I don't know… don't ask. It's just a really lazy Saturday afternoon here today and I wanted to write me some h/c.

I own nothing. Sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes.

Enjoy…

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, one of those when you put up your feet and lie back on the couch to stare at the television for hours on end, killing all the brain cells that have not yet died.

The sun's shining, the birds are singing, the road is inviting, but you're just too lazy to get up.

The pop corn you've got your hand stuck in is still warm and you're just dying to taste it.

-:-

"Hold on, man… hold on. 's okay, 's alright." soft, whispered words.

"No, nononono, come on, relax." hurried, soft words.

"'s okay, 's okay… hey hey, heyheyhey, keep your arm there… 's okay." softly ordered words.

"I know, hey, I know it hurts but shhhh…" sympathy.

-:-

One of those lazy Saturday afternoons that make you feel like you're invincible, that everything will work out fine in the end, that the afternoon will just stretch itself into infinity and give you an oh so much needed break.

-:-

"Put pressure here, man. Okay? Press down… okay, okay… shhhh, quiet." Hand gripping another hand tightly, fingers slipping in blood.

"Nononono, pressure, Dean, pressure. Okay, yeah, 's it. Good." pressing a hand to a spot where nothing should be pressed but has to be.

"Gonna hurt now, alright? Gonna put my hand over your mouth, shhhh, 's okay…" keeping the screams in, gotta be quiet, gotta be silent.

's gonna hurt.

-:-

Lazy Saturday, the television program sucking so bad, but you just can't move, you can't even reach the remote control, because you're exhausted from the work week and your legs are just so comfy on the table.

You feel lazy and you know it's a sin but seriously… it feels so awesome to just sit back once in a while and do absolutely-fucking-nothing.

-:-

"That's it, 's it. 's okay, sleep, alright? Just sleep, keep your arm there, don't move it, keep it there. 's it. Sleep, alright?"

Breathless words with sweat dripping down his spine.

-:-

But then the afternoon ends and you're stuck with your fingers sticky from popcorn salt, your ass is hurting from all the sitting you did, your legs are cramping, your head hurts, because yeah, you totally lost some brain cells there, the sun is going down and you so wanted to take a walk.

The Saturday afternoon is over and you feel like crap. All your problems are still there, nothing got fixed, you just gave yourself a headache.

Awesome.

-:-

"Gimme coffee. Coffee or I'll die."

"You're a stupid, selfish asshole you know that?"

"Uh, dude, not before my coffee."

"You want coffee? I'll get ya coffee..."

Dean saw with blurry eyes something in his brother's hand that shone in the sunlight that ruled the room.

It was thin and Sam held it up before his eyes, frowning while tapping it with his fingers.

"Here's your coffee, you idiot, straight to your I.V."

Any reply that Dean had on the tip of his tongue was lost in the happy daze of morphine running through his veins.

-:-

"How's he doin'?"

"He asked for coffee."

"That good?"

Sam huffed and smiled: "Thyeah, that awesome."

"'s not his fault, ya know?"

"He got slashed to bits and pieces 'cause he jumped in front of me. How is that not his fault?"

"Saved yer ass." Because he always does that, you moron. Because he'd jump in front of a train to save you, you idiot.

But all that was left unsaid.

Sam huffed. Yeah Dean saved his ass, but he really didn't want to spend his Saturday afternoon keeping his brother from bleeding out on him and dying.

"Thanks for coming, Bobby. The manager's giving me the 'I know you're doing something illegal in that room, boy' look."

"I'll fix it, you just get your brother ready to move."

"Yeah."

He really wanted to spend his Saturday afternoon lazing around, watching television and doing absolutely-fucking-nothing.

The End.