Dean curled up tighter into a ball, hot water pounding down on him; barely helping the situation. He thought maybe a shower would make him feel better, sometimes it does. But today the cramps just hurt too bad. He's never had cramps as bad as these ones before.

He groaned, pulling his legs closer to his chest. He rested his head on his knees and tried not to shake as another round of pain racked through his abdomen.

'I might actually be dying this time.' He thought. When he saw the water near his face turn a bit pink, he was undeniably grateful that he decided to take a shower. Easy clean-up.

There was no way he was going to be able to get back to sleep after this. When the cramps woke him up, he wasn't smart enough to check the time, but if he could guess he'd say it was around 2:30 in the morning.

He wondered how long he could stay in here. Maybe, if Dean was lucky – which he never is – he could just stay in the shower all day. It was Friday night – well, now its Saturday morning, but still – no school. He could just stay here and never get up, and maybe cry a little. Who knows? He's up for anything.

Dean wanted to roll his eyes at his thoughts.

He was always dramatic when he was on his period.

The door to the bathroom creaked open then.

Dean tensed a bit at the sound. If Dad came in, he would yell at him for using all the hot water again. And Dean was not in the mood to fight with anyone right now. Unless it was a fist-fight and the other person just knocked him out instantly. Then he could sleep through the three-to-five day hell he has to deal with once a month.

"Dean?" A small voice asks.

Oh, thank God. It's just Sam.

Dean groaned in reply.

"I heard noises, and you weren't in your room. Are you okay?" Sam asked, his voice slightly scared.

Dean groaned again. This time it sounded something close to 'medicine' or maybe 'kill me'. Either works.

"I'll be right back, okay?" There was a pause and then the door clicked shut.

Dean continued to lay, fetal position, in his bath tub, while water fell onto his sore body. He doesn't know how long it took for Sam to come back. But he started to hum Metallica, hoping it would distract him from the pain. Oh, nope, there goes his entire lower body. He's defiantly dying this time. Goodbye, cruel world.

The door clicked open again and Dean could hear his little brother step into the bathroom.

"Time?" Dean croaked.

"It's, uh, shortly after 3." Sam said. Dean heard him step up to the bathtub. "Here, I got you some Ibprophen. And water…" There was a pause, and then Sam cleared his throat and said, "I'm, uh, going to open the curtain now, okay?"

Dean's voice sounded pitiful as he mumbled, "'Kay."

The curtain slowly slid open a few inches. The bright florescent light of the bathroom shone right into Dean's face. He groaned again.

"Hey, it's okay." Sam said softly, setting the cup of water down on the edge of the tub. "Can you sit up?"

No. Dean wanted to say. No. I can't. But I can lay here and die. That sounds like a good option.

Dean pushed himself up off the tub floor. His arms shook with effort as he leaned against the tub wall. Sam refused to look anywhere but Dean's face as he handed Dean two pills and the cup of water.

After taking the medicine, which he knew wouldn't kick in until he died from blood loss, Dean sighed and grunted out, "Thanks, Sammy."

"Any time." Sam said.

There was a silence then; the only noise in the room being that of the shower. Dean stared down at his stupid feminine form. Fuck his ovaries, which were literally stabbing him from the inside. Fuck his boobs, which were sore and sensitive. Fuck his life, which he really didn't want to be a part of right now. He didn't want to be a part of his own life. How shitty is that?

"Hey, Dean?" Sam spoke up, his voice hesitant; unsure if what he was about to say was the wrong thing.

Dean braced himself. Because, unlike Dean, Sam was born correct. He would never have to go through what Dean goes through. Sam will never question who he is. Sam will never be told he's wrong, or looking for attention, or invalid. Sam will never have a period. Anything could come out of his mouth. And Dean knows Sam means well, but it is very possible that Sam could accidently hurt Dean with the next words he says. Dean took a deep breath and replied, "Yeah?"

Here it comes…

"You know you're still really manly, right?"

…

Oh.

That wasn't what Dean was expecting at all.

He looked up at his little brother, crouched on the floor, next to him, light haloing from behind him; making him look like an angel. Dean has no idea what his face looks like right now, but it must have been enough for Sam to continue; "I don't know any guy who could put up with the shit you do. You're the strongest man I've ever known."

Dean couldn't help it; his chest felt tight and his eyes were tired, the tears were just the next logical step. He could easily blame it on his period. But he didn't. He knew the tears he was crying now were different than the ones from before. He was happy. No, fuck that, he was proud. Proud of his little brother.

Because anyone else would've taken this moment of weakness to beat Dean down.

'See? You're a girl. Now stop pretending and grow up.'

'Boys don't have periods, Deanna.'

'Look at my beautiful daughter.'

It was too easy to imagine all of those remarks in his father's voice. When Dean told his dad that he was a guy, John was furious. He didn't speak to Dean for weeks. He still used Dean's birth name. He called him a 'she' and gave him dirty looks when he stopped wearing skirts.

When Dean came home one day with a flat chest, John practically yelled.

"What the fuck is this?" He gestured to his son's chest.

"It's called a binder." Dean replied. "I like how it makes me look."

"You look like a boy." John yelled.

That's the point. Dean didn't say back, he just turned and left the room.

Dean always had short hair, even when he was little. So it's not like he looked that much different. He just wore different clothes now. He was comfortable now. He was himself now.

Dean fully expected Sam to say something similar to their father's remarks. Not in a hateful way, because Sam could never be hateful to Dean. Maybe in a curious way. But he didn't. Dean didn't even realize he was hugging Sam until his little brother shifted uncomfortably.

"Dean, you're getting my pajamas wet." Sam said quietly.

Dean hid his face in Sam's neck, "Shut up and hug me."
And, because Sam is the best little brother in existence, he did.

"Yes, sir."

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