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jasmines-library · 7 months

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Safehouse

WHUMPTOBER 23 DAY 13. Prompt: “infection.”

Fandom: Supernatural.

Summary: after sustaining an injury on a hunt, you and Dean are forced back to the safehouse, however the wound festers and becomes infected, leaving you very ill. With Cas MIA and without the proper equipment to treat the wound, you are left clinging onto life.

Warnings: infections, sepsis, cleaning wounds, pills (painkillers), cursing, blood, gore, stitches.

Word count: 2.1k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

“Come on sweetheart. Not much further.”

Dean’s arm was slung around your waist, pressing tightly on the wound just above your hip. Although the bleeding had slowed town to a trickle, the blood still slipped between the gaps in his fingers. It had been caused by a rogue kitsune out in Minnesota, her claws had driven deep into your side when she managed to catch you off guard. It was a moment of weakness that made you cringe. The pain was blinding as the three long digits carved away into your flesh. You hadn’t even been aware that you were screaming from pain and collapsing to the floor until you realised that Dean’s face was above you, not next to you. His eyes were wide and he bit down on his bottom lip as he tore off his flannel and pressed it firmly to the cut, eliciting another cry of agony from you. He mumbled reassurances as you rose shakily to your feet. Supporting your weight, Dean rushed you towards the car. That was when everything started to go wrong.

After easing you into the car, Dean whipped around to the driver's seat and shoved his key into the ignition. The engine rumbled before stuttering to a halt. Dean furrowed his brow, twisting the key into the ignition and pressing his foot on the gas. Again, the car refused to move.

“Come on, Baby.” He uttered, sparing you a sideways glance.

Again, no result.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean slammed his hand down on the wheel hard, throwing his head back in frustration. The damn thing must have messed with the car.

With no time to waste, he clambered back out of the car and wrapped his arm back around your waist to begin the trek to the safehouse. In normal circumstances, the walk would have only taken an hour at a stretch. It was one of Bobby’s that he used to use for hunting back in the day. That was, hunting before the supernatural. It was a cosy shack-up, large enough for all three of you to stay, but Sam had decided to stay back on this one. Dean mentally cursed himself for not forcing his brother along. He was always the more diligent one, much better at stitching people up. It was possible that with the extra backup, you might not have even gotten hurt in the first place. Though, Dean made a mental note to call him once you were situated to get him to come and collect the two of you asap. Though the drive was over 10 hours long, Dean knew that the chances of his brother reaching you were higher than the chances of getting the car fixed soon. Even with Cas MIA, Dean had tried praying to the angel, but he knew that it was almost hopeless.

With your injury it had taken well over an hour to get within a mile of the house. You were slow trying to navigate your cumbersome body, forcing one foot to move before the next. Relying heavily on the tall man to support your weight, you trudged forwards, leaning heavily onto your side. Dean thought that had he not been there, you would have keeled right over and dropped to the leaf-strewn floor in the middle of the woods. It was then that your head dropped to your chest and your knees buckled, causing Dean to lose his footing. He cursed, stumbling to keep his grip on you. When he righted the both of you, he noticed the way that your eyes drooped so much that they were practically shut.

“Sweetheart?”

You barely registered his words through the ache in your side. “Mm?”

“You gotta stay with me. We’re so close.” He pleaded. “We’re so close.”

“Hurts.” You mumbled.

Dean pushed up the hem of your torn shirt to take a look at the wound. His green eyes dilated at the sight.

It was angry and red raw, oozing substances that he didn’t want to know. Infection was surely on its way. With a new sense of urgency, he lifted you into his arms and ran the last stretch to the cabin.

Your head lolled against his chest as he reached the house and flung the door open. Your eyes were closed, but he could tell from the way your breaths hitched and how you stirred uncomfortably in his arms that you were still clinging onto consciousness. He placed you down tenderly on the couch before moving towards the bathroom and flinging open the cabinet. He breathed a sigh of relief when his hands grazed over the white medical box.

Rushing back to you, he tipped the contents of the box on the floor, scattering the contents by his feet. Kneeling down beside you, he rummaged for a bottle of antiseptic or something to clean the wound with. When he picked up the bottle, it felt too light in his hands, but he unscrewed the cap and tried to tip the content onto the wound. A dismal drop fell from the cap. He flung it across the room. You furrowed your brow when you heard his footsteps retreat again, only to return moments later. Dean returned with a bowl full of soapy water and a rag.

You grimaced at the contact of the cloth as he began to wipe away the blood and dirt from your skin. Your skin felt hot to the touch which only worried the man more. Once he was done cleaning, he tore open a gauze and bandage which he secured tightly around your body. He couldn’t stitch you up whilst infection was prominent. Then, he scrounged for something to help with your pain, unable to stand the way your face was scrunched tight. He slipped it between your lips and got you to force it down with a sip of water, half of which dribbled down your chin.

Sam’s on his way. He's coming. Dean reminded himself.

He had called Sam straight after you had fallen asleep. He told his brother that he would leave as soon as he could, but he was tied up with a small case. That was over 12 hours ago and in that short amount of time, you had gotten much, much worse.

A sheen of sweat had broken out across your brow, plastering loose hairs to your forehead. Your body trembled with violent shivers as you tried to cling to the small blanket that Dean had laid over your body. He kept a constant eye on the gashes above your hip. They had begun to clot, but were swollen and oozing. Dean could tell by the way that you groaned that your whole body ached too. He furrowed his brow, the infection was taking over and he was worried that without the proper equipment to treat it you would lose the battle. The bags around his eyes were dark and dragged down his face.

He hadn’t stopped once since you had gotten injured, spending his time rummaging through all of his cupboards for something. Anything. But he found nothing but a few cans of tinned soup and spam. When he wasn’t mindlessly searching or cleaning your wound, he was st by you clutching your hand. He sent many silent prayers to Cas, but the familiar flutter of wings were never to be heard.

He studied you as you breathed hard, gazing off into nothingness with hooded eyes. Picking up the round bottle of pills, Dean tipped out a few into his hand.

“Y/N?”

You rolled your head.

“Come on sweetheart. Drink up.”

Slowly and with help from Dean, you took the small pills and forced them down. You'd barely finished drinking before he placed a heavy hand on your forehead.

"The fever is too high," He said. You hear footsteps walking towards the kitchen door and then the door itself opening. Dean stepped out, leaving you in semi-darkness of the room where the light no longer flooded through the windows. You heard cluttering from the other side of the house before he returned once more.

"I'm sorry, this may hurt." He placed a wet cloth on your forehead. The coolness of the water felt wonderful against your clammy skin, but it also sent a chill through your whole body. You shivered uncontrollably.

Dean bit his lip, watching you nervously.

The room is uncomfortably hot. Your clothes were soaked with sweat and you couldn’t seem to catch your breath. You felt dizzy and nauseous, the room spun around you. Closing your eyes, you tried to try to relax and separate yourself from the pain. You breathed in and out slowly, counting to five on each inhale and exhale. But it seemed to make no difference.

Your droopy eyes caught Dean’s from across the way and your heart leapt in your chest. He was dishevelled and torn. You open your mouth to speak, but all that came out was a feeble groan.

Dean tilted his head and smiled, a tired, sympathetic smile that could easily have been mistaken for a frown. He was blaming himself once again. "I'm sorry sweetheart. I’m so so sorry…”

“Dean?” you whispered, letting the name roll off your tongue. It was really the first coherent thing you had said in the slow hours that dragged by.

“Yeah sweetheart?”

“Stop it. Not your fault.” You told him, trying to be authoritative, for you knew the man too well, but your weak body wouldn’t give you the authority to order him around.

He gave you another tired smile. "Get some rest, Y/N,"

You closed your eyes and let yourself drift off.

Your eyes flew open. You couldn’t say why, but you had a strong sense that you were being watched. You turned your head towards the door to see a figure silhouetted against the light from the doorway. He was tall and lumbering with hair that hug down by his shoulders.

You blinked and the figure vanished. You blinked again, and now the room was empty.

You lay there, listening to the sounds of the house. They were hard to make out in your barely coherent state, but if you focused hard enough, you could make out the heavy footsteps passing back and forth in the hallway, the distant murmur of voices, and the creak of old boards. There was a sudden warmth next to you as your shirt was peeled back, followed by the bandages the Dean had not long changed. You groaned at the contact of the fabric against your wound.

A thin film of blood had already formed over the surface of the wound. At some point, most likey during your relentless shivering Dean suspected, you had torn the clot on the wound and it had begun to bleed again, leaving a trail of scarlet on the bandage. Since then the blood had congealed and begun to dry around the edges of the wound. The flow had slowed almost to a stop, but the bleeding continued accompanied by an oozing of nasty fluids from the infection. Dean gulped. This meant that not only was the infection a problem, but they had to deal with more blood loss.

Sam felt a little sick from the sight and smell of the wound, he couldn’t begin to comprehend how it felt for you. He took a deep breath as he uncapped the bottle of antiseptic before pouring it onto the wound.

Your body bucked and you let out a shrill cry of pain, eyes flying wide open. Dean gripped your hand so tight that his knuckles turned white. The disinfectant worked quickly, killing off much of the bacteria, and slowing the rate of blood loss. The redness around the wound brightened - a strong sign that it was working. For now, the blood loss seemed to have stopped, though the wound is still very serious.

Using the disinfectant to clean the needle, Sam worked his long fingers agilely to thread the needle. He then positioned it above the gash and plunged it into your skin. Despite how hard you tried not to let it, a scream tore itself from your lips.

“I know sweetheart. We’re sorry. It’s almost done.”

Dean had to hold your writhing body down so that his brother could finish stitching you up. “You’re doing so well, Y/N. so well.”

When Sam finished the last stitch and cut the thread, your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you melted into the couch.

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<-DAY 12 ⛤ DAY 14 ->

🏷️ Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

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sardonic-the-writer · 2 years

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━"How To Summon A Demon For Dummies"

━Tw: Slight flash warning for the gif separator

Summary:

The supernatural wasnt real. Magic was a cheep party trick; all smoke and mirrors to con people out of their money. Demons were a myth created by parents to scare little kids into eating their vegetables.

That's what (Y/n) thought. Untill they were caught up with a demon of their own, who dead set on getting his way.

━Notes: The beginning of something dark

━Song: "Empty Hallways" By Steve Gabry

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

(Y/n)s fingers hurt.

The fact that someone was leaning over their shoulder munching on some brand name chips didn't make this research any easier.

For the past half hour the free-lance artist had been silently typing away at an old keyboard clogged with food crumbs and flecks of paper. Using their life long friends computer wouldn't normally be their first choice, but seeing as they had stayed longer into the night than planned it looked like (Y/n) didn't have a say in it.

They cringed lightly as Alex swallowed a mouth full of food right next to their ear; presumably to ask a question.

"Remind me exactly why you're using Wikipedia of all places to look up whatever the hell this is." (Y/n) didn't have to look up to know that her muddy blue eyes were staring at what they were typing into the computer.

"It's a commission." They responded shortly. Alex raised an eyebrow waiting for them to go on.

"I got a dm on discord. Someone wants me to do a full body of their oc or whatever and I had to do some research on what species their oc was." (Y/n) continued, clicking on the enter button as they finished their sentence and scanning the results that came up. "No other websites had information on what I was looking for so I turned to Wikipedia."

Alex snorted and backed up. Heading to her messy couch, she flopped on it and snatched the remote.

"Ah yes. Wikipedia. The place where weirdos and crazies hang out. Should be perfect for you." She said all of this in a sardonic voice, pressing some rubber buttons on the remote in her hands to pull up a video. (Y/n) meerly huffed out a slight smile. Playfully flipping them off without looking they retorted.

"Just becuase I became an artist instead of starting a tattoo shop with you doesn't make me a weirdo."

"It was our dream job though (Y/nnnnn)!" Alex whined. They just chuckled and scoured the shitty website more as she surfed the internet.

(Y/n) heard Alex let out a small gasp of excitement as well as say something along the lines of 'he uploaded!' Only after they heard the loud and sadly familliar words 'top of the mornin to ye laddies!' did a groan escape their lips.

"Really Alex? This guy again? All you watch anymore is him. Hell you even drink the coffee he sells, and you hate coffee." With a grumble they added the last part in hopes that their friend would pause the video to argue with them. At least then they could get some work done without the t.v screaming at them from behind. But she meerly shushed them and settled into the stained couch with a giddy grin.

Sighing, they tried to ignore the sounds of a sharp Irish voice from behind and the sound affects of some random video game.

Not but two minutes of listening to that God awful video had passed before they sighed in relief. At least they had found what they were looking for.

"A glitch demon." They read aloud to themself quietly. "An entity that lives and feeds on the internet, often appearing unstable and like its name suggests; a glitch."

As they read more and more, it got less interesting. You could tell this article had been written and edited by someone with less than average vocabulary and it made for a very annoying read. The only part that stuck out was a bolded paragraph in italics, practically begging to be read. Summoning The Entity- was the subtitle that hung over it boldly. That grabbed their attention fairly quick.

The words were forien and complicated to (Y/n)s curious eyes. So much in fact they felt the urge to sound it out as a pathetic attempt to understand it better.

Besides, how real could these things really be.

"Πείτε αυτά τα λόγια και θα ακολουθήσετε. Μόνος σου δεν υπάρχει πλέον δυνατότητα. Παρακολούθησε και ακολουθούσε από οθόνη σε οθόνη. Θα συναντήσεις τη μοίρα σου με μια κραυγή."

It was a strange language. One that they wernt entirely sure was real; not even to mention if they read it right. And while it left them confused, the attention of Alex from behind them had finally been grabbed.

"What are you reading there buddy." She asked with a mix of caution and curiosity. They waved a hand signaling her to come over without taking their eyes off the screen.

"I found what I was looking for." They worked some saliva around in their oddly dry mouth. "The article on glitch demons 'member? Yeah and there was a summoning part. Wanted to see what it sounded like aloud."

Looking away from the screen for the first time in a while to find Alex looking at then with worried eyes, neither adults noticed the glowing white screen fritz out into a green pattern before going back to normal.

The pair proceeded to share a look and have a silent conversation. Alex had always believed in the strange myths that came from the crumpled pages of musty books. (Y/n) was always more of a no nonsense person, dismissing those claims of UFOs and magic as the incoherent ramblings of a crackhead on the street corner.

"It's says here glitch demons, if summoned, can follow someone by electronics kept on one's person (Y/n)."

Alex had turned her attention back to the computer. Reading aloud, their face was set in a grave look that (Y/n) had to resist the urge to roll their eyes at.

"So you're telling me satan's gonna follow me home through me discord." They deadpanned, cutting off their friends words before they could speak again. "Alex you do realize these articles are written by thirteen year olds with an obsession for the paranormal right. This shit is about as real as the ninja turtles you had a crush on in the third grade."

Ignoring the comment made about the fictional vigilantes she had been infatuated with as a child, Alex huffed at (Y/n). She went on a small rant about how this wasn't a laughing manor and that they should be legitimately worried.

(Y/n) managed to calm them down by promising to turn off their phone when they took the bus home that night. It was enough to get her to stop lecturing them, so they took that as a sign to log off the computer and walk to the kitchen.

"Come on. Let's have a drink or two. I think after today we both deserve it."

As the night went on and many glasses were filled to the brim, their phone lay by the computer.

Every once in a while it would glow green.

They woke up with a splitting headache and aching body.

Blinking through an eyeful of crust and bright light, (Y/n) eventually managed to look at their surroundings with a low groan. Everything was sore all over. Like they had jogged twenty miles before getting home last night.

While dirty clothes clung to sweaty skin, they used their elbow to prop their form up on the slightly messy bed. Hair stuck up in every which way as evidence of a good night's sleep.

How exactly did they get home last night? (Y/n) vaugly remembered a lone bus ride home with droopy eyelids and breath that reeked of wiskey. Thanks to their appearance they has gotten their own corner on the bus- no one wanting to sit within three seats of the drunk mess.

Slightly wincing at the memory, they sat up. One thing that stuck around from last night's escapades, besides the clothes on their back, was the aftertaste of hot alcohol in their mouth.

Smacking thier lips together the bleary eyed artist stood up and made a slow beeline out of their room and to the bathroom down the hall. They really had to get out of these clothes.

The shower they indulged themself in didn't take long; nor did the hygienic routine after. Just a simple scrub n brush and they were already strolling back into their room with wet hair feeling ten times better.

While in the shower they had remembered how they neglected to turn off their phone when traveling home last night, but shrugged it off. It was simply to ease Alex's mind anyways, and if she didn't remember the promise what was the harm in ignoring it.

A towel rested upon their barely clothed shoulders when they approached their bed, catching any stray droplets that dared fall from tangled locks. Closing their eyes to ruffle the damp mess of hair, their ears perked up.

It was quiet.

Way too quiet.

(Y/n) brought their movements to a still so they could look around. They hadn't noticed it in their slightly hungover haze, but it seemed that the power was out.

Fans had stopped running their usual white noise, something that hit them hard in the midst of the summers morning. That was the first thing they noticed.

Then it was the black face of their monitor staring back at them.

With a string of small 'shit shit shit shit shit shit's making its way from their lips, they scrambled over to their drawing tablet. As an artist that worked from home doing odd jobs here and there, all of their work was on that goddamn computer. And if they didn't save every last piece of art- well you could kiss that much needed cash goodbye.

After pressing down on the power button hard enough to leave an imprint of the companys logo on their thumb, (Y/n) waited with an anxious demeanor for it to start up.

The feeling that coursed through them after seeing the start up screen beginning to run its usual course was akin to coming up for air in a pool.

If I'm being honest though I think the thing that threw them off was the small green hello that popped up instead of a lockscreen.

(Y/n) blinked once. You could argue it was from the water droplets that were still cascading down their face, but more realistically it was becuase of the five small neon letters looking at them

I think what put them off more was the fact it seemed to be waiting for a response.

With much trepidation, they typed back.

h̷e̴l̵l̸o̵

what's this

n̴o̸ ̴n̷e̸e̴h̷d̸ ̶t̸a̵ ̷b̶e̶ ̷s̴o̸ ̴h̸a̶r̴s̶h̸ ̸d̷o̸l̶l̶

Furrowing their brows together slightly at the weird way of typing, the questioned this unknown stranger about it.

what's with the font

ā̶̹c̸͔̒c̶̡̣̾͂ȩ̸̮̾n̵̟͆t̷̫̲̓

who are you

i̷m̶m̸a̸ ̵b̷i̶t̷ ̵h̷u̶r̵t̴ ̴y̵e̷ ̵d̴o̴n̸'̷ ̸r̴e̷h̵m̷e̶m̴b̸e̸r̷ ̴m̸e̶.̶ ̴y̸a̸ ̶d̵i̸d̵ ̶c̵a̶l̴l̴ ̷f̶e̴r̶ ̷m̴e̶ ̴a̶f̷t̷e̴h̴r̶ ̸a̶l̵l̵ ̷(̵y̸/̶n̸)̷ ̷

how do you know my name

The past few minutes of pure silence was interested by (Y/n) clutching the end of their work desk so hard they heard a shrill creak. Despite audible proof of the strain on the furniture they didn't let up untill the three dots behind 'they are typing' ceased to a hault.

c̶u̸t̶e̷.̴ ̷i̸l̴l̶ ̷c̶a̷t̵c̵h̸ ̴y̸e̷ ̸a̶r̵o̴u̷n̴ ̸l̷a̵s̸s̷.̷ ̸y̴o̸u̴l̴l̶ ̷s̷e̴e̷ ̶m̵e̶h̶ ̶s̵o̶o̵n̸ ̶e̷n̶o̸u̸g̷h̵ ̸

And with that the screen resumed to its normal state. Seconds later the power came back on with it.

Despite the regular noise of their everyday life starting back up again (Y/n) didn't move. They just kept staring wide eyed at their screen as if something was about to jump out of it.

"Well fuck. Maybe those crackheads are right."

Finally done. This took like five hours. You bastards better like it /lh

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