It's All Fun and Games, 1/2, RaBB!verse, PG-13
Since I think people are gonna hurt me if I don't, I'mma gonna post it. 'K?
Okay.
Title: It's All Fun and Games
Rating: PG-13
Chapter: 1 of 2
Series: Raising a Big Brother!verse
Spoilers: For the show, actually, only up through Season 1's Hell House. For the series, this is post Just Be There.
Disclaimer: I own nothing; Kripke claims it all.
Summary: It starts in an ordinary diner in an ordinary town. The infamous Prank War; Dean's 15, Sam's 11.
In this segment, Dean figures out that his little brother can pull pranks with the best of them. He also figures out that he's never letting Sam out of his sight.
This got plotty! Like, beyond the prank war plotty.
Warnings: Hurt!Sam, pranks, laughing!brothers, saintly-patient!John, happy endings, and Nair. Ye've been warned.
A/N: Remember this?
"We’re not gonna start that crap up again."
"Start what up?"
"That prank stuff! It’s stupid, and it always escalates."
Sam's all upset about it, and Dean's all "Eh, no big deal"? I kinda wondered why.
It started in a small, random diner in Illinois. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing any different than any of the other diners they'd ever stopped in.
The conversation wasn't any different, either. “I'll have the special,” and “Can you pass me the salt, dude?” Nothing strikingly different. New hunt found, new town about to be settled into. Same old, same old.
So when Sam pushed away from the table to use the restroom, Dean did what he always did: wave his hands over Sam's food, as if he was going to tamper with it. Instead of rolling his eyes, however, like he usually did, Sam got upset. “Don't touch my food, Dean,” he said as he glared at his brother. “I mean it.”
Dean frowned at him. “I wasn't going to, you dork.”
“Boys,” Dad warned, eyes still glued to the newspaper in his hands.
Sam sent another glare in Dean's direction, then headed off to the restroom. Dean made a face at him behind his back, then sat back and crossed his arms. The kid wasn't fun anymore. He was trying to be all grown up, like Dean had been at eleven, and Dean really didn't like it. Plus, Sam was stepping slowly but surely closer to the years both Dean and Dad had been warily anticipating: the teen years.
Sam was already pretty moody and weird. Dean couldn't wait until he was really a teen.
Not.
Dean's eyes drifted to the bathroom door (big brother, he couldn't help but do it), then settled back on Sam's food with a sigh. The kid was at least a neat-freak: all his fries on one corner of the plate, his chicken fingers in another, and his ketchup in the corner nearest Dean.
Dean's eyes widened, then slowly slid over to the other condiments to his right. Mustard, ketchup, and Tabasco sauce. He sat up straighter, and started to grin. He could feel it reaching the maniacal level of a grin, so he attempted to make sure it didn't reach satanic.
If he was going to get glared at for touching Sam's food, he might as well do it.
He glanced over at the bathroom door for a completely different reason, and when he didn't see Sam, he reached over and casually took the Tabasco sauce. He uncorked it on its path over to Sam's plate, and carefully tipped it to let the contents slide out and into the ketchup pile. He used a fry to mix it in, then popped it in his mouth for taste. Even he couldn't stop the shudder at the taste, and it was quickly followed by a snicker.
Dad paused for a moment, then looked over the newspaper at Dean. Dean gave a small grin, Tabasco bottle covered by his hand. If anything, Dad looked even more suspicious, and glanced over at Sam's plate. “Dean,” was all he said, in a tone that was definitely a warning.
Dean said nothing. Dad finally sighed and turned back to his paper just as Sam came out of the restroom. The bottle was quickly slid back to its place next to the mustard, and Dean leaned back in his seat, nonchalant and composed.
Sam gave him a weird look when he sat back down, but didn't say anything. He kept his eyes on Dean, though, even as he dipped one of his fries into the ketchup, practically slathered it with the red condiment, then popped it into his mouth.
Dean bit down on his lip to keep from grinning, but he didn't have to wait long.
Sam's eyes widened comically, and he swallowed hard, then began panting for air. “What's the matter?” Dad asked immediately, paper put aside.
“What did you do?” Sam wheezed, reaching for his water and downing it as fast as he could. Dean finally let the burst of laughter out, cackling as Sam glared at him through the glass.
“Little too spicy for you there, Sammy?” Dean really couldn't help himself from saying.
Sam finally set the empty glass down and pinned Dean with a glare that would've wilted flowers. All it did to Dean was make him crack up even more. “You're gonna pay, you jerk,” Sam threatened. “I mean it.”
Dad merely rolled his eyes and went back to the paper. Dean grinned unrepentantly and leaned back in his seat. The kid was such a dweeb sometimes.
Three days later, and they were pretty much settled in and spread out in their small, rented apartment. Dean had completely forgotten about the diner, Sam figured, if his casualness was anything to go by. It was either that, or his stupid brother actually didn't see him as a threat.
Well, Dean was going to learn how very wrong he was the hard way.
He'd thought and planned ever since the diner, and now, he was fairly certain he had the perfect prank. All he needed was a chance at doing laundry and a single sock.
It wasn't like pranks were a new deal to him; there'd been the stupid stuff kids pulled at school on April Fool's. Dollar on a string, whoopee cushion...the basics. It was all lame, and usually, Dean laughed with him. How stupid the kids could be, how dumb the jokes were, and how could people fall for them again and again?
This was different, though. This was Dean he was pranking, and Dean was sneaky. Dean had four years on Sam, several inches in height, and he was the big brother who didn't shock easy. He'd seen a lot during hunting, wasn't really surprised by a lot anymore.
But this? This was private territory, where Sam always stated he would never go, because ew. Today, however, was a different day, and everything was free game.
There was a laundromat not far from their place, and heading there after school would've been easy except Dean and Dad knew when school let out, and when to start looking for him. No, he'd have to cut school for it. As much as he hated the idea (on the first day, no less), he'd deal. This was a little more important.
So by three in the afternoon, Sam came home with his backpack thrown over his shoulder. Dean didn't even spare him a glance, and Sam made it to their shared bedroom with ease. He closed the door casually, then emptied his backpack like a madman, hastily taking the clothing out from under his books and putting it back in Dean's duffel. Five minutes later, when Dean came in to say they were ordering pizza, Sam was doing his homework.
The reward itself didn't come until several hours later, after Dean took his shower for the next day. He headed into their room, closed the door, and Sam stayed out on the couch with his book. He held it high on his face so he could grin in peace, and waited.
A shriek echoed through the house, and Sam snickered, then brought the book closer to his face. “Dean? You all right?” Dad asked, standing and heading over to the room.
The door opened seconds later, and Sam dared a peek over the top of his book. Dean was standing in the doorway, holding his towel in a tight fist to keep from falling. His arm was outstretched, and his face was nearly as pink as the underwear shorts he was waving in front of Dad's face. “They're all pink,” he squeaked, and Sam snorted loud enough for Dean to hear. Dean whipped his head around and narrowed his gaze at Sam.
“Dude, you have dug your last grave, I swear,” Dean swore.
“I don't know, Dean,” Sam said bravely. “I think pink's a good look; goes well with your face.”
Dad simply shook his head and turned away, but Sam caught the grin that was threatening to form on his face. Satisfied that he wasn't going to get in trouble, Sam let himself laugh as Dean slammed the bedroom door behind him.
So the little geek wanted to play, huh?
Fine. They'd play.
Dean wasn't going to play with the little guns anymore, either. Sam had crossed a line, and Dean was going to show him why he shouldn't mess with his big brother.
There were obviously rules that had to be followed. Hurting Sam wasn't an option, at all. As much as Dean was irked and wanted to pound him for the underwear, he wasn't going to physically hurt Sam.
But there had to be something else he could do.
He thought it over for a week, and let Sam freak out a little more each day when something didn't happen. The kid was peering into shadows and watching him like a hawk, and Dean thought about letting that be the prank, hyping up what he'd done when he hadn't done anything at all, but...no. No, something much more devious was needed for this.
When he went to Wal-Mart to buy a new pack of boxers, he decided to roam the aisles, hoping it would stir up his imagination and give him inspiration enough to-
He paused in the middle of the aisle and stared in awe at the bottle before him. Nair stared innocently back, and the grin Dean gave went well past maniacal. If his dad had seen him, he'd have poured holy water all over him and started reciting off an exorcism.
But Dad wasn't here; he was outside in the Impala, waiting for Dean to make his purchase so they could pick Sam up from school. He grabbed the bottle and hurried to the counter, aware of the odd look the cashier gave him. He wasn't even going to try to explain it to her; it wasn't worth it.
Sam's face, though, was definitely going to be.
Before he headed out to Dad, he tucked the bottle into the inside of his jacket, leaving the pack of boxers the only thing in the bag. Dad didn't even give him a second glance, and neither did Sam, though the kid did give his seat a three-times over look before he'd actually sit down.
Dean bit the inside of his cheek. This was the ultimate prank. He deserved a medal for this.
And Sam would finally concede that Dean was the master, and that would be the end of everything.
Satisfied with himself, he headed in nonchalantly, taking the bathroom first. He grabbed the shampoo Sam always used and poured a quarter of it down the drain. The bottle of Nair was whipped out, the top undone, and Dean couldn't help the snicker as he poured it into the shampoo. Not enough to make someone's scalp come off, but enough to lose some serious hair.
Kid was going down.
“Dean? Are you almost done?”
You have no idea, little brother, Dean thought to himself, before he called back, “Yeah, gimme a second.” He spent a few seconds shaking up the bottle, then set it back in the shower. The bottle of Nair was stashed back into his jacket, and he flushed the toilet quickly, washed his hands, then stepped out past an annoyed Sam.
The door shut behind Sam, and the shower started. Dean flopped himself down on the couch and waited.
Ten minutes later, Dean's hard work finally paid off. “DEAN!” Sam hollered, and Dean let out the laugh he'd been holding since he'd bought the damn bottle. Dad merely groaned and hung his head, not even apparently wanting to know what Dean had done.
Sam helped them both out by providing a visual a few moments later, and Dean stared in shock before he fell back into the sofa, holding his belly and roaring. There was nothing left but a few stray strands on Sam's head, sticking up in various directions. Most of it was just gone, leaving nothing but pink, shiny skin.
Sam's face was red as Dean had ever seen it, when Dean managed to look up through his tears. “I'm going to kill you,” Sam swore, and his head turned a tiny bit pinker. Dean howled and rolled on the sofa, completely ignoring Sam's threats. Man but it felt good to be the top dog.
Two hours later, after Dad was convinced that Sam would be fine and that the hair would grow back easily, that Dean was convinced his dad had the patience of a saint, and Sam was convinced he was going to kill Dean with tiny little pliers, Dean found himself on the sofa with a sullen Sam sitting as far from Dean as he could.
Dean glanced over at Sam, stifling his snickers as he did. Dad had trimmed off the rest of the hair so there weren't uneven patches, and the kid didn't look horrible with a shaved head. Convincing Sam of that, though, wasn't going to help matters. “What can I say, Sammy: you're good, but I'm just better. And all's fair in war, you know.”
Sam just glared at him, then turned back to the TV. “C'mon; girls think guys with shaved heads are cute,” Dean coaxed, grinning again.
Sam's face (and head) paled. “Oh god,” he whimpered, eyes wide. “I have to go to school tomorrow. Oh god oh god oh god-”
“Chill out,” Dean said, rolling his eyes and standing. He dug through his duffel bag, finally coming up with the item he'd been looking for, then tossed it at Sam. “Here, wear that. If anyone gives you any crap over it, you come find me, all right? School's are right next to each other, dude.”
Sam blinked at the object in his lap and frowned up at Dean. “Dean, this is your favorite AC/DC hat. You're gonna let me wear it?”
Dean shrugged and sat back down on the sofa. “Just don't get it dirty or anything.” The black hat had been a gift from Dad for his fifteenth birthday, and it was still one of Dean's favorite things. Still, the last thing Dean wanted was for Sam to catch hell at school for the shaved head. Dean tormenting Sam was one thing: anyone else doing it was another.
Sam gazed at him for a moment, then pulled the hat on viciously. With it, Dean wouldn't have known that Sam had no hair. “Don't think I'm still not going to get you,” Sam warned him.
“Whatever, little bro,” Dean said cheerfully. He wasn't worried.
What could Sam possibly do to top that?
It only took Sam four days to figure out what he wanted to do, but another week to actually be able to put it into motion. He'd had to wait until Dad had taken Dean out of town to buy silver bullets from a man nearby, and then Sam had decided to do a little shopping of his own.
He managed to get himself home in time, and since they weren't home yet, Sam used the time to put it into motion. No more waiting around; Dean was going to get it and get it good.
Sam first removed all of Dean's cassettes from their usual box, which was currently under Dean's bed. The cassettes had been put into a bag and hidden underneath Sam's own bed, and then Sam had pulled out his prize and headed for the back yard.
Blank tapes, all brand new and shiny. Of course, by the time Sam was done with them, they weren't going to look shiny in the slightest, and they weren't going to look new, either.
Dean had crossed a line. When he'd removed Sam's hair by means of Nair (even though he'd given Sam his favorite hat to wear to school so he wouldn't get picked on), he'd crossed a big, stinking line, and Sam was going to make sure he knew it.
He wasn't going to hurt Dean physically, but the look on his face when he realized what Sam had done? Sam was going to take pictures to laugh at for years.
He crunched the new tapes beneath his shoes, grinding them up into tiny little pieces. One match struck on the concrete was all he needed, and the tapes began to burn. Sam waited until they were good and black, then put out the fire. The way they were looking now, Dean would never be able to tell that they weren't his tapes. Sam wasn't stupid; he wasn't going to really destroy Dean's tapes. Just shake him up.
Dean had made him lose his hair. The jerk was lucky that it had always grown back fast, and already he had dark fuzz on the top of his scalp.
He gathered the remains carefully together with a single sheet of paper, then used the paper to sweep them into Dean's box. He wiped away the evidence from the concrete as best he could, then hurried inside, sliding the box back underneath the bed. He really really hoped that Dean would want to play his cassettes tonight.
Luck was on his side, and Dean and Dad arrived home ten minutes later, with Dean heading straight for his tape player. “Did you get the bullets?” Sam asked Dad as Dean left for their bedroom.
“Yeah; I've gotta pin down exactly where this thing is in the forest, but once I do, I think we'll be okay. How's the hair?”
“Steadily growing back; Dean could've down worse,” Sam said with a casual shrug. Today, Sam had done the worse deed, and he knew Dean would concede and let Sam be crowned the victor of their war.
Dean suddenly appeared in the bedroom doorway, holding his box in shaking hands. Sam bit his lip but couldn't stop the knowing grin. “You didn't,” Dean managed to get out. His eyes looked wide and wild, and the rage in his voice startled even Sam.
Then Sam remembered his lack of hair, and decided to let Dean stew for a little bit longer. “You took something from me, Dean; all's fair in war, you know,” he repeated back, trying to imitate Dean's mocking tone.
Dean let the box drop to the ground as he dove for Sam. Sam yelped and ran for the door, making it and closing it behind him just in time. Dean pulled on the handle one way, Sam the other, suddenly wondering if this had been that good an idea. He didn't think he'd ever seen Dean so mad before.
“You sonuvabitch!”
The door gave a little, and Sam's eyes widened. “Holy crap,” he managed, then braced his feet against the wall as the door continued to open for Dean. He knew, without a doubt, that if he opened the door, Dean would freakin' pound him.
Sam really needed to shut up the voice in his head that said he was a genius.
“Okay, that's enough.”
The door flew open even as Sam gasped and hurried backwards. Dad caught Dean by the arm and pulled him back, even as he grabbed Sam and hauled him forward. “Enough,” Dad said again, giving them both looks. “This prank nonsense is stopping now. Sam, what did you do?”
“The cassettes,” Dean growled, fists shaking even as he clenched them tighter. “He burned-”
“No, I didn't,” Sam said. “I bought blank tapes and ground them up and burned them. Dean's tapes are under my bed.”
Dean shrugged off their dad and hurried back to the bedroom. Dad gave Sam a disapproving look, and Sam winced. “Did you really need to do that?” Dad asked.
“He made me lose my hair!” Sam retorted.
Dean appeared at the doorway then, the bag clutched in his hands. He glared at Sam, then slammed the door shut with enough force that the windows rattled.
Sam stared in shock, not even realizing when Dad released him. What the heck? Was Dean seriously that pissed over the tapes? Man, Sam hadn't been that furious when Dean had made him lose his hair.
When it was time for bed, Sam finally ventured into the room. Dean was laid back on his bed, headphones firmly on his ears, eyes glued to the wall in front of him. When Sam came in, he glanced over his way, then pointedly looked somewhere else. His features were still set into hard, unforgiving lines.
“Dean?” Sam said hesitantly. Dean never cranked it up to the point where he couldn't hear someone, whether it was Dad calling an order or Sam calling for help. “Are you seriously that mad at me?”
Dean didn't reply, and Sam sighed and moved to his bed, sitting down with a huff. “Dude, I didn't really burn your cassettes, so you didn't really lose anything,” Sam rationalized as he raised his eyebrow. “And you made me lose my hair, so considering what you did, I was really nice.”
Dean finally ripped his headphones off from his ears and glared at Sam. “They're Mom's cassettes, Sam,” he said in a voice that was as harsh as his face. “All Mom's favorite tapes that we saved from the fire.”
Sam felt his jaw drop in horror. Oh god. No wonder Dean held onto the tapes like they were made out of gold. Not only had Sam touched a prized possession, but he'd tampered with a memory that was already filled with charred remains. “Oh god, Dean, I'm sorry, I didn't know-”
He was ignored as Dean shoved away from the bed, standing and leaving the room, shutting the door sharply in his wake. Sam shut his eyes tight and wished he could redo the day.
Part 2 - End
~Nebula
Okay.
Title: It's All Fun and Games
Rating: PG-13
Chapter: 1 of 2
Series: Raising a Big Brother!verse
Spoilers: For the show, actually, only up through Season 1's Hell House. For the series, this is post Just Be There.
Disclaimer: I own nothing; Kripke claims it all.
Summary: It starts in an ordinary diner in an ordinary town. The infamous Prank War; Dean's 15, Sam's 11.
In this segment, Dean figures out that his little brother can pull pranks with the best of them. He also figures out that he's never letting Sam out of his sight.
This got plotty! Like, beyond the prank war plotty.
Warnings: Hurt!Sam, pranks, laughing!brothers, saintly-patient!John, happy endings, and Nair. Ye've been warned.
A/N: Remember this?
"We’re not gonna start that crap up again."
"Start what up?"
"That prank stuff! It’s stupid, and it always escalates."
Sam's all upset about it, and Dean's all "Eh, no big deal"? I kinda wondered why.
It started in a small, random diner in Illinois. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing any different than any of the other diners they'd ever stopped in.
The conversation wasn't any different, either. “I'll have the special,” and “Can you pass me the salt, dude?” Nothing strikingly different. New hunt found, new town about to be settled into. Same old, same old.
So when Sam pushed away from the table to use the restroom, Dean did what he always did: wave his hands over Sam's food, as if he was going to tamper with it. Instead of rolling his eyes, however, like he usually did, Sam got upset. “Don't touch my food, Dean,” he said as he glared at his brother. “I mean it.”
Dean frowned at him. “I wasn't going to, you dork.”
“Boys,” Dad warned, eyes still glued to the newspaper in his hands.
Sam sent another glare in Dean's direction, then headed off to the restroom. Dean made a face at him behind his back, then sat back and crossed his arms. The kid wasn't fun anymore. He was trying to be all grown up, like Dean had been at eleven, and Dean really didn't like it. Plus, Sam was stepping slowly but surely closer to the years both Dean and Dad had been warily anticipating: the teen years.
Sam was already pretty moody and weird. Dean couldn't wait until he was really a teen.
Not.
Dean's eyes drifted to the bathroom door (big brother, he couldn't help but do it), then settled back on Sam's food with a sigh. The kid was at least a neat-freak: all his fries on one corner of the plate, his chicken fingers in another, and his ketchup in the corner nearest Dean.
Dean's eyes widened, then slowly slid over to the other condiments to his right. Mustard, ketchup, and Tabasco sauce. He sat up straighter, and started to grin. He could feel it reaching the maniacal level of a grin, so he attempted to make sure it didn't reach satanic.
If he was going to get glared at for touching Sam's food, he might as well do it.
He glanced over at the bathroom door for a completely different reason, and when he didn't see Sam, he reached over and casually took the Tabasco sauce. He uncorked it on its path over to Sam's plate, and carefully tipped it to let the contents slide out and into the ketchup pile. He used a fry to mix it in, then popped it in his mouth for taste. Even he couldn't stop the shudder at the taste, and it was quickly followed by a snicker.
Dad paused for a moment, then looked over the newspaper at Dean. Dean gave a small grin, Tabasco bottle covered by his hand. If anything, Dad looked even more suspicious, and glanced over at Sam's plate. “Dean,” was all he said, in a tone that was definitely a warning.
Dean said nothing. Dad finally sighed and turned back to his paper just as Sam came out of the restroom. The bottle was quickly slid back to its place next to the mustard, and Dean leaned back in his seat, nonchalant and composed.
Sam gave him a weird look when he sat back down, but didn't say anything. He kept his eyes on Dean, though, even as he dipped one of his fries into the ketchup, practically slathered it with the red condiment, then popped it into his mouth.
Dean bit down on his lip to keep from grinning, but he didn't have to wait long.
Sam's eyes widened comically, and he swallowed hard, then began panting for air. “What's the matter?” Dad asked immediately, paper put aside.
“What did you do?” Sam wheezed, reaching for his water and downing it as fast as he could. Dean finally let the burst of laughter out, cackling as Sam glared at him through the glass.
“Little too spicy for you there, Sammy?” Dean really couldn't help himself from saying.
Sam finally set the empty glass down and pinned Dean with a glare that would've wilted flowers. All it did to Dean was make him crack up even more. “You're gonna pay, you jerk,” Sam threatened. “I mean it.”
Dad merely rolled his eyes and went back to the paper. Dean grinned unrepentantly and leaned back in his seat. The kid was such a dweeb sometimes.
Three days later, and they were pretty much settled in and spread out in their small, rented apartment. Dean had completely forgotten about the diner, Sam figured, if his casualness was anything to go by. It was either that, or his stupid brother actually didn't see him as a threat.
Well, Dean was going to learn how very wrong he was the hard way.
He'd thought and planned ever since the diner, and now, he was fairly certain he had the perfect prank. All he needed was a chance at doing laundry and a single sock.
It wasn't like pranks were a new deal to him; there'd been the stupid stuff kids pulled at school on April Fool's. Dollar on a string, whoopee cushion...the basics. It was all lame, and usually, Dean laughed with him. How stupid the kids could be, how dumb the jokes were, and how could people fall for them again and again?
This was different, though. This was Dean he was pranking, and Dean was sneaky. Dean had four years on Sam, several inches in height, and he was the big brother who didn't shock easy. He'd seen a lot during hunting, wasn't really surprised by a lot anymore.
But this? This was private territory, where Sam always stated he would never go, because ew. Today, however, was a different day, and everything was free game.
There was a laundromat not far from their place, and heading there after school would've been easy except Dean and Dad knew when school let out, and when to start looking for him. No, he'd have to cut school for it. As much as he hated the idea (on the first day, no less), he'd deal. This was a little more important.
So by three in the afternoon, Sam came home with his backpack thrown over his shoulder. Dean didn't even spare him a glance, and Sam made it to their shared bedroom with ease. He closed the door casually, then emptied his backpack like a madman, hastily taking the clothing out from under his books and putting it back in Dean's duffel. Five minutes later, when Dean came in to say they were ordering pizza, Sam was doing his homework.
The reward itself didn't come until several hours later, after Dean took his shower for the next day. He headed into their room, closed the door, and Sam stayed out on the couch with his book. He held it high on his face so he could grin in peace, and waited.
A shriek echoed through the house, and Sam snickered, then brought the book closer to his face. “Dean? You all right?” Dad asked, standing and heading over to the room.
The door opened seconds later, and Sam dared a peek over the top of his book. Dean was standing in the doorway, holding his towel in a tight fist to keep from falling. His arm was outstretched, and his face was nearly as pink as the underwear shorts he was waving in front of Dad's face. “They're all pink,” he squeaked, and Sam snorted loud enough for Dean to hear. Dean whipped his head around and narrowed his gaze at Sam.
“Dude, you have dug your last grave, I swear,” Dean swore.
“I don't know, Dean,” Sam said bravely. “I think pink's a good look; goes well with your face.”
Dad simply shook his head and turned away, but Sam caught the grin that was threatening to form on his face. Satisfied that he wasn't going to get in trouble, Sam let himself laugh as Dean slammed the bedroom door behind him.
So the little geek wanted to play, huh?
Fine. They'd play.
Dean wasn't going to play with the little guns anymore, either. Sam had crossed a line, and Dean was going to show him why he shouldn't mess with his big brother.
There were obviously rules that had to be followed. Hurting Sam wasn't an option, at all. As much as Dean was irked and wanted to pound him for the underwear, he wasn't going to physically hurt Sam.
But there had to be something else he could do.
He thought it over for a week, and let Sam freak out a little more each day when something didn't happen. The kid was peering into shadows and watching him like a hawk, and Dean thought about letting that be the prank, hyping up what he'd done when he hadn't done anything at all, but...no. No, something much more devious was needed for this.
When he went to Wal-Mart to buy a new pack of boxers, he decided to roam the aisles, hoping it would stir up his imagination and give him inspiration enough to-
He paused in the middle of the aisle and stared in awe at the bottle before him. Nair stared innocently back, and the grin Dean gave went well past maniacal. If his dad had seen him, he'd have poured holy water all over him and started reciting off an exorcism.
But Dad wasn't here; he was outside in the Impala, waiting for Dean to make his purchase so they could pick Sam up from school. He grabbed the bottle and hurried to the counter, aware of the odd look the cashier gave him. He wasn't even going to try to explain it to her; it wasn't worth it.
Sam's face, though, was definitely going to be.
Before he headed out to Dad, he tucked the bottle into the inside of his jacket, leaving the pack of boxers the only thing in the bag. Dad didn't even give him a second glance, and neither did Sam, though the kid did give his seat a three-times over look before he'd actually sit down.
Dean bit the inside of his cheek. This was the ultimate prank. He deserved a medal for this.
And Sam would finally concede that Dean was the master, and that would be the end of everything.
Satisfied with himself, he headed in nonchalantly, taking the bathroom first. He grabbed the shampoo Sam always used and poured a quarter of it down the drain. The bottle of Nair was whipped out, the top undone, and Dean couldn't help the snicker as he poured it into the shampoo. Not enough to make someone's scalp come off, but enough to lose some serious hair.
Kid was going down.
“Dean? Are you almost done?”
You have no idea, little brother, Dean thought to himself, before he called back, “Yeah, gimme a second.” He spent a few seconds shaking up the bottle, then set it back in the shower. The bottle of Nair was stashed back into his jacket, and he flushed the toilet quickly, washed his hands, then stepped out past an annoyed Sam.
The door shut behind Sam, and the shower started. Dean flopped himself down on the couch and waited.
Ten minutes later, Dean's hard work finally paid off. “DEAN!” Sam hollered, and Dean let out the laugh he'd been holding since he'd bought the damn bottle. Dad merely groaned and hung his head, not even apparently wanting to know what Dean had done.
Sam helped them both out by providing a visual a few moments later, and Dean stared in shock before he fell back into the sofa, holding his belly and roaring. There was nothing left but a few stray strands on Sam's head, sticking up in various directions. Most of it was just gone, leaving nothing but pink, shiny skin.
Sam's face was red as Dean had ever seen it, when Dean managed to look up through his tears. “I'm going to kill you,” Sam swore, and his head turned a tiny bit pinker. Dean howled and rolled on the sofa, completely ignoring Sam's threats. Man but it felt good to be the top dog.
Two hours later, after Dad was convinced that Sam would be fine and that the hair would grow back easily, that Dean was convinced his dad had the patience of a saint, and Sam was convinced he was going to kill Dean with tiny little pliers, Dean found himself on the sofa with a sullen Sam sitting as far from Dean as he could.
Dean glanced over at Sam, stifling his snickers as he did. Dad had trimmed off the rest of the hair so there weren't uneven patches, and the kid didn't look horrible with a shaved head. Convincing Sam of that, though, wasn't going to help matters. “What can I say, Sammy: you're good, but I'm just better. And all's fair in war, you know.”
Sam just glared at him, then turned back to the TV. “C'mon; girls think guys with shaved heads are cute,” Dean coaxed, grinning again.
Sam's face (and head) paled. “Oh god,” he whimpered, eyes wide. “I have to go to school tomorrow. Oh god oh god oh god-”
“Chill out,” Dean said, rolling his eyes and standing. He dug through his duffel bag, finally coming up with the item he'd been looking for, then tossed it at Sam. “Here, wear that. If anyone gives you any crap over it, you come find me, all right? School's are right next to each other, dude.”
Sam blinked at the object in his lap and frowned up at Dean. “Dean, this is your favorite AC/DC hat. You're gonna let me wear it?”
Dean shrugged and sat back down on the sofa. “Just don't get it dirty or anything.” The black hat had been a gift from Dad for his fifteenth birthday, and it was still one of Dean's favorite things. Still, the last thing Dean wanted was for Sam to catch hell at school for the shaved head. Dean tormenting Sam was one thing: anyone else doing it was another.
Sam gazed at him for a moment, then pulled the hat on viciously. With it, Dean wouldn't have known that Sam had no hair. “Don't think I'm still not going to get you,” Sam warned him.
“Whatever, little bro,” Dean said cheerfully. He wasn't worried.
What could Sam possibly do to top that?
It only took Sam four days to figure out what he wanted to do, but another week to actually be able to put it into motion. He'd had to wait until Dad had taken Dean out of town to buy silver bullets from a man nearby, and then Sam had decided to do a little shopping of his own.
He managed to get himself home in time, and since they weren't home yet, Sam used the time to put it into motion. No more waiting around; Dean was going to get it and get it good.
Sam first removed all of Dean's cassettes from their usual box, which was currently under Dean's bed. The cassettes had been put into a bag and hidden underneath Sam's own bed, and then Sam had pulled out his prize and headed for the back yard.
Blank tapes, all brand new and shiny. Of course, by the time Sam was done with them, they weren't going to look shiny in the slightest, and they weren't going to look new, either.
Dean had crossed a line. When he'd removed Sam's hair by means of Nair (even though he'd given Sam his favorite hat to wear to school so he wouldn't get picked on), he'd crossed a big, stinking line, and Sam was going to make sure he knew it.
He wasn't going to hurt Dean physically, but the look on his face when he realized what Sam had done? Sam was going to take pictures to laugh at for years.
He crunched the new tapes beneath his shoes, grinding them up into tiny little pieces. One match struck on the concrete was all he needed, and the tapes began to burn. Sam waited until they were good and black, then put out the fire. The way they were looking now, Dean would never be able to tell that they weren't his tapes. Sam wasn't stupid; he wasn't going to really destroy Dean's tapes. Just shake him up.
Dean had made him lose his hair. The jerk was lucky that it had always grown back fast, and already he had dark fuzz on the top of his scalp.
He gathered the remains carefully together with a single sheet of paper, then used the paper to sweep them into Dean's box. He wiped away the evidence from the concrete as best he could, then hurried inside, sliding the box back underneath the bed. He really really hoped that Dean would want to play his cassettes tonight.
Luck was on his side, and Dean and Dad arrived home ten minutes later, with Dean heading straight for his tape player. “Did you get the bullets?” Sam asked Dad as Dean left for their bedroom.
“Yeah; I've gotta pin down exactly where this thing is in the forest, but once I do, I think we'll be okay. How's the hair?”
“Steadily growing back; Dean could've down worse,” Sam said with a casual shrug. Today, Sam had done the worse deed, and he knew Dean would concede and let Sam be crowned the victor of their war.
Dean suddenly appeared in the bedroom doorway, holding his box in shaking hands. Sam bit his lip but couldn't stop the knowing grin. “You didn't,” Dean managed to get out. His eyes looked wide and wild, and the rage in his voice startled even Sam.
Then Sam remembered his lack of hair, and decided to let Dean stew for a little bit longer. “You took something from me, Dean; all's fair in war, you know,” he repeated back, trying to imitate Dean's mocking tone.
Dean let the box drop to the ground as he dove for Sam. Sam yelped and ran for the door, making it and closing it behind him just in time. Dean pulled on the handle one way, Sam the other, suddenly wondering if this had been that good an idea. He didn't think he'd ever seen Dean so mad before.
“You sonuvabitch!”
The door gave a little, and Sam's eyes widened. “Holy crap,” he managed, then braced his feet against the wall as the door continued to open for Dean. He knew, without a doubt, that if he opened the door, Dean would freakin' pound him.
Sam really needed to shut up the voice in his head that said he was a genius.
“Okay, that's enough.”
The door flew open even as Sam gasped and hurried backwards. Dad caught Dean by the arm and pulled him back, even as he grabbed Sam and hauled him forward. “Enough,” Dad said again, giving them both looks. “This prank nonsense is stopping now. Sam, what did you do?”
“The cassettes,” Dean growled, fists shaking even as he clenched them tighter. “He burned-”
“No, I didn't,” Sam said. “I bought blank tapes and ground them up and burned them. Dean's tapes are under my bed.”
Dean shrugged off their dad and hurried back to the bedroom. Dad gave Sam a disapproving look, and Sam winced. “Did you really need to do that?” Dad asked.
“He made me lose my hair!” Sam retorted.
Dean appeared at the doorway then, the bag clutched in his hands. He glared at Sam, then slammed the door shut with enough force that the windows rattled.
Sam stared in shock, not even realizing when Dad released him. What the heck? Was Dean seriously that pissed over the tapes? Man, Sam hadn't been that furious when Dean had made him lose his hair.
When it was time for bed, Sam finally ventured into the room. Dean was laid back on his bed, headphones firmly on his ears, eyes glued to the wall in front of him. When Sam came in, he glanced over his way, then pointedly looked somewhere else. His features were still set into hard, unforgiving lines.
“Dean?” Sam said hesitantly. Dean never cranked it up to the point where he couldn't hear someone, whether it was Dad calling an order or Sam calling for help. “Are you seriously that mad at me?”
Dean didn't reply, and Sam sighed and moved to his bed, sitting down with a huff. “Dude, I didn't really burn your cassettes, so you didn't really lose anything,” Sam rationalized as he raised his eyebrow. “And you made me lose my hair, so considering what you did, I was really nice.”
Dean finally ripped his headphones off from his ears and glared at Sam. “They're Mom's cassettes, Sam,” he said in a voice that was as harsh as his face. “All Mom's favorite tapes that we saved from the fire.”
Sam felt his jaw drop in horror. Oh god. No wonder Dean held onto the tapes like they were made out of gold. Not only had Sam touched a prized possession, but he'd tampered with a memory that was already filled with charred remains. “Oh god, Dean, I'm sorry, I didn't know-”
He was ignored as Dean shoved away from the bed, standing and leaving the room, shutting the door sharply in his wake. Sam shut his eyes tight and wished he could redo the day.
Part 2 - End
~Nebula