“IT BIT ME!”
Sam sighed and kept his eyes on the road.
“Yes, Dean, it did.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Actually, I think it was a hedgehog. An albino hedgehog, which is pretty unusual. Especially since I don't think hedgehogs are native to this area.”
Dean glared at Sam. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No,” Sam said with a shrug.
“Dammit. It really hurts too. Little fucker took a chunk out of my hand.” Then something else occurred to him and his head shot up and then swiveled towards Sam. “You don't think it had rabies do you?”
“Because it was acting crazy,” Dean continued.
“Dean, you tried to stomp on it.”
“Because it bit me! And it was acting crazy before then. That's why it bit me!”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, it didn't have rabies. It wasn't foaming at the mouth.”
“You be sure to put that on my headstone: Here Lies Dean Winchester. Died from a bite by a rare albino hedgehog. They aren't native to the area and it didn't have rabies because it wasn't FOAMING AT THE MOUTH!”
Sam let the silence sit for all of four seconds before he couldn't contain himself.
“Okay, first of all, I thought you wanted cremation.”
“Second, I think that's too long to put on a headstone, plus they charge by the letter and that's going to be one expensive headstone at this rate.”
“Third, it wasn't rabid so you're not going to die.”
Silence fell again.
“I am putting Nair in your shampoo again. You won't know when and you won't know where but when you feel that burning tingliness on your scalp you WILL know why.”
Sam frowned. “How do you know what Nair feels like on your scalp?”
“No really, Dean, because I remember last time-”
“SAM. JUST DRIVE TO THE DAMN HOSPITAL.”
Sam's eyebrow rose and he glanced over. “You seriously want to get rabies shots for that?”
“Well if my choices are get the damn shots or die of rabies, then yeah, I want the damn shots. That okay with you, Princess?”
“Dean, really. I think you're going to be okay with some triple antibiotic and a band-aid.”
“A band-aid?” Dean repeated. “A FREAKIN' BAND-AID?”
Suddenly the hand in question was being waved in Sam's face.
“DOES THIS LOOK LIKE IT CAN BE COVERED BY TRIPLE ANTIBIOTIC AND A BAND-AID?”
“Dean, I can't see!”
In the interest of preserving his car and himself—but NOT his little brother who was so going to be bald by morning—he retracted his arm.
Sam sighed as the silence from the passenger seat settled into a palpable sulk.
“I'll take you to the hospital if you really want me to Dean, but I'm almost positive that you don't need it.”
“And why is that, college boy?” Dean muttered.
“Because I don't think arkan sonney can get rabies.”
Dean frowned. “Who the hell is Arkan Sonney? I'm the one that got bit.”
“Not who, what.”
Dean gave him a look and waved a hand in clear invitation to explain before he changed his mind and the Nair ended up in his coffee instead of his shampoo bottle.
“Arkan sonney are a fairy creature from the Isle of Man. They're described as a small white pig-like creature with long hair. And though it's probably not the first thing you'd think of, an albino hedgehog could be described that way.”
“So it's supernatural?” Dean asked. “Sweet. I'm going pig-hunting tomorrow.”
“Okay, first of all, no, you're not. We're supposed to be hunting the buggane that's killed three people already. And second, you don't want to kill an arkan sonney.”
Dean raised his hand. “Oh I do. I really do, Sammy. And I'm not so sure it's a buggane. It could just be a rabid cow attacking people. They seem to have a problem with that in this area,” he added darkly. “That and supernatural things from the Isle of Man. What is with that?”
“This area was settled by immigrants from the Isle of Man. And what is it with you and this rabies kick tonight? Seriously, Dean, not everything has rabies.”
“You put that on my tombstone, too,” Dean simply said in reply.
“You know what? I am going to take you to the hospital.”
A hint of fear flashed across Dean's face. “You think it might be rabies after all?”
“No. But they'll want to keep you for observation and I'll be able to go back to the hotel and get some peace and quiet.”
Now Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh real mature, Sammy.”
“Don't even start with me,” Sam said in a flat voice.
More silence filled the car. Sam slowly relaxed and was just about to offer an olive branch when Dean beat him to it.
“So why don't you want to kill an arkan sonney?”
Sam glanced at him to see if he was being mocked, but Dean was poking at his hand and when he glanced up it was with genuine curiosity.
“Because they bring good luck,” Sam explained, accepting the offer of a truce.
Dean grunted. “In that case I don't think it was an arkan sonney. This is the kind of good luck we already have too much of,” he said, holding up his hand.
“Well they don't want to be caught, Dean. And they're supposed to be good at escaping. I guess you just got too close for comfort.”
“Still. I don't need a lucky hedgehog with vampiric tendencies.”
“What if I told you that according to legend whoever catches an arkan sonney will always have a piece of silver in their pocket?”
“Do you have to keep it or can you just catch and release?”
Sam smiled. At least Dean's attention had been diverted from whining about his hand.
“I don't know. But it seems to be just a catch and release from what I can remember.”
It was the kind that generally caused a mixture of relief and dread to pool in Sam's stomach. But then it usually came out when they were very close to dying—and still might if things didn't go according to the plan that had just been concocted.
Or when he was planning to do something really idiotic just for the sheer entertainment value of it.
“Sammy, we're going hedgehog hunting tomorrow,” he said with glee.
Sam would have protested because he was pretty sure that if it was an arkan sonney they were never going to see it again and he didn't want to waste all day tramping around in the woods looking for a magical hedgehog so their pockets would always be full of quarters, but he decided that if it kept Dean occupied long enough to get back to the motel and bandage up that hand without any further complaining he'd bite his tongue and let his brother plot.
“Do we still have those tranquilizers from that strix we hunted in Maine?”
And maybe he'd make the coffee run in the morning and get Dean some decaf with a little something extra in it . . . like Benadryl.
Okay so this probably just barely squeaks by as DeanDamage, but hey he IS wounded. And it's more than Sam. (Unless you count annoying!Dean as causing mental trauma, then it may be a tie. :D)
Oh and rated for language. Because Dean in pain has a potty-mouth.
OMJ I WON! Runner up but still. :D