mizpah1931: Latin Exorcism - don't leave home without it (Default)

Title: Concussed – And Loving It
Season: 3
Category: General, Action, One-Shots, Humour
Warnings: Could stimulate your funny bone
Tagline: Concussion can be fun...
Winner: Best Humour 2008 on SN.TV and Supernaturalville
Total Word Count: 4450
Total Chapters: 1
Beta: [personal profile] ziggyuk 
Story Banner: Chasidern
Awards Banner SN.TV: hobbleit
Awards Banner Supernaturalville: Bambers

This is basically me on painkillers – lol. I hurt my back lifting something the wrong way, and was pretty much confined to a chair with an ice-pack for a few hours. And while I was sitting there doped up on the strongest over-the-counter Panadol we could find, and being totally bored because I could barely move...my freaky little brain came up with this little plot bunny.

I virtually wrote it in one sitting...pun intended – see above, confined to a chair. Then spent the next week tweaking it all over the place. And I was surprised and very, very pleased when it won Best Humour 2008 on both sites I’d originally posted it to. It tied with my A to Z of Demonology on SN.TV, actually. *blush, blush*

Anyway, on with it. Thanks as always to my banner-maker and beta - Chasidern and Ziggy. Awesome job, girls. And the usual disclaimer applies – no profit, yadda-yadda, just playing in the sandbox.


So – anyway – where was I? Oh, yeah – the rock. You know – it’s all his fault. If he hadn’t screamed like a chick, I wouldn’t have looked around right when the son of a bitch threw that rock. What? Okay – paperweight. Who the hell has a freakin’ rock for a paperweight, anyway? As I was sayin’, it was all the Sasquatch’s fault. Big freakin’ girl. With the emphasis on big. Or maybe on girl. Whatever. If he’d just…

“Dean – you all right?”

That’s him. Who? The Sasquatch – my kid brother. Kid – yeah. Sucks, huh? My kid brother freakin’ towers over me. Man – there’s something so wrong with that picture. Hell, I remember when he…



“You still with me, dude?”

“Yes – stop shouting already.” There he goes – did you hear that? He does this little huffy thing when he’s pissed off. Mister Emo. Hey – maybe I could make him into a doll an’ market the freakin’ thing – I could call it Tickle Me Emo – and when you tickle the doll, it cries – ‘cause he kinda does, if you hold him down and tickle him long enough…anyway… What? Okay, bad idea. Already been done. What about a Sasquatch doll? Nah – might scare the kids.


Wish he’d shut up – he keeps makin’ me forget where I’m up to. Where was I, anyway? Oh, right – the rock. Paperweight. Whatever.


Aww, man… “Little voice, Sammy – headache, here.”

“Sorry. You all –”

“Sam, if you ask me one more time…” He’s a smart kid – he can fill in the blanks.

“It’s just – you were – staring at the window and…”

“And? And what?”

“You were – kinda – making faces – at your reflection.”

Making faces? Reflection? Dude – can’t he see we’re tryin’ to have a serious conversation here? Speaking of – where was I?


“I’m good, okay? Just keep your eyes on the damned road.”

There’s that huff again. What the – he thinks I can’t hear him? Don’t even have to hear him – kid freakin’ projects like he’s a one-man broadcasting station. No wonder every damned supernatural thing goes straight for him. Maybe I should put him in some kinda lead helmet.

“We’re almost there, dude.”

Where? Whatever. Lead gag, maybe – or hey! Tinfoil hat! Like those ones Joaquin Phoenix an’ those kids made in that movie – what the hell was it? He was Mel Gibson’s brother. That’d be cool having Mel Gibson as a brother. Me – I get Tickle Me Emo.

“Dean? You all r– ”

“I’ll shoot you, Sam, I swear.” Okay, maybe he’s not thinking too straight right about now. Jeez, and I’m the one who had his head caved in by a rock. Paperweight.


“Fine.” Where was I? Right – the rock. Paperweight. ‘Signs’! That was the movie! Ow. Remind me not to…

“Dean – what is going on with you?”

“Nothin’. Why?”

“You just hit yourself in the head.”

“My antenna needed adjusting.” Great. Doesn’t the kid know a joke when he hears one? Now he’s got his huge freakin’ paws clamped around my head. Guess I should be happy that he pulled the car off the road first. “Dude – get off me!”

“Just – shut up and let me check your eyes.”

“Nothin’ wrong with my freakin’ eyes.”

“You have one blown pupil, Dean – you’re concussed.”

“I know what I’d rather have blown.” I’ll just add a smirk for good measure, ‘cause it hurts like hell to wink.

“I – you – I can’t bel…”

Heh, heh. That got him to leave me the hell alone. Seriously, that kid needs to loosen up a little. Look at him – freakin’ sitting there like a bow that’s strung too tight. Wonder whether he’d twang if I flicked him.

“What the hell was that for?”

He didn’t twang. Kinda disappointed that he didn’t. Uh-oh – think he’s about to give me that look. “What?”

Yep, there he goes – there’s that ‘I’ve been sucking on lemons for a week’ look. And there’s the eye roll. Wouldn’t be complete without that. Funny, he didn’t do that when the rock – paperweight – hit me. He had that other look – the one I really, really hate. That ‘oh, shit, my brother’s hurt’ look. Where were we? Right – the paperweight. And the poltergeist. What? I so did tell you about the – I didn’t? Huh. Well, yeah – there was this poltergeist – and it hit me with a rock. Start at the beginning? Uh…

“We’re here, Dean.”

We are? Where? Oh – the motel. Looks kinda blurry. Weird how all the rooms have double doors.

“Come on.”

Why can’t I just stay here? The car’s nice and comfy. We’re having a great conversation here – why move? Okay, guess we’re moving. Whoa – the ground’s kinda – waving – wavering. Are we walkin’ uphill? Man – how far away’s that freakin’ door?

“I’ve gotcha.”

Yeah, well, I could walk on my own, if the freakin’ ground would stop moving. Oh, thank God – finally. Door. Open the door, Sammy. Okay – just gotta lift my feet over that huge doorstep – how the hell…

“Take it easy, Dean – I won’t let you fall.”

Wasn’t worried about that – was worried about getting over the damned two feet high doorstep. Huh – well, okay. Maybe it’s not two feet high. It’s kinda shrunk, now. Hey – where’d you go?

“What is it? What are you looking for?”

“Where’s…” Never mind. There you are. Man, how did you get into the room so fast? So, anyway, there was this rock…

“Dean – you do know that’s your reflection in the mirror tiles, right? You don’t have to wave at yourself like it’s your long lost buddy.”

Sez you. Now, where were – where are we…

“Come on, just a little further. Bathroom’s only a couple of steps away.”

“I don’t need to take a leak.”

“No, but I need to look at that head wound. You’re bleeding, Dean, and you’re concussed.”

I am? Huh. How about that. Doesn’t feel like I’m concussed. I feel great, actually. Wonder how bad…

“Don’t poke at it!”

“I wasn’t.”

“Just sit down here.”

Wonder if I can do the ‘I’m gonna hurl’ trick to get him to stop poking at me. “Sam – think I’m gonna…”

“Oh, God – it’s all right – I’ve gotcha, I’ve gotcha.”

Ohh, man….that sucks…

“It’s all right, just breathe through it. I’ve gotcha.”

Easy for him to say – he’s not the one hurl….oh, crap…

“It’s okay, big brother. Let’s get you back up – that’s it. Let me just…”

Ohh, man – this definitely sucks big time. Having your little brother clean your face after you’ve hurled is number four on my list of things I don’t ever want to do again. Number five is that waitress in Tampa… Number one? Number one is…uhh…number one is… Look, I’ll tell you, ‘cause it’s you, okay? But not a word to the Sasquatch, okay? Okay. Number one on the list is – watching him die. I know, I know. But once – was enough, you know? That was….bad…worse than bad…Dad dyin’ – that hurt like a bitch. But Sammy – that was – I couldn’t breathe – I couldn’t – it was like the best part of me was – ripped away. I saw the light go out in those eyes, and I just…anyway…Where were we? Right, the poltergeist.

“You okay?”

“M’good.” Fan-freakin-tastic. I just lost every damned lunch and dinner from the last three days – I’m super. Better just pat him on the shoulder, ‘cause he’s got that tone in his voice – the one I really hate – like the look. That tone that says he’s worried as hell about me. Not his job. My job to worry about him.

“All right. Just hold still.”

Great. Now he’s gonna hover over me. I’m gonna suffer Death By Hovering. Kid should get a chopper pilot’s licence, way he hovers all the time. He’s a professional hoverer. Wonder if I should get a tee shirt made – ‘Hello, I’m a professional hoverer – my name is Sam – let me come hover over you.’ Hey, that sounds vaguely naughty.

“I just gotta clip some of your hair…”

“I did not just – hear you say that.”

“Dean – I have to get at the wound – it looks like it needs a stitch or two. I promise I won’t take too much – and I’ll hide the bald spot, okay?”

“There’s a set of clippers with your name on it if you don’t.”


I can hear that nervous gulp all the way down here. Probably not a good thing to threaten him with – considering he’s gonna have a sharp instrument near my scalp in the next few seconds. Shaking hands and all. Where were we? And where are you, anyway? Oh – there you are. You are a handsome devil – did I ever tell you that? Ahh, thanks, man. Anyway – where was I? Oh, right – where it all started. Well – ow. “Watch it, there, Florence.”


Where was – oh, where it started. The rock – poltergeist. Well, Sammy found this gig when we were only a few miles away from this town, so we decided to check it out – you know, us being hunters and all. The local paper ran an article on this house that seemed like our kinda thing. The usual – lights blinking on and off, cold spots, sounds in the ceiling and walls like rats runnin’ around. I hate rats. You do, too? Awesome. So anyway, last week, the tenant said someone – or something – threw him down the stairs. Broke his leg and hand. And after he got fixed up at the local clinic, he just booked – didn’t even stop to grab a change of clothes. Told the owner the house was haunted, said he’d send for his stuff as soon as he got settled somewhere else, and beat it.

“You all right? We’re almost done.”

“Yeah.” Quit interrupting me, Sammy. Anyway – so we got – well, okay, Sam got in touch with the owner. He’s better at that kind of thing – those damned puppy dog eyes of his just suck people right in. Me? Nah – not me. They don’t affect me, not one little bit. Hey – would I lie to you? Anyway, the kid got the keys to the house, so we went in and checked it out. We had some of those gris-gris bags with us already, you know, just in case Sammy was right. He’s all for bein’ prepared and crap. Funny – don’t remember him ever wanting to be a Boy Scout.

“All right, it won’t need suturing…”

Good, ‘cause I don’t think I can stand him poking at me for one second longer. Or hovering. And I’m so not looking up at those eyes.

“…but I’ll put some of this wound glue on it – that should hold it. Just keep still for a minute.”

“Right.” Where was – right – the house. Well, as soon as we got halfway up the stairs, the EMF started getting readings up the wazoo. And then we hit the cold spot. Of course, Sammy was just about jumpin’ out of his skin. He gets twitchy when we’re on a hunt – all nervous energy just waitin’ to explode. Me, I get calm – focussed. No, I’m not sayin’ Sammy’s not focussed. See him up there? Look at that face – he’s focussed. Any more focussed an’ he’d be drilling a hole through my skull with the power of his mind. No, when we’re on a hunt, he’s – he’s just – different. It’s like he’s got a jolt of electricity goin’ through him, you know? Like if you touch him, you’ll get zapped and thrown across the room. And I’ve seen him explode. Man – it’s almost scary. He’s all limbs – all motion, like an octopus on speed. Arms, legs, elbows, knees, fists, feet – he uses his whole body as a weapon. And he’s got a hell of a reach with those monkey arms and giraffe legs. 

“All right – take these, they’ll help with the headache.”

Tylenol? No, Ibuprofen. Oh, hey – a beer? Awesome. He’s a good little brother – sometimes. When he’s not bein’ a pain in my ass.

“Just drink the water, Dean – you don’t have to toast your reflection.”

“Buzz kill.” Where was I? Oh – the stairs. Anyway, the EMF was screamin’, and then there was this bang, which turned out to be Sammy getting thrown down the stairs. He wasn’t hurt – just lay there winded, lookin’ up at me with those stunned puppy eyes – no, I wasn’t! Well, okay, maybe a little bit – okay, all right – I was worried, okay? Happy now? Hell, anyone would have been if he’d looked at them like that. Damned things should be registered as lethal weapons. Warning – puppy dog eyes. Do not look.

“All right, come on.”


“Bed – you need to lie down.”

Oh – okay. Whoa…

“Easy. Just take it slow.”

Slow? When the floor’s freakin’ sideways? I’m gonna fall off the freakin’ edge!

“Dean – it’s all right – I’ve gotcha. Just – let go of my shirt, all right?”

No way! Not till the floor stops moving.

“We can’t walk like this, man.”

Who’s walkin’? I’m not goin’ anywhere. I was happy right there on the can. Havin’ a good time. Just put me back there and bring me a beer.

“Okay – all right. What if – what if you just close your eyes, and let me guide you, all right?”

Close my eyes? Why would I – oh. Yeah. Then I wouldn’t see the floor moving. Right. Oh, God, I think he’s hugging me. Yes, you can hug someone with one arm. It’s called a one-armed hug.

“That’s it – just take a step. I’ve gotcha.”

Don’t let me go, Sammy, ‘cause I don’t think there’s a floor under my feet. Oh, and for the record? It’s not a hug. He’s – helping me walk. You know, just in case…I fall on my ass. But I’d never tell him that. ‘Cause he’d just hug me for real. Or worse – pick me up and carry me. Like that would ever happen.

“Look, I can carry –”

“You want me to glue your lips together?” I think I can reach that wound glue from here – crap, how many tubes did he get? I can see three – or is it two? Maybe I’ll just keep my eyes closed.

“All right – bad idea.”

Yeah, you got that right, little brother. Anyway, while I’m not concentrating on the floor, where was I – oh, right – those puppy dog eyes. No – the poltergeist. So – there I am, halfway down the stairs, tryin’ to decide whether to go down to Sammy or keep after the poltergeist, when all of a sudden a picture rips off the wall and flies at me – damned near takes the top of my head off. Sammy’s eyes just get bigger – if that’s even possible, and next thing I know he’s off the floor and scrambling up the stairs like an overgrown spider. So I grab his arm and we get up to the first floor – he’s got the shotgun, but I don’t think we’re gonna do much good with salt – we can’t find anything to aim at.

“Okay, here we go.”

We’re here already? Awesome. Ohh, bad idea…

“Keep your eyes closed.”


“I’ll be back in a second.”

Oh good – he’s going away. I’ll just lie here – hanging onto the edges of the bed, ‘cause you know – I might fall off if the floor tilts again. So, we get to the first floor, and that’s when all hell breaks loose – literally. We – hey, what’s – there’s something cold and wet on my forehead…. ohhh, that feels – kinda nice. What is that thing? Huh – damp washcloth. Cool – soothing. Kinda helping the headache.

“Try to sleep, okay? I’ll wake you in a couple of hours.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Better hang onto that washcloth, too, just in case it slides off when I fall off the bed. Oh, wait – if I let go of the bed…Is he sitting beside me? He is. So okay – maybe I won’t fall off. And maybe Sammy can hang onto the washcloth, so it doesn’t slip off my head. Oh – he is. Well, he just flipped it over anyway. That feels so good. I’m so not telling him this – but – it’s kinda cool, having him around – you know, someone to watch your back, get you a beer, be the butt of your jokes, put a wet washcloth on your forehead when you’ve got a skull-cracking headache. Ahh, who am I kidding? I love the kid, okay? So sue me.

“I’ve got your back, big brother.”

I know you have, little brother. You’re a good little brother. Number one on my Christmas card list – if I had a Christmas card list. I’ll just hang onto your arm for a minute – you know, just in case the bed moves. Anyway – we get to the first floor, and…huh. We get to the first floor… Think there was – something – before that. Can’t quite – where were we? Oh, right – the rock. Feel kinda fuzzy – sleepy. I’ll just – take a moment – to…

*     *     *     *     *

A soft groan snapped Sam’s attention away from the laptop screen and he raised his head, smiling as he encountered his brother’s glassy green eyes. “Hey.”

“Wha’happn’d?” Dean murmured groggily.

“What do you remember?”

“Uhh…” The elder hunter sat up slowly, holding a hand to his spinning head as he pushed himself up the bed until his back was against the headboard. “We got up the stairs – things started flyin’ around – then nothin’.”

“The poltergeist was throwing everything but the kitchen sink at us. We got the first four gris-gris bags planted downstairs, and then headed up to the first floor with the last four – that’s when things got really bad. We managed to get all the bags in place except for the one for the office. You lost an argument with a paperweight…”

“It was a freakin’ rock – I remember that much.” Ruefully Dean rubbed at his temple, trying to massage away the persistent headache.

Sam grinned faintly and perched on the end of the bed. “It was a thunder egg, actually.”

Dean squinted up at his brother, his brows drawn into a puzzled frown. “A what?”

“A thunder egg. They’re a kind of geode – formed in lava flows. Usually contain agate, jasper, or opal – that kind of thing. They look like an ordinary rock until you cut them in half and polish the flat surface. They’re kinda pretty when they’re polished up. Like gemstones, or crystals. All different patterns.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

The dimpled grin grew wider. “No problem. So, anyway – I finally got the last bag planted, cleansed the house, and got you back here. You were pretty out of it.”

“I was?” Dean’s frown deepened. “I didn’t say anything – stupid, did I?”

“Nah. You just made faces at your reflection in the car window and the mirror.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Hey – I made coffee. Want some?”

“Dude, thought you’d never ask. What time is it?”

“A little after three pm. You’ve been asleep for a couple of hours. I can go get some food if you’re hungry, since you missed lunch and puked up breakfast.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Taking the cup held out to him, Dean nodded gratefully and sipped the steaming brew. He ran his gaze over his lanky sibling, checking for injuries. “You okay?”

“I’m good. Just a few bruises – nothing serious. You got the worst of it this time.”

“So – the poltergeist’s gone?”

“Yeah. House’s clean. And…” Sam’s bright hazel eyes danced as he reached out to grab his jacket from the end of his bed. He dug his hand into the inside pocket and withdrew a long white envelope, which he handed to his brother. “We got this for our trouble.”

Dean put the coffee cup between his knees and peeled the flap open, his jaw dropping in surprise as he saw the wad of bills inside. He riffled the edges with his thumb before transferring his wide-eyed gaze to his smiling sibling.

“There’s five hundred dollars there. From the owner of the house. Turns out he believes in ghosts and things that go bump in the night. He said to say thanks for a job well done.”

“He came here?”

“Yeah. I called him while you were asleep – told him the house was okay now. He dropped by about an hour ago with the money.”

“Huh. Was almost worth getting clocked by a rock.”

“Thunder egg.”

Whatever.” Eyeing the money once more, the elder hunter grinned and gave the envelope back as he picked up his coffee. Dean winked and slapped his sibling’s knee. “Good job, dude.”

A brilliant smile broke out across the younger man’s expressive face. He ducked his head shyly for a moment before pulling a fifty-dollar bill from the envelope and waving it between two fingers. “How about I find us some decent food, huh? Celebrate a little. Maybe a roast dinner and some dessert? There’s a diner a couple of blocks over that looks pretty decent.”

Dean sobered for a brief instant. Don’t get pie, he pleaded silently before forcing a grin. “Sounds good. Don’t forget the beers.”

“I won’t.” Flashing another dimpled grin, Sam shrugged into his jacket, picked up the Impala’s keys and slipped out the door.

Moments later, Dean heard the familiar rumble of his baby’s engine. He finished his coffee, and gingerly swung his legs off the bed. Steadying himself with one hand against the edge of the bed, he pushed slowly to his feet, a vague memory of being worried about falling tickling at the edges of his mind. He walked slowly across to the kitchen and poured another coffee before sitting down at the table in front of the laptop, pleased that he only wobbled once on the way.

Tentatively, he reached up and ghosted his fingertips across the lump just above his temple. It seemed as though his brother had done a neat job on the repair, he decided. And there didn’t seem to be too much hair missing. Twisting on the seat, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror tiles on the dividing wall between the tiny kitchen and the bathroom. Bending his head a little, he checked the wound, smiling fondly when he found his suspicions were correct – Sam had done a neat job on his big brother’s cracked skull.

Glancing again at his reflection, Dean cocked his head to one side and arched an eyebrow. “Don’t I know you?” Chuckling, he gave his mirror image a mock salute before dragging the laptop closer.

He was on his seventh game of Solitaire when he heard the throaty growl of his baby returning. Babies, he thought wryly as the driver’s side door gave its customary creak and groan. Moments later the door opened, revealing his tall sibling juggling an armful of bags and packages.

“Hey,” Sam huffed breathlessly, dropping the car keys in his attempt to keep a grip on the six pack of beer tucked under one long arm. He strode over to the table, bent down and unloaded his purchases.

“What the hell did you get?” Dean poked at the bags, getting his hand slapped in the process. He snatched his arm back, giving his brother a mock scowl.

Sam picked up the dropped keys and put them on the nightstand between the beds. Returning to the table, he opened the paper bags and pulled out the Styrofoam containers with a flourish, shoving the laptop out of the way to make room. “I got roast beef, baked potatoes, beans, gravy, corn on the cob, and rolls. I got beer. And I got dessert – it’s called Death by Chocolate.”

“Death by Chocolate? Do we need the salt guns?”

“Ass. It’s a layered chocolate cake with chocolate fudge, and chocolate icing. And…” Sam opened the final package and proudly held up a large yellow bag. “I saw you were almost out, so…”

Dean’s eyes lit up at the sight of the bag of peanut M&M’s dangling from his brother’s long-fingered hand. “Dude – you’re my favourite little brother.”

“I’m your only little brother.” Grabbing knives and forks from the drawer in the kitchen, Sam sat beside his sibling and began to ladle out the food onto two plastic plates. He placed a takeout coffee beside Dean’s plate and shook out two Ibuprofen from the bottle on the kitchen bench.

Dean watched in fond amusement while his brother fussed over him. “Dude – you gonna cut up my food, too?”

The big hands paused in their task while the twinkling hazel eyes studied him. “You want me to?”

“You want to be able to sit down for the next week?”

“Good point. Cut your own food.” Easily ducking the swat that came his way, Sam straightened up and turned his attention to his plate.

“You’re such a chick. You even scream like one, as I recall.”

“I did not scream like a girl. I was yelling for you to duck. Which you didn’t.”

“No, ‘cause I turned to see what you were screamin’ about.”

“I was not –”

“Thought you’d caught your panties on somethin’.”

“Nice. That’s the thanks I get for trying to save your sorry ass.”

“Damned rock –”

“Thunder egg.”

“…rock – almost split my skull wide open.”

“At least the printer missed you – the poltergeist threw that after the paperweight.” Sam shrugged and continued with his meal.

Dean cast a surreptitious glance at his brother, seeing the changes that the last few years had wrought. Some of them he was glad to see – his little brother had become a man – a good man, and Dean was proud to have him at his side, despite all his teasing. Some of them he regretted with all his heart, like the shadow of loss in the soulful eyes, and the worry lines between the dark brows. “Sammy?”


Dean shrugged uneasily, his gaze shifting away from his sibling’s expectant face. “Thanks – you know – for…”

“Don’t mention it. It’s what I’m here for.”

“Guess I’ve gotta save your ass for a change.” Dean nodded, pursed his lips, and nodded again. “Yeah, guess it is.”

The meal continued in companionable silence, until a sudden random thought struck the green-eyed hunter. He eyed his brother speculatively. “Hey, Sammy – how about I make you a tinfoil hat? Like those kids in that movie ‘Signs’?”

Sam dropped his fork onto the table as he stared at his sibling. “What? What the hell would I want a tinfoil hat for?”

Dean rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, a red flush creeping into his pale cheeks. “Uh – I dunno – seemed like a good idea a few hours ago.”

“Dean – the older you get, the weirder you get, you know that?”

“Look who’s calling who a freak.”

“Eat your dinner.”

“Bite me.”



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