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Fic: A Boy and his Cast(s)

January 30th, 2007 (06:44 pm)
ditzy
Tags: ,

feeling: ditzy

A Boy and his Cast(s)

Summary: Week in and week out, Sam's cast look surprisingly clean and new. Here's one take on why.

A/N: This fic exists thanks to sendintheclowns, who was integral in the brainstorming process and kept me writing for nearly an hour straight for this to get done. Beta's done by her and by my better half,

geminigrl11. Thanks and love also to altpointofview for her encouragement and friendship.

 

Disclaimer: I'm not delusion. Most of the time. So I know they're not mine, though I do dream of them more than I'd admit to my husband.

 

A Boy and his Cast(s) 

Sam knew he had a broken hand. He knew it because it was swollen and bruised and it hurt like hell. But he iced it and wrapped it in an Ace bandage and popped himself full of painkillers and moved on. Because there were things to hunt and evil to eradicate, and the Winchesters had spent enough time at hospitals as it was.

Dean said they'd get it checked out, but Dean was distracted lately, and Sam didn't try to remind him. The last thing he wanted was to add another layer of stress to Dean's already overtaxed psyche.

So if Dean noticed Sam's grimaces as he did daily tasks with the busted hand, he didn't say anything. Sam kept himself discreet, gently prodding the limb to assure himself it was decently aligned and that all was well.

And it seemed to be a fine plan--it kept Dean from worrying and his hand seemed to be getting better--until they met a spirit in Oklahoma who liked to throw things.

Namely, people. Mostly down stairs.

It'd been two weeks and Sam had already dug a grave, taken showers, eaten food, done research, and driven with his broken hand, so it really didn't seem like too much of a stress to take on an angry spirit.

Sam was wrong. He supposed it was bound to happen from time to time.

They were just investigating, checking things out, when it showed itself. It tossed Dean against a wall (go figure) and then decided to give Sam a trip down the stairs.

The pain was so bad this time that he actually blacked out; not for long, but just long enough for Dean to notice.

Dean didn't say anything until he’d half-dragged Sam into the safety of the yard. Then he wasted no time in pulling Sam's arm away from him and inspecting it. Fresh bruises were already spreading across it as it ballooned slowly. "Is this the one you hurt a few weeks ago?"

Sam sighed. "Yes."

"Well if it wasn't broken then, it's broken now," he said.

Sam just rolled his eyes and suppressed the urge to say, you think?

OOO

Injuries were inevitable, and neither of them liked to dwell on them. They had gone through a faze as teens to see who could boast the more impressive injury, and as they had matured, they’d taken to bearing as much as they could before seeking any kind of treatment—as if to prove their manliness by suffering in silence.

But that was before, when injury had never led to death, when they had always come out on top. But now, death had touched them yet again and stolen something else from them, and they were running out of things to sacrifice.

Dean had always taken special care of Sammy, watched out for him, made sure he was safe. He’d been more or less successful, because he’d never let his guard down.

At least he thought he hadn’t.

But if that were true, they wouldn’t be sitting here. Sam had been compliant in coming, and had readily accepted the painkillers from the nurse, but Dean noticed how quiet Sam was throughout it all. His brother barely looked up as the doctor examined it, and refused to look at Dean as they’d analyzed the x-rays and diagnosed the serious series of breaks in his right hand and wrist.

It made Dean feel worse.

He’d failed his brother already, screwed up his father’s departing words.

He’d known Sammy had hurt his hand, he really did, but…there was so much else. And after his own tear-filled confession, he’d been too ashamed to look Sam in the face. And for his attempt to save face, Sam had aggravated an injury.

Of course it was Sam’s fault. They both knew better than to lie when things were really serious. But Sam had gone all stoic on him, almost afraid to say much of anything.

The last of the plaster was applied and the doctor was stepping away. "That should do it. We’ll let this settle and check you once more before you leave," he said. "But you need to be careful with it. You’ll need to take extra care of that hand in order to let it heal."

Sam smiled tightly.

The doctor looked skeptical then turned to Dean. "You watch out for him, now," he ordered, clearly not trusting his young patient to do it on his own.

Dean glanced at Sam, then back at the doctor. "That’s kind of what I do."

OOO

The cast was new and white and Sam tried to follow all the doctor's instructions. After all, he wanted to get this thing off as soon as possible.

But it was hard. Eating, showering, driving, writing--it was all affected by those white strips of plaster.

And it itched. A lot. All the time. When it didn't itch, it ached, and Sam was pretty sure he was desensitized to all the pain meds by then.

Not to mention the fact that it was heavy. Sure, he was a big guy, but a hand that was suddenly two pounds heavier seemed to throw off his center of gravity. It went down faster than he was used to, so he was always smacking it on countertops and tables. It clipped doors and walls and seemed to make him more likely to fall. For some reason, it seemed to make him sit faster too, and he now had a habit of hitting his head on the Impala's door as he tried to curl himself into it. He did it so often, that even Dean stopped laughing at it.

Nonetheless, Sam got used to it. He learned how to manipulate a pencil and how to type, though hitting the return key was like torture and all Sam's emails had apostrophes instead of new paragraphs. He did have to give up grave digging, though, which Dean so did not think was cool, especially while Dean was digging and Sam was sitting on the ledge making running commentary.

Sam kind of thought that was funny. At least a little funny.

Sam did participate in the hunts in all other ways though, even when they involved hours of traipsing through the woods. That hadn't been so bad, just typical stuff.

But then it had started raining, and not just a little, but a lot, but a freakin' downpour, cats and dogs, the whole nine yards. And when Sam slipped the fifth time, he knew keeping the plaster clean was a lost cause.

The hunt was successful though. Sam even fired a gun with his cast on, and when they got back to the motel, their hot showers were well earned.

No matter how he tried though, the cast seemed to be doomed. The rest of him came clean, but even after wiping the cast down and scrubbing it, it still looked dirty, and even after he stuck pencils down the cast, he could still feel the grime that had managed to collect inside of it.

"Man, are you going to play with that thing all night?"

Sam shot him an annoyed glance. "It feels dirty."

"It is dirty," Dean retorted. "But it's late and I can hear you messing with that thing all the way over here. Finish it in the morning."

The morning came, and Sam tried to pick the crusted mud off, but it didn't really work. The cast was dark and splotchy now, uneven with sediment. Sam tried to hide it under his coat, but the smell had Dean so grossed out that two days later Sam found himself in a clinic getting a new cast.

OOO

Sam was too proud for his own good.

Dean knew this, had always known it, and he could very clearly remember the day he’d looked crossly up at Dean and told him that he could tie his own shoes.

Dean had held up his hands an relented, but had been there to help Sam up after the kid had tripped on his own undone laces.

Sam did need help from time to time, and Dean was usually willing to give it without mocking him—too much. But he had to admit, watching Sam walk around trying to do his typical routine was kind of amusing. His button up shirts gave him hell—it took him nearly twenty minutes sometimes, and other day he just left it open because it required more agility than Sam could muster.

And Sam spent more time in the bathroom. Sometimes 15 minutes.

"Did you fall in?" Dean asked once.

Sam just glared. "It’s a little hard one handed."

Dean raised his eyebrows in question. "And just what were you doing?"

Turning red, Sam glowered. "It’s hard to wipe, okay?"

Dean managed to wait a beat until he broke out laughing. Sam’s cheeks burned and he tried to disappear into the bed.

"I can help you with that, you know," Dean offered between laughs. "No wonder your cast is getting dirty."

"I hate you."

And Dean just laughed some more.

OOO

This poltergeist liked knives. Lots of them. And it liked to throw them.

They borrowed the herb trick from Missouri, and were cleansing the house, when the thing caught wind of the plan and didn't take kindly to it. Dean tackled the basement and Sam had the second floor and they both raced to the main floor, splitting it to get the four corners.

Sam finished first and tumbled into the southern corner in the living room just in time to see a letter opener menacing behind Dean's back.

He yelled and Dean ducked, and the opener whizzed above his head.

Then a decorative knife was pulled from the mantel and was sent flying toward Sam.

Dean was angling to get his herbs in the corner. Sam was so intent on his brother's safety that he barely saw the knife until it was coming at him.

He wouldn't be fast enough.

His instincts screamed duck, but his knees were stiff. His arms went up in a last ditch effort to protect his face from the flying sharp object hurtling his way.

A burst of light flooded the house and then it was gone.

Sam stood, hands still in front of his face, as he peaked out hesitantly.

Dean stared at Sam, gaping.

Sam's arm felt heavier than usual, and when he followed Dean's gaze, he saw why.

The knife was embedded in the bottom side of Sam's cast, deep enough to stick.

"Huh," Dean said.

Sam blinked.

"Does it hurt?"

It seemed like a stupid question—a knife was buried in his cast, after all--but then he realized that it didn't. "Not really," Sam said, easing his arm away from him and turning it to examine the protruding object.

Approaching his brother, Dean studied it in fascination. "Did it get your skin?"

Sam flexed his hand. "I don't think so."

"That's amazing," Dean said, astonishment coloring his voice. "It saved your life."

Sam just grimaced. "Can we just take it out, please?"

"You sure it doesn't hurt?" Dean asked, somewhat concerned.

"Dude, there's a knife sticking out of me."

"It's your cast."

"It's the same thing," Sam said, his voice tinged with annoyance and impatience.

"Okay, okay," Dean said. "It just looks pretty cool."

Dean studied it a minute more, then proceeded to get out his phone.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked incredulously.

Dean held up the phone and grinned. "It's such a Kodak moment, Sammy."

Sam's look was a mixture of disbelief and anger as Dean snapped a picture. With a satisfied grin, he put the phone away, and met Sam's deadly gaze with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders. "What?"

Sam took a deep breath and blew it out evenly. "Well, I'm happy to amuse you, Dean, but I'd like to get going."

Dean just rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

Carefully, Dean gripped the knife and tested it. It was wedged tightly in the plaster. Dean looked impressed and Sam's brow creased.

"Be careful," Sam hissed. "You're going to ruin the cast."

"Would you rather me leave it in there?"

Sam glared, but said nothing.

Dean pulled, jimmying it slightly, waiting for it to give.

Finally, with a determined yank, he pried it free and as he did, a huge chunk of the cast broke off with it. Dean held up the knife. "Least we got the knife out."

Sam just stared at the shattered portion of his cast. "Unbelievable."

OOO

They walked out of another clinic in another town, another cast on Sam's hand.

"You could have at least gotten a colored one," Dean griped.

Sam sighed in exasperation. "The white is fine."

"It's boring."

Sam crinkled his forehead in annoyance. "You're boring."

"I would have gotten a green one," Dean said decidedly. "The green ones are the best."

"That's because you have the mentality of a 10-year-old."

"At least I'm not the one who keeps breaking my hand."

Sam ignored him.

"I'm not signing this one," Dean said, as a matter of fact.

"Why?" Sam asked, offended for some reason, though he'd never wanted Dean to sign the others in the first place.

Dean shrugged in nonchalance. "You'll just get a new one in three weeks anyway."

Sam glared.

OOO

It had been nearly four weeks, and by now, Sam was really pretty good with the cast.

He knew how to use it to his advantage. It worked well as a battering ram (though, yes, that still hurt) and he could now shower one-handed and perform other daily hygienic tasks without his dominant hand. He almost forgot about it sometimes.

So when they were checking out a demonic possession in Alabama, his cast was the last thing on his mind. But when the possessed girl caught them off guard and overpowered them, he stopped thinking and acted.

She'd downed him and scattered his gun away from him, and then she'd downed Dean, and as Sam shook himself clear, he saw her turning back on Dean to finish the job.

He had no weapons, no options, but he had to stop her. He just needed to stop her. Dean had the ritual, he had the words--Sam just had to draw her away.

Staggering to his feet, he lurched toward her, as fast as he could. Without thinking, he lifted the heaviest thing he had--his own arm--and brought it hard down upon her head.

The cast shattered, pieces flying everywhere. If it hadn't hurt so much, Sam would have been amazed to see it practically disintegrate with contact.

He staggered, holding his injured and now exposed limb in front of him.

He’d achieved half his goal, at least.

She did turn away from Dean. However, she seemed completely unfazed by the impact of Sam's cast to her skull. She just shook her head, plaster raining from her mussed locks, and advanced on Sam.

Sam didn't even have time to blink when she grabbed his hand.

The contact sent Sam to his knees without hesitation.

Then she began to twist.

Everything tunneled and dimmed and he could see the grimace of a smile wash over her face triumphantly as she manipulated his already wounded hand into a grossly unnatural position.

His breath caught in his throat and his chest tightened. Tears leaked from his eyes and he held his mouth open in a wordless scream.

He was going to pass out or throw up or both. Everything was hazy, everything was wrong, everything was pain, pain, pain...

Then he was released and his senses flooded back in a sweet rush of release.

He sagged, exhausted, cradling the throbbing hand close to him.

"Dude, you okay?" Dean asked, looking down tentatively at his brother.

Sam blinked and looked up, his vision still blurry from tears, his jaw still slack.

"Thanks," Dean added. "For keeping her distracted and all."

Sam couldn't even nod. He blinked again at Dean in disbelief. "Anytime."

Dean looked more concerned now, dropping to his knees next to Sam and reaching for his hand.

Reflexively, Sam pulled it closer to him, trying to guard it.

"Easy," Dean said. "I just want to see."

Sam didn't want to, but there was no choice. Reluctantly, he held it out.

Dean gasped in sympathy. "What'd she do to you, Sammy?"

"Twisted it," Sam grunted, eyeing Dean warily as he gently touched it.

"No kidding," Dean commented. "It’s probably a spiral fracture."

Sam clenched his teeth forcefully, trying to rein in the tears of pain that threatened to escape.

"Well," Dean said, taking in the misshapen limb. "At least this time you don't have to get it cut off."

OOO

This cast lasted.

Sam kept it mostly clean and didn't even use it for a battering ram anymore, though once he was tempted (well, twice, if he counted that time Dean called him cast!boy and purposefully asked for Sam to reload the guns, which Sam could do, technically, but only when he propped it up between his legs and he usually spilled more bullets than he got in).

In fact, nearly five weeks later, it was still intact and in good condition. His hand didn't hurt so much, and Sam was just a week away from another check up.

The latest hunt was a haunted hotel, which certainly didn't seem too messy, especially with all the freaky dolls looking all pristine. Not a speck of dirt or mud to be found.

Just a swimming pool.

Not that Sam thought about that when he jumped in.

He just knew there was a little girl and that he was the only one there.

His mind didn't even think of his cast until after she was coughing and her mother was hugging her. Dean grinned at him, a large, relieved, true grin, and then clapped Sam on his wet shoulder. "Way to go, Sammy."

Sam was still watching the girl, watching her breathe, and feeling so good about it all, that he barely heard him.

"Come on," Dean said. "Let's get everyone back to the house."

The mother walked ahead, drawing her daughter close to her as they walked back to the house. Sam and Dean followed a few feet behind.

"Dude, you were so close," Dean said, amused.

"What?"

"Your cast," Dean pointed out. "You almost made it this time."

Sam looked at his appendage, as if for the first time. His brow creased in frustration. "Aw, man," he whined.

Dean couldn't help but chuckle. "We'll run by a clinic on our way out of town."

"No."

"No?" Dean sounded genuinely surprised.

"No."

"Sam, you need to make sure it's okay."

"It's fine," Sam assured him. "We'll do it ourselves."

"You need the x-rays."

"I'll be able to tell. You will too. And it's been four weeks. It's within the range."

Dean was skeptical "Do you really want to take a chance with it?"

"I've had the thing on for almost three months, Dean," Sam explained. "I think I'm ready."

OOO

They'd cut off casts before, and with the plaster being soft and warped from Sam's run in with the water, it wasn't hard to do. Once Dean had snipped it up Sam's wrist, he pulled it gently from around Sam's hand, revealing pale and soft skin underneath. Sam flexed tentatively, testing it, before he submitted it to Dean for inspection.

Dean's fingers were gentle but thorough as they probed, feeling along the bones of Sam's wrist and arm. He could feel nothing out of place. "How does it feel?" Dean asked.

"It feels good," Sam said, his eyes watching Dean's finger move on his hand.

Dean held Sam's hand a little longer, fondling it in a guise of medical exploration. But he didn't want to let go, he didn't want to relinquish it.

His grip loosened though, and his arms dropped to his lap. "Good as new," Dean said.

Sam's hand hovered in the air. He grinned. "It's so light. Almost like it could float."

Dean tried to smile, but found his chest tight. His greatest fear was Sam slipping away, floating away. He needed to keep his brother tethered--to the ground, to him--and he didn't always know how to do it.

Oblivious, Sam probed his wrist and hand. "I can't believe how long I've had that thing."

He watched, finally offering a small smile.

"I think I'm going to take a shower," Sam said, still opening and closing his fist. "It will feel so good to finally be clean."

Dean just nodded and watched as his brother collected his things and went to toward the bathroom. Sam paused at the door, and looked back. "Thanks, Dean. For everything."

Unable to speak, Dean felt his eyes burn as Sam disappeared inside. He sat where he was, remaining still even as Sam turned on the water and Dean could hear the water pouring down.

Then he looked down at the discarded cast which had so been a part of Sam for the last seven months. It had defined him, been something to identify his brother to. As long as Sam had sported it, Dean had always taken extra care of it. It marked the beginning of his recommitment to his brother, when he realized that taking care of Sam was more important than anything else, more important than a promise to his father, more important than the sense of duty he felt somewhere inside of him.

But it was gone now, and somehow with it, so was part of the innocence Dean had felt responsible for protecting. And Dean could hear Sam's voice, begging him, asking him to kill him if he had to.

He picked up the cast, and saw how it was still molded in the shape of Sam's hand.

With the cast off, Sam seemed so much more vulnerable, more unprotected, more likely to break again.

Now Dean didn't know how to protect his little brother.

He sighed, tossing the ruined plaster in the garbage. He flopped back on the bed, and tried to sleep away the doubts and questions.

 

Comments

Posted by: a rearranger of the proverbial bookshelf (embroiderama)
Posted at: January 31st, 2007 02:19 am (UTC)
Sam - Sammy

Aw, man, why are there not more cast!Sam stories? I love this for the Sam pain and for the perfectly reasonable explanation for why it always seemed so fresh.

Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: February 1st, 2007 01:27 pm (UTC)
sam

I totally think there should be more cast!Sam stories. Sam and his cast must have been very close over that period of time. Maybe that's why he took so long to get it cut off--couldn't stand the separation anxiety of it all.

(Deleted comment)
Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: February 1st, 2007 01:28 pm (UTC)
spooned

Dean would totally get a colored cast. I was going to have him write on Sam's earlier casts, but I couldn't think of something snarky enough...and of course Sam would be offended...just for the sake of being offended. It's a little sibling kind of thing.

Thanks!

Posted by: skippy_peanuts (skippy_peanuts)
Posted at: January 31st, 2007 03:27 am (UTC)

interesting. i liked. and i had wondered how it stayed so clean! and why it was on for so long. nice explination.

Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: February 1st, 2007 01:29 pm (UTC)
skin limp

Poor cast!Sam. They hardly ever carry a bruise for more than a day, but Sam's stuck in a cast for like seven months. That's what happens when an actor breaks a limb, I suppose and they film everything within six weeks :)

Still the bunny demanded to be written.

Thanks :)

Posted by: sunrize (sunrize83)
Posted at: January 31st, 2007 04:17 am (UTC)

*snickers* Okay, first of all, I love that you tackled the whole gleaming white cast thing. Because really? How could it possibly stay that way considering the work these boys do? And I was chuckling out loud as poor Sam kept having to have another new cast put on. Except for when the spirit twisted his arm--ouch!

You've got great banter between the boys, and some really nice touching moments too. Loved this:

Sam sighed in exasperation. "The white is fine."

"It's boring."

Sam crinkled his forehead in annoyance. "You're boring."

"I would have gotten a green one," Dean said decidedly. "The green ones are the best."

"That's because you have the mentality of a 10-year-old."


I think I especially liked it because I could hear Sam responding the way he did. It reminded me of Usual Suspects when he retorts "You're Scully."

And poor Dean. Trying to hang on to Sam and keep him safe, all the while knowing there are terrible forces out there working against him.

I really enjoyed this, Faye. Great job!

Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: February 1st, 2007 01:31 pm (UTC)
zonked

Surely in canon Sam had to have SOME reason for always having a clean cast for that long. And it was too good of an opportunity for limpness to pass up.

And I'm glad it was amusing--I always worry about that kind of thing. Angst is my speciality. Humor, not so much.

It was also a hard balance to strike--this piece wasn't suppose to get serious, but Dean just kind of took over at the end. I claim no responsibility :)

(Deleted comment)
Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: February 1st, 2007 01:32 pm (UTC)
Re: Awesome
haunted

I'm so glad the boys seemed in character! There are few higher compliments :)

Thanks!

Posted by: Cyndra Rae (cyndrarae)
Posted at: January 31st, 2007 08:15 am (UTC)

Beautiful. Both Sam and Dean are perfectly in character. So much that when the ghost bitch twisted Sam's arm and he was in so much pain, I just thought Gawd! Dean hug him already!! *sniff* But of course, he didnt. *sigh*

The subtle humor is done brilliantly and my favorite part is how Dean almost wished the cast stayed on.

With the cast off, Sam seemed so much more vulnerable, more unprotected, more likely to break again.
Now Dean didn't know how to protect his little brother.


Awwww. Lovely hon, just perfect! Its the kind of fic that makes you smile a little sadly and you can't help but read it over and over again. Thanks for sharing this.

Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: February 1st, 2007 01:33 pm (UTC)
Sam

Those boys really do need to hug...I'm afraid we'd have to break Dean's arm before he'd do it though.

Anyway, thanks so much! I'm glad the humor and the seriousness blended okay.

Posted by: You shouldn't let poets lie to you (kroki_refur)
Posted at: January 31st, 2007 11:36 am (UTC)
samdiary12

Oh dear. There I was, enjoying all the funny with the endless doomed casts and basking in the limpness, and then you got all serious and Dean thought Sam was slipping away and he was all maudlin and apprehensive about the cast removal and oh! :(. You tugged at my heartstrings.

This was a great idea, well synchronised with what was going on, and there were some really fantastic lines. *goes back to find them*

Sam was wrong. He supposed it was bound to happen from time to time.

This just made me laugh. Oh, Sam, you’re such a smart-aleck. *hearts*

The doctor looked skeptical then turned to Dean. "You watch out for him, now," he ordered, clearly not trusting his young patient to do it on his own.
Dean glanced at Sam, then back at the doctor. "That’s kind of what I do."

This definitely merits an “Oh, Dean.” I love that he just states it, like “this is my job. Not hunting demons, not saving people. This.”
Not to mention the fact that it was heavy. Sure, he was a big guy, but a hand that was suddenly two pounds heavier seemed to throw off his center of gravity. It went down faster than he was used to, so he was always smacking it on countertops and tables. It clipped doors and walls and seemed to make him more likely to fall. For some reason, it seemed to make him sit faster too, and he now had a habit of hitting his head on the Impala's door as he tried to curl himself into it. He did it so often, that even Dean stopped laughing at it.

I loved this description. Seriously, love. It’s so great that you go into detail about how it feels to have a casted arm, things that I have never even considered (never having broken a bone myself *touches wood*). I just didn’t imagine that it would be heavy and throw everything off, but you described it so well. Would be hands-down my favourite part of the fic, except…

"Dude, there's a knife sticking out of me."
"It's your cast."
"It's the same thing," Sam said, his voice tinged with annoyance and impatience.

Oh my God, I loved this. I love that Sam has grown to think of the cast as a part of himself, and I love the way the narrative comes back to this concept at the end, when Dean is thinking of the cast as a part of Sammy, a part that protects and anchors him, just as it does in this scene with poltergeist. The cast is both a character in the story and a characteristic of Sam, and it’s able to interact with the other characters and affect the events in both those ways. Seriously, <3.
Dean tried to smile, but found his chest tight. His greatest fear was Sam slipping away, floating away. He needed to keep his brother tethered--to the ground, to him--and he didn't always know how to do it.

And this is lovely too, because Dean’s such a prosaic guy, feet on the ground, concerned with practical matters, and this is a wonderful description of how he sees Sam, not just in terms of the Demon and his &%*# plans, but in terms of just how Sam is, idealistic and analytical, always thinking and in that, apt not only to think himself into guilt but to just leave Dean for a life where he can be all those things to the fullest of his ability. Um. That didn’t really make much sense, but I thought it was a fantastically insightful paragraph, anyway.

Thank you for sharing this, Faye! It rocks, as always.

Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: February 1st, 2007 01:38 pm (UTC)
lost

It wasn't supposed to get serious. It started off as a light airy piece about Sam's broken arm then Dean had to go and get all serious at the end. I swear, that boy is going WAY emo lately.

Never had a broken bone? I broke my elbow when I was like six. I actually didn't even have a cast because of the way I broke it, I just had this quasi-cast and this idiotic sling that drove me crazy. So all my cast insight actually came from sendintheclowns, who pretty much forced me to write this fic at gunpoint.

More or less, anyway :)

I imagine Dean has spent most of his life trying to keep Sam grounded in every way possible--to keep him safe, to keep him close. And that would mean to keep Sam near him, which would mean to keep Sam away from people who would hurt him or dreams that would take him away. Dean wants what's best for his brother, but he also wants to know that Sam is safe. It's so hard to reconcile to the two, especially now, considering.

Now I'm not sure I'm making sense. Incoherence must be contagious :)

And thank you for commenting--YOU rock. Beyond belief. The fact that you even read my stuff and find something to comment on will still surprise me, more and more after I read more and more of your work :)

Posted by: You shouldn't let poets lie to you (kroki_refur)
Posted at: February 5th, 2007 05:46 pm (UTC)
seal of disapproval2

Oh, right, yeah, it's Dean's fault that it got so angsty. Because obviously, you never write angst. Uh-huh. *raises eyebrow*

A thing a case of good luck plus my fear of heights basically meaning that I never climbed trees or anything dangerous when I was a kid combined to save me from brokenness. I did bite through my tongue once when my brother punched me under the jaw, though. Just thought you'd like to know that.

God, Sam and Dean are just killing me today. I want to hug them both, and I don't know why -- I haven't even been reading or writing anything angsty, I've just been at work! Brains are kind of weird.

The fact that you even read my stuff and find something to comment on will still surprise me, more and more after I read more and more of your work :)

Um, sweetie, that is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. You're an awesome writer, why on earth would I not have anything to comment on? Seriously, that's just silly. *tuts*

Although, I see you are being very nice to me here at the same time as being down on yourself, so maybe I can hug you for the former and tut at you for the latter? *tuthugs*

Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: February 6th, 2007 01:36 pm (UTC)

Dude, aren't we just CHANNELING the characters? I may WRITE but they're the ones DOING it. I swear, they come to me angsty and scream in my ear until I write.

Why did your brother punch you? Doesn't sound very...brotherly. And ouch--biting your tongue through? I fell off a swing--backwards--and broke my elbow when I was six. It was oh-so-much fun. I don't remember much except pain and screaming and lots of crying.

As for hugging the boys, it's just kind of something I always want to do, no matter what. They just deserve it.

tuthugs? Seriously. LOL! I first looked at it and was like Tu-thugs? What?!

And you deserve all the praise and I'm just having a period of annoyance and frustration with myself across the board in my life. I'm sure it'll pass.

Tu-thugs is about the best thing I've heard all day.... :)

Posted by: iamstealthyone (iamstealthyone)
Posted at: January 31st, 2007 07:22 pm (UTC)

Good story, and I like that while there was a lot of amusing stuff in here, there were serious moments, too. I especially liked how the cast came to represent far more than just a covering for Sam’s injury.

Favorite lines:

And it seemed to be a fine plan--it kept Dean from worrying and his hand seemed to be getting better--until they met a spirit in Oklahoma who liked to throw things.

Namely, people. Mostly down stairs.


*g* Poor Sam. He’s so injury prone sometimes.

The knife was embedded in the bottom side of Sam's cast, deep enough to stick.

"Huh," Dean said.

Sam blinked.


LOL! I love both of their reactions.

He was going to pass out or throw up or both. Everything was hazy, everything was wrong, everything was pain, pain, pain...

Ow, ow, ow. Poor Sam. *hugs him*

Dean tried to smile, but found his chest tight. His greatest fear was Sam slipping away, floating away. He needed to keep his brother tethered--to the ground, to him--and he didn't always know how to do it.

Oh, Dean. He really is afraid of Sam leaving him, and of the future that’s waiting.

Oh, boys.

Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: February 1st, 2007 01:40 pm (UTC)
united

The cast kind of took on a life of its own in this fic. The cast deserve far more attention--it was a steady presence for half a season. Even Meg has gotten more fic than the cast.

Anyway, I'm glad you enjoyed it!

Posted by: squishy is the new shiny! (teithiwr)
Posted at: January 31st, 2007 08:30 pm (UTC)
sam the suspect

Ha! Great explanation for the suspiciously shiny cast. ;) I love how this shifts from funny and lighthearted to the gorgeous uncertainty that Dean feels in the end. Really great description of what it feels like to have your arm in a cast, as well. Lovely stuff!

Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: February 1st, 2007 01:41 pm (UTC)
fallen

This fic was never supposed to be serious--that's entirely Dean's fault. He decided to go all emo at the end, so I had to weave it throughout.

And as for the cast description--it's not from personal experience! I did break my elbow once but never had a cast for it, so I have to credit sendintheclowns for the insight.

Thanks so much!

Posted by: the fbi's most unwanted (buffyaddict13)
Posted at: February 4th, 2007 03:59 am (UTC)
drunk!sam seal of disapproval

this fic was wonderful, hon. i am remiss for not leaving feedback sooner. i loved the humor and of *course* the limpness. and protective dean! this totally makes up for the show glossing over sam's cast for so long.

especially awesome: the way sam used his cast to protect him from the knife.

how dean held his hand a little longer than he needed to in order to "check" sam's hand.

*loves*

dean may not know how to protect his little brother, but he'll always try.

thank you so much for writing this!

(is it sad that i sort of miss sam's cast now?)

Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: February 14th, 2007 01:17 am (UTC)
skin limp

I kind of miss Sam's cast too...

There needs to be more cast!fic...

Posted by: spilled_coffee (spilled_coffee)
Posted at: July 27th, 2007 06:29 pm (UTC)
Sam sleeping

Thanks so much for clarifying. I was clear to me that there must have been more than one cast, but know I even know that Dean would have gotten a green one. :-))

Thanks so much for writing!

Posted by: do i dare or do i dare? (faye_dartmouth)
Posted at: August 1st, 2007 02:00 am (UTC)
longway

Sam's cast was sorely underused. It had so much potential!

Thanks!

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