A/N: set vaguely but recently at the Bunker.

"Did you see this?" Dean asked, snapping his finger against the newspaper he was reading. "They want to ban dodgeball, now. Dodgeball."

Sam was bent over his computer and notepad and didn't look up. "Un hunh."

"They say it's oppressive. Dodgeball's not oppressive. Dodgeball's the best game ever. Right?"

"If you say so."

"What? You don't think so?"

"What did you like about it, especially?"

"Oh, come on, you know - I'd get the ball, get a kid in my sights and -" Dean made a motion of whipping an imaginary dodgeball across the room. "Bam. They were out."

Sam shook his head and went back to his computer and notebook.

"You didn't like it?" Dean asked. "Really? Why not?"

"Because dodgeball is the only game where the object is to whip the ball at your opponent as hard as you can. The only game where winning means inflicting the most pain and humiliation on kids who don't have the size or the strength to fight back. And bonus points if you could hit a boy in the nuts, or make a girl cry. So, no, I didn't like it."

Dean scowled. "It wasn't that bad."

"Maybe not for you, but d'you forget that until junior year I was the smallest kid in almost every class I ever went to?"

"Yeah. So? Wait – you mean – you got hit? How? You could take care of yourself."

"Against one kid, maybe. Or two. Not half the other team. I was small, I was a target. It was brutal."

Dean's expression darkened. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Sam shrugged. "Didn't seem worth it. Maybe if we'd been at the same school for longer than a month or two, I would've asked you to do something. But there didn't seem a point – you'd have had to fight pretty much every gym class every school we ever went to."

Dean stared at him a few beats, then, "All right. Names. I want names."

"What?"

"Names, Sam. Names of every kid who ever even accidentally sent a dodgeball your way and every last gym teacher who let it happen. C'mon. I know you. I know you remember every name. So –" he gestured to Sam's notepad. "Come on."

"Dean – what are you going to do? Go across the country terrorizing perfect strangers for something that happened twenty or thirty years ago?"

"You know it. Let's go, start writing."

"Dean – no. I appreciate it, but – no."

"Hmm..." Dean went back to the newspaper. "I would've fought them all," he said.

"Yeah," Sam said. He smiled. "I know."

The End.