A/N: The first of two short, Sam-centric fics for a Sam-appreciation meme on LJ. Thanks so much for reading! Much love to you all.


"You have to let me piss on it!" Dean shrieks for the fifth time, and if Sam weren't so blinded by pain, he'd knock his brother straight off this sailboat and into the jellyfish infested waters of the Maine harbor where they're currently stranded.

"Dean," Sam says through gritted teeth, "I'm not gonna let you pee on me, so just shut the fuck up already, christ."

He's propped against the side of the boat, ass in a puddle of tepid brine and his too-small lifejacket shucked up to his chin like the shell of a turtle. His legs are splayed out in front of him, looking like someone's marbled the skin of his shins with red ink, and Sam is never, ever going to dangle his feet off the edge of a boat again.

"It's supposed to work, though," Evie says, nervously zipping and unzipping the plastic zipper of her lifejacket. "It's like, common knowledge – the medicinal properties of urine, or something."

Sam glares at her, and if she weren't just sixteen he'd consider adding her to his hit-list, because she's the one who suggested he put his feet in the water to cool off. She didn't mention that they're apparently in a jellyfish war zone.

"Dude, listen to her," Dean says. "She's in Marine Biology Camp, she knows her shit."

"God," Sam groans, because it hurts, it really really really fuckin' hurts

"Well," Jennifer says, picks up her head from where she's crouched over Sam examining the blistering rash, "we haven't actually learned anything about jellyfish yet. Just clams, mostly."

"Great," Sam says, "clams, awesome, that's just awesome, did you hear that Dean? They're learning about clams. That's just the coolest camp ever, huh?"

"Oh my god," Evie says, eyes going wide in her round, freckled face. "You don't have to be mean about it."

"You," Sam says, points an accusatory finger at his brother, who splays an aggrieved palm across his chest.


"This is your fault, you said –" Sam glances at the two teenage girls, then barrels on, civilians be damned, "you were the one who wanted to come out here – get to know the water, you said – it's for research, you said – if he's gonna hang around anywhere it'll be on his old boat, you said – but you just wanted to lie around and drink beer in the sun!"

"Oh, you gettin' attacked by jellyfest U.S.A. is my fault, huh?"

"Yes!" Sam wails, and he knows he's being stupid and irrational but who the fuck knew that a bunch of blobby translucent things could make him feel as if the skin of his legs is being slowly stripped off.

Jennifer stands, tugs her tiny red bikini bottom into place, and seriously, if Sam ever has kids no way is he gonna let his teenage daughters walk around like that. No way is he gonna send his kids to this stupid Marine Biology camp, either, where the professors feel like it's okay to up and drown in the plastic, simulated tidepool at the University and then spend the next six months leaving fishbones on the pillows of the worst students.

"I got stung once," Jennifer says. "Not like that, 'cause, oh my god, that's so gross – but it hurt super bad, like, burned."

Sam leans forward as best he can in the confining, puffy yellow lifejacket, squeezes his eyes shut and feels a couple tears eke their way out. He doesn't understand how this hurts so badly.

"Ah, shit, Sam," he hears Dean say, and feels his brother crouch beside him, plop a hand down onto his life-jacketed back with a plastic thud. "It's okay, dude, the wind'll pick up soon and we'll get back to shore. You'll be okay, you'll be all right soon, I swear."

"This sucks," Sam says, and he knows he sounds like a four year-old, but he can't help it, not in the face of his brother's sympathy.

He hears Dean gust a sigh, and then there's silence, just the rhythmic lap of waves against the side of the sailboat, the caw of a sea bird.

"Okay," he says finally.

"Okay what, Sammy?"

"Okay, pee on it."

Dean gives a delighted laugh. "Are you serious?"

"If it'll make it feel better, then yes, I'm serious. But seriously, Dean, you wanna maybe think about why peeing on my legs makes you this happy, because I know you've got issues, man, but…"

"Avert your eyes, ladies," Dean says importantly, and Sam cracks his own eyes to see his brother busily undoing the drawstring of his swim trunks. He immediately slams them shut again, because this is not something he wants to be able to picture EVER.

"Holy shit," he hears Evie say, and then there's a smattering of giggles, the whine of floorboards as the girls turn around.

"You ready?" Dean asks.

Sam can't answer. He's too busy hating the world.

"One," Dean says. "Two – Three –"

A few years later, when they're on the West Coast looking into a mysterious rash of drownings, they'll witness a little girl get stung by a jellyfish, and Sam will be able to say with more certainty than any marine biologist, that there are absolutely no medicinal properties in urine whatsoever.

And Dean will laugh and laugh and laugh.