I warn you, I wrote this when I was 26 hours without sleep, hopped up on caffeine and stuck in a car for 18 out of 30-some hours. Actually, I'm posting this in some café by the road while my friends get lunch. But it's happy and dang it I need happy after the finale (which was awesome, though).

No spoilers.

Mud

The rain poured from the sky like so many tiny missiles; each of them, Dean was convinced, aimed at his battered head. He was wet, cold, sore, and he had mud in places that should never have mud in them. On top of the sludge layering his clothes, the supposedly simple hunt had turned out to be an all out combat with two leviathan creatures and their giant razor claws. The whole thing had taken five hours of trekking through muddy forest and five rounds of consecrated silver bullets per creature. And the things wouldn't burn for the better part of an hour; but then Sam's delicate solution of drowning them in lighter fluid had done the trick.

Dean grinned; it had been awesome.

"What're you smiling about?" Sam grumbled from beside him, hoisting his weighted bag over his other shoulder, the strap digging in deep.

"Dude, you can't say that wasn't a freaking sweet hunt. Man, the way I nailed that sucker between the eyes… I'm damn impressive, Sammy." He slugged Sam on the shoulder with his knuckles, ignoring his protesting muscles. "You could learn a thing or two from your big brother."

"Right. Dude, I haven't 100% believed anything you've said since you taught me how to fight drain monsters. Real useful, man."

"Come on, Sammy. You were six and you loved it."

"You couldn't just tell me they didn't exist?"

Dean snorted a laugh. "Dude, you were checking the drain for months. It never got old to see you peeking to see if there were claws or whatever."

Scowling, Sam shoved at Dean with his shoulder. "They were tentacles, you loser."

Laughter burst loud and quick from Dean. Reaching out with one hand, he slung an arm up and over Sam's neck. "But you were beyond prepared when you actually went hunting, right? Come on, it was a little funny."

Smiling, Sam straightened to his full height and Dean suddenly found it hard to reach all the way around his shoulders. When had his brother gotten so dang tall? To hide his difficulty, Dean ruffled Sam's rain-soaked hair with one hand, amused when Sam pulled away and tried to smooth it out.

"Give it up, Sammy. Your do's out, anyway." With an uncomfortable grumble, Dean took his 9 mm. out from the waistband of his jeans – where it had been rubbing painfully against a bruise – and stuffed the gun in his bag, rattling it to make sure it went down far enough.

"Shut up," Sam retorted.

"It's okay, I get it," Dean said smugly, zipping his bag closed.

Narrowing his eyes, Sam gave him a look. "What the heck are you talking about?"

"You're jealous; it's totally understandable. My hair attracts hot women, yours attracts their mothers. It's just the luck of the draw, Sammy." It was mostly true; younger women loved Dean. Really loved him.

Sam grunted. "Hot women, right." He mumbled something that included words sounding suspiciously like "hooker" and "strange rash."

"What's that, Sam?" Dean demanded, elbowing his brother in the arm.

"Ow! Geez, that's where the thing hit me, you jerk."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sorry if I don't catalog your every injury." He was lying; he knew exactly where Sam had been hit – every sound of pain his brother made on the hunt had him checking for life-threatening injuries. But that particular bruise wasn't bad enough that it couldn't be used as a convenient target.

"Whatever, man."

"Come on, Sammy. Lighten up! We just finished a hunt, got in a good workout, and Stacy's waiting for me back at the diner." He finished with a wide smile at the thought of the 'relaxing' activities he and the waitress would be engaged in. That was a workout he wouldn't turn down. Mmm.

"Uh huh. Not that enthused about you getting some action, Dean."

"Dude, she's got a friend," he offered.

"Yeah, who's a guy, Dean!"

Dean paused. "Really?" he asked with some surprise, "I could've sworn…"

"His name is Trevor." Sam shook his head at the obliviousness that blinded his brother whenever a semi-attractive chick was around.

"Huh. Well, you know, whatever trips your trigger."

"Dean, man—never mind." Sam waved a hand at him, mud flicking off his fingers and into Dean's face.

"Hey, watch it. Keep your mud to yourself."

Sam rolled his eyes and fell back a step.

Marching forward, the squelch of his boots loud even in the rain, Dean let his mind drift to his impending night with the waitress. She'd said she practiced yoga regularly, which was a huge bonus. Bendy weekend, here he came. And her legs went on forev—

A subtle squish, a whistle through the air, and WHAM! Thick, heavy muck slammed into the side of Dean's head, sliding up into his hair. He stumbled forward a step, his boots catching in the soaked ground. The laughter of his soon-to-be-dead little brother echoed from behind him.

"You did not just…" Dean growled, swiping at his clogged ear with one hand. Another glob hit his shoulder and smeared over his neck. "Knock it off, Sam!"

"Make me," came the chipper reply.

Shedding his pack, Dean whirled around and barreled at Sam, one shoulder low.

"Dean, hey, no—!"

Protestation was futile. Dean slammed full speed into Sam, one shoulder in his gut. Sam let out grunt and crashed to the ground, his big brother on top of him.

"Hey, man! Get off, you jerk!" Sam brought his elbows up in an effort to dislodge Dean, who was now straddling him.

"You started this, bitch," Dean said, grinning. He took a handful of mud and lobbed it onto his brother's head – it stuck in his hair and clumped over his forehead. He ground it in for good measure, delighting in his brother's disgusted expression.

"Cut it out!" Latching onto Dean's arm, Sam managed to throw him off enough to scramble out from under him, slinging mud blindly behind him as he lurched to his feet. He took off away from Dean, scooping up sludge as he went. When he felt far enough away, he turned and drew his arm back, ready to take a shot at his brother.

Dean blindsided him from the left, locking an arm around his waist and yanking him to the ground. They landed with a loud plop and began to wrestle, Dean slowly gaining the upper hand.

"Dude, ow! Not my eyes, man!"

"Eat mud, Sammy!"

"Let go!"

"You let go!"

"You're on top of me!"

"Yeah, well, sucks for you."

"Quit it, Dean!"

"Make me," Dean mocked. He grinned – messing with Sam was one of his greatest joys in life.

With a growl, Sam hooked his leg around Dean's middle, trapped his arm behind him and flipped him off. He was on him in a second, elbow in his throat, knees pinning his legs. "Say 'uncle,'" Sam goaded.

Fighting to get free, Dean gave him a glare. "Bitch."

"Come on, Dean. You can do better than that."

Grabbing Sam's wrist, Dean twisted it up and around, pinning it against his brother and using it to push him off balance. They fought fiercely for dominance, both putting up a valiant struggle. But in the end…

"Ha! Just like old times, eh, Sammy?"

"Dean, ow, ow! Not so hard, you moron!" Sam's cheek was pressed against the mud, his head twisted in the lock of his brother's arm. He squinted through one eye at the fading daylight, searching for a way to break Dean's hold.

"I've still got mud in my ear; it's payback."

"So cry me a river."

"Bite me, Princess."

Sam shoved back with his shoulders, feeling Dean's balance begin to shift precariously. He writhed harder and knocked Dean off, but before he could scramble to his feet, a weight slammed onto his back, forcing him back to the ground. With a humiliated flush of blood to his cheeks, Sam realized Dean was sitting on him. And it was working; he couldn't get enough leverage to actually do anything. The mud sucked him down, effectively pinning him.

"Give up? Because this is just embarrassing for you," Dean taunted.

Just as Sam opened his mouth to bite back, his ringtone blasted through the air. "Dude, could you just…dammit, just move!"

"Not until you surrender, Sammy. Say it." Dean's voice oozed an intolerable amount of glee.

Grumbling inappropriate things about Dean and what he could do with himself – at which Dean laughed – Sam wriggled until he got his phone out of his pocket. He slid his arm through the mud until the phone reached his ear, rain drops washing the muck off the plastic. He hit the Send button. "Yeah?" he grunted.

"Sam?" asked a confused voice, "Where the hell are you, boy? Sounds like you're drowin'."

"Um, just finished up a job. How's it going, Bobby?" Sam replied, spitting as a bit of mud dripped into his mouth.

"Your brother with you?"

Sam didn't miss the slight concern and suspicion in Bobby's voice.

"Yeah, everything's fine, Bobby. Dean's just being a jerk."

Whacking his brother in the back of the head, Dean shouted a "Hey, Bobby!" loud enough for it to be picked up by the phone.

"He sounds smug," Bobby commented.

Sam scowled in the general direction of his brother. "What do you need, Bobby? I have something I've gotta do…" Like kick his brother's ass.

"I'll be quick. There's a job I got, and I'd sure appreciate some help on it. Mainly, I need someone to play my nephew Melville."

"Uh…" Sam took a moment to deliver an elbow into Dean's hip, receiving a satisfying yelp before Dean squashed his spine. Air wooshed out of Sam – he gasped into the phone. "Yeah, sure, Bobby. Where?"

"DeKalb, Illinois. There's a cult up there that's been going a little heavy with the undead spells. And they run a funeral home, so things are getting pretty bad. I'm takin' my dead nephew to be displayed in their fine establishment. I'm just short on corpses. You or your brother feel like volunteerin'?"

"Okay, yeah, one of us can do that. We'll meet up with you, then." Sam wheezed as Dean shifted on top of him, apparently starting to grow bored.

"See you boys soon. And Sam?"

"Yeah?" Sam ground out, trying and failing to elbow Dean again.

"Give your brother hell for me. 'Bout time someone smacked that kid down some."

"Um…sure thing, Bobby." Sam knew Bobby was being facetious; he had to know Dean was winning with Sam sounding like he was, well, being squished by his smaller brother.

A sigh came across the line. "Just don't let him beat you too bad. Four inches on him and you still can't win a fight."

"He cheats," Sam protested, defensive.

"So cheat back. It ain't rocket science, kid."

"Right. I'll do that."

"Aim for the ego. Should be a big enough target," Bobby chuckled good-naturedly, by way of a goodbye. The line cut with a click. Sam dragged his hand back to his pocket and replaced his phone.

"Done gossiping, Samantha? Don't need to be a psychic to know how this is gonna turn out." Dean snickered. "Hey, want me to read your palm for you?"

"How about just one finger?" Sam lifted his hand in the air to illustrate. Dean just laughed.

"What'd Bobby want?"

Sam could practically hear the grin in his voice – his brother loved to win. "He wants one of us to play his dead nephew so he can infiltrate a funeral home that's up to its armpits in necromancy."

"Seriously?"

"No, I just made that up."

"So it's a zombie job?" Dean ignored Sam's sarcasm, sounding thrilled with the prospect of hunting the undead. "Ho yeah. Come on, Sammy. Time's a-wastin'."

Feeling Dean start to shift, Sam couldn't resist. He shoved back with his shoulder enough to dislodge his brother. Sam rolled to the side and was up on his feet. Dean leaped up a second later, facing him with a grin on his face. When his brother opened his mouth to say something, Sam lashed out at Dean's leg. Dean dodged the attack and launched himself at Sam, who was ready for the move. There was a brief scramble that ended with Dean once again on top.

"Nice try, but you know what they say about the best laid plans." He locked his arm more securely around Sam's neck. "If my catlike reflexes weren't so amazing, you might have had me there, little brother."

Sam growled something from beneath him as he worked to get free. But Dean's hold held well – any sort of wrestling had never been his younger brother's thing. But that didn't stop Sam from trying to struggle his way out of his brother's grip. Dean shifted his other arm and got a lock around Sam's shoulder, effectively pinning him once again.

"Crap. Fine, okay, you win, Dean," Sam snapped.

"Surrender?" Dean pressed cheerfully.

"I just said I did, you idiot."

"Say it, Sam." One could practically hear his huge grin in his voice.

"I hate you."

"I can sit here all day, Sammy."

"This is stupid, Dean."

Dean said nothing, just shifted as though to get comfortable for a long wait.

With a snarl of embarrassment, Sam bit out, "Dean is the super ninja warrior of the world."

"And?"

"…and I'm a dickwad."

Dean laughed and released his hold on Sam. He stepped back and offered a hand to his brother, and it was answered with a rude gestured and a scowl.

"Dude, we've gotta revise that. Seriously, 'dickwad?' Talk about retro," Sam mumbled, extricating himself from the mud.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Hey, I wanted something a bit more hardcore, but you were too worried about what Pastor Jim would say."

"You wanted to do more chores? Because that's exactly what would've happened if he heard anything you had in mind. But hey, if shoveling manure for his garden was cool with you…" Frowning, Sam shook his limbs and watched the mud fly off in clumps. He'd never get his clothes clean, and he had a small enough wardrobe as it was.

"Afraid it'll stain?" Dean jeered pleasantly.

"Shut up." Sam headed for his discarded duffel.

After retrieving their gear, they began the last leg of the walk back to the car. Sam's thoughts veered toward a hot shower and revenge, while Dean's were still buzzing with the fun and adrenaline of their game. That reminded him, he and Sam should do some sparring later on – it was great for practice, bonding, and Dean getting his high by beating his taller brother once again.

"I call it."

Dean looked at Sam in confusion. "You call what?"

"First shower."

Before Dean could protest, Sam broke into a run for the car. Over his shoulder, he shouted, "And I'm driving!"

"Like hell you are," Dean yelled back, charging after his brother.

Sam cackled and ran faster, using his longer legs to pull farther ahead of Dean – running had always been Sam's thing. With an evil smirk, Sam delivered another blow. "Not putting blankets down!"

"What?! Stay away from my baby, bitch!"

"Make me!"

END

I'd appreciate hearing what you think. I have no idea how this turned out.