With a gesture of mock disgust, Dean waved his hands through the air and continued speaking with his brother.

"Peeshaww man..that's nothin." Dean reached down, pulled his right pant leg midway up his calf, then pointed to a six inch long scar. "See that?"

"Of course I can see it Dean. You are trying to show me that mole surrounded by an extremely odd-shaped hair pattern right?" Sam's grin was devious.

"Bite me Sammy. And no, the scar ya num nut. See it?"

"That tiny chicken scratch is what you're trying to show me?"

"That 'chicken scratch' little brother, required over thirty stitches and caused nerve damage." Dean's chest stuck out proudly; he resembled a horny rooster who just got dropped off in a hen house. "Top that."

"Oh yeah? Well, do you remember this one?" Sam replied pointing in the general direction of his crotch.

Dean laughed.

"You'd better not be pointing to your man parts cuz uh...I love ya.. but if you got some weird, sex-wound thing I don't know about, then I sure as hell don't want to see it either." An evil snigger escaped Dean as he continued.

"But I guess that isn't really possible now is it? You'd have to get laid first to have that kind of problem wouldn't you Sammy boy?"

"Hey, that's not fair. I have sex." Sam replied looking only a bit offended.

Dean raised his head with a nod and wiggled his eyebrows. "Yeah, but the one-handed mambo doesn't count."

"You're gross Dean. You do know that right?"

"I've been told on occasion.. yes." Dean's grin stretched from ear to ear.

"And, no it's not a 'sex thing'. It's my hip bone remember? The bone fractured and chipped when the Revenge Demons kicked your ass senseless, and after I showed up and saved you; I was thrown so hard against the wall, I now have an abnormal, sharp bone growth in my hip. See? You can see where it pushes up the skin."

Sam was fairly convinced his brother couldn't do better than defunct bone growth..

Dean rolled his eyes and huffed. "You didn't 'save me' Sammy. I was doing just fine by myself."

"Dean? They were using your skull as a battering ram against a freight-elevator door."

Subconsciously Dean rubbed an open palm across his head as he remembered that particular fight.

"Yeah, but we won in the end. Sent those chumps straight back to Hell and it gave me a wicked lump I still have to this day. So, you think you can do better than a permanent head injury?"

Sam's reply was instant. "You mean more like permanent brain damage..."

"Funny Sam. Hilarious. Wanna talk about brain damage? I'm not the one who broke his arm in three different places beating the circuits out of a vending machine because it wouldn't take your quarters. And whyyyy wouldn't it take your quarters Sammy? Because you were to stupid to realize the change you were trying to use was Canadian. Man verses Soda Machine, News at 11:00!"

'Screw you Dean."

"Nah, screw you cause I'm winning. So far all you have are retard injuries and one little battle wound. Whereas I on the other hand..."

Suddenly Dean's voice grew high-pitched with excitement. This was it. This was the big one; the one injury to top any his brother could counter.

"Wait! I know I've you beat for sure now Sammy."

Dean removed his shirt; his pale, freckled-dusted skin almost shone in the waning moonlight. He turned his back towards San, then pointed just to the right of spine; above the lumbar area and across what one could only call 'an exuberant fetish for cheeseburgers love handle.'

"The scar is not so much important as is how I got it. This came from a twice-dead mad scientist who was brought forth by a repressed, self-loathing, basement dwelling pot smoking computer geek reject who wanted revenge on the cool kids at school. Now, tell me; how cool is that Sammy?"

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop calling me Sammy."

Dean thought about it for a moment and replied. "Get some real battle wounds going and maybe I will."

The things boys do when you are a Winchester without a lead for a hunt..

end