A/N: This is just a stupid little thing cooked up late at night. Had me laughing while I wrote it, but in daylight I'm wondering why I'm even publishing this. Probably because fractured butts are hilarious.
I've had one.
Dean's clutching his ass with both his hands, on his side in the hard packed snow. His face is contracted, brows furrowed.
"Dude" he says, panting a little, groaning and flipping his head back what Sam assumes is an all-consuming bout of pain.
"I think I broke my butt."
He wasn't even going to leave the house, dammit. He's got a test tomorrow, which is.. Important, he's been told. And he's seventeen. Seventeen year olds make out and break curfew, they don't go sledding with their younger brother and his little buddies.
Andy and Taran can go stuff themselves anyhow. Little fuckers.
He's seventeen, and he's all lean muscle and growing pains still, but when he looks in the mirror he sees perfection. He hopes he never changes, which, he supposes, is way too arrogant when most of the population his age looks in the mirror and starts crying.
Dad's reading in the living room, home for a few weeks before he ganks the next ghost, or leaves to hunt... Whatever he'll hunt next. Dean doesn't give a shit, because he doesn't get to come. He's under house arrest.
So when Sam goes for the door, plastic UFO in his hand and mittens sticking out of his pockets, Dean takes a deep breath and decides that going sledding with Dean is about the same as being on house arrest.
Thankfully Dad agrees with him. Even lends him a pair of gloves. Dean scoffs, because his hands are perfect. Why would he need gloves?
He swaggers one step ahead of the younger boys to the hill. Promptly decides he'll do better than all of them, and twenty minutes into it, sweat building on his back from laboriously climbing back up the hill again and again, he kind half decides to go down on his knees on Sam's UFO rather than the rubbish one Andy lent him that doesn't build up speed.
The UFO does. Quickly, and he holds tightly onto the handles as he races over the tiny little jump, which is basically a rock with smooth, black ice on it. Mid air his legs slide out from underneath him, crookedly, and he hits the ground with an "Oof" that's muffled by the fact that his entire body suddenly ended up in his ears.
And fuck, his ass hurts. A dull, painful throb that thrums all the way up his spine, settles in his shoulders and tickle his knees.
He rolls around for ten minutes, then sucks it up. Tears of pain are still present in his eyes, because he's still only seventeen, and stands still while Sam sleds on.
Sam and the others, who are quite happy to ignore his complaints of pain.
He shifts position, grimaces at the pain racing up his spine, settling between his ass cheeks again. Right over them, kinda. Or.. Yeah, he doesn't know. It hurts.
"Sam" He calls, and his voice is impatient and hard now. "I'm going home. You coming?"
"Yeah!" Sam calls faintly, then shouts out a "WHOOP!" of joy as he goes belly first over the rock Dean just tried to end his life on.
The walk home hurts. Worse. Straightening is awful, stretches into his shoulder and all the way up his skull now on the left side. Every step he takes makes his butt hurt in that throbbing, strange way that makes it feel like he's giving birth to an alien through the skin on his lower, lower, lower back.
When he toes off his shoes without bending over Dad laughs, throws down the papers he's still studying.
"What did you guys do?" he asks, and his voice is heavy with suggestions. Playful. Dean grimaces.
"I fell and.. It really hurts, d.." That's how far he gets, because Sam is talking. Louder.
"He's whining because he hurt his butt. Idiot went sledding on it over a jump."
John and Sam laugh at him as he stalks off, feeling hurt and tired and cold all at once.
He keeps to his room that night. His bed, which is basically a thin layer of foam straight on the ground, is rough and worn against his skin. His back throbs painfully, even now, and he grits his teeth as it seems to intensify as he lies down and gives himself over to feeling it.
John is still grinning the next morning, and Dean heard Sam say "...his butt!" out in the kitchen area, muffled by cheap doors with old stickers on them.
When Dean can't get upright on his own, only manages to turn from back to side halfway before freezing with pain, Dean knows what his father looks like. Brows contracted and shoulders straightened.
"You still in pain, Dean?"
He nods, buries his forehead in the pillow and tries to pretend he isn't crying.
"Hurts, dad.." He says, and not even Sam is laughing now. The angels are, though, and Dean just knows that, because no injury has ever been this unglamorous. No fracture has ever been this embarrassing.
"Fractured coccyx and a strained back" is his diagnosis. He's sent home with something that resembles a cross between one of those pillows idiots use to sleep on a plane and one of the thingies kids use when they go swimming.
To sit on.
Oh, and painkillers. Thank fuck.
Because he fucking broke his ass.
But it's easy to forget about injuries that happened ten years ago, especially when they're not your own. So when Dean still squirms on church benches and in diner booths after sitting down for a little while, Sam never fails to grin.
"Broke your butt again?"
"Dude. Fractured. Seriously not funny, and my back still falls asleep whenever I.."
"Yeah, whatever man. You broke your ass. Eat your fries, Humpty Dumpty."