This was my entry into the Supernaturalville(dot)net Prank War Challenge. Alas, it did not win, but it was great fun and challenging (I guess that's a given, considering it was a challenge! lol). The hardest part for me was coming in under the word limit of 4108 words. THAT was really tough. Sorry if the story seems a bit sparse at times, but I had to keep trimming because it seems I had too much story for the number of words I was allowed. This is a completed story, but if the urge to write another prank war battle hits me I'll add a separate chapter for each individual story. Thanks for reading. Take care, B.J.
--
This one's for Zach and Lo… don't go getting any ideas, guys!
Prank Wars - Tales from Beyond the Edge of Reason
Chapter One – Pretty in Pink
It always escalates. What starts out as just a little harmless fun turns into an all-out fractious war like the time Sammy lost half his hair to the Nair and Dean had him convinced he suffered from that hair loss disease. That in turn resulted in Sam supergluing his brother's hand to a beer bottle and Dean being arrested for underage consumption in Texas. Since his fake ID stated he was eighteen he was offered the plush accommodations at the local hoosegow when his actual age of sixteen would have gotten him a ride home. Hick towns in Texas weren't known for showing compassionate understanding of teenage rebellion.
Dean pleaded the bottle was empty and he wasn't drinking, but being Texas and being he had a reputation to boot, words didn't hold as much influence as say a bottle of Lone Star permanently attached to his hand. Forget about demanding a blood alcohol test, you're in Texas, boy! Possession is nine-tenths of the law any way you wanna look at it.
John tolerated the minor pranks, but when you're rousted out of bed in the dead of night by a phone call from the local fuzz, leading to a trip to the courthouse the following morning to take custody of your older son after he spent the night in jail, and on top of that your younger son looks like Kojak with a defective razor; well, even a tolerant man has his limits, and this was John Winchester, who didn't know the definition of tolerance.
"It's over, you hear me?"
Twin voices responded in unison, "Yes, sir!"
"Sam, wear a hat."
"Yes, sir."
"Dean.., Lone Star? I thought I raised you better?"
"Sorry, sir. It was… " Dean cleared his voice, lowering his eyes, "available."
"Pack your crap, we're leaving."
"Yes, sir."
The hospitality of Texas was suspect from the start. With their lack of boots or hats or drawls, the Winchesters simply didn't fit in. Not that the locals were mean, just indifferent to outsiders. Dean didn't mind, he was used to being on the outside, actually enjoyed playing into his James Dean Giant role of the guy that didn't fit in with respectable folk. Sammy was the one who wanted to belong and geeks just weren't in in Texas.
Neither seemed too distressed to be leaving.
Afternoon found them almost to the state line on their way to South Dakota. John figured he needed reinforcements in the form of family friend, Bobby Singer. He was tired of being outnumbered.
As they embarked on their road trip, Sam stuck his tongue out at his brother and huffed, turning toward the side window of the Impala and staring into space.
Probably counting cows… or oil rigs, what difference?
Both littered the barren landscape of Texas like a herd out to pasture.
Dean shifted in shotgun position.
"Dad, you want me to drive?"
"How's your palm?"
"Raw."
"Have you learned anything from this, Dean?"
"Yeah, not to drink free beer, especially if my little brother offers it."
"Good boy."
"So, you want me to drive?"
"Nope. Don't wanna end up in the pokey for reckless driving."
"I can keep it between the lines."
"Yeah, you can, but you don't."
Dean scrunched down and rested his head against the top of the seat, closing his eyes to sleep.
Kansas offered green grass, but was cold and wet. John finally relented and let Dean drive.
The speeding ticket only cost fifty dollars, which was good, 'cause Dean only had fifty bucks left after his drinking fine.
"You woulda fronted me the cash, right?"
John grunted, pretending to be asleep.
"Right?"
He finally opened his eyes, cold and impersonal. "A man in your position had best depend on his own resources."
"It's just bad luck, Dad."
"You have a habit of chasing bad luck, son."
Sam snickered from the backseat, totally enjoying the cold-shoulder Dad was giving Dean.
Just what the jerk deserves.
"A boy who looks like he just went through chemo isn't really in the best position to be laughing at someone else."
God, since when did he turn into a Zen master?
Things settled down at Bobby's… for awhile.
John took off on a series of hunts and the boys started school again. Bobby was used to having them around for extended periods of time. Dean helped out in the salvage yard and Sam read Bobby's books. Bobby benefited from some company and everyone ate a tad better. Bobby actually cooked, even veggies on occasion.
Then it started up again… like it always does.
Sam overslept because somehow his alarm got turned to daylight savings time two weeks early. He missed his first class and the quiz the teacher sprang on them, leaving him the only option of taking detention with the dummies and truants to make it up. He loved playing Breakfast Club, except he wasn't quite sure which part he was supposed to play. He had little experience being the bad kid, not like big brother who smirked at him from outside the window.
I have grades to maintain, Dean. You make me lose my A and I'll kill you.
Then Dean's toothpaste accidently got mixed up with some industrial-strength shit that turned his teeth brown and tasted like ass. He really thought he'd been poisoned, but smug Sammy just laughed at him as he gagged and threw up, proclaiming to big brother that he was number one in science in his class and if he wanted to poison him, Dean would be dead.
Yeah, right, that's comforting!
Good thing I didn't lose my A.
Bitch!
Jerk!
This was war… and if the Winchesters know anything, it's how to wage war.
Without his cocky grin to rely on Dean was basically a shut-in. He went to school, kept his mouth shut and came home, putting in long hours for Bobby until his teeth faded back to white. That meant his time with the ladies was sorely lacking and he was getting anxious and bored.
"Dean, where the hell are they?"
"Hmm?" Dean raised his eyebrows in a quizzical look and smiled, closed-mouthed.
"Open your damn mouth. We all know you look like a grizzled-up homeless person with rotting teeth. Get over it!"
Dean simply smirked in response. He was getting used to being the quiet, sullen one, the one afraid to open his mouth lest he be ridiculed by the rich snobs with shiny white teeth and expensive cars.
"Whatsup, Sammy?" he mumbled.
"Two dozen overdue books at the library and they cut off all my privileges."
"You should be more responsible there, dude."
"Yeah, right. Like I checked out those books!?"
"What books would that be?" Dean innocently asked, rapt attention on his little brother stomping about Bobby's living room.
"Let's see, the librarian could barely look me in the eye when she was reading off the list… Sex and the Single Girl, Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Sex But Were Afraid to Ask, and oh, yeah, The Penis Book, along with a dozen more books that all have sex in the title."
"You and your penis… you really should know how it works, Sammy. Glad you're not afraid to research this stuff."
"Dean, I have a paper due and I need to check out some books!"
"Looks to me like you already have. How's it comin'?"
"Dean, I'm gonna kill you."
"Oh, yeah? How's Dad gonna feel about that?"
"Like I pay any attention to him?"
Dean paused for a moment, considering the threat. "True, but I am your only brother and I don't really see you as the homicidal kind."
"You keep pushing and you'll find out what I'm capable of."
"Bring it on, baby boy."
"You asked for it, Dean!"
Bobby walked in from outside then.
"What the hell's goin' on here? I could hear you caterwauling from a hundred yards out. Somethin' I need to know?"
"No, sir," they both muttered.
"Well, alrighty then. Guess I better get to cooking. How's stroganoff sound?"
"Good, Bobby."
"Yeah, sounds good."
It wasn't supposed to happen, but Dean was too suspicious, previous paybacks and Sammy's slight smile putting him on high alert. It was a bad replay of the Princess Bride with the Sicilian and the pirate. The plate of spiked stroganoff getting passed around the table like a deadly shell game. Dean refusing to accept the peace offering of his brother as Sam dished it up and handed it to him. He knew enough to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Ha, Ha, very funny…
Bobby was still new at this, totally unprepared to suspect sweet, innocent Sammy would lace the food with a double dose of laxatives… that is until he spent the night on the toilet.
"You alright in there, Bobby?"
"Whew, that's never happened before… You boys alright? Can't imagine why it went through me like that."
"Must be a poor constitution."
"I guess… "
--
Dean hated P.E. and this was just another reason to tack on to his ever-growing list of why. It doesn't matter how Sam accomplished it, after all, he is a Winchester. It's never about how; nothing stops a Winchester once their mind is set. No, it's more about why. The whys here were pretty self-explanatory. It was war.
The gym was empty by the time Dean finished his shower. That morning Bobby's shower had been temperamental and he hadn't gotten all the shampoo rinsed out of his hair and he'd been feeling grungy all day, so when Coach told them to hit the showers he was actually happy about it for a change. He took his time, enjoying the warm spray and the cleanliness he'd been missing.
Then he went to towel off and found he had no towel. That was worrisome enough. When he discovered his clothes were missing things really started looking dire. Total panic set in when the only stitch of clothing in the entire wiped-out gym was a pink, fuzzy robe with matching slippers.
Hell, no! I am going to flay him with that twisted looking knife he likes so well!
When faced with adversity, it's all in the way you handle it.
Don't let the clothes wear you; you wear the clothes… with dignity and grace.
It is a credit to Dean Winchester that he can still look menacing and threatening and downright dangerous wearing a pink, fuzzy robe. They might snicker, but not a soul laughed out loud. He cursed as the gravel dug into his bare feet as he confidently strolled out to Bobby's old truck he'd driven to school that day. The pink slippers were still sitting on the bench by the shower. A man has his pride.
Sammy was nowhere to be found. Guess he found another means to get home or more likely was lurking somewhere in the shadows laughing it up.
Just remember, little brother, payback is a bitch!
He got a few curious glances on the drive back to Bobby's; after all, he could only slink down so far in the seat, he still needed to see out over the dash. He considered pulling the damn thing off his shoulders to just wrap around his waist, but that would only make him appear naked in the truck and he sure as hell wasn't gonna risk being stopped and further inspected by the cops or any frisky ladies he passed along the way.
He stormed into the house and was surprised to find Bobby sitting at the kitchen table offering him a puzzled look and a bemused grin.
"Dean? You got somethin' you wanna tell me?" he probed as his eyes glinted from under the brim of his dirty trucker cap.
Dean quirked his brows with his standard you-talking-to-me? 'tude and calmly replied, "Nah… Oh, this?" He shrugged his shoulders and casually responded as if nothing was amiss, "It's nothin', Bobby… Sadie Hawkins Day at school. Y'know… school spirit and all."
"Uh-huh."
He bounded up the stairs in a flash of pink and returned moments later more at ease in a faded pair of jeans and a black tee.
"Hey, Bobby, I'm gonna do some laundry. You need your red shirt washed?"
Bobby still seemed to be studying him, like he wasn't quite sure who he was or what he was up to. He'd seen a lot over the years of hunting, but these Winchesters were always a source of enlightenment. Dean wouldn't have been surprised if he'd uttered 'Cristo' and splashed him with holy water for good measure. He didn't make a move though and simply answered, "Ah, yeah… sure. It's in a pile on the floor in my room."
"Good."
Dean actually whistled while he worked.
Sam returned just before dark and no mention was made as to where he was or what he was up to, but he held a glimmer of a smirk on his lips for the rest of the evening.
--
Dean was having his morning coffee when he heard shouting coming from upstairs. His eyes glistened as his lips turned up in a contented smile.
"DEAN! Whatcha do to my underwear!?"
Dean reached for a muffin, by-passing the bran one and going for the iced blueberry.
Bobby looked up from the paper as Dean released a soft, sensual sigh as he bit into the delicacy. He would have sworn Dean had a lady on his lap from the sounds coming from his lips. The look of total bliss radiating across his face had Bobby wondering how vivid the boy's imagination really was.
Sam came barreling down the stairs, appearing before them in an agitated state.
"Dean! Whatcha do to my underwear?"
"Well, that's gratitude for ya. I did laundry, little brother… and you're welcome."
Sam stomped his foot and glared. "It's pink! It's ALL PINK!"
"Oops."
"Oops? That's all you have to say?"
"Whatcha want me to say?"
"DEAN!"
"Look, sorry, Sammy. Guess a red sock got left in the washer. Not my fault, dude."
"And is YOUR underwear pink?"
"Sammy, I don't wear those cute, little, pink briefs… I'm a boxer man."
"You're such a jerk."
Dean blinked his eyes and offered a small smile, just a bare upturn of his lips and a flash of dimples as he quirked his head toward Bobby. "Try to do a guy a favor, huh?"
Sam was pouting, his eyes pleading.
"Dean, I've got P.E. today."
"Wow, THAT could be embarrassing… "
"Ya think?"
"Do you have to take a shower and everything?" Dean asked with another quirk of his brows.
"You know I do."
"Look, honestly, Sammy, I'm sorry."
"Really?" A glimmer of hope shown in Sam's eyes. He knew it was a long shot, but what could it hurt to ask? "Dean, please… can I borrow a pair of your boxers?"
"Nope."
"WHAT?"
"I don't think you'd fill 'em out properly. I just can't subject them to your short comings." And then the bastard smirked, full dimples and shining eyes.
"Jerk!"
"Bitch!"
"God, I hate you!"
Dean did a classic double-take. "You hate God? Sammy, kinda severe, what'd God ever do to you?"
"YOU, Dean… I HATE YOU!"
Dean continued to smile. "Fair enough."
Sam ran back upstairs to finish dressing and it was only a few minutes before he reappeared, obviously not enough time to search out where Dean had hidden every pair of boxers or briefs in the house. He grabbed his backpack and stood at the door impatiently waiting for Dean to drive him to school.
"So, Sammy, we going girly or commando?"
"Bite me!"
--
It didn't take much, just a casual bend to pick up a paper that floated out of his locker when the breeze caught it. The sound was unmistakable, a long, loud rip that could only signal one thing… Sammy's butt was now on public display. He was young and not anywhere near as menacing as his big brother and this was just too much fun for junior high kids to restrain themselves. The laughs, guffaws, and hysterics could not be contained within the walls of the school; they followed him out into the cool air of the morning taunting him as he raced for the promise of salvation. He mentally kicked himself for not wearing a long-sleeved shirt that he could tie around his waist to hide the embarrassing gap in his rear.
I always wear another shirt… always. It's Dean's fault, he rushed me this morning and my shirt is always by my backpack and…. Damn, him! He did this!
Sam didn't know how Dean managed it, orchestrating the ripping of his jeans… he just knew with certainty that he did. He had to, didn't he? This is just too much of a coincidence, but how? Even Dean can't shape fate to his will… Can he?
He was backed up against a tree; his rear end pressed against the bark and ouch, that hurt! A few students snickered and pointed, but others thankfully didn't seem to notice his predicament, absorbed in their own teenage traumas. Like your shit could compare to mine? My freakin' family hunts demons! And if that isn't enough, my ass is hanging out of my pants and everyone is laughing at me!
He stood there a long time. Even the thought of missing all his classes and how it might affect his grades couldn't make him budge. Night's coming, thank god!
Tara McTierney walked by and smiled at him. He offered up a slight smile, not wanting to appear rude and to be honest he liked her… liked her a lot, but now is not the time, Winchester! She seemed poised to just keep walking when she hesitated, turning and coming back to stand directly in front of him.
"Sam, do you need some help?"
"Huh? Me?" he squeaked out, his eyebrows arching and his lips turning up in a nervous attempt to mimic his brother's cocky attitude.
"I just thought… " she stopped and licked her lips. Man, she has pretty lips. God, Sam, just stop it… now is NOT the time! "Sam, I know where we can find some needle and thread in Home-Ec. You sure I can't help you out with your little… problem?"
Sam feebly smiled. His options were scant and she held no malice or joy in her offer, just sincerity and he hated to admit it, but he could use a helping hand. "Yeah, if it's not too much trouble," he weakly agreed.
She took off her pink sweater and offered it to him to wrap around his problem area and with a pink bustle accentuating his lean hips they walked back into the school.
--
Dean was waiting on Bobby's porch when he got home from school, grinning.
Sam cautiously observed him: the glistening eyes, the eyebrow waggle when he spotted his kid brother, the way he pursed his lips like he was on the verge of saying something before he drew up the bottle of beer in his hand and took a swallow.
"Little early to be drinking, Dean." Not to mention… still underage.
"I had a little celebrating is all." Quit being a freakin' goody-two-shoes-prude, Sammy.
And then the bastard winked.
Sam glared at him, not quite sure… but the thought had been placed in his head and no matter how outrageous or impossible to accomplish, Dean was a Winchester and they don't know the meaning of impossible. "Dean, my jeans split out right down the back." It was a simple statement of fact, no accusation, just the barest of information and Sam waited for Dean's response, knowing he couldn't let it slip on by if there was a chance for a victorious end-zone dance.
Dean didn't disappoint.
Total innocence registered on his face accompanying a simple response, "Really? Huh." Then the full-blown, eat-shit grin appeared as his entire face lit up. "So, whadya decide? Commando or girly?"
"YOU DID THIS!?"
Dean continued to smirk, so aggravating and smug. "Why would you think that, Moonie?"
Sam knew it, he freakin' knew it! "You'll pay!"
"Bring it!"
The gauntlet was thrown down… this wasn't just war… this was WWIII. Winchester War III.
It always escalates.
Stink bombs, loud fart apparatuses, slimy concoctions in their beds, and cold water in their showers. Spiders and snakes and rats… Dean HATES rats, which only made trapping him down in Bobby's cellar with a dozen of the nasty rodents so sweet.
When it progressed to the point of eventual bodily harm if one or the other didn't back off, real life or what passed for real life for the Winchesters intruded.
"Boys, this is serious. Your daddy needs our help. Grab your stuff."
Dean was ready to go in a heartbeat, always eager for a hunt. Sam was more reticent, but the look in Bobby's eyes had him scared, just a little.
Dad needs us? On a hunt? Since when? This must be bad.
It was a long drive in the dead of night, two hours out into the bush to a dilapidated old house abandoned years ago.
"Bobby, what's Dad doing out here? He never even came back to your place."
Bobby was driving up a long and winding dirt driveway, solemn and stoic. Not looking at the boys and that was always a bad sign. He grunted and his hands gripped tighter on the steering wheel, his face barely recognizable in the dim light of the truck's dash.
"John was headin' back when he got in a spot of trouble."
"Trouble?" they spoke in unison, their voices tinged with apprehension.
I mean, c'mon, it's Dad… Dad never gets in any real trouble… He's a superhero.
The old truck ground to a halt and Bobby cut the engine. He climbed out and started walking.
"Boys, stick close."
"Bobby? What's out there?" Dean whispered.
"Dunno. John didn't say."
Dean moved his brother between himself and Bobby, his mind still trying to make sense of this. Why bring us out here in the dark without knowing what it is we're facing?
His gut twisted.
Somethin's wrong.
Dean grasped hold of Bobby's shoulder and forced him to face him. "Bobby, what's goin' on?"
Bobby's eyes were blank, no emotion, no response; he simply turned and started walking again.
Dean yanked his brother back beside him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the flask of holy water. Sam offered a shocked look followed by reluctant understanding. Dean took three swift steps forward and splashed the contents over Bobby. Immediately the steam rolled off of him and he started twitching and wailing, thrashing about.
Sam screamed, a bit girly, but then again he is only twelve. Dean grabbed his arm and they raced back toward the truck. Bobby was still steaming and thrashing behind them. They hopped in the truck, slammed the door locks down and Dean fumbled for the keys. The ignition was empty. For the first time in his life Bobby had taken the keys with him. Dean wished he'd paid attention to his Latin. He wished he had one of Bobby's smelly old exorcism books. He wished his dad was here.
Panic was setting in.
"Dean, what're we gonna do?"
"Just calm down, Sammy… let me think." His heart was racing. They were trapped out here alone with a demon-possessed Bobby and god only knew where Dad was.
The truck started to shake. A loud knock battered the back window and they jumped out of their skins. Sam buried his head in his brother's shoulder and Dean grabbed him and pulled him into his embrace, his own eyes wide with fear.
A second loud knock registered on the driver's side and they quickly turned to find Bobby pounding on the window. It was echoed on the opposite window and when they looked over the image of their dad was peering in, wild and crazed, before his face erupted in laughter, a huge smile greeting their panicked looks.
Slowly the reality filtered into their terrified brains. The chortling continued and the truck rocked from the grown men pushing against it snorting their pleasure.
John's burly voice broke through the revelry the two old friends were sharing.
"Boys, you learn anything here?"
"YOU DID THIS?"
"Yep."
"But he steamed?" Sam whined.
"You think you're the only one to take science in school?" John replied with a broad grin.
"I can't believe you did this!"
"I can't believe you put me on the pot all night," Bobby responded.
"You knew?"
"Guys, I had a brother too."
"But you didn't say anything."
"What would be the fun in that?"
The End
bjxmas March 2008
All standard disclaimers apply.