A brace of ficlets exploring the delights of concussion; Dean-style ...
Disclaimer: Don't own; want, but can't have
Word Count: approx 100
Sam's eyes flickered open as he awoke to fingertips brushing his forehead.
Squinting into the amber glow of the nightlamp he saw Dean crouching over him.
"Concussion check, dude;" Dean whispered sleepily, "how many fingers?"
"Three," Sam muttered around a yawn.
Dean hesitated, "you sure 'bout that?"
Pulling Dean's hand toward him, Sam counted the extended fingers, "one, two, three ... see?"
Fascinated, Dean examined his fingers closely, drifting cross-eyed in the process; "huh! I make it six ..."
Sam sighed and rose wearily to his feet, gently guiding his rubber-kneed brother back to bed.
"Dude," he murmured, "you're confused … YOU'RE the one who's concussed!"
Word count: approx 100
Sam stumbled shakily to his feet and ducked as his brother sailed past his face before smashing into a tombstone with a sickening thud. He grimaced; "Ooooh, that's gonna leave a mark!"
Throwing a lit match into the open grave next to him, he watched with satisfaction as the dark, menacing shape that loomed over his prone brother dissipated in a cloud of sparks.
Dean stirred woozily, a vivid purple bruise blossoming just above his eyebrow; he stared, unfocussed, at Sam.
"H-hey dude, why're the church bells ringing this time of night?"
Sam sighed; here we go again – concussion time!