silvertons:
I’m proud of him, okay? You’re proud of a man that fired into a group of people? I mean, not him exactly. The work I did. The surgery you performed? The night he was shot, I dug two .38s out of his arm, another two out of his thigh. The fifth was in his chest, and his lungs were filling with blood. I got a tube in, but the place was a circus, so I almost missed the muffled heart tones, the distended vein in his neck. His pericardium was filling with blood, too. I mean, it happens to maybe 2% of patients, but even a hole the size of a pin prick can flood it. I remember inserting the needle into his chest. You go too deep, you risk puncturing the heart itself. But then I heard this pop when I got to the membrane, and then I started to draw the blood away. A few minutes later he was stable enough for surgery. I found the .38 lodged inside the wall of his bronchus. And that was that. I stitched him up, and ten days later he was transferred to a prison ward for recovery. Usually when I think back to those days, I don’t feel great. But seeing Shinwell yesterday, it made me feel good.
silvertons:
I went to school for 11 years to become a surgeon. I wanted to fix people, take their pain away. And I was good at it. And then I killed someone. So, becoming a sober companion, I could still be involved, you know? But now, you and me – we’re in the punishment business.
silvertons:
This is your third career. You stopped being a surgeon for personal reasons. You stopped being a sober companion because something better came along. It just seemed a prudent time to ask whether your wanderlust had subsided.
heytheredeann:
5.01 | Sympathy For The Devil
I just don’t think I can trust you.
(Requested by Anonymous) (Have a request?)
iamsupernaturalsbitch:
Sam shivered as he leaned against the splintered wooden wall of the barn. His shoulder ached from the fight with the demon-spawn Mar-Delok and his clothes were soaked from the cold rain which fell outside. He let the knife fall into the dust and turned to his brother.
Dean was shaken up. His chest was heaving with exertion and his shredded shirt was barely clinging to his muscular frame. Sam could see he was hurt.
“Hey. Are you ok?” Sam stepped closer and put his arms around Dean. “We’re going to get out of this, they can’t keep us here long.”
The brothers huddled together in the dark as the sound of the rain drumming on the roof eased their fears of pursuit. Despite the cold outside and the demons who, even now, must be approaching, the warmth of their embrace comforted them.
And then Sam caressed Dean’s clavicle.
“This is wrong.” said Dean.
“Then I don’t want to be right.” replied Sam, in a husky voice.
