. he's trying to be cute here. bloody, dirty and cute.

⸺  𝗧𝗛𝗘  𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗖𝗘𝗣𝗧  𝗢𝗙  𝗦𝗘𝗘𝗜𝗡𝗚  𝗧𝗛𝗘  𝗕𝗥𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗦  𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗟  in  in  this  condition  is  not  new  ;  battered  and  bruised  hunters  come  and  go  from  the  roadhouse  with  a  frequency  that  could  leave  one  wondering  why  they  even  do  it  .  the  answer  is  generally  the  same  ;  people  need  saving  ,  monsters  need  ganking  .  it's  the  life  they  choose  ,  and  though  it  is  not  one  without  risk  it  is  one  that  jo  cannot  help  but  admire  ;  one  ,  in  fact  ,  to  which  she  aspires  .  but  it  never  gets  easier  to  see  this  hunter  in  particular  stumble  into  the  bar  looking  like  he's  been  to  hell  and  back  -  again  .

❝  save  it  ,  ❞  she  hisses  ,  pushing  him  to  a  seated  position  before  he  can  make  some  wise  ass  remark  about  how  it's  not  that  bad  ,  really  jo  it  was  pretty  badass  ,  i  looked  like  fuckin'  batman  out  there  ,  etc  . . .  call  it  the  early  hour  ,  or  the  fact  that  she  does  not  remember  signing  up  for  hunter  cleaning  duty  today  ,  but  the  blonde  is  simply  not  in  the  mood  for  his  quips  .  she  gathers  a  rag  ,  some  plain  vodka  ,  and  a  first  aid  kit  ,  crossing  back  over  to  slip  into  the  oldest  winchester's  lap  and  take  his  chin  between  thumb  and  forefinger  .  she  scans  his  face  first  ,  focus  written  across  her  own  as  she  dabs  at  a  couple  of  wounds  with  the  liquor - soaked  cloth  before  turning  her  attention  to  his  torso  .

i'm  okay  .  with  just  two  words  her  expression  softens  ,  a  breath  she  had  been  unaware  of  holding  released  into  the  space  between  the  two  .  a  nod  ,  a  gentle  stroke  of  his  jaw  line  . . .  the  rage  has  dissipated  ,  replaced  with  a  stark  relief  that  dean  has  lived  to  drag  himself  in  here  .  to  make  it  back  to  her  .  ❝  figured  you  boys  probably  kicked  ass  if  you're  stumbling  in  here  this  late  ,  ❞  jo  murmurs  ,  tenderly  dabbing  at  more  dried  sanguine  as  she  holds  his  head  steady  .

she  cannot  help  the  flush  which  lights  the  apples  of  her  cheeks  as  he  notices  the  t-shirt  , fighting to keep her focus as lashes flutter involuntarily .  ❝  s'not  because  of  you  ,  ❞  she  lies  ,  lips  pursed  as  they  roll  inward  for  a  moment  .  ❝  i  just  . . .  found  it  at  a  thrift  store  .  ❞  she  hadn't  ;  she'd  paid  out  of  her  own  pocket  to  represent  the  band  he'd  put  her  onto  -  but  he  doesn't  need  to  know  that  .  with  his  favorite  lady  comment  hazel  irises  playfully  roll  ,  one  more  stroke  of  thumb  against  chin  before  she  slips  from  his  lap  and  rises  to  her  feet  .  ❝ kiss ass .  'm  gonna  get  you  some  ice  ;  don't  move  ,  alright  ?  ❞

@bloodsalted