Rarest of Them All
Five times Dean Winchester gave blood.
I. To get a girl.
The first time was the only time Dean gave blood trying to get a girl. He was twenty-one, just walking through town to meet Sammy outside his school. In the parking lot of the park he usually cut through was a blood bus. Some organization or another was having a drive.
And, well, that was nice and all, but donor drives shouldn't be allowed to have smokin' hot recruiters standing out on the sidewalk, reeling him in with low-cut shirts and tricking him into giving up his blood type.
Rarest of them all.
She practically threw herself at him when she found out, her free donor t-shirt recently slitted at the collar to reveal a truly distracting amount of cleavage. And, hey, Dean wasn't complaining.
But after that, the whole process was a bit of a whirlwind.
Being escorted to the front of the long line.
Being asked a long ass list of ridiculous personal questions--had he ever accepted money for sex or had sex with a hemophiliac or had sex with a man or shared needles with anyone who'd ever accepted money for sex or had sex with a hemophiliac or had sex with a man who'd had sex with a man?
What. The. Hell.
Still reeling from that barrage, Dean was pricked and bled nearly dry and force fed crappy cookies. He was then set free with a bright "thanks for saving a life" and a free donor t-shirt of his own. Not even a phone number from the hot recruiter for all his trouble. He had to admit that he didn't look his best when down a pint, but, still, it was the least the girl could've done.
On his own walk home from school, Sam spotted his brother on a bench in the park. Dean was doubled over, head between his knees.
"Dude," the taller of the pair questioned, taking a seat and laying a concerned hand on Dean's back, "Are you alright?"
"Vampires," Dean gasped, woozy and trying desperately not to pass out. Stupid donor drives. Stupid smokin' hot recruiters with great boobs. Stupid rare blood type. Stupid, stupid needles.
Sam tensed immediately, whipping out a knife in the middle of the park and scanning the immediate area. "Where?" he demanded, eyes darting and adrenaline racing.
Dean pointed, wincing as the bruised joint on his "good veined" arm straightened.
Sam followed his brother's hand across a wide field of grass to a small parking lot, to a blood bus that had bright balloons tied to its mirrors. Frowning, he looked at the black pressure bandage on Dean's arm, Dean's chalk white pallor.
Sam laughed. "You gave blood?" the eighteen-year-old asked, slightly incredulous, "Why'd you do that?"
"Why the hell do I do anything?" his brother snapped, sounding suspiciously faint, "Nice tits and free cookies! And once I grow back the blood they stole, I'm gonna burn that evil bus to the ground!" He tried to stand and nearly ended up on his ass.
"Easy!" Sam chuckled as he caught the wobbly blonde and settled him carefully back onto the bench, "Let's just go grab some lunch. You'll feel a lot better once you've got some real food in you."
"How do you know?" Dean complained weakly, swaying.
Flipping shaggy fringe out of his eyes, Sam beamed, "I've done it before. You only have to be seventeen. It saves lives, you know? And I'm a rare blood type."
"SHHHHHH!!!" Dean hissed, jumping frantically, clumsily all over Sam's burly frame, "She'll hear you!!!" He ended up on his ass in the dirt and vowed to never again permit his veins to be opened voluntarily.