Tham Thux at Thexy
Title: Tham Thucks at Thexy
Characters: Sam and Dean
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG
Summary: Sixteen year old Dean's eighteen year old girlfriend tries to get him to pierce his ear. Or his tongue. Or anything else. He can do it or not. John can find out or not.
Author’s Note: For my dearest tifaching. I hope this satisfies your lovely prompt! Special thank you to forhimxx. She is an amazing artist no?
XXX
Friday - Day One
“Do you thwink hewl nothice?”
Sam gives Dean the stupid brother scowl, which is a lot like the stupid father scowl except Sam usually throws a lot more eye roll at his brother.
“Of course he’s going to notice, Dean. Don’t be an ass.”
“Ahm not bein an asth. Hewl neveh know.”
“And what gives you that impression? You know you can’t even speak right? Granted, your vocabulary has never been stellar but you’ve always been pretty good at pronunciation.”
“Ith not tha bad.” Dean leans toward the bathroom mirror, carefully admiring his newly pierced tongue. It’s swollen and sore but he’s felt a lot worse in a routine sparring session.
Sam settles his body a little more firmly against the doorjamb of the bathroom, lean hip jutting out as he watches his moron brother.
“Dude. It’s bad. Plus I think it’s infected.”
“Ith not infecthed, I juth got it done!”
“And who did it? Some sketchy guy in an alley with an ice cube and a knitting needle?”
Dean doesn’t respond.
“Jesus, Dean - you didn’t even go to a place that does piercings?”
“Thatha said it would be tho much cooler if thee did it. Thexier.”
“SASHA! - Did she even use gloves and disinfectants?”
“Thammy, we’ve been thwapping a lot more than thpwit for a few weekths now. Do you think I would make her wear a glove?”
“Well do you wear a condom?”
Dean grimaces and gently touches his finger to the gold ball in his tongue.
“Of courth, I usth a condom. I’m not an idiot.”
Sam sighs, and runs a hand through his hair, “That remains to be seen.”
“Well, Dath’s not back for a few days right? Ith will be bether by then. He’ll never find out.”
Sam rolls his eyes.
“He’s gonna find out and when he does he’s gonna snatch it out of your tongue without even taking the back off,” Sam shakes his head slowly.
Then, just because his last statement seems to have fallen on deaf ears.
“Then he’s gonna kill you.”
Dean grins, “Nah, he won’t kill me, cauth he won’t find out.”
Sam turns and leaves Dean in the bathroom admiring his bloody swollen tongue.
Saturday - Day Two
“Thammy, did you know that body arth is thomething that is practthiced around the world?”
Sam looks at his brother, “Of course, tribal tattooing of Aborigines in Australia is a case in point, they also practiced piercing as well. The Aztecs, Mayans and Incans used piercing. The Nez Perce Native American’s got their name from the practice, although I’m not sure they actually used piercings in rituals or anything. You know, the Nez Perce? They are the ones with the Appaloosa horses.”
Dean manages to give Sam the ”look”. It’s obvious his swollen tongue hasn’t affected his belief that his brother is a class A geek.
Sam ignores him, “There are tribes in Africa that prove their manhood by piercing their lips, ears and sometimes even genitalia.”
Sam narrows his eyes at Dean, “You didn’t….”
Dean actually cringes, “No. Justh NO. Litthle Dean isn’t doesn’t need any addithinal adornmenths. He’th perfect the way he ith.”
Sam tilts his head questioningly at Dean, “So why did you decide that your tongue needed extra bling?"
Dean smiles, “Ah Thammy, Thammy, Thammy. You donth really know do you?”
Sam squints his eyes, he’s only twelve but he does have Dean for an older brother. Still, he’s not sure about the particulars.
“Not really.” Sam says earnestly.
Dean grins, feral and lecherous at the same time, “Oral thex, Thammy. It makes it tho much better for the girl. I’ll be able to uthe thith litthle ball in ways thath will make her tothes curl.”
Sam blushes furiously and then makes the fart face. Dean knows it’s the fart face because Dean farts as often as he can around Sam.
Just because he can.
“So you aren’t willing to “adorn” you dick, but you are quite fine with puncturing your tongue?”
“Thure! Thatha thays it’s gonna be great. You know, when we are able to you know…do it.”
“From the looks of that tongue it won’t be till Christmas at least.”
“Nah, ith getting better.” Just to prove his point, Dean sticks out his tongue.
Sam grimaces; Dean’s tongue is plain gross, “Dude, that is not better. It looks worse than yesterday.”
“Ith feelth better though.” Dean actually tries to see his tongue which makes his eyeballs cross and the expression must be pretty damn funny because Sam laughs high and bright.
“Asshole.”
Dean fixes soup for dinner. Sam doesn’t say anything.
Sunday - Day Three
“Tham, I donth feel tho good.”
Sam reaches over to Dean and touches a hand to his forehead, “You’re burning up. At least 102, I figure.” He’d grab thermometer but putting anything under his brother’s tongue would likely result in bodily injury to Sam.
Sam would say something negative, should say something negative, but Dean looks so miserable, “How about I get you some Tylenol, some ice water and maybe you can just watch some TV okay?”
“Thure.” Dean says without complaint or fight. That worries Sam. Sam has seen Dean in a lot of ways of hurt…his usual response is to rub some dirt in it.
“Let me see your tongue.”
“Ith fine, Thammy. Almost all betther,” Dean rallies but Sam isn’t buying.
“Dean,” Sam tries for his growly dad voice but he’s only twelve. He thinks he just sounds constipated. No matter, it’s up to Sam to fix this shit and fix it soon, “Dean. You have an infected tongue and now it’s gone systemic. You’re going to need antibiotics and you’re gonna have to take the ball out.”
Dean glares at Sam, “NO WAY, I’m gonna have greath oral thex with Thatha.”
“Dude, you are gonna be in the hospital - without Sasha. Believe me, there’s no way Dad won’t find out then.”
“Justh get me the Tylenol,” Dean grouses.
Suddenly, Sam feels a little less inclined to be helpful.
“Fine,” He brings Dean Tylenol and lukewarm water and leaves it on the end table.
“Suit yourself.” Sam stalks off to the living room where he grabs his copy of Catch 22.
“Damned if you are and damned if you aren’t,” He mumbles to himself.
Sam reads for a bit, wonders what John Yossarian would do in this situation then immediately re-thinks to what John Winchester would do. WWJWD. Well, he’d kick Dean’s ass for sure, and that’s just not something that Sam can do quite yet.
Still, Dean’s looking pretty sick and maybe Sam can catch him off guard. Nah, beating his brother up isn’t going to help him feel better. Besides, even sick, Dean has an awesome right hook.
Suddenly, he has an epiphany. He shuts the book with a clap. Determined and with a new game plan he heads into the kitchen.
Sam grabs the not so carefully hidden bottle of Jack and heads into the room that Dean and he share.
Dean’s covered in blankets, despite the fact that it’s more than warm in this stuffy rental house.
“Leme awone.” Dean’s voice is gravely and miserable and comes from somewhere under the pile of blankets.
“Here, Dean. Have some Jack. It’ll help with the pain plus it will help kill whatever’s growing in there.”
Dean unburies his head and with completely uncharacteristic meekness mumbles, “’Kay.”
Sam starts to hand him the bottle then stops, “Show me.”
“Nuh uh.”
“Show me or no Jack.”
“You thuck.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Dean sticks out his tongue and it’s beyond disgusting. Dean’s tongue is swollen around the little golden ball. So swollen, in fact, the ball is barely visible in the vastness of bright red and inflamed tissue. There’s even yellow goo around the hole itself. Sam suppresses a gag. How can his brother even stop himself from choking?
“Fuck, Dean…you really are screwed.”
“Thut up and gimmie that. A’ve been hurt worse in gym prathice.”
Sam hands over the Jack Daniels praying that Old Number Seven has enough kick to kick the ass of whatever infection has sprouted up in Dean’s tongue.
“Swish it around, real good, spit. Then do it again,” Sam advises.
“Ahm not spittin’ out good Jack!” Dean protests.
“Well, you probably shouldn’t swallow all the damn infection. Just swish and spit then drink some. It’ll help.”
Dean grabs the bottle and chugs a huge mouthful of the bourbon.
Sam watches as Dean’s face turns red during the swish and spit. “THONOGABITCH!”
Dean spits in a trashcan sitting next to his bed, gagging and coughing, “THATH FUCKIN’ HURTHS!”
Sam crosses his arms, “Of course it does, dickhead. It’s alcohol in an open wound. What did you think it would feel like?”
“I dunno, “Dean allows his head to flop back on the pillow, cradling the whiskey and taking another shot. Softly, so softly he turns to Sam.
“Thammy, I think I have a pwoblem. My tongue ith fucked up. My head hurths and I think…I think, I think I’m not gonna have great oral thex with Thatha,” Dean almost cries the next part, “And…we might have to call Dad.”
Sam sits next to Dean, “He’s on a hunt Dean. We can page him… maybe. But if he gets a 911 page? He’s gonna come in hot - like Africa hot and when he sees you? Sees this?” Sam makes a vague gesture in Dean’s direction, “Dude…we are talking beat down of monumental proportions.”
Dean whimpers a bit, “I thnow, Thammy. I don’t even care. He can wallop my athh black and blue as long as he makes this go away.”
Sam looks at Dean. Awesome big brother, ladies man, werewolf-killing, bone burning sixteen-year-old kid and he kind of melts. Yes, his brother is an asshole but he is his asshole. Dean has always been there for him. He’s gonna take care of Dean.
“Don’t worry, Dean. I gotcha.”
First thing on the itinerary? More Jack.
Second thing? Tongue stud/barbell removal from a less than willing boy.
Then, more Jack.
Three quarters bottle of Jack, some sterile gauze and two exhausted boys later, Sam emerges victorious with a slim golden barbell ball in a bloody paper towel.
Dean is blissfully knocked out.
Monday Day Four
Sam calls him and Dean in sick for Monday. It’s chancy, but there is no way that Dean can go to school and Sam needs to take care of Dean. After he managed to get the stud out of Dean’s tongue and start him on antibiotics from the kit, he keeps reminding Dean to use warm saltwater washes to help with the pain. He even pulls out the Vicodin.
Dean apparently agrees with his choice in medication because he promptly falls asleep, bloody drool leaking from his mangled tongue.
Tuesday, Day Five
Sam awakens to the phone ringing at 0230. Dean’s asleep in post alcohol, Vicodin enhanced slumber.
Sam stumbles to the phone, “Hey, Dad.” It has to be Dad.
“Hey, Sam. You boys alright?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where’s your brother?”
Sam glances at Dean slobbering on the bed. “Asleep. He’s uh, got a headache.”
“He okay?”
“Yes, sir. Just, you know, wanna let him sleep.”
“You doin’ alright with cash?”
“Uh, fine. No problems.”
“Okay, kiddo, wrapping it up here. Seeya in a day or so.”
“Kay, Dad. Night.”
The phone goes dead.
Wednesday, Day Six
Sam wakes before Dean, fixes him some soft scrambled eggs and makes sure there is coffee on.
“Hey, Dean.” Sam taps Dean’s bed with his foot, “Wakey, wakey. Time for school.”
“Fuck school.”
“Good to know you are feeling better! But guess what? We’ve been out for two days. The flu. Any more and we need a doctor’s note. Come on.”
Dean leans over the bed, spits in the trashcan that hasn’t left the side of the bed for two days. Dean peers at the spittle, quirks an eye at Sam.
“Hey, my tongue feels better. Not perfect but…I think you fixed me.” Dean sits up, rubs a hand behind his neck which is about the closest Sam is gonna get in acknowledgement of his doctoring skills.
“Yeah, I know. Come on. Breakfast.”
Dean mumbles something that Sam doesn’t understand and then stumbles to the head, Sam hears him piss, brush his teeth and then his brother meets him in the kitchen. Dean demolishes the eggs in record time then tentively sips down the coffee.
“Hey, Sam,” Dean stands rubs his belly contentedly, “Good breakfast.”
“Yeah, well, it’s the first thing you’ve really eaten in five days. It could have been dog shit and you would have liked it.”
Dean stands, pulls his jeans up over noticeably leaner hips then laughs a bit, “Yeah, I might’ve lost a pound of two.”
Sam grabs his book bag. Dean grabs nothing but keys. Typical.
“So what are you gonna tell Sasha? You know, about the great oral sex debacle.”
Dean thinks a moment then sticks out his tongue. Sam’s oddly grateful for he gesture, not to mention the fact that it looks almost normal. Dean waggles it lewdly.
“I’m gonna tell her that Dean Winchester don’t need no ball to make his tongue an oral sex machine.”
Sam shakes his head. Only his brother.
End.