Interlude With Snow
Dean reached over the back of the Impala's front seat and thumped his brother's leg. "Sam! Yo! Time to get up!" Sam muttered, turned over, and kept sleeping. Dean grimaced, thought about thumping him again, then looked out the windows and grinned.
Snow. It had transformed the landscape while they slept. Six inches covered Baby's hood, and more was piled up everywhere he looked: on the road, against the fence he had snuggled the car up to last night, on the fields beyond the fence.
He pulled on his jacket, pushed the door open, and grabbed a handful of the stuff. It was light and fluffy, sparkling in the early morning light. He grinned again. With a swift movement, he leaned over the back of the seat, using one hand to pull the waist of Sam's jeans out and the other hand to stuff the snow in.
He gave his brother's ass a sharp slap for good measure, mashing the snow against the skin, then leaped out of the car as Sam roared awake, cursing and flailing.
The roaring continued, separating into words that cursed Dean, his driving, his ancestors, the snow. Dean bent double, whooping with laughter, pounding a fist against his jeans. Bending over, he didn't see Sam untangling himself; his howling laughter kept him from hearing the squeal of the door opening, so he was totally unprepared when a large hand grabbed the collar of his jacket and another hand pushed snow down his back.
Laughter turned into howls as Dean danced about, trying to empty the snow from his clothes. Now it was Sam's turn to be laughing.
Dean scraped a handful of snow, packed it, and sent it flying at his brother, who promptly returned the favor. Battle joined in earnest, the two darted around the Impala, bending and scooping and throwing like machines, until finally they collapsed, side by side, against the car, panting.
Dean wiped snow from his hair and face, and blew out a whooshing breath. "Damn, son. That was fun."
"Yeah, well, you'd better not ever wake me up like that again, damn you!"
Dean grinned and thumped Sam's shoulder. "Don't sleep in, you won't get pranked." He peered into the car and sighed. "Well, shit. Car's full of snow."
Peering over his shoulder, Sam pointed out, "Not on my side." Dean glared at the snow-covered seat, then back at his brother, then grinned again.
"Hey...know how you're always complaining about how I won't let you drive?" He tossed the keys in his hand, then tossed them to his brother with a wink. "Your turn!" He ran around the front of the Impala, yanked the passenger door open, and fell onto the seat-not covered with snow. "Let's go get breakfast."