"Jerk."
"Bitch."
"I hate you."
"I hate you more."
"No you don't."
"Yes I do. How would you know?"
"Because I'm smarter than you, that's how."
"Shut up!"
Dean sighed. "Yes sir."
Sam tensed. "Fine."
John spared a glance in the rear view mirror at his two boys, determinedly laying against opposite sides of the truck. He knew they'd be curled up against each other soon enough, using each other for pillows and body heat. It was cold in Pennsylvania in December, where they were investigating a particularly nasty spirit. When they'd gone to her house, she'd attacked Sam, and he now sported a nasty cut above his left eyebrow that Dean had tended carefully and gently. He knew those two loved each other, but sometimes they drove each other crazy from being in such close proximity all the time. Sam's fourteen year old moodiness got under Dean's eighteen year old skin. And Dean's eighteen year old attitude irked Sam's fourteen year old hero worship.
They drove for another half hour, and when John pulled into their motel, he saw that Sam and Dean were, in fact, leaning against each other, Sam's head on Dean's shoulder and Dean's head resting on top of Sam's. Both were sound asleep, and John smiled grimly. Not much made him smile these days, but his boys always could, even when they didn't mean to. John woke them both gruffly before he got too sentimental, and they grumbled their way into their room and flopped down, fully dressed. John went to his room after making sure he laid the salt lines. Normally, he would've made Dean and Sam get up and quit being so damn lazy! but he figured they'd both done enough for tonight.
John fell asleep quickly, completely unaware of what was going on in his sons' room, right next door.
"Get off me, you jerk!" Sam snapped, wiggling as Dean tickled him mercilessly. "I will not!" Dean crowed. "Not 'til you say it."
"Get off! I'm tired, and I want to go to sleep, and if you don't get off I will kick your ass," Sam threatened. "Aw, Sammy, no you won't." Dean's eyes widened when Sam pushed up with surprising strength, forcing Dean to fall back. Sam jumped on him quickly and had him pinned. "Now," he said, out of breath from being tickled, face flushed and hair falling down. "You say it." Dean shook his head. "Never." And Sam commenced tickling furiously, until Dean was trying to roll and laugh and yell at the same time. "Sammy! This...isn't a...game," he said between laughter. "I think it is," Sam announced. "And anyways, you started it."
Dean refused to lose at his own game. "Say. It." He grabbed Sam by the hair and used it like a lever to pull his brother off and get him pinned again. "Dammit, Dean, this isn't funny!" Dean laughed. "I think it is. Now, say it or eat carpet." Sam growled. "Jerk."
"Bitch," Dean replied cheerfully. Sam grumbled, "I hate you."
"I hate you more."
"No you don't."
"Yes I do. How would you know?"
"Because I'm smarter -" Sam's face was in the carpet. "Stop saying that," Dean admonished. "It's not nice."
"Dean, I hate you, you bastard." Dean shrugged. "Say it."
"Fine, fine. Get off. I want to go to sleep tonight."
Dean got up carefully, body tense as he watched Sammy, waiting to see if his brother was going to be stupid enough to try and outsmart him. He'd never admit it, but Sam probably could. "Dean Winchester is the best big brother ever and he is my hero." Dean raised an eyebrow. "Aaaand..." he drawled. Sam sighed in defeat. "And he can kick my ass any day, as proven by the fact that I have to say this." Dean poked him. "Good job, Sammy. Now get some sleep." Sam went to bed, but not to sleep. He waited silently and watched until he was sure his brother was sleeping, and then he made his move. He got his Sharpie marker and began drawing.
"Sam!" Dean's strained, furious voice came from the bathroom. Sam stretched luxuriously. "Dean?" he answered, pretending to be confused. "Get in here! Now!" Dean growled. Sam stood and made his way drowsily to the bathroom, watching in amusement as Dean scrubbed his face raw to try and get the Sharpie off of him. There were stars and hearts and teardrops and random vine designs. He snarled at Sam, "What did you do?" Sam feigned innocence, something he was good at. His doe eyes could manipulate anyone. "I didn't do anything, Dean. I was tired last night after you attacked me, so I went to bed." Sam shrugged.
Dean sighed and ruffled his little brother's hair affectionately. "At least you're learning to admit to nothing," he muttered before renewing his scrubbing. "I'm still getting you back for this, though," he added as an afterthought. Sam laughed as he left the bathroom to flop back down on his bed. "I'm counting on it, Dean," he mumbled into his pillow.
Author's Note:Do you like? Let me know. :)
