The Color Pink

Chapter Two

Dean needed a plan. It wasn't good enough just to find out who the punks were and put the fear of Winchester in them for messing with his little brother. He needed to do something to somehow make it up to Sam for ever putting him in such a crappy situation to begin with.

He cursed his devious ingenuity, knowing he hadn't planned that morning's prank as well as he should have, as well as his father had taught him to. Sure, Dean had kept money aside to replace some of the dyed clothes, intending to take the kid shopping in a couple of days—Sam needed new stuff anyway as most of his t-shirts and socks were threadbare after months of hard living—but he hadn't taken one very important variable into consideration: schoolyard bullies. He'd been expecting Sam to be embarrassed in front of his classmates, not assaulted by them.

Bullies. Dean hated them. He hated how they hunted in packs and preyed on younger and smaller kids, and he kicked himself for getting sloppy in his consideration of them at this school.

For the first time in a long time, Dean liked the school they were going to and actually had a group of guys he hung with on weekends, but it had lulled him into a false sense of security and he'd let his guard down—something that wouldn't be happening again.

Dropping down heavily on the couch, Dean let his gaze linger over the small pile of pink laundry Sam hadn't put away yet as the kid had pretty much retreated to his room for the evening after they got home. Dean snorted in self-disgust. Nice one, big brother, why not just serve him up on a big friggin' platter next time?

And then something flickered—the beginning of an idea. A plan.

His brow furrowed, gaze narrowing and a small smile twisting his lips as the plan slowly wound its way through his mind, deliciously perfect.

Decided, he smirked and grabbed the phone. This would work, but first he had a couple of calls to make…

------

Sam sat on the edge of his bed and seriously considered not going to school. He stared absently at the dark, ugly bruises on his arms and legs and sighed, wondering if today was going to cost him the only other pair of decent jeans he had as he was once again faced with his pink wardrobe. Fresh anger welled up at his brother's thoughtless prank but it was just as quickly squashed by despair. He loved his brother, he really did. But sometimes…Dean just sucked.

Sam stood, then crossed to the bathroom and considered asking Dean to borrow something, knowing his brother was feeling bad enough about what happened to let him. Although one of Dean's shirts would drape ridiculously on Sam's thinner frame, even tucked in, and he'd probably be accused of wearing a dress—or a blouse—this time.

Sighing again, his anger petered out, Sam resigned himself to another long day and stepped into the shower. Maybe no one would notice today.

Yeah, and maybe monkeys might fly out of my ass…

------

Dean already had his jacket on by the time Sam came out of the bedroom. He passed the younger boy a glass of milk to chug and a Pop-Tart to eat on the way.

"What's your hurry?" Sam grumbled between bites as he followed his brother out the door, barely remembering to grab his jacket and backpack. He knew he sounded surly, but really it was nervousness. Once again adorned in pink, this time a long-sleeved pink shirt to cover the bruises on his arms, Sam's stomach was tied up in knots; he was worried about what the reception would be like today. He really didn't relish another after-school bathroom run-in and vowed to stick close to Dean today.

"Nothing, Sammy boy, just got a test this morning I don't want to be late for."

Sam scowled at his brother but didn't say anything. He was still trying to get used to Dean actually liking this school. Not that he was complaining; it just sort of freaked him out a bit sometimes.

Swallowing the last of the Pop-Tart, Sam slid into the passenger seat and glanced across at his brother. He chewed his lip for a moment, then blurted out, "Meet me at my locker today?"

Something in Dean's jaw tightened, and Sam stiffened in anticipation of a sarcastic reply, but then the older teen looked at him, the hard lines in his face softened and he just nodded instead.

Relieved, Sam sank back in the seat and let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Okay, that should go a long way to protecting his pants. Now all he had to do was make it to the end of the day in one piece.

------

Dean parked in the same spot as the previous day, and walked with his brother to the school. Once in the hallway, they separated, but rather than going to his class, Dean waited a few moments, then followed Sam.

Fresh anger warred with guilt. He was bothered by Sam's request, unable to remember the last time his brother had wanted him to wait by his locker instead of just meeting up in the parking lot like they usually did. It spoke volumes of just how bothered Sam was over what had happened and made Dean feel even worse about his own unintentional part in the mess.

And it reinforced the importance of what he was about to do.

Nodding at a couple of his buddies, Dean continued to shadow his little brother after Sam dropped off his jacket in his locker and headed to his first class. Dean's eyes narrowed, and he moved to close the distance between them when he saw three guys take serious notice of his pink-shirted brother. Busted lip, black eye; it wasn't hard to figure out who they were, and Dean gave a little nod of approval. His brother was no pushover. Way to go, Sammy.

"Well, looky here," the first punk drawled out. "Seems like someone didn't learn his lesson very well."

"Or maybe," punk number two jeered, "he got off on it. Three guys taking off his pants, isn't that what every queer wants?"

Sam stopped and slowly turned around. Dean pressed himself to the side of the wall, out of his brother's view, and watched. As much as he wanted to break this up, this needed to be timed right. He risked a quick glance around.

Other students milled in the hallway, giving the four boys a wide berth, but no one intervened.

Dean's little brother stood his ground against the bigger teens, his fear and uncertainty locked down. "Exactly what is your problem?"

Dean could hear the exasperation in his brother's voice.

"You," the third guy growled.

Dean tensed at the threat, his fingers thrumming with the need to pummel something. He began to unzip his jacket…

"You friggin' homos—"

"It's just a pink shirt!" Sam burst out.

"—should all be lined up against a wall," the jocks moved in as the third guy finished, "and shot!"

"Hey!" Dean bellowed as he dropped his jacket and stepped into the middle of the hallway. Everyone froze. His voice dropped to a low growl. "Get the hell away from my brother."

Sam's eyes widened in shock, but Dean ignored him, his attention fully focused on the three thugs.

"You've got to be kidding," one of the guys huffed as he stared incredulously at Dean. "You, too?"

"Yeah." Dean smirked. "Me, too."

"And me," a voice suddenly chimed from behind him.

"And me." Another came from behind Sam, an echo through the halls as the whole corridor seemed to explode with senior boys wearing pink shirts.

There were eight in total, not including the Winchesters, and they rallied behind Dean, a formidable presence, especially in pink.

Dean's arms hung loosely by his sides, his hands curled into slight fists. "Consider this your only warning…" His voice dropped, deadly and promising. "Back off. We see you so much as breathe hard on any kid in this school, for any reason, and we'll paint the floors with your asses." He paused, his eyes locking briefly onto the eyes of each of the three other guys to make sure he had their undivided attention.

Behind him, a murmur started, low at first but gaining momentum as other kids in the corridor picked it up.

…No more bullying. No more bullying…

Dean tipped his chin up and crossed his arms. "Are we clear?" he barked, his voice harsh above the rising chant. Pale faced, the guys quickly nodded and then ducked away from the crowd when the principal appeared in the hallway demanding order and wanting to know what was going on.

Students quickly disappeared to their classes as Dean gave a quick nod in appreciation to his friends for their support, pleased by their response to his call and only vaguely curious about how they'd managed to come up with a pink shirt on such short notice. It reminded him there were still good people out there willing to do the right thing and stand up for others. Sometimes you just had to ask.

He stooped down to grab his jacket, then turned to his brother.

Sam hadn't moved, still standing in the same place the guys had cornered him and still watching Dean.

"Well…" Dean scratched at the side of his neck self-consciously, then shrugged. "Ah. Yeah…" He wasn't sure what to say, uncertain of how Sam was taking what he'd done.

And then something powerful flashed across his younger brother's face. Sam grinned, a rare, wide, wondrous grin that lit his whole face and, good grief the pink actually looked good on the kid. "Dude…" The double dimples flashed, and this time Dean had no trouble reading the gratitude and undisguised emotion behind the smile. "Wow. I—" His normally eloquent little brother seemed just as confounded by words as Dean, finally settling on another, "Wow," and then a heartfelt, "Thanks."

Dean nodded, finally finding his voice. "You're welcome."

"Winchester," Principal Severson's voice interrupted, "may I have a word with you?" Then the bald man amended, "Both of you?"

Sam looked at his brother, and Dean shrugged. "Don't worry, Sammy," he promised, "I got it all figured out…."

And he did.

Well…

Sorta.

------

Dean Winchester wasted no time. He marched into the pizza joint, kid-crowded on a Friday night, grabbed the first guy by the back of his neck, and dragged him into the nearby bathroom.

The other two guys followed. He knew they would.

"Hey—" the teen burst out as he was roughly shoved face first into the wall. The knife pressed against the side of his throat shut him up.

Dean didn't even look at the other jocks.

"You and me," he hissed, his voice lethal, "we got some unfinished business." One of the guys, the one with the split lip, made a move toward the door. "Don't," Dean growled and pressed the knife harder against the soft throat of his friend. "Did I say we were done yet?"

The kid froze.

"But-but…" black-eye guy stammered. "Back at the school…we thought…"

"You thought wrong." Dean cast an icy glare at the intellectual of the group. "That thing? With the shirts? That was for my brother." The bully he was holding squeaked as Dean ground his body further into the wall. "This? This is for me…"

------

Sam glanced up from the book he was reading on the couch when the door unlocked and his brother strode inside. His stomach grumbled as he asked, "Did you get the pizza?"

Dean grinned and held up two steaming boxes. "One large with the works for me, one baby meatlovers for you. I said no to a pre-chewed crust. Sammy's got all his teeth now."

"You are such a jerk," Sam grumbled, and then frowned. "What's that?" He pointed at a small bundle under Dean's arm.

The older teen put the food down on the coffee table and smirked. "Oh, this? Just a little something I picked up for you when I was out." Without another word, he tossed three pairs of jeans at his brother and walked out of the room.

Stunned, Sam stared at the clothes. He swallowed hard, blinked back the stinging that threatened to burn his eyes, and reached out to tentatively touch the jeans, knowing what his brother had done and why.

"Figured they might fit in a year or two."

Sam looked up to see his brother leaning in the doorway, halfway through his first piece of pizza.

"And if not," Dean shrugged casually, "we could always use them for gun rags or something."

The material was too coarse for cleaning, but Sam nodded anyway. Yeah, Dean could be a jerk, but he was Sam's jerk, and he really wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

His brother headed back to the kitchen and Sam followed him. "So, Dean," he finally found his voice, "what exactly are you planning on telling Dad about his socks?"

Dean's step faltered. He turned around very slowly and fixed Sam with a lethal look. "His socks? What about his socks?"

"Well, genius," Sam reached past him and snagged a piece of pizza from the open box, "you did remember Dad asking me to toss his whites in with mine the next time I did laundry, right?"

All the blood drained from his brother's face. "You didn't…" Dean forced the words out.

Sam smiled sweetly, inhaled his own first piece of pizza and added, "Yup. And his underwear. Although Dad's pretty secure in his masculinity—"

Dean grabbed his arm and had him halfway to the Impala before Sam finished.

"—so I'm sure he won't mind wearing pink!" His brother pushed him into the passenger seat and Sam looked around. "Where are we going, anyways?"

"Shopping."

"Shopping?" Sam looked out the window at the darkness. "Uh, Dean, it's late, not much is open…"

His brother deadpanned. "Sam, right now Dad has pink underwear. Trust me when I say, I will find a place that's open."

Sam bit his lip hard to keep from laughing and looked away. Dean wasn't the only Winchester who knew how to pull a prank. Of course, the real fun would begin once Dean realized their father's whites were still white and that his younger brother had gotten him good.

But Sam was quick on his feet and in the end, nothing said "I love you," "I forgive you," and "thank you" in Winchester any better than that. Especially when it involved the color pink.

The End

Author's Note: This story is based on an actual event that started the "Pink Shirt Day" anti-bullying campaign in British Columbia. When I heard the story behind the campaign, I just had to write this story!