"Dean!" Sam barked in a hushed whisper. "I hear a car." He flicked off his flashlight ducked out of viewing range.

Off the master bedroom with the adjoining bathroom, he found a window over a balcony. Sam slid the lock and muscled it open with the creak of protesting old wood. Paint chips covered his fingers. He shook them off.

Catlike, Dean moved to the front side of the house and peered through the blinds at the driveway. "Oh my God, Sam. She is hot. Like smokin."

Sam had his lanky form folded in half as he tried to squeeze his body out of the window. He twisted and managed to get his long legs clear and find purchase on the little faux balcony obviously meant to hold plants and not a 200 pound Winchester. "Are you serious right now? Dean, come on."

He got his broad chest through and bumped the top of his head on the frame. Dean used to tease him about needing a crash helmet because of his propensity to smack his head into everything when he first hit his growth spurt in his teens. He'd stopped that until he'd been hunting the last year with his brother. Now it seemed a biweekly occurrence.

Sam's blue sneaker slid a little on the rain slicked wood. "Dean, hurry up."

"She needs someone to make sure she's safe. I'm gonna do that."

"What?" Sam asked, agape.

Dean gave him his mischevious grin and crossed the hallway to the master bedroom where Sam was trying to escape like a drunken cat burgler.

"I'll meet you in a few hours."

"Dean!" Sam admonished, appalled. "Are you freaking serious right now?"

"Relax, Sam. What she doesn't know won't hurt her and it gives me time to make sure she isn't attacked by some poltergeist and take stock of the house anyway."

"You are!" Sam shot him a bitch face that would turn Medusa to stone.

"Shhh. She's coming!" Dean whispered. He slammed the window closed almost on Sam's fingers and dove into the closet.

Sam blinked away the flying shards of lead paint that spattered his face. And gingerly moved the fingers that his brother had almost guillotined.

The light turned on in the hallway and Sam had a brief moment of panic trying to ascertain the best way down. If there was one.

She walked in. Sam caught a glimpse of long dark hair and shapely legs before he dove onto his hands and knees below the sill. Quiet.

He heard her step toward him and he closed his eyes. Don't look down. Please don't look down.

He heard the swish of blinds clattering closed and breathed a sigh of relief.

He waited, poised, knowing she'd hear him if he tried to get down. It seemed like forever, but the sound of running water from the adjacent room dully reached his ears.

Sam blinked and then turned his efforts into getting down with out falling two stories and breaking an arm. Or a leg. Or both. Maybe a set of ribs.

He made it. Barely.

The night was foggy and sitting in Baby waiting for his perverted older brother was less fun then it sounded.

Sam had almost nodded off when the door slammed and Dean slid into the driver's seat.

Sam gave him a severely measuring look. "So you guard her from any blood thirsty poltergeists?"

"No." Dean dug into the pocket of his beat up leather coat for his car keys.

Dean was quiet. Unusually quiet. And pale. His lips were drawn together tightly and he stared through the windshield into the darkness.

Sam furrowed his brow. "What's wrong?"

Dean stared ahead. "There was so much blood."

Sam's heart sped into a gallop. "What?" He surveyed his brother.

"Do you remember that scene from Carrie?" Dean swallowed.

Sam nodded, terrified to know what had happened and picturing the blood prom.

"Jesus Christ. Dean, what happened?"

"She came home and she came right into the bedroom to change. She was wearing a sexy little black skirt and a lace top. She stripped down and..." he paused.

"And what?"

"Sam..." He had the hollowed out look of a war veteran. "It was shark week."

"What?" Sam blinked and wrinkled his nose. "What are you talking abou-" He paused. "Shark week?"

"Yeah. Shark week. Crimson Tide. Red October."

"...You mean she had her period?"

"It wasn't a period. It was a murder scene...That never happens in the movies." Dean was clearly replaying every scene from Porky's and Animal House and every frat boy movie ever made and comparing them in his head. "They always undress all sexy...it just. It never happens."

"Well it does in real life, trust me." Sam replied, his relief that she was okay and Dean was just being a melodramatic twelve year old out weighing his annoyance. He looked his brother squarely in the face. "Dean, we deal with chopping the heads off of crap every other week and you're freaked out by bodily functions?"

"Women don't have bodily functions...Not the hot ones."

"I lived with one for a year. Yes they do."

"Shut up, Sam!" Dean replied heatedly. Then there was a long pause.

"It's not even blood. It's menstrual fluid." Sam started, his brow furrowed, "it's when a woman's uterus sloughs off-"

"Don't! Do NOT use the word slough and uterus in the same sentence!" Dean turned the car key and Baby rumbled to life.

A smile tugged the corner of Sam's mouth. "You are really freaked out by this, aren't you?"

"You cannot unsee some things." Dean replied dramatically.

Sam snorted. "... like your face."

"I will end you, bitch."

The empty threat just made Sam's dimples deepen. "You're getting a little emotional. Maybe it's close to that time of the month for you and we should stop by and grab some tampons just in case."

"Sam, I will shove the tampons up your nose."

"Anger is a sign of PMS..."

Dean reached out and cuffed Sam on the back of the head.

Sam's smile deepened. He rubbed the sting. "I can't feel sorry for you man, you brought that on yourself."

"I didn't know..."

"Karma," Sam replied.

"Shut up, Ghandi."

Okay I must apologize to all my regular readers...but seriously, this NEVER happens in the movies. LOL. And me, being a woman with a penchant for torturing Winchesters, HAD to make it happen. I'm sorry. Thanks MckyD for pointing out the formatting errors!