AN: So like it says in the summary I wrote this for the challenge over on snville. I think this is the part where I say something profound but nothing comes to mind at the moment... I'm usually brain dead at this time of night...
I obviously don't own anything but do go ahead and sue me if you like 'cause I've been a bit bored lately and could do with the entertainment...
„Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,..."
After five minutes the youngest Winchester had had enough. He sprang up from his horizontal position on his bed, standing face to face with his older brother he shouted:"Stop it Dean! I'm serious!"
With red cheeks, lips squeezed tight together forming a frown and hair covering his forehead and part of his eyes, Sam Winchester looked far from dangerous or threatening. At least that's the conclusion his older brother came to as he once again opened his mouth and started up his chant in that god-awful sing-song voice.
"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,…"
Getting more frustrated by the minute Sam Winchester practically bellowed his next plea for silence. "Dean, please stop it!"
"Both of you, stop it now!"
The effect of those six words was immediate - as if a cold bucket of water had been thrown over them. Dean's mouth snapped shut and Sam took a step back from his brother looking away at the same time in order to break the staring contest that they'd started the moment he'd sprung from the bed.
The loud, gravely and angry voice of the hunter in the room next door always had that effect on the brothers whenever they were arguing. After listening to Dean's sing-song voice and Sam's open threats for ten minutes flat John Winchester's patience had run out. Satisfaction washed over him and a small smile played on his lips as he noticed the immediate silence. Well aware of the fact that both boys had heard the unspoken threat in his words, he went back to the piles of newspapers strewn out on the table in front of him.
Dean slumped down on his bed with an audible "hmph" and resumed cleaning the knives that were lying on the bed.
Sam picked up the book that he'd flung on the floor some time during his rage and slumped back down on his bed. Glancing over at his brother and seeing that his concentration was on the knife in his hands, he scrunched up his face and stuck his tongue out.
"If the wind changes, you'll stay that way." Dean glanced up and noted that Sam's face had returned to normal. "Then again, you looked better than you do now."
A glare was all he received from his brother in return of the comment. Undeterred he continued:"You should go to Hollywood and try gettin' a role in a horror movie - you wouldn't even have to wear any make-up."
"Oh ha ha ha. You think that's funny?"
"Yup."
"Well, it's not."
"Really?"
If he didn't know him better Sam would have thought it was genuine surprise that washed over his brothers face. He once again reminded himself never to play poker with him. "No."
"Just like that? A simple no. Not even gonna think about it?"
"Nope."
"Technically I asked two questions so which one are you saying no to?"
"Dean."
"What?" The attempt at an innocent smile on the elder brother's face failed miserably. And judging by the slight twinkle in his eyes he was well aware of it.
"Never mind."
"Fine."
"Fine."
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
Sam went back to reading his book while Dean started cleaning his knives - again. The silence only lasted mere minutes. Setting the knife back down Dean looked over at his brother. "So, what you reading…. Sammy?"
"Unbelievable!" Sam slammed the book down on his bed, jumped up off it and stormed through into the next room, banging the door shut behind him.
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Curiosity got the better of him so John looked up from his papers to see Sam slumped in a chair at the table - anger practically rolling off him. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
John sighed, he'd rather be locked in a room with four werewolves than have to deal with a row between his sons. He hated having to step in and defuse their bickering. It was like walking on egg shells, he had to be careful with what he said or one son would feel like he was supporting the other one.
They could call each other every name under the sun and argue like there was no tomorrow – damned to the depths whatever idiot decided to get between them.
He'd tried being nice and had asked his question in a very calm voice – now he was going back into character. "Don't say 'nothing' as if you haven't been at each other's throats for the last half an hour. What the hell is going on this time?"
Sam looked up, slightly relieved that his father was back to normal. The calm tone of his voice before had been quite disturbing.
"It's Dean. He's such a jerk. He keeps callin' me Sammy and he won't stop."
"Sammy." John muttered, as if testing it on his tongue. Here was the walking on eggshells part. If he that he like the name and thought it suited him then Sam would take that as him siding with Dean and get pissed. But if he told Dean to stop then he would be pissed off with him. In an attempt to avoid either scenario he came up with an answer that he would later remember as one of his worst parenting moments ever. "Then why don't you think of a name for him, that you know he wouldn't like."
Sam just sat there thinking it over. John could almost hear the works in his brain clicking into place.
"I like how you think, sir. Revenge. Ha. I'll make him regret ever calling me Sammy."
Before John could even grasp what had must happened – let alone come up with a reply – Sam had stood up and walked back into the bedroom.
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"This means war Dean."
Slightly taken a back Dean looked up to find Sam standing in front of him, his arms folded over his chest. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. You don't wanna stop callin' me Sammy? Fine! But remember, payback is a bitch." And with that he turned on his heels and stomped back out of the room.
Dean stared at the spot where his brother had been standing just moments before – the slight twinkle in his eyes the only evidence that he'd heard what Sam had said.
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John was doing some research in the library so he dropped the boys of at the local laundrette so that they'd all have some clean clothes again.
"Dean I know you get all girlie about your hair when you "style" it and that you curl your eyelashes but don't you think that having pink clothes is takin' the gay factor a bit far?"
Dean, who was standing at the other end of the otherwise unoccupied laundrette, turned to Sam with a questioning look. Sam watched his brother's expression with amusement, tensing just a little when he saw the realization that had dawned on him. He tensed a little more when he saw the anger wash over his features.
"Dean was across the room in no time. He came to an abrupt halt in front of Sam and the washing basket filled with his – pink – previously white clothes. "What. Did.You. Do?!"
Sam smiled at him innocently. "I didn't do anything, but look," he said, stifling through the clothes, "there's a red sock in here. I thought I told you that you had to separate color from white."
"Separate white from color?! I don't own anything in color! The only person with red socks is y- No! You didn't. You little –"
"Language Dean."
"I call you Sammy a couple times and this is your payback?"
"Pretty much."
"Well two can play this game, you're goin' down kiddo."
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Sam walked over to his duffel and pulled out his favorite book. He sat down on the couch and opened it up. Instead of having five hundred and twenty nine pages of beautifully written chapters about Frodo Baggins and friends he had five hundred and twenty nine pages of naked women. There was a cut out picture of a naked woman on every single page.
"Dean!"
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Dean sat down on his bed, soda in hand, and a satisfied smile on his face. It had taken him three hours to clean the Impala – inside and out. He'd polished every surface until he'd seen himself reflected in it. Suddenly he heard his father shouting.
"Dean! What the hell did you do to my car?!"
He quickly got up and went outside to where his father stood next to the car. The car that was covered in shaving cream and what looked like some sort of syrup.
"Sam!"
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Sam was half way to school when he noticed that people were staring at him and giggling as they walked past. He looked down; nothing icky hanging sticking to his shoes, fly wasn't undone, t-shirt wasn't stained and his jacket didn't have holes in it, at least no more than usual. As for the rest of him, well he didn't have a clue what he looked like. Dean had been in the shower when he woke up and he was still in the bathroom when he'd left for school.
Sam was of course unaware of the fact that Dean had been in the bathroom for all of two seconds while he locked the door and then climbed out through the window.
A horrible thought flashed in his mind so he quickly ran across the road into the diner and walked straight to the men's room ignoring the waitress' shout of: "That's for paying customers only!"
"He saw the mirror and went to stand in front of it, taking a deep breath, he looked up. A horrified look crossed is face as he read the four large letters that were written across his forehead in black, water resistant ink. G-E-E-K
"Dean!"
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Sam sat on his bed waiting – unconsciously rubbing his red raw forehead from where he'd been scrubbing at it for hours days earlier to get the ink off.
He heard the shower turn off and smiled. He knew his brother didn't "style" his hair till after he had eaten and was dressed (yes, in that order). He heard the bathroom door open and ten minutes later he heard it shut again.
He knew the second Dean had put the hair gel on his fingers before gliding them through his hair – at least it had been hair gel before Sam swapped it for instant glue.
"Sam!"
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It didn't take Sam long to riffle through his bag and find his favorite jeans. It took him even less time to find that the butt had been cut out of them, leaving a gaping hole. He blushed slightly as a shriek escaped his lips. Having needed to be on his way to school like, yesterday, he quickly found another pair – and with them another hole.
"Dean!"
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Dean was standing at the corner of the street talking to a group of girls. He was being his usual charming self and they were practically eating out of his hand. In the corner of his eye he noticed that someone was heading toward them but he didn't pay attention to it until he heard the squeaky voice of his little brother.
"Dean, your boyfriend called, he said that you should go over and see him tonight. Apparently you still owe him a blow job."
Dean swung round faster than the speed of light. Pinning Sam with a deadly glare. He turned back around when he heard the shuffling of feet. The girls had crossed the road and where walking away, very, fast.
"Sam!"
Sam was also walking away but he stopped in mid stride and turned towards his brother. "Told ya Dean: payback's a bitch."
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Payback's a bitch. With Sam's parting words still humming around in his head, Dean Winchester reached for his brother's shampoo.
Thanks for reading! :) Comments, compliments, complaints - let me know.