“All Sewn up” by Tidia
The hunters entered loudly through the back
entrance of
Jim's farmhouse. At
They had remained behind while the three hunters went to
John, Caleb and Dean tumbled in with dirt, twigs and blood covering
their
clothes. "Hey Runt, you may be right about that whole respecting the
forest." Reaves said as he wiped his forehead, marking it with more
dirt.
"Who would have known a bunch of Dryads could get that pissed off."
Sam had researched the Dryads for the trio. They normally did not
bother
humans unless they were forced. The youngest
Pastor Jim relaxed. There was no emergency or wounded to deal with,
although
he saw some of the blood coming from various shallow cuts. The
returning
hunters were standing in the kitchen, having a conversation like they
were
returning from watching a football game. "Each Dryad is born with a
certain tree over which she watches - she comes into existence with it
and often
lives in a tree." Murphy shared his knowledge about the woodland
creatures. He and Sam had the same discussion over dinner.
"Yeah, and they don’t like people carving initials. . ." Dean
interjected, picking off some twigs from his clothes.
"A little more than carving initials, Dean." John said as he
shrugged out of his shirt.
"The degenerate population in
"I told you that you can't use the outdoors as your own personal
litter
box." Sam gestured to his brother.
Dean shrugged his shoulders in response.
"I think he'll think twice about it now. The Dryads got their own
vengeance with maiming and torturing those people." John winced as he
examined a rip in his long sleeve t-shirt.
"Do we need the medical kit?" Jim asked, noticing the men were
shedding debris in his kitchen. Debris he would have to clean in the
morning.
"Caleb and Dad need some suturing." Dean commented.
"Everyone get cleaned up and I'll get things ready down here." The
men shuffled forward, but Jim stopped them. "Boots off. You will not
track
up my home."
They complied with a grumble. Dean was first to get his boots off
with a hop.
"Don't even think about using all the hot water, Deuce." Caleb
called out as he sat down to pull off his work boots.
Dean snorted. "Why 'cause you plan to?"
"No, I am." John said as he calmly untied his boots.
The nineteen year old went up the stairs, stopping in his room to
grab some
track pants and another shirt. He went into the shower, quickly rinsing
off
most of soil, and watching the water turn gray. He toweled off, picking
up the
clothes he had worn on the hunt and the towel.
Caleb was already waiting outside the door.
Dean jutted his chin at the other hunter's grimy clothing. "Leave
your
shit outside the door and I'll toss it in the washer."
Reaves smiled. "Damn, you're a good house bitch."
Dean returned the insult with his middle finger. He went downstairs,
and saw
that Jim had set up the kitchen table with towels, preparing to do some
suturing. "Bring Caleb's and Dad's clothes downstairs." He asked his
brother who was sitting at the table.
Sam shuffled his feet, but eventually stood and did what was asked
of him.
Dean started the wash cycle and the brothers returned upstairs.
The nineteen year old took some of the supplies Jim had set up and
moved
them closer.
"I'll take Dad if you can work with Damien."
Caleb straddled the seat in front of Pastor Jim, stretching out his
arm.
"His stitches are better than yours."
John sat so his shoulder was easily accessible to his son.
"Mine are smaller and quicker." Dean laughed.
Jim looked up from where he had been disinfecting Caleb's wound. He
frowned at
the young hunter. "Older and more experienced."
Dean shrugged, then raised an eyebrow up in taunt.
Jim grinned and lifted the needle he was about to use. Dean did the
same.
Sam saw the challenge being thrown between the two. "You're racing
to
stitch them up?"
"No-" Dean and Jim answered at the same time.
"Ouch!" Caleb grimaced, and tried to pull his arm back.
"Stop being so sensitive, Caleb." Jim admonished the dark haired
hunter.
John frowned at his son, not liking the idea of a suturing race.
"Dean,
those stitches better be straight. . ."
Dean waved of the warning. "They look good, Dad." The blond
concentrated on the stitches, the easy in and out of the needle into
the skin.
One more stitch and he was done. He cut the thread. "Done!" He yelled
out and looked at Jim, noticing he had not finished. "Yes!" Dean
threw his arms up in victory.
"He let you win." Caleb groused, as Jim made a few more stitches
and then tied off the thread.
The pastor shook his head. "No, Dean won." He glanced at John.
"How are the stitches?"
John had already rolled down his sleeve. "Look good to me."
"Samuel, please get the Tylenol." He asked the young teen.
"Then we'll get these boys to bed."
Caleb was studying his stitches and didn't look satisfied. But a
shake of
John's head told him not to say a word. He headed up the stairs in
silence,
following Sam and John.
"I'll clean up here, Pastor Jim. The clothes aren’t finished yet."
Dean said as he picked up the bandage wrappers.
"Alright, my boy." Jim gave the younger man a pat on the shoulder.
Dean watched as the pastor went up the stairs. The young hunter
cleaned up
the table, only setting aside some things he would need. When the house
was
quiet once more, he unbuttoned the side of his black track pant. The
blood from
the cut on his thigh had smudged on his skin. It had started bleeding
again.
Dean prepped the injury in order to stitch it up.
He could hear the washing machine still running. By the time he
finished it
would be done and he would head to bed. He didn’t want to ask for help
with the
stitches. He could handle them himself. It was always easier to do
things for
himself.
He made the stitch, then the second and then heard the stairs creak.
Dean
stopped and folded the track pants over to cover what he was doing.
The pastor poked his head down the stairwell.
"Hey, Jim." Dean greeted the man
"I forgot my reading glasses. . ." Jim explained with a sheepish
smile. He looked at Dean, and the suturing supplies before him. He then
noticed
the open pant leg. "What are you doing?"
Dean shrugged his shoulders, and pushed away the bandages in front
of him.
"Nothing, just . . ."
Jim pulled the track pant and revealed the two inch injury. "Why
didn’t
you say anything?"
"No big deal. My own fault," Dean started to explain as Jim sat
down, and put on his reading glasses. "Twigs are kinda sharp when the
Dryad is using it as a sword." Dean swallowed as Jim picked up the
needle.
"I can handle it myself."
Jim smiled at the young man. "Nonsense, I obviously need the
practice."
Dean moved to a more comfortable position. "I thought you let me
win?"
Jim shook his head. "No, you won. I would never take the honor of a
win
away from you."
The younger hunter looked down, not meeting the older man's eyes. He
was uncomfortable
with the praise. Jim began stitching the cut. "Did Sammy finish his
project? I know he was hoping you would help him."
"Yes, I was surprised a public school allowed him to do a project
about
the Islamic religion for history class. I was glad to help. The poster
is in my
den." Jim had tried to give the teen some interesting side notes to
garner
Sam an A.
"Cool." Dean nodded. "I didn’t want him falling behind on his
homework. He's doing really well in school." The nineteen year old said
with pride in his voice.
"He's a smart boy, like his brother." Jim commented, concentrating
on nice even stitches. He owed this boy his best. For so long Dean had
to keep
himself sewn up, bracing himself from what life would throw at him.
With five
more and he would be finished, and for awhile Dean would be whole. "All
done." He stated, and showed Dean his work. "What do you think-your
professional opinion of course?"
Dean narrowed his eyes. "I don’t think I could have done better,
Jim." He smiled at the older man. "Thanks."
"Why don't you get some sleep? I think the washing machine has
finished." The pastor pulled the boy to a standing position and
gestured
to the stairs.
"Alright. 'Night, Jim." Dean went gingerly up the stairs.
Jim rolled up the
remaining thread and
was in awe of how it held them all together.
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