Title: It'll all come out in the wash.
Author: Enkidu07
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
A/N: Happy Birthday to the fabulous PADavis. I hope your birthday is amazing and that you find a little something to make you happy every single day this year! Mad Server planted a seed in my mind and this is what grew - just for you.

o0o

The problem with lore is that nothing is set in stone. Each legend makes a different prediction and when you are face-to-face with an Erymanthian Boar predictions pretty much suck ass.

So Sam, though bored out of his mind, is sitting in a hotel room reading as many conjectures as he can put his hands on to give them a fighting chance.

The tedium is abruptly disrupted when Dean busts into the room.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. It's okay. I'm okay."

"You look like your face went through a cement wall."

"Fuck."

Sam tosses the books to the side and follows Dean into the bathroom. "Dean?"

"I'm okay. Fell down the stairs."

"What?"

"Went to get the laundry. Fell down the stairs."

"Seriously?"

"Fuck, Sam."

Right. Bleeding brother. Sam moves in, assessing Dean's face in the mirror. His lip is split; there is a gash under his nose, and deep scratches mar his forehead, nose, and chin in several long lines.

Dean grabs a washcloth, soaks it in water and shaking hands ineffectually dab at the blood and mud under his nose. Sam's eyes follow his hands and he catches sight of scrapes on Dean's right wrist and elbow. Scanning down his body, his jeans are ripped at the left hip and blood is already staining through.

"The stairs?" Sam's incredulous.

"Sam."

Sam smirks and Dean glares. He reaches back and turns on the shower. "Just get in. Get the mud off and I'll get the kit."

"I'm okay."

"Yeah, you mentioned that. Get in."

o0o

Considering how many big hurts they've suffered over the last year, a few scrapes really aren't a big deal. In the morning, though, Dean's upper lip has swollen to about twice its normal size; bruises highlight his brow bone, and scabs are already starting to form along the bridge of his nose.

Sam hears the ruckus as Dean catches sight of himself in the bathroom.

"Buck!"

"What?"

"I. Said. Ffffhuck," Dean grits through clenched teeth. His hands hover over the lacerated skin on his face, shoulders stiff. He looks angry. And a little pathetic.

"Well, there is some good news," Sam says as he tosses a book Dean's way. "One of the leading theories to control the boar is for a goddess to turn a wrathful countenance upon it." Sam tilts his head, examines Dean's injuries. "We can just get you a wig." Sam catches the towel just before it smacks his face.

"Just get me a shirt, will you?"

"Sure. Where are they?"

"Uhhh... in the laundry. Be careful on the stairs."

o0o

end.