Disclaimer: the below italics belong to their original writer, Spectral Scribe.

The Third

This time, it was a hunt that caused the injury. And it wasn't just a hunt; it was a werewolf hunt. The big leagues. Real serious crap. Dangerous and stuff.

Somewhere along the way, Sam's gun jammed, which basically screwed them over. A thicket of green foliage created a canopy above them in the forest, shading them from the bright moonlight; in the darkness, the three Winchesters had been following the werewolf into the trees, quietly chasing it deeper into the woods.

And somehow, everything got turned around, and the wolf ended up chasing them instead.

John was far off somewhere, having gotten separated in the dark confusion. Dean couldn't get a clear shot, so he made a run for it. And Sam… well, yeah. His gun jammed. Typical.

Dean was a good twenty feet away when the wolf came into sight out of nowhere, a mass of matted brown fur and dripping saliva as it bared its glistening teeth. Sam turned, but the wolf was on top of him before he could do anything, pouncing on his legs and taking him to the ground.

"SAM!" Dean shouted, whirling around and lining up a shot. But Sam was too much in the way… if he fired now, there was no way he'd hit the werewolf and miss Sam…

The crack of a gunshot echoed through the air, followed shortly by John's speedy footsteps and the thud of the wolf falling limply to the forest floor. Lowering his gun, Dean dashed over to his little brother, his lungs burning from all the running and from the deep, aching fear that the wolf had bitten him, that Sam had gotten bit, that the werewolf had bitten his little brother…

He got to Sam before John, crouching down immediately to inspect him for injuries. The latter was pale, his eyes clenched shut as he clutched his leg with both hands, blood spreading through the fabric of his pants and soaking the grass around him.

"Sammy!" John called as he got closer, kneeling down next to Dean. "Did it bite you?"

Sam took a few unsteady breaths. "My… leg…"

"Dad?" Dean glanced at John worriedly, trying to push down his panic.

"Sam, did it bite you?" John enunciated again, ignoring Sam's panted non-answer and Dean's plea for reassurance.

Swallowing, Sam shook his head and opened his eyes. "No," he breathed. "It's claws… are pretty sharp… though."

Dean's breath came out in a whoosh, a sort of half-sigh, half-laugh. If Sam was making jokes, he'd be all right. Even though he looked like hell.

But it was a bitch of a break, he had to give him that. Broken in three places, one where the bone had practically shot right through the skin. The doctors had been mighty shocked by the ferocity of the bears in those woods. Really. Bears. It was just a camping trip, and they came out of nowhere. Two of them. Mean fuckers, too.

The cast was huge, spanning all the way from Sam's thigh to the bottom of his foot, and he'd been informed that he'd have to walk around on crutches for a while. Pissed, as he often was, he'd slunk moodily into the car and went straight to his and Dean's bedroom when they got back, slumping down on the bed and grabbing a book to keep himself occupied.

Dean leaned against the doorframe, an idea striking him at sight of a black Sharpie with Sam's school stuff. "Hey, want me to sign your cast?"

Sam cast him a wary look, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes sharp and discerning—certainly too discerning for a fifteen-year-old. "Um… if you want."

Grinning, Dean grabbed the Sharpie and crouched down by Sam's leg, beginning to write a big, loopy 'S.' Glancing up at Sam, he found the younger Winchester returning to his book. So Dean went to work.

The expected reaction came just as he was replacing the cap on the marker. Sam leaned over and snatched it out of his hand, chucking the marker on the floor.

"Dean? What the hell?"

"What?" Dean asked innocently, trying—and failing—to hide his smirk of amusement.

"'Sam is a transvestite who likes to wear thongs?'" He read off the cast incredulously, his voice rising in pitch with his indignation.

Dean just couldn't help himself. "Did you see the drawing, too?"

It was a stick figure. In a skirt. Labeled 'Sam.' And Sam would have to be blind not to see it.

"You're a friggin jerk," Sam grumbled, turning the cast so that the crude phrase was partially covered by the blanket.

"Jerk… Hey, gimme that marker again," Dean grinned as he bent down to find it.

"No way."

"Oh come on, I won't write anything bad. I promise."

"Stay away from me."

Dean rolled his eyes. "What are you going to do? You're practically bedridden."

"I'll shove my crutches down your throat."

"Touché." But, as Dean well knew, the threat could not very well hold up while trapped in the oblivious state of slumber. This was going to be fun.

And, sure enough, Dean was awakened the next morning by a strangled cry of horror, which pulled him from the muddled darkness of sleep. It sounded like Sam was choking, but after a moment, he realized why his little brother was making that sound.

"Dean!" he managed to roar at last, still hissing sharp breaths between his teeth in frustration. "What the fuck did you do?"

Now fully awake, Dean sat up and grinned, looking over to the other bed and the myriad of scribbles adorning Sammy's nice white cast. It was a work of art, if he did say so himself. Which, he did.

Going down the top of his shin was the lovely sentiment, 'Sam jerks off to Barry Manilow' and several crudely doodled music notes. Nearby was a masterpiece of epic proportions, the likes of which would surely decorate the Louvre, or some such other pretentious art museum full of naked paintings. It was a pair of very round boobs.

"What?" Dean asked innocently, admiring his genius. "I know you don't like having a blank cast, so I thought I'd… spice it up for you."

"I. Am going. To kill. You," Sam spat through gritted teeth, his eyes practically bugging out of his head as they darted between the doodles and his brother. "You—you turned my cast into freaking erotica!"

"Now hold on a minute; I know you in a dress might seem sexy to you, but that doesn't mean I drew porn all over your cast. Quit overreacting."

Sam merely let out a long breath through his nose and pointed to his knee, where, in large capital letters, Dean had written 'PORN!' with a rather enthusiastic exclamation mark.

Oh. Dean chuckled, having forgotten about that. His eyes trailed over his handiwork once more, twinkling merrily at sight of the added sentence above the picture of Sam in a skirt: 'Some like it hot. Sam is not.'

Sam groaned, and Dean half-expected to see smoke rising from his little brother's ears. "You have got to be kidding me," he grumbled. "I can't go to school like this. What are my teachers going to say? And what the hell is this?"

It was a picture of a cat. And, next to it, another word in all caps: 'PUSSY!'

"It's the pet you've always wanted," Dean pointed out. Sam looked as if he were resisting the urge to throttle his brother.

"I. Can't. Go. To school. Like this," he ground out again, enunciating every word with vicious sharpness.

Dean shrugged. "Wear pants."

There was a momentary pause. "I'm telling Dad."

"Sure," Dean replied nonchalantly. "But that might make me want to tell him about the time you tried to drive the Impala and backed it up into a tree."

"You wouldn't," Sam muttered in a low voice.

Dean smirked. "Without a permit. Into a tree."

"There wasn't even a scratch!"

"Into a tree."

"Fine!" Sam snapped, crossing his arms. "But if you think you're getting away with writing 'pussy' on my cast…"

"If you think pussy is bad, wait 'til you see what I wrote on the bottom of your foot," Dean cut in, unable to contain his grin. Sometimes, it was so much fun being a pain in the ass.

"What…?" Sam, looking bewildered and anxious, grabbed his leg and tried to lean over to see the bottom of his foot. Unfortunately, his leg—being, as it were, in a cast—would not bend, and he therefore only succeeded in looking like a complete idiot. At last, he got up and hobbled to the bathroom, Dean trailing along but remaining out in the hall. He didn't need to see the reaction, but boy, he heard it just fine.

There was a dull thunk as the cast hit the sink, surely aimed at the mirror behind it. Then a sharp intake of air, and finally the dull thud of the cast hitting the floor. Then, as Dean reached 'one' after counting down on his fingers from five, he heard the furious shout.


-----Again, all the italics above belong to their original writer, Spectral Scribe. Below is all me. :)

Dean's evil plan had worked perfectly until his brother went to school the next day. Fumbling clumsily at his locker, trying to get books together and exchange them for ones he needed ended in Sam dropping most of his backpack's contents on the ground.

"You have GOT to be kidding me," he murmured under his breath. Before he could even attempt to retrieve the stuff, bright green painted fingernails attached to a naturally sun-kissed hand gathered up all the papers, shoved them in one of the books and stood to hand it to him.

"One of those days, huh, Sam?" the innocent voice of his crush, and fellow classmate Rachel Kelly rang like church bells in his ears. Her brown almost-curls cascaded over her shoulders, her bangs falling around her face to frame her brown eyes. She had on a pale pink shirt that accented her tan nicely, even though she constantly insisted she was too pale. Sam always argued, quietly though, that she had a nice skin color. He wasn't surprised to see her legs clad in dark blue skinny jeans, as he'd found out that she didn't wear skirts in school because it made her self-conscious. He also noted the black and white VANS flip-flops she was wearing revealed that her toenail color matched her fingernails.

A smile graced his lips as he returned the book to its place in his backpack. "Yeah, and it's not even close to over with," he replied. "Thanks."

"What happened to the leg?" she inquired curiously, gesturing to the jean-clad leg that was stiff because of the hidden, but obvious cast.

"Oh, I uh…camping trip gone bad," he managed with a painful smile.

"How the hell did you manage to get a cast in those jeans?" she laughed, hugging her books to her chest with one hand while the other flicked a fingernail against his leg.

He chuckled nervously. "I'm not really sure," he stated, even though in his head it'd taken him a half hour and he had reluctantly let Dean help until he pulled a sharpie from his back pocket.

"Aren't you warm, though? I mean, it's like seventy degrees outside."

"You're wearing jeans, too," Sam replied smartly.

"Yeah, but I didn't squeeze a cast covering the length of my leg into them."

Thoughts that should be in his brother's head fogged his mind for a minute until she furrowed her eyebrows at him and waved a hand in front of his face. "Sam?"

"What…? Oh… Sorry…" His cheeks were turning red, but the bell ringing turned the attention away from him and towards the class they were heading to together.

He took notice of the fact that Rachel didn't immediately run off, but waited to walk with him and grabbed his books so he could follow on his crutches.

"So, really, why the jeans?" she pried with a small smirk.

Sam hesitated for a second, and then sighed. "My brother thought it'd be funny to cover it in crude humor."

"Like what?"

He immediately shook his head. "Not telling."

"Oh, come on," she pouted mercilessly. "It can't be THAT bad."

"You've never met my brother."

"Then how about we get together after school?" Rachel smiled. "That way I can honestly say I've met the other Winchester and decide whether or not it could really be that bad."

The fifteen year old grinned and nodded. "Sounds good."


Sam wasn't exactly nervous about her coming over, and even if he was, pacing on crutches does make you look rather stupid so he contained his anxiety over it. They'd be home alone and he was still deciding whether that was good or bad. Sure, Dean should be back with the pizza in about a half hour, but a lot can happen in a small amount of time.

The door bell rang.

"Coming!" he called, somehow managing to hop over to grab his crutches from their spot leaning against the kitchen counter. When he finally got to the door, he was greeted with a brilliant smile and bright brown eyes. Rachel had tossed her hair up into a clip to get it out of her face, but she was now wearing a white pleated mini-skirt, a green camisole, and her VANS flip-flops.

"THIS is how you dress during summer weather, honey," she grinned as he shut the door behind her. "Though, the skirt and tank thing doesn't work well on good-looking guys."

Dean would disagree, he thought bitterly. "Try telling that to my brother."

She made a face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"One of his beloved cast comments," he stated.

The brunette sighed at the realization that he still had yet to shed the jeans. "Let me see it."

He shook his head as she followed him back to his and his brother's bedroom. "No way in hell."

"Aw, come on…" she pouted. "Maybe I can fix it!"

"Not unless you're giving me a brand new cast," he stated, somehow maneuvering himself onto the bed without falling.

Rachel crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow at him. "Don't make me take the jeans off myself," she joked, trying not to smirk.

The teenager's eyes grew mildly. "You wouldn't."

"Change into shorts before I get back from the bathroom," she chuckled, still standing in the doorway.

"First door on your right," he stated.

She disappeared and Sam wasn't sure whether he had the energy to find his way out of the jeans or not. Sure, his brother's doodles were kind of embarrassing, and she was the artsy type and she'd probably just give him back his right to wear shorts in public, but was it REALLY worth the mass amount of energy?

Okay so changing into shorts wasn't exactly the easiest thing with a broken leg, but he'd managed; and all before she'd returned with a quick knock on the bedroom door.

"I stalled 'cause I know you're broken, but can I come in?" she stated.

"Only if you promise not to laugh," he said seriously.

"Promise." The door opened and she entered, plopping down on the single bed next to his cast-covered leg. "Transvestite who wears thongs, huh?" she inquired, trying not to laugh. "So… Barry Manilow?"

Sam didn't bother trying to pull his leg away since he'd just make himself look stupid in the process, but managed a good puppy-dog pout; accompanied by the ridiculously cute puppy eyes. "Shut up," he murmured.

"I'm just teasing you, Sam," Rachel smiled, crawling up on the bed towards him, supposedly to get the Sharpies off the bedside table. When she stretched across to grab them, though, she could tell his breathing had gone shallow. Finally retrieving the twenty-pack of markers, she sat back down, closer to him this time, and grinned at him.

"What?" he asked breathily, his eyes darting between her (lips) and his hands fiddling in his lap nervously.

"What'd you think I was gonna do?" she inquired, smile tugging at the plump, pink lips he was finding so distracting.

"I didn't think…you… Nothing…" he stuttered out. "Just the Sharpies…"

She nodded, letting it go as she swiveled to sit closer to him against the headboard. "You didn't think I was going to kiss you, did you?" she questioned knowingly.

"N-No… I…" His eyes were just about glued to her lips now and everytime they strayed away, her big brown eyes caught his attention and those were harder to avoid. She could see right through him.

Ignoring the fact that her fingers were walking their way up to the collar of his t-shirt was impossible because when they finally got there, she'd already locked lips with him. When she broke away a long minute later, dragging his bottom lip with her teeth for a moment, he could barely string syllables together.

"I th…um…hm…mm," was all that escaped his mouth.

"Really now…? Didn't think I was going to do that…?" she said sarcastically.

He didn't even bother trying to form the sentence, 'I'm glad you did', just shook his head and, somewhat shakily, leaned over to return the kiss.

So it was a half hour of kissing, rather awkwardly on his bed before the door flew open and the brunette jumped a little; grateful for Sam's arm hooked around her waist because she would've fallen backwards otherwise.

"Sorry I'm late, Sammy," Dean sighed. "There was a cute waitress at the pizza place and--" His voice cut off as he realized his brother wasn't alone. "Well, well, well…" He was grinning. "What's going on in here?"

Rachel chewed her bottom lip for a second. "Trying to make Sam's cast viewable again," she stated, somehow managing to keep the blush from creeping to her cheeks as she grabbed a marker from the box and started trying to make Dean's doodles look … less crude.

"Right. So what's your side of the story, little brother?" he inquired.

"Dean," Sam paused, unable find anywhere to pick up the sentence.

Her eyes cast upward again. "Ah, Dean… So you're the one who created El Cast De Erotica?"

Dean smirked and cocked an eyebrow at the fifteen year old boy sitting awkwardly on the bed, blushing madly, but said nothing to him.

"Yep, and you've got Sammy blushin', so what were YOU doin' to him," he replied to Rachel's comment smartly.

"Shut up, Dean," Sam said, frustrated.

"No, I think I was right about something going on in here. Both you guys' lips are swollen, you're blushing, and the Sharpies supposedly fixing up your cast are closed and sitting on the bed – plus, the cast looks exactly the same," the elder Winchester countered. "Just how long has she been here?"

"Long enough to figure out that I'm not welcome," Rachel stated awkwardly, standing to leave, but Sam grabbed her arm before she was out of reach. He tried to get up to stop her as well, then managed to get stuck in an awkward position over the bed because of the cast, but still refused to let go of her.

"I'd get up to stop you, but I'm kind of stuck," he said with a pouting look and puppy eyes. "Please, stay."

The brunette glanced between Sam and the doorway and realized Dean was blocking her exit with a smirk. She chuckled as she helped Sam sit back down on the bed and replied with, "I've still gotta undo what you did, Dean, don't smirk at me like that."

"Well, you don't HAVE to just because Sammy says so," he retorted. "And, by the way, I still don't know your name."

"Aw, that sucks," she said with a smug smile.

Dean rolled his eyes and left the room, murmuring as he went.

Rachel grabbed the Sharpies off her friend's lap and laid down opposite him on the bed, legs swinging in the hair casually as she started to color over Dean's "masterpiece."


About an hour later, John Winchester marched into the house and noticed his eldest son sitting on the couch, watching TV.

Before he could even shed his coat, Dean piped up. "Sammy's alone in our room with a girl and he won't let me in," he stated casually, not even glancing up to see his father's expression.

But it looked something like he had just been slapped by a girl, couldn't slap back and couldn't believe she'd done it in the first place. "Wha-?" The single word never got finished because he was practically running towards his son's bedroom. Expecting the worst, he skidded to a halt at the end of the bed.

Sam looked up from his book, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The brunette lying on the bed in the opposite direction looked just as baffled.

"Hi?" the Winchester boy said with an awkward smile. "Dad?"

John said nothing in reply, but left the room, closing the door behind him and as he passed to return to the kitchen, smacked Dean upside the head.

"Ow! Dad!" he whined. "What was that for?"

"Leave your brother alone, she's undoing whatever un-Godly crap you did to that cast while he was sleeping," he replied knowingly.

In the end, Rachel turned Dean's well-drawn boobs into sunglasses, any of his block lettered words into regular blocks so much that they were undetectable as crude phrases, the stick figure picture of Sam in a skirt was renamed an actual girl ("Dean-a"); and any other Godforsaken thing his big brother had managed to fit on the cast – including whatever was written on the bottom of his foot – was turned into some odd shape or artistic picture. Plus, on top of it all, Rachel signed her name in huge cursive, loopy letters; Rachel "Rae" Marie Kelly and in one of the loops added just big enough for Sam to see, "turned El Cast De Erotica into one of Sam Winchester's most memorable afternoons."

A/N: I wasn't sure where to end it, but this seemed good. Haha.

Leave a review please! Flames welcome, too, but I'm not sure what there is to flame, really.