Chapter Text
It was a normal day, as normal as a day could get.
Sam's body ached from training the night before as he slipped to fairly clean clothes thinking about science quiz the period before lunch. The deep tug low in his stomach was probably just nerve.
The quiz went well. Sam knew answers to all questions plus the extra one. According to the clock with bent second-hand, he had twenty minutes to spare before the bell rang.
Sam was memorizing the group 13 of a new, colorful periodic table when he felt something wet soaking his brief.
His teacher barely looked up from a textbook when Sam excused himself to restroom.
The stain on his underwear was brownish, the color of blood left dried in the air. Sam took a deep breath that smelled of urine and cigarettes. This was not good. Not good at all.
Blood was bad, but it was much worse when it came the place he couldn't reach.
Dean, with his nose optimized for scenting Sam's trouble, was washing his hand when Sam exited the cubicle.
"I think I have internal bleeding." Sam said to his brother under the sound of running water. He wasn't so sure but it seemed like a possible explanation.
Internal bleeding was dangerous, dangerous enough to merit a trip to hospital. Sam gnawed at his lip, worried. He had never been at the hospital as a patient himself, not even that time when he broke his leg and the bone was more or less smashed.
It had been the worst he had. He survived somehow but the bone there hadn't healed right. It wasn't too bad really, bearable. Just that it tended fucking hurt worse than normal once in a while.
Sam continued. "I'm bleeding," he discreetly skimmed his hand to his jeans' zipper, "here."
They crammed themselves in the cubicle Sam had occupied before. Dean looked apologetic as Sam's plaid hitched up to show vividly purple bruise from Dean's blow when Sam hadn't rolled away in time.
With baggy jeans pulled down to Sam's knees, Dean was examining his brother instantly, swift and efficient.
Strangely enough, Sam didn't feel awkward to be touched in what was thought to be the most private part of his body. Or maybe that was because it was Dean.
He was more preoccupied with what would happen after. That Dean would confirm it to be an internal bleeding and they had to go to the hospital. He wondered if Dean would drive them there or would call an ambulance. He was betting on the former.
"Shit," Dean swore in low voice but with enough force in it that Sam knew they ere in deep shit. A really deep one. "Shit. Shit. Shit."
"Was it that bad?"Sam asked as Dean finished prodding and wiped his bloody hand on his jeans.
Sam grimaced. That was so unhygienic.
Dean gave him a reassuring smile that was completely fake. "Just peachy. Don't panic, okay? Be back in a sec." Fuck, Dean seemed like he was about to hyperventilate.
Before Sam could say anything, Dean darted out. Sam barely had time to cover his groin when the door opened.
Sam huffed to himself, alone with whatever was seriously wrong with him.
Dean was back before Sam could fully freak out. "Here, like this I think." Dean was sticking something to his soiled underwear. It reminded Sam of a diaper.
"Come on." Dean crunched its plastic wrapper in his hand.
"Can you walk?" Dean asked as he led them off school ground, carrying both of their backpacks.
Sam was feeling better, trusting Dean to know what was wrong with him even if he kept close-lipped. It annoyed Sam a lot, but he was used to the feeling by now. Dean and dad kept hunting a secret from him for years, even right at the moment, he felt there was something else they were still not telling him.
The overall relief he felt got stronger when Dean led them to a dilapidated shack they called home and ordered him to take a hot shower.
Sam stayed under hot spray wondering if he would bleed to dead here in the shower and no one would know because Dean was out to get something and their closest neighbors were half a mile away if he didn't count an extended family of toads.
Harsh raps on the bathroom door came at the moment Sam was thinking if the toads used to be human before they were cursed by an evil witch, just like in the Frog Prince. He thought that his thought somehow summoned the witch and he would be the next prey.
"Dean," Sam snapped. He blamed for almost giving him a heart attack because Dean never knocked. Never.
Dean sat on the toilet lid as Sam toweled himself dry.
"Put this on." Dean handed him a clean pair of brief with that diaper thing.
Sam contemplated on that diaper thing. Actually it was smaller than a diaper and stuck on his brief just on the place where it was bleeding perfectly, like it was made for this purpose. The thought was disconcerting in a way that he was afraid to speculate.
The small hazy TV was on. Dean was in the kitchenette unwrapping sandwiches he packed for lunch in the morning.
If Dean was thinking about having lunch, this thing wasn't serious, Sam rationalized to himself. He was starting to get hungry himself at the sight.
"Hey, you thief! Get your own." Dean raised the sandwiches high above his head before Sam could steal a bite. There was no reason for Sam to get that one, really, except it was the younger siblings life mission from God to torment the hell out of the older.
Sam tickled Dean just under his arms knowing them to be his brother's weakness.
"You're playing dirty," Dean complained as Sam took a huge bite of sandwiches and poked his tongue out.
"So?" Sam raised his eyebrows in challenge and took another bite, swallowing almost half of the thing even when he knew it was stupid. Dean was more vengeful than the most vicious spirit when it came to his food.
Yet Dean was not charging at him, not even Sam was opening his mouth for Dean to see half-chewed food. (It was disgusting, Sam knew, but it was to rile Dean up.)
A rolled-up wrapper bounced off Sam's head and fell to his shoulder. Dean raised a single eyebrow at him with a smirk.
Such a show-off. Dean had spent more than 5 hours in front of the mirror to perfect that.
After lunch, Sam fell asleep on a rocking chair that had been beautiful once upon a time. He woke up well-rested but edgy.
Stiff joints and spine cracked satisfyingly as he stretched. Sam was surprised Dean hadn't tried any prank on him.
Then Sam felt that again, something slimy sliding off him. It felt like peeing himself, sort of.
Blood was redder this time, fresher, like it was from fresh wound. He shook Dean awake and showed him.
"I'm going to die?" Sam asked shakily. He wasn't actually afraid of dead, just that he was young and there were great many of things he still wanted to do in his life. Attending university, getting a job, and maybe, maybe getting a house.
It struck Sam that maybe Dean had led him home because it was already too late and there was nothing to be done even if they had been to the hospital. Dean knew him well, and probably understood he would prefer to die at home to such a cold bleak place as a hospital.
It was already past 3 in the afternoon, hours from when he noticed the bleeding. So he might not have much time left.
"Does it hurt that bad?" Dean asked.
"Not bad," Sam replied. Much less than he expected death to be.
"I put the painkiller in the closet, with your, uh, supplies. Good news for you, and that is no more training. Don't get too happy. 'tis only until this stops." Dean rubbed his face. "Dad doesn't like this."
Sam's head wasn't keen on deciphering what it meant.
"You're smart. That big brain of yours understands what i'm talking about."
Did it? Sam thought not, hoped not. Suddenly he needed a long walk.
Sam crouched on muddy ground to watch these toads jumping around. One of them jumped into his palm and he had an overwhelming urge to kiss it in the mouth to see if it would turn into a fucking prince. It didn't.
His mind supplied that maybe it only worked if it was a French kiss. Sam had to quell the urge this time. The poor thing was traumatized enough. It jumped off his palm and looked at him blankly.
Sam thought it was thinking "Fuck you" in toad language or an equivalent.
Sam got back home because his mouth felt revolting and he wanted to wash it clean with soap and antiseptic and whatever.
His mind, big and smart as Dean had said it was, came up with an idea that he had to really love that toad, or be a princess, or at least a girl.
True love with a toad was impossible for him. No offense to the physique of that toad he had kissed; it looked normal enough, not particularly ugly but not good-looking either.
Being a princess was easy though, Dean called him that every fucking day.
Being a g--
Tap water was cold on his lips. Yeah, he had used all the hot already.
Sam turned in early that night because he couldn't do anything. His brain felt muddled, words he tried to read from schoolbook jumbled together and made no sense.
It felt soggy down there and Sam didn't want to think about it.
Dean followed him not long after, much much earlier than his usual bedtime.
"Y' feeling okay?"
Dean sighed when Sam didn't replied knowing as well as Sam did that he was awake.
*
Sam had a dream, like he usually did, long and adventurous, though he forgot it when he woke. He usually tried to think about it after, replaying it in his head what had happened. On some lucky days, he managed to.
This night, he didn't even try.
The mattress was wet, soiled just like the back of brief he went to sleep with. He dipped a finger down there and smelled. It was metallic confirming his thought.
He wanted to go back to sleep. So the next time he woke up this would be nothing but a strange, unsettling nightmare.
But that wouldn't happen and it would be real fucking living nightmare if he waited until the morning.
He crawled out of mattress so slow that snails would clap him in the back and praise him for such slowness. Dean slept on, didn't shift from his side of the mattress.
He stripped from the bloody brief and cleaned up. He jumped when the water hit his foot. It was fucking cold.
It felt like a cosmic joke, like he was the universe's greatest loser. Everything was set this way by God or whoever to turn against him.
That actually sounded like the Winchester's life stories. Life was never fair for them. There was nothing to do but to cope. To catch with whatever shit life threw at them and endured.
"Dickhead, you have to but a longer one," Sam yelled when he heard Dean flicking light on. "This one is a disaster." he glanced down to see red line running down the pale skin of his inner thighs.
He did need to clean up but the water was cold.
The toilet door banged open, this time without knocks beforehand. Dean flipped him the bird and looked from shower head in Sam's hand to bloody mess that started to pool the light green tile.
"It's cold," Sam explained.
"Sure, princess," Dean pulled out a bright pink bottle of detergent and gave Sam a salute on his way out.
Yeah, Dean was the one cleaning up his mess and Sam couldn't even cleaned himself up, which was absolutely pathetic.
Ten minutes later, Sam still couldn't get his courage up to turning the knob. His grip tightened when he felt the familiar presence close, and gave up the attempt to zap the water hot with his mind.
"Let me," Dean said, soft and gentle in the tone that wasn't used at him since Sam was a toddler. "Easy, buddy." Even the hand prying his grip was soft, not rough and without sharp fingernails digging into his skin.
Dad wouldn't like it, Sam's mind panicked.
John's face had been red with nostrils flared in anger when he'd caught Dean pecking the bandage on a boil on Sam's arm. Their father'd dragged Dean out by his ear and bellowed at him until Dean'd promised never to do that again.
Dean had broken the sacred rule of the Winchester household: No chick-flick moment. That included but not limiting to hug, kiss, crying(except for while chopping onions and doing so privately), gentleness of any kind and practically anything that was even borderline sentimental .
This was the first time Dean disregarded that order.
Invisible needles were pricking Sam's eyes. Knowing them to be watery, he looked down to hide it and saw a pot of steaming hot water was sitting not far from the toilet.
Sam pressed his lips together to seal in an ugly sob that managed to come out anyway, and Dean was looking at him with his pleading eyes. Stop please, Sam could read.
But Sam couldn't. He sobbed again and again each time bigger and more uncontrollable than the last.
Dean was backing away, ingrained to give Sam space and privacy to cry alone like always.
Sam locked him in a tight hug before Dean could escape.
The presence of their father loomed over their head. Sam expected hum to appear out of thin air, spit flying as he ordered them apart.
"Easy, tiger." Dean eased himself down to toilet lid, awkward and comforting, drawing Sam down with him.
After Sam calmed down a little, Dean wiped him with a clean warm towel up from his feet.
"Feeling better?" Dean dipped the dirty towel in warm water and wrung it hand with one hand.
Sam nodded sluggishly, eyes already half-closed.