When his youngest trudged home with his head hung low, John knew that things still weren't okay between the boys. He knew their little prank war had gone well past what either of them had bargained for, and knew that if he'd tried to intervene, it would've only gotten worse than it already had. Nothing like parental discouragement to fan the flames.

Now, though, John knew he was going to have to do something. Sam's hair, at least, was growing back fast. Dean, however, still wasn't speaking to Sam. God knew Sam had tried all the night before to get Dean to say anything, and had tried again this morning, and the results had been the same.

Even now, after school, Dean was still in the shared bedroom, doing...John wasn't sure what. Probably guarding his tapes and the one memory of happiness he had of Mary. John wasn't sure what Dean remembered about his mother, but he had to remember the music and the dancing through the house. Dean hadn't even been born when she'd first started doing it.

John closed his eyes and let the memory surface for a moment, then gently put it aside to talk with Sam. "How was school?" he asked.

Sam shrugged, his gaze still cast downward. The hair on his head was still short, some of the scalp visible, but it wasn't bad.

When John realized he could see the hair at all, his frown deepened. "Sam, where's the hat you've been wearing?"

Sam looked away, his cheeks turning pink. "It's a long story," he mumbled. There was a faint bruise on the underside of his cheek that was visible as he turned, and John had a fairly decent idea of what had happened.

"Has he said anything yet?" Sam asked, and he did turn to John then with hopeful eyes. John hated to shake his head, but it was the truth. Sam's gaze turned downward again. "I told him I was sorry like a bazillion times," he said miserably. "I really didn't know, Dad."

"I know you didn't," John said, then sighed. "You up for a hunt tonight? I know where this thing is."

"Sure, I guess," Sam said, and the indifference was only disappointment over Dean. John could see that clearly, so let it slide. Any other time, he'd have told Sam to straighten himself up and pay attention, get involved, get interested, because it was going to be the factor between him being alert enough to protect himself and him winding up dead.

"Get your brother, and I'll explain in the car about the leszy," John ordered gently, and Sam merely nodded and trudged off to the room.

Maybe a hunt would get the boys together. John wasn't looking forward to having to sit them both down and talking about it, but if he had to, then he would.

"So...Dad thinks it's something called a leszy?"

"Be quiet," Dean hissed, gun raised and aimed ahead of him, straight up the hill.

Sam bit his lip and did as he was told. The forest was creepy at night, and Dad had insisted he and Dean go off one way, Dad the other. Several people dead, their sides heavily scratched with damage to their heart, and Dad had surmised a leszy, which apparently tickled people to death. Wood spirit of sorts, one who didn't like people destroying the forest, and the brand new shopping center that was set to knock down the forest apparently pissed it off.

Sam had joked and said it was kind of a lame way to die, but Dean hadn't even cracked a grin. He'd merely taken his gun with the silver bullets, made sure it was set to fire, then headed off into the forest. Armed with a silver knife, Sam had fallen in step behind him.

"The silver'll work though, right? Because it has shape-shifting qualities?" Sam tried again.

"Be quiet," Dean whispered shortly, gaze darting to the right and left.

Right. Dean was still pissed as could be. Sam wondered if the attitude was Dean's way of paying him back for the tape scare. Either way, he was fine with the prank war being over.

He was about to ask Dean if it was over when something suddenly flew at them. "Dean, look out!" Sam shouted, and heard Dean's gun get off two shots. The blur sped past him, and Sam swung out, hearing a high pitched shriek as his blade connected.

He stumbled backwards from the hit, and suddenly felt himself falling much further than he'd originally thought he would. He shouted and heard it echo around him as he kept falling, feeling sharp and soft things on his back as he went down.

Then he was suddenly at the bottom, his arm hitting a hard surface, and he heard an audible crack two seconds before he felt it. He groaned and curled in on himself, cradling his arm to his chest. It had to be broken. Then he gasped as his curling sent him down another small hill, a gentle incline that wasn't more than a few feet away, but the movement was enough to jostle his injured limb and have him hauling in deep breaths.

"Dean?" he called up, his shaky voice echoing up through the hole he'd fallen through. He could see the moonlight shining through to his right, where he'd originally landed, but couldn't hear a response. He had to be at least eleven, twelve feet down. Dean should easily be able to hear him.

"Dean?" he tried again. "C'mon, man, answer me!"

Nothing.

Sam could feel helpless tears pricking at his eyes. The pain in his arm was immense, enough to keep his stomach churning, and he tried to shift to move back to the bottom of the hole. Then he was gasping for air, letting it out in a trembling sob. "Dean, c'mon, say something, please!" Sam begged. Dean couldn't be that mad at him, could he?

Suddenly a new thought came to mind, and Sam tried to sit up, shouting again. "Dean! I'm sorry, okay? I'm really sorry, just...just don't leave me down here, okay? This isn't a funny prank, Dean!"

Sam's prank with the tapes hadn't been funny, either, and it had obviously hurt Dean like hell.

But Dean had never been this cruel before. He wouldn't really leave Sam down here for awhile, would he, just to teach him a lesson? To prank him back for the tapes?

Sam kept calling, Dean kept not answering, and he finally stopped talking to keep the nausea at bay and his heart from hurting so damn much.

Dean groaned and rolled over, his head pounding. Freakin' leszy had shoved him good and hard, sending him flying back down the hill.

"Are you hurt?" Dad asked, tucking his gun into his jeans.

"Did you get it?" Dean asked in reply.

Dad nodded, taking Dean's arm and helping him up. "It chased you down, and I got a good bead on it. I think it's safe to say it's dead."

Dean grimaced and rubbed at his head. "We gonna burn it, just to be sure?"

"Yeah; better to err on the side of...caution," Dad trailed off, his brow furrowing. "Where's Sam?"

Two little words, and they never failed to cause Dean's chest to tighten. "I thought he tumbled with me," he said, turning back to look at the hill. No Sam, anywhere.

"It was only you that came down." Dad glanced around, then cupped his hands around his mouth. "Sam!"

There was no answer. "Move," Dad said shortly, and Dean recognized it for the fear that it was. Dean hurried up the hill with him, stomach turning in knots. Despite being pissed at the kid, he'd still kept an eye on him, and had heard Sam shout the same instant Dean had taken the fall. Dean had assumed they'd both gotten knocked down the incline, but now...

Where was he?

He pulled his flashlight out and scanned the area. "Sam?" he called. Still no answer. They were at the clearing, though, where the leszy had jumped out at them.

A glint of something shining caught his attention, and he turned his flashlight on the object. The silver knife Sam'd been carrying. Dean's panic slid up a few notches, and he hurried forward to pick up the item.

If his dad hadn't been standing nearby, Dean would've tumbled head first down the hole. As it was, it was close. Dad caught him by the back of his jacket and pulled him back in time, and together they peered down into the dirt hole.

"I'm going down there," Dean said, and didn't bother waiting for Dad to reply. This was a no-brainer to figure out: Sam's knife was by the edge of a hole, and Sam was missing. There were roots all over the place to hang onto, and Dean steadily made his way down, aiming his flashlight below in the hopes of spotting a place to land and a little brother to pull back up.

He found the bottom, and decided to let himself fall the remaining six or so feet. Landing was easy, and he pulled his flashlight back out to peer around. "Sam?" he called into the darkness.

"D-Dean?"

Thank hell. Dean turned to his right and found a dirty, tear stained face wincing from the light. "Sorry," Dean said, turning the flashlight away and making his way over to his brother. "Are you hurt?"

Sam swallowed like he was trying to keep something down. "My arm," he whispered, and Dean could tell by the way he was cradling his left arm to his chest that it was broken. Broken pretty bad, too. There was no avoiding the hospital this time.

"You came back," Sam said, voice hitching like he was trying not to cry.

"Just hang on, we'll get you out of here." Then Dean replayed Sam's words and frowned. "What do you mean, came back? I wasn't up there, Sam."

It was Sam's turn to frown. "You didn't...you didn't leave, then?"

"Not on purpose; freakin' leszy knocked me back down the hill," Dean admitted, rubbing at his tender head. He'd done worse to it; he'd survive. "Why? Did you seriously think I'd leave you down here or something?"

The voice was joking incredulity at what should've been an obvious no, but Sam bit his lip. "I...I thought it was, you know, a p-prank. To get back at me for the tapes."

Dean found his jaw slowly dropping open in shock. "Oh god, Sammy," he breathed. Then he was leaning over to wrap his arm around Sam and hug him as best he could. "I wouldn't do that to you. Ever. That's not funny at all."

"Neither was what I did," Sam mumbled, and Dean pulled away to hold Sam's face in his hands.

"Forget about the tapes for a minute, okay? Just listen to me. I don't care how angry I am at you, or how messed up stuff gets between us. I'm not going to leave you alone somewhere so you can 'learn a lesson' or whatever else you thought, okay? It's not gonna happen. I swear to you. I will never leave you alone, but especially not when there's a huge chance of you being hurt. Got it?"

Sam's eyes brimmed with tears, but he did give a hearty nod. Dean leaned in and pressed his lips hard against his brother's forehead, remembering when his mom had done it for him when he'd cried and been scared. He had other good memories of her that weren't associated with the cassettes, like that one, and he was done caring about the tapes anymore, anyways. He pulled away and gazed down at the one thing that would always matter more than anything else, and saw his brother give a small smile.

"Let's get you out of here," he said, carefully helping Sam sit up.

When Sam woke up, it was to a sterile, white room, and a reddish tinge as the sun came in through the window. Beside him, Dean was flipping through a magazine, half-heartedly staring at whatever was inside...Better Homes and Gardens?

"You're actually reading that?" Sam asked with a yawn, and Dean glanced up over the magazine at him.

"Well, since whatever pain meds they gave you knocked you out, I had to read something," Dean said. He tossed the magazine away and scooted his chair forward. "How you feeling?"

"Like I broke my arm," Sam said dryly. Dean snorted but gave a small grin. "Where's Dad?"

"Trying to find a doctor to release you."

"How long've we been here?"

"Six hours, twenty-two minutes, and...I lost the seconds," Dean said, dead serious. "They set your arm five hours and forty-three minutes ago, and encased it in plaster five minutes after that."

Sam raised his eyebrow. "So why are we still here?"

Dean shrugged. "Hell if I know. Hospitals are weird, dude."

"Yeah, no kidding." This one wasn't bad, but still. Not his favorite place to be.

"I think you should be the winner."

Sam glanced back at Dean, who was giving a small smile. "I mean, the underwear? And then the tapes? Pretty genius, little brother."

Sam shook his head hard enough to make himself dizzy. "No, not genius. Stupid. Really stupid."

"They're just tapes, Sammy," Dean said quietly. "And hey, they're all in one piece, because you're smart like that."

"They were yours, and before that, they were Mom's. I shouldn't have touched them."

"You didn't know, though, Sam." Dean reached out and patted his shoulder. "Let it go. I'm not angry anymore, okay? I've had my 'be angry' time."

Sam gazed at his brother long and hard, but there was nothing but genuine ease there. "You sure?"

"I'm sure," Dean confirmed. "But if you ever think that I'll leave you alone somewhere, abandon you, again? I'll kick your ass."

Slowly Sam's lips turned upwards. "That's what I thought," Dean said, leaning back in his seat.

"If you ever touch my shampoo again, I'll kick yours."

"Eh, not worried," Dean replied immediately, and Sam reached out to smack him. Dean slid away and chuckled. "Speaking of your hair, it's a little uncovered. Where's your hat? Dad said you came home without it."

Sam winced. "It's a long story," he finally sighed.

"Yeah, Dad said that, too. Does it have anything to do with that spectacular bruise on the underside of your chin?"

Sam rolled his eyes but didn't say anything. Dean leaned back and propped his feet up on the bed. "We're gonna be here awhile, so I think I got time for a long story."

"It's really boring."

"I doubt it."

It was Dean's serious tone that finally had Sam taking a deep breath and explaining how he'd lost the hat.

One week later, and Dad announced that they were ready to move on. "We'll leave first thing in the morning; make sure everything's packed up. You boys know the drill."

"What time in the morning?" Dean asked. "We've gotta get our stuff from the school."

"9:30 or so, then. But make it quick, so we can get to Nevada as soon as we can."

"No problem," Dean said, glancing over at Sam. They never left anything at the schools, in case there was a pickup and go type of situation. The only item they had to retrieve was a small, black hat. He gave a wink, and Sam gave a grin back. Turned out, they weren't quite done with their prank war. Not yet.

The last prank needed to be played by both of them.

At nine sharp the boys were inside Sam's school, watching and waiting behind a corner. "That him?" Dean whispered as a big, burly kid appeared in the hallway. Other kids steered clear of him, and Sam nodded.

"That's George."

"Cool. You ready?"

"Ready."

As one they stepped out from behind the wall, moving together towards George. Dean nudged at Sam, and Sam lowered his head like Dean. When they got closer, Dean pulled the bottle of Nair from his jacket, opened the cap, and let the contents fall to the floor. Then he stepped to the right, and mouthed a countdown to Sam.

On one, they both bumped into George's sides. "Watch it!" George snapped, and the boys kept going. With the bump, they'd managed to slide fishing hooks into the waistband of his shorts, and Dean held onto the thin line that kept him tied to the hook.

George yelped suddenly as he slid on the slick floor, falling forward and face first on the floor. "Now!" Dean called, and yanked his line when Sam did. George's shorts slid off in one, easy movement, and for a brief moment, the entire hallway fell into a stunned silence.

Then the roaring laughs filled the hallway.

George turned bright red and turned back to glare at them. "G-Gimme my shorts!" he demanded. Dean stole a glance over at Sam and found him cracking up, casted arm coming up to hold his stomach. Grin firmly back on his face, Dean turned back to George.

"We're willing to make an exchange. I think you've got a hat that belongs to us."

"Nice choice of underwear," Sam wheezed, and Dean's grin widened. He honestly didn't feel too sorry for the kid who had boxers with hearts all over them.

And there was no sympathy for the kid who'd slugged his brother hard enough to leave a bruise.

George stood, wobbly legs trying to find a hold on the slick floor. One look at Dean, though, and the kids standing and watching and laughing, had him moving fast. He hurried to a locker on the side of the wall, fumbling with the combination before he opened it and tossed the black AC/DC hat towards them. "Now my shorts," he said, his voice shaky but his glare back on.

Dean pulled the hooks out of the shorts and headed back over to George. The room started to fall silent again, and watched as Dean held the clothing out. George took them, but his glare was still concentrated behind Dean, to where Sam was undoubtedly standing.

The glare was knocked off of his face, literally, and Dean shook out his right fist as George went down a second time. The kids were no longer silent, but cheering this time as the school bully cradled his jaw.

"Dean!" Sam hurried forward, staring at George in surprise.

Dean ignored him. "That's what you get messing with my little brother," he said, narrowing his gaze at George. George whimpered and scrambled to get away.

Then Dean turned back to Sam with a grin. "Ready?"

"More than," Sam replied, smile back on his face.

They left together, Dean tugging the hat back onto Sam's head.

END