It was all Dean's fault, really.
Dean with his constant flirting and his many one-night stands.
Dean with his bad boy charm and his roguish smirk, the one that made all the girls fall for him.
For the longest time, Sam hadn't minded. He used to admire his big brother actually, thought it was some kind of great accomplishment to be so successful with the ladies. But that was back when sex was still a foreign concept to Sam, something he knew about in theory but wasn't really interested in.
As he grew older, he began to wonder what it would feel like - handjobs, blowjobs, actual fucking. And he started to pepper his older brother with questions. Dean had already told him everything there was to know about the birds and the bees, after all. The brothers had never been shy about their bodies--privacy was all but non-existent when you lived in tiny motel rooms. And Dean had done a good job, explaining what sex felt like. He had patiently answered every single one of Sam's questions, had even given Sam a couple of condoms and smacked the back of his head to ram the lesson home that "you never do it without rubber, you hear me, Sammy?"
But for whatever reason, Sam never managed to get even close to using the damn condoms. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to make an impression on girls. Or, at least, not the kind of impression he wanted. The way the Winchesters kept moving from town to town every few weeks, Sam was always the new kid in school, the freak, the nerd who hung out in the library (thanks, dad, for making me research all the damn time), the geeky kid who joined the chess club.
Most girls laughed at him and ridiculed him--that was, if they even acknowledged his existence. The few girls who did actually like him were either totally not his type or they liked him like a brother.
Sam just couldn't seem to win.
When they moved yet again and Sam found out that one of the cheerleaders was actually known for giving blowjobs like a fucking Hoover, he was convinced he'd finally hit jackpot. She had the reputation of a slut, and it was rumored that she had basically done it with the entire senior class already.
Sam wasn't looking for true love. All he wanted was someone to give him a good time, to show him the ropes, as it were. He had hormones raging in his juvenile body. He had needs. He had urges.
He approached the cheerleader one afternoon under the bleachers--where she was known to "conduct her business"--but she just laughed at him and told him to go play "with the other kiddies".
He was seven-fucking-teen.
Granted, he was still a bit on the short side, but he was sure a growth spurt was just waiting to happen. He was even in a couple of the same classes as the damn cheerleader. How could she think he was younger than her?
When he stomped off, plotting revenge, tears of frustration and anger rolling down his cheeks, she yelled after him mockingly, "Cry baby!"
The next morning, everyone in school called him that. Apparently, the cheerleader had told everyone what had happened. Sam had never been so humiliated in his life.
Thankfully, his father and Dean came back from their hunt a couple of days later, and they all moved yet again.
But by then, Sam was plotting revenge.
Not so much against the cheerleader--though he would love nothing more than to try out a few of the more outrageous spells he had found during his research--but against every damn chick that had ever turned him down.
The Winchesters ended up in a small town in Arkansas. By now Sam was used to being left alone for weeks at a time while his father and Dean went on extended hunts.
Only this time, the two men came back within a couple of days. Dean had busted his knee badly enough during a fight with a demon that John felt he was a liability.
"Guess you're stuck with me, Sammy," Dean said with a smirk as he hobbled to the nearest bed. He dropped down on it with a grimace. "You know what would make me feel better? Some pie."
Sam glared at his father, who just repacked his bag without a word, and then at Dean. "What, so now I'm your babysitter?"
"Well, you can play nursemaid if you want to," Dean suggested with an eyebrow waggle. "For now, caterer would be nice though. Pie. Come on!" He snapped his fingers demandingly.
Sam turned to his father again to complain, but the look on John's face made him close his mouth again.
"Here's some extra cash," John just said, thrusting a bunch of bills at Sam. "I should be back in a couple of weeks. Keep researching the shape shifter thing, Sam."
Sam stared in disbelief as his father climbed into the Impala and drove off.
Now, of all times, he had Dean to deal with? The only time he really wanted, needed to be alone, what with the extra-curricular research he was doing? How was he going to try out the spells he found, leaving the recipient of said spell powerless to resist any and all of Sam's sexual demands?
"Come on, Sammy. There's a diner a couple blocks down the road. They have apple pie," Dean whined from his bed while he was channel-surfing at top speed.
"Shut up, jerk," Sam muttered, staring at the spell book half-hidden in his backpack.
You wish, Sam thought.
At first, Sam suspected that Dean was hamming it up. After a few days, he was sure of it. He had seen his big brother being beaten up, stabbed and shot, and get up again without so much as a wince. But now that he had Sam at his beck and call, Dean decided he was gravely injured and made his little brother do everything for him, from getting food to fluffing the pillow.
It was driving Sam insane.
The fact that his hormones were raging more than ever didn't make it any easier. He finally wanted to get laid--and if nobody volunteered to get down and dirty with him, he would use his spell.
It had taken him a few days longer than he thought--thanks to Dean not leaving him alone--but Sam had finally managed to combine three spells: one that would leave the recipient malleable to whatever Sam wanted, one that made the recipient horny as hell, and one that would wipe the memory after the deed was done.
Sam knew that what he was planning to do was wrong, but he didn't care. He figured that spending most of his childhood either hunting, fighting or doing research for his father should be good for something. Figuring out your own spell in perfect Latin? Counted as being good for something in Sam's book.
He arrived back at their motel room after a long school day, trying to decide which unfortunate girl would end up being the recipient of his spell, but then stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Dean lying in his bed, with a very naked young woman riding him. Sam recognized her as one of the waitresses from the diner down the road.
"Oh hey, Sammy." Dean grimaced. "Didn't think you'd be back so early. Mind giving us a little privacy here?" He made shooing motions with one hand. His other hand was busy playing with a very ample breast.
Sam stared for a second longer, then turned around and slammed the door behind him.
The nerve of his brother! Fucking bastard didn't even have to leave the damn motel room and still managed to get laid!
Sam sat down on the ground next to the door, a serious sulk on his face. He rummaged around in his backpack until he found a scrap of paper. His spell was written on it.
Sam smoothed out the crinkled paper and stared at the words.
The only reason why he hadn't tried out the spell yet was that he felt bad for the unsuspecting recipient.
Inside the motel room, however, was someone who was strong enough to endure the spell. Someone who had been conditioned since his earliest childhood that his most important job was to take care of Sam.
Well, taking care of Sam's sexual urges fell under that category, didn't it?
He really didn't need a damn cunt to practice fucking, after all, right?
Sam smirked. He let one finger stroke across the part of the spell that caused the memory wipe. Maybe that part of the spell was no longer needed.
The door to the motel room opened and the waitress walked out. She smiled at Sam, looking slightly embarrassed, and then rushed to her car.
Sam watched her leave, still wondering how far to go with his brother, when he suddenly heard Dean yell demandingly, "Sammy? I'm hungry. Get me a burger or something?"
Sam stood up and grabbed his backpack. He stuffed the piece of paper with the spell on it into the front pocket of his jeans and then stalked into the motel room.
It was high time to show his jerk of a brother who the real bitch in their relationship was.