It was not as easy as it looked. Dean and Sam both knew this.

See, the key to the whole operation was to not alert Dad, because then Dad would put a stop to it and would lecture (mostly at Dean � it sucked being the older one sometimes) about maturity and responsibility and focus and blah blah blah.

Dean only ever added the "blah blah blah" in the safety of his own mind, because yeah, Dad was right about most stuff, but Dad was also too serious sometimes. Not that Dean would ever tell his father that. But hell, they dealt with serious shit 24-7.

All the more reason for some fun every now and then, right?

So when Dean and Sam were sitting in the backseat � a giant stone urn sat in the front seat next to Dad, long story � of the Impala, Dean looked over at his brother, who was dozing peacefully, and couldn't really help himself.

It was nearing midnight, and they were flying through Wisconsin, because Dad had needed help finding the remains of this ancient witch � three pairs of eyes were better than one � but now they were on their way back to Illinois because Sam had school in the morning.

After reading the rest of Hamlet by the dim half-light inside the car, Sam had fallen asleep. He was now slumped over sideways, head barely touching Dean's shoulder, still clutching his tattered schoolbook.

Trying not to crackle the plastic too much, Dean unwrapped one of the Hostess cupcakes he bought at the gas station a few miles back. ("That's a terrible dinner, Dean," Dad had said, but he had been too tired to push it. And anyway, Dean was technically an adult and he had the legal right to stuff his stomach with sugar if he wanted to.)

Dean split the cupcake in half, revealing its gooey filling. He kept one eye on his dad, still driving, and one eye on his brother, still sleeping, as he very, very slowly reached over Sam and placed the cupcake on the small ledge at the base of the car window, on the other side of Sam. The cupcake balanced there precariously, and Dean squinted at it, trying to imagine the trajectory and the angle. It was perfect.

Quickly, Dean shifted his shoulder and said, "Sam, get off me."

Sam mumbled something, still half-asleep, and predictably tilted himself the other way, letting his body fall to the right instead of the left, and he mashed his cheek into the cupcake, plastering it to his face and his hair.

Bulls-eye.

"What?!" Sam came fully awake, sitting up, and wiped at his cheek and his hair. His fingers came away covered in chocolate cake and sticky frosting.

"Something wrong, Sammy?" Dad asked over his shoulder, not turning around.

Dean nearly busted a rib from trying not to laugh out loud. He could feel his face turning red from the effort, and he leaned against the window on his side of the car, trying to not look at Sam because that would seriously set him off. He could feel Sam glaring death at him, though.

"No, I'm� fine," Sam grated out, cleaning off the rest of the cupcake. He added mildly, to Dean, "Five days, starting tomorrow. No repeats." The calm tone of his voice hid the threat underneath, but Dean could hear it � You're dead. You're so dead.

The code. The signal. Dean grinned.

Let the games begin.

* * *

The next morning, Sam put a live mouse in Dean's box of Frosted Flakes.

When the little white mouse tumbled out into Dean's cereal bowl, mixed in with the cornflakes, Dean yelled � all right, all right, more like screamed like a little bitch. He pushed the bowl away from him, spilling its contents � mouse and all � all over the kitchen table.

Sam came running into the kitchen, toothbrush still in his mouth. When he saw Dean standing in the corner of the kitchen, eyeing the mouse on the table, he started laughing so hard that he nearly choked, coughing toothpaste foam everywhere.

"Dean? What's wrong?" Dad called from his room, at the other end of the apartment.

"Nothing," Dean shouted back, glaring at his brother, who still hadn't stopped laughing. "You're cleaning this shit up."

"You spilled it, Princess." Sam gave him a superior look and made an invisible mark in the air with the end of his toothbrush. One for me.

"This was weak," Dean managed to say when he got his heartbeat back down to a regular pulse level. "Weak."

"You screamed like a girl," said Sam thickly, grinning, as he continued to brush his teeth.

"Fuck you." Dean could barely stand to look at the thing. It had red eyes, for fuck's sake. Most demons didn't even have red eyes. Not to mention that naked pink tail. The mouse scurried all over the table, sniffing around and munching at the spilled cornflakes. "I hope the fleas of a thousand camels infest your pubic hair."

Without a pause, Sam replied, "I hope your left ear withers and falls in your right pocket." Sam, toothbrush in his mouth, scooped up the mouse, cupping it in his hands. "Here, Deana, I've got the scary mouse, okay? Safe and sound." He left the kitchen, still snickering.

Dean fumed and cleaned up the mess before Dad got into the kitchen.

* * *

Dean got his revenge the next day.

He had been out all night and had gotten home around eight in the morning. Rather than getting laid like normal guys his age, Dean had been doing recon for Dad about reports of spooklights in a small marsh in the next county. From what Dean saw, they were will o' wisps, but he'd have to confirm with Dad before they could do anything about it.

Anyway. He got home and no one was there, so Dean took Dad's old truck and went to the grocery store and the crafts store.

Before Sam got home from school, Dean rigged up a mix of honey and maple syrup and water � that shit was tricky to mix, you had to get the right consistency so it poured easily but was still sticky � over the front door of their apartment.

When Sam came home at around three in the afternoon, Dean was researching spooklights on the Internet in their room. He heard the front door open, and then he heard Sam roar, "Dean!"

"In here," Dean called back, trying to sound innocent as he could.

He heard Sam's pounding footsteps approach, and Sam pushed open the bedroom door.

The second bucket tipped over, spilling multicolored feathers all over Sam's sticky form.

Dean laughed and gasped, rolling all over his bed.

Sam just looked at him. He spat a feather out of his mouth.

"Oh God, oh God, you look like Big Bird on crack," Dean wheezed through his laughter.

"You think you're sooo clever." Sam pulled some feathers off his face.

"I do," Dean said. "Wait, wait." He pushed aside the laptop and held up the instant camera he had hidden behind it.

"Don't. Dean." Sam lunged for him.

Too late. Dean snapped the picture, letting out a triumphant "ha!" before running out of the bedroom, Big Bird fast on his heels.

* * *

The third day, Dean was expecting retaliation � that was the thing about these prank wars, you were on high alert all the time, like a pleasant buzz humming in the background of everything you did, it was fun and it made boring days go by quicker � but he hadn't expected anything like this. This was a whole new level of pranking.

Dean had to admit, Sam was a sneaky bastard. He could fuck with your mind along with the best of them. Dean was so proud of him sometimes.

They were in a coffee shop, because when Dean had picked up Sam from school, Sam wanted to stop by there to get something to eat before play rehearsal ("Drama dork," Dean had coughed into his fist, and Sam had kicked him in the ass).

Sam was sitting at one of the tables, doing his pre-calc homework, and Dean was chatting with the busty brunette at the next table over. She had been eyeing him ever since he and Sam had walked into the coffee shop, and after Dean came back to their table with coffee and food, she had come right on over and asked him to sit with her instead.

Dean loved it when he didn't even have to try.

"You're absolutely beautiful, you know that?" he said. And she was. She had big liquid eyes and soft curly brown hair and a figure that just wouldn't quit.

"That's so sweet," she said. She laid a hand over Dean's, and oh yeah, she was definitely digging him. "You know, no one ever told me that when I was a man."

Dean's pretty sure his heart had stopped for a second there. If he had been hooked up to an electrocardiogram, he would've flatlined at that moment. "Uh. Sorry?" he said cautiously.

"Don't worry, I'm all woman, now," she said, smiling brightly. "So when do you want to go to dinner?"

"Uh, I'll have to get back to you on that." Dean said, pushing his chair back and standing. He felt like he had fallen into the Twilight Zone. She was really�? She looked like all woman to Dean, and he was usually pretty good at picking up on these sorts of things. Maybe plastic surgery procedures were improving, who knew�?

Not like Dean wouldn't try � Dean was of the opinion that he'd try anything once, except for flying � but� he wasn't necessarily up for trying right now�

"If you're sure�" she said, looking at him hopefully.

"I've got to," Dean's brain was whirling, "I've got to take my brother back to school."

Dean went over to Sam, who was picking at his chocolate muffin and flipping through his math textbook. "Let's go, Sam."

"But I'm not done yet." Sam gestured at his food and his coffee.

"There's a reason they put it in a paper cup." Dean shoved the remainder of the muffin into Sam's mouth and pushed the coffee into Sam's hands. "Move."

It wasn't until they were in the car, driving back to Sam's high school, when Sam started grinning for no reason at all.

"What?" Dean looked over at his brother warily.

"Oh man. The look on your face!" Sam shook his head, face split open in a huge grin.

Realization dawning, Dean said, "You sneaky little son of a�"

"Careful, that's Mom you're talking about," said Sam gleefully.

Dean punched him in the arm. "How'd you get her to�"

"I paid her ten bucks when you were buying coffee. And I told her what a sleezeball you are. It was easy."

"That was a low blow, Sammy," Dean growled, pressing down on the gas. The Impala tore through an intersection, barely making it before the traffic light blinked to red. "You're gonna pay for that."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest in a self-satisfied manner. "Bring it," he said.

* * *

Dean got his next idea when he and Sam were helping Dad capture the will o' wisps that night. Will o' wisps weren't that dangerous, but they had caused enough drownings and accidents that they needed to be cleared out.

"Boys, don't get too close," Dad had said. "Their light has some strange radiation qualities. Use the nets, and if we keep 'em 'til sunrise, they'll be done for."

On the way home, they had stopped for gas and Dean ran across the street to the supermarket, saying he needed soap and AA batteries.

When they got home, Dean called dibs on the shower first � all of them stunk with a strange earthy smell, not unlike mildew � and washed off all the mud and muck from the marsh. Sam got the shower next, then Dad.

The next morning, Dean opened his eyes and found that Sam was already up, sitting on his bed, typing on the laptop.

"What's up?" Dean mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Researching."

Dean sat up a little. "What?"

"Radiation sickness," Sam said. He turned to Dean, and ran a hand through his hair. An alarming amount ended up in his hand. Sam held up a fistful of his hair. He looked confused. "Do you think the will o' wisps do anything like this?"

"I've never heard of it," Dean said seriously. He scrubbed a hand through his own hair. "And my hair's not falling out."

"Yeah. Huh." Sam closed the laptop. He raked his fingers through his hair again, and more hair came away. "What do you think?"

"I really don't know, Sammy." Dean cracked his neck. He got off his bed and started doing pushups, if only to hide the expression on his face. "But, maybe," he puffed out, in between reps, "maybe someone added half a bottle of, something like, let's say, Nair, to your shampoo yesterday, maybe."

Dean let out an "oof" when Sam sat on his back, squashing him to the floor.

"What." Sam definitely did not sound amused.

With Sam's weight crushing down on him � freakishly tall and heavy little fucker � not letting Dean breathe in very well, Dean couldn't even laugh properly. All he could manage were wheezing gasps.

Sam got off of Dean and kicked him viciously in the side. Dean rolled over, clutching his aching ribs and laughing, laughing, laughing, and then he heard the sound of an electric razor coming from the bathroom.

When Sam arrived in the kitchen with his newly shaved head, Dad said, "What happened, Sam?"

Deliberately not looking at Dean, Sam said calmly, "I wanted a change."

Dad shrugged, but he didn't say anything else. He had always hated Sam's long hair, anyway.

"Baldy," Dean said out of the corner of his mouth. He could barely keep the grin off his face. Sam looked like a poorly maintained Chia Pet.

Sam kicked Dean's chair out from under him, causing Dean to fall in a heap onto the floor. Sam tugged a baseball cap on his head and left for school without another word.

* * *

Dean was cleaning their guns and watching The Empire Strikes Back on mute � he didn't really need to listen anyway, he and Sam could do all the dialogue since Sam was ten � while Sam was working on homework, textbooks sprawled all over the carpet.

Poking and twisting an oilcloth down one of the shotgun barrels, Dean didn't look up when Sam's shadow passed over him.

"Dude. In my light," Dean said absently.

Sam thrust a mug of hot chocolate at him. He was holding one of his own, already sipping at it.

Dean looked up at his brother suspiciously. "You must think I'm an idiot."

"I do," Sam said matter-of-factly. "Take it or not. I'm not going to stand here all day."

The sweet rich smell of chocolate wafted over to Dean. Damn Sam, knowing Dean's weaknesses. Plus, if nothing else, Dean was� curious. Dean took the mug out of Sam's hands. It was steaming hot, warming Dean's palm.

"This doesn't count because I am suspecting you, and I'm taking a sip anyway. I am in no way falling for anything right now," Dean forewarned, as he raised the mug to his lips.

Sam rolled his eyes. "All right, paranoid."

"Just so were clear," said Dean, and took a sip of the hot chocolate. It tasted fine. And, in fact, Sam had� Sam had put M&Ms in it. They were floating around in the hot chocolate, candy shells half-melted, swirling the chocolate with rainbow colors.

"Sam?"

"Huh?" Sam was back to doing his homework, sitting on the floor and bent over his chemistry textbook.

"I take it all back. I think I love you," Dean said reverently.

Sam glanced up, looking amused, and said, "All it takes is some hot chocolate and candy? You're an easier lay than I thought."

"Shut up," said Dean, but without any real spite because he was in a chocolate euphoria at the moment. Something about this was wrong though, Dean's whole body was pinging warnings � Sam was never this nice to him on purpose, and he was probably still bitter about the whole Nair thing � but Dean couldn't detect anything wrong with the hot chocolate itself.

Unless this was a diversionary tactic. Dean paused. "You didn't do anything to my jacket, did you?"

"No," Sam said, sounding bored and turning back to his books. He tugged his baseball cap lower on his head.

"My tape collection?"

"I'm trying to work, Dean."

Dean shrugged, and drank the rest of the hot chocolate.

* * *

It wasn't until a few hours later that Dean suspected something was wrong.

He was taking a shower, and he jerked off like he normally did � not really thinking about anything in particular, he hadn't gotten laid in a while, goddamn work and his cockblocking little brother, so beating off was more of a stress reliever than anything else � but even after he came, he was still hard.

Dean jerked off two more times, and the water was running cold, and his erection still would not quit. He wasn't even turned on, not really, and Dean worried that something might be wrong. Wasn't that a condition or something, when your blood would not leave your dick? Priapism� or�

When Dean got out of the shower, he toweled himself off and eased himself into his boxers and pulled on a t-shirt.

In their bedroom, the light was off and Sam was a vague unmoving lump under the covers of his bed.

Dean got into his own bed, but could not sleep. His erection bumped uncomfortably against the mattress every time he moved, throbbing and sensitive, and Dean thought he might even come again in his boxers � four times in one night was close to his all-time record � and this was getting ridiculous. He turned over and over, unable to get comfortable, worry tugging at his mind.

"Something wrong?" Sam asked.

At Sam's question, Dean nearly jumped out of his skin, but Dean thought he hid it well, given the circumstances. Dean flicked on the lamp between their beds. "I didn't know you were up."

"Couldn't sleep with you rolling around like you've got a bug up your ass," said Sam. He rolled over to face Dean, and raised an eyebrow at him. With his newly shorn head and his olive colored t-shirt, he looked like an underage Marine.

Dean felt something akin to horror creeping up his spine. "You did it."

"Did what?" Sam said, expression carefully blank. Pleasant, innocent, and nooo, Dean knew better than to fall for that puppy-dog look.

"What did you do?" Dean demanded.

Sam turned over again and lay down. He waved an arm and said loftily, "Oh, I don't know. Viagra in your hot chocolate, maybe."

"You!" Dean choked out. He couldn't maintain the anger though, and instead started laughing. He fell back on his bed, laughing for a good minute.

That was� that was pretty good. Oh man, Dean taught his boy well. Dean finally stopped, and took a breath. He stared up at the ceiling. His hard-on was still as hard as ever.

"Where did you get it?"

"The Viagra? A friend of mine at school. He stole it from his dad." Sam grinned.

Dean shook his head and he couldn't help smiling. He settled back and tried to get as comfortable as he could, given the circumstances. "Five days are up, aren't they? Truce?"

Sam reached over and turned off the light. "Truce. Night, Dean."

A moment of silence. Dean tried not to think about anything related to girls or sex or the aching erection that would not quit. He was just on the edge of sleep when Sam spoke again.

"I guess this would be a bad time to tell you I also switched all your tapes with Yanni and Wilson Phillips," Sam said into the dark.

Dean threw his covers back and dove into Sam's bed, tackling him. "Okay. That's the last straw, geekboy."

"I've got the originals! They're in my backpack! Yah! Get that thing away from me!"

The End