So this was written a while ago for a prank challenge...hope everyone gets a little smile out of it!! Bambers;)

What Goes Around, Comes Around

Dean stood looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He slowly turned his head from side to side, appraising his appearance, and then smiled. He flicked off the bathroom light and headed out to where his brother was still sound asleep in bed. Grabbing his flashlight from off the bedside table, Dean flicked off the light switch and turned on his flashlight.

For a moment he hesitated, feeling the slightest twinge of guilt, but quickly pushed the feeling aside as he knelt beside Sam's bed. Gently nudging his little brother on the shoulder, Dean placed the light under his chin, and waited for Sam to open his eyes.

Sam's eyelids fluttered partially open, and he glanced in Dean's direction. Suddenly his eyes widened to practically the size of saucers as he pushed himself backwards and tumbled out of bed and onto the floor.

"What the . . . sonuva . . . damn it, Dean!" Sam scrambled to his feet, and glared at Dean. "So not freakin' funny, dude."

"It's kinda funny." Dean burst out laughing as he flipped the light switch back on, and laughed even harder when Sam visibly shuddered at his appearance. "Naww . . . I take that back, it's really freakin' hilarious."

Sam huffed as he continued to scowl at Dean. "You know, I put up with the rotten tomatoes in my boxers even though it was damn disgusting to wake up with them smashed to my ass." Sam drew in a deep breath, trying to remain calm as Dean continued to chuckle. "An' I tried to keep my good spirits when you pulled the old hand in warm water prank . . . which we are never going to discuss again."

"Still don't see why you made us change motels in the middle of the night after that one," Dean said as he tried to keep a straight face.

Ignoring Dean's comment, Sam continued with his tirade, "Hell, I think I was even pretty damn understanding when I woke up with only one freakin' eyebrow." Sam jabbed his finger at his missing brow, his face growing redder and redder by the moment. "Course I did think coloring the missing one in with a black permanent marker was going a little over the top."

"Aww . . .come on, Sammy, it's April Fool's Day, lighten up a bit."

"Five freakin' days ago was not April Fool's Day, Dean."

"'Kay, so it was a Pre-pre April Fool's Day prank."

"Not like the twelve freakin' days of Christmas, dude. Don't really need a freakin' lead up to it. One day is definitely more than enough when you live with Chuckles the Clown." Sam motioned toward Dean's face, and grimaced, huffed again and turned away. "You know what? You had your fun . . . hardy-freakin'-har-har-har . . . now go wash that stupid clown makeup off your face."

"So wait . . . what you're saying is this whole clown makeup thing," Dean made a sweeping circular motion around his face, "it's not a good look on me?"

"No, what I'm pretty much saying is that you look like an ass, Dean." Sam plunked down in a chair at the table and opened his laptop. "But if that's the look you're going for, you've got it covered in spades, Chuckles."

"Wow, that was harsh." Dean turned on his heel and headed back toward the bathroom to remove the makeup. "Guess the old saying that everyone loves a clown is just a load of bullshit."

"Really? Ya think?" Sam muttered, without turning around.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean glanced at his wristwatch, and then looked to his brother who was busily typing away on his computer. Deep into his research, Sam hadn't stopped to eat any of the doughnuts Dean had bought for breakfast, nor had he even tried to pull at least one prank on Dean.

"Nearly eleven-thirty, Sammy," Dean grabbed his leather jacket off the chair, "let's go get some lunch before we head out on the hunt."

"Alright." Sam closed his computer, grabbed his hoodie, and stood to follow Dean. Carrying his laptop under his arm, he set it down on the front seat of the Impala before he got in and closed the car door.

Dean cautiously looked over the inside of his car, making sure there were no April Fool's Day surprises inside, then slid into his seat. He turned the key in the ignition, fully expecting the music to blare, and quirked a brow when the music came on and he needed to turn it up a bit to hear the songs better. "You're really not gonna try to prank me, are you?" he asked, sounding more than just a little disappointed.

"Told you after last year, I wasn't doing this anymore."

"Dude, all the paint eventually came off . . . so, your skin was a little blue for a week or so afterwards. Hardly anyone even noticed."

"That's cause they were too busy looking at my hair which was bright freakin' orange." Sam swivelled in his seat to look at Dean, and heaved an aggravated groan. "Looked like a smurf on steroids."

"Ahhh . . . that's right," Dean chuckled in amusement, "you really did look like a smurf. Still have a picture of that," he yanked out his cell phone, "wanna see?" He held the phone out to Sam for a second before quickly snatching it away, so his little brother wouldn't have the chance to erase the picture.

"You're such a jerk."

"Bitch."

When they reached the diner, Dean parked the car, and they headed inside. They took a booth in the far corner of the room, and waited for the waitress to come take their order.

"Forgot my laptop, Dean." Sam stood to go back to the car just as the waitress was making her way toward them. "Order me a coke an' I'll be right back, 'kay?"

"Sure, Sam."

A wicked grin settled on Dean's features as he watched his little brother leave the restaurant. He glanced out the window and then looked up at the pretty blonde-haired waitress who had just set two glasses of water on the table. "Can I get a coke, a glass of sparkling water, bottle of soy sauce, an' a small cup of white vinegar?" He suddenly coughed hard, and pounded a little at his chest. "An' can I get those right away? Got somethin' caught in my throat," he said, coughing a little harder.

"Sure thing, hon." She quirked a brow at the strange request, then hurried away to get his drinks, and returned momentarily carrying everything he'd asked for. Setting the drinks, soy sauce and vinegar down on the table, she asked, "need a few more minutes or are you ready to order?"

"Waitin' for my brother, so it'll be a couple more minutes."

"Alright, I'll come back then." She turned and sauntered away.

Sam returned from the car and slid onto the bench seat. He opened his menu, quickly decided what he wanted to eat and then turned on his laptop to continue doing research for their latest hunt.

"Do something to my car while you were out there," Dean couldn't resist asking, certain Sammy wouldn't be able to make it through the day without trying to prank him at least once.

"Already told you I wasn't going to prank you, dude." Sam took a gulp of his soda and instantly spewed it out all over the table. Grabbing for his water, he hastily down it, only to spit that out as well. "Damn it, Dean." Scowling at Dean, who was now chuckling heartily, Sam swiped the back of his hand across his lips. "Real freakin' mature putting soy sauce an' vinegar in my drinks."

"Still not plannin' on pranking me, little brother?" Dean asked between laughs.

"Said no, so can we just talk a little about the hunt?" Sam grabbed Dean's soda, chugged it down to get the taste out his mouth, then set the empty glass back down in front of Dean. "Wasn't even an' original prank," he grumbled under his breath as he glanced once more at his computer.

"True, but ya fall for it every freakin' time, an' that's what makes it so damn funny."

Completely ignoring the comment, Sam turned his laptop so Dean could take a look at what he'd found. "So, seven people found dead, bodies mutilated beyond recognition."

"What do the authorities think?"

"Some sort of wild animal."

"An' what do we think it is?" Dean glanced at the pictures of seven men on the computer screen. They all appeared to be around the same age as Sam or maybe a little younger. A shiver of apprehension coursed the length of Dean's spine as he realized that five of the seven men looked strikingly similar to his little brother. All the men had dark brown hair, and greenish hazel eyes, but only the five wore their hair long and shaggy. The other two had haircuts that more closely resembled Dean's own hair.

"Well, their hearts were ripped out of their chests, an' it fits the lunar cycle, so I'm thinkin' werewolf."

Dean nodded in understanding. "So tonight's that last night to get the sonuvabitch before the next cycle then."

"Pretty much."

"Where do we have to go again?" Dean asked, not recalling if his brother had mentioned the town or not.

"Some small coastal town called, Seahaven."

"Huh, never heard of it."

"Guess it's kind of remote." Sam reached over and brought up another screen on the computer. The image of a small town came up, then he clicked on a button and multiple pictures of various locations in the town came up on the screen. "Crime rate there was practically non-existent, an' until all these murders started turning up, it was really kind of like the place was out of some sort of happy, campy movie."

Dean stared at the pictures of people laughing and smiling in the town square, churches and homes with neatly manicured lawns, and scrubbed his hand across his face. "Place looks creepy like some town out of a freakin' Stepford Wives movie."

"Huh, I kinda thought it looked like a nice place to live." Sam clicked back to the pictures of the dead people, then clicked on one of the men on the screen, enlarging his photo. "This guy, Truman Burbank," he gestured to the picture of the man, "was the last person to die. Apparently he went out to go sailing, an' two days later his body turned up in the water, his heart missing, body mutilated." Sam studied the picture for a moment as he took a deep breath, and then continued, "Truman's best friend, Marlon, told the police he thought Truman might have been having an affair with some girl named Lauren. So, I'm thinkin' she might be our girl." He clicked on the screen and another picture came up of a girl with long sandy blond hair, and sea-green eyes. "This is Lauren."

"Damn, she's hot, Sammy." Dean eyed the girl a moment longer, and then glanced up at Sam. "I wouldn't mind me some of that."

"Werewolf, Dean."

"Only for a couple days of the month, dude." He chuckled. "Could just consider it like she was having a really bad case of PMS."

"Can we start thinkin' with our upstairs brain for a minute here, dude?" Sam glanced at his watch, and a frown creased his brow. "We better eat an' get goin' or we aren't gonna make it there in time."

When the waitress finally returned, they both gave their orders, and then waited for her to return with their lunch. While they waited, Sam continued on with his research while Dean silently wondered if his brother was planning any sort or retaliatory pranks. Sam had never let a prank go by in the past without trying to exact some sort of revenge, and Dean just couldn't believe he would let all the pranks go now without trying to get even.

"Not even one little prank, Sammy?"

"No, Dean . . . not playin' along this time," Sam replied without looking up from his computer screen. "It always escalates way out of control."

"But it's April Fool's day, dude," Dean argued, feeling more than just a little disappointed. "You know it's kind of our thing . . . I prank you, and then you retaliate with some lame-ass prank, then I get you back twice as bad. Good times . . . why go an' ruin it?"

"Not gonna happen, Dean, so you might as well forget about it."

Their meals finally came and they ate in near silence, then paid the bill and left the diner. Once in the car, Sam looked around for the map he had been looking at the day before and had left on the front seat, but it wasn't there now.

"Where's my map, Dean?"

"How the hell should I know, dude." Dean said as he slid behind the wheel. "Probably in the glove compartment."

Sam opened the glove compartment, and abruptly pushed away as a whole can of whipped cream sprayed in his face. "Sonuvabitch, Dean!" Sam sputtered as he wiped the whipped cream out of his eyes and off his face. "How the bloody freakin' hell did you rig that can to spray when I opened the compartment?"

"A man of many hidden talents, dude," Dean laughed heartily, tears slipping down the sides of his cheeks. "Still not gonna prank me back?" he asked hopefully as he watched Sam remove his hoodie and scrub it across his face and hair.

"You're so freakin' childish, Dean." Sam crossed his arms angrily, and turned to glare out the side window.

"So where we headin'?"

"Take a left out of here, and a right on McKinley Street, then follow it out of town," Sam grumbled as he ran his fingers through his now sticky hair.

Dean turned the key in the ignition, and headed out of the parking lot. For a long while they drove in silence, Sam apparently too angry to speak, and Dean not wanting to push his luck after the last prank. As they passed by a small airfield, Sam perked up, and gestured toward a road off to the left.

"Pull in there, Dean."

"Huh?" Dean quirked a puzzled brow, a frown furrowing his forehead as he watched a plane taxiing down the runway. "Why are we pulling into an airport?"

"Just do it, Dean," Sam ordered in a no-nonsense manner.

Dean reluctantly complied, turning off of the main street and onto the road leading to the small parking lot. The moment he killed the engine, Sam was out of the car and heading toward the trunk. After a few moments of watching another plane leave the runway, Dean finally got out of the car and followed his brother.

"Why are we here, dude?" Dean asked as Sam rummaged through the trunk to find the weapons they would need to hunt the werewolf.

"Seahaven is a small costal island," Sam admitted, rather reluctantly. "Usually can get there by ferry, but cause of the storm the other day, the boat is out of commission till probably the weekend. After the lunar cycle has ended."

"Still doesn't explain what we're doin' here, dude." Dean swallowed hard, watching a plane make it's final descent toward the runway. Understanding finally dawned on him as Sam grabbed his duffel of clothes, and headed toward the terminal. "Oh, no freakin' way we're gettin' on a plane."

Sam halted in his steps, and swung to face Dean. "Have to, Dean, if we're gonna get this werewolf tonight."

Dean stared at the stoic look on his little brother's face and then looked to the airport once more, and a slow grin slid across his features. "Oh, I get it . . . so not gonna work, Sammy."

Sam raised a brow in utter confusion."What the hell are you talkin' about, Dean?"

"Nice try, but I'm not about to fall for it."

"Fall for what?" Sam asked, and shrugged as if he didn't have a clue what Dean was talking about.

"You tryin' to make me think we have to get on a plane to get to Seahaven."

"I'm not tryin' to make you think anything," Sam pursed his lips as he shook his head, "I'm flat out tellin' you we have to get on a plane to get to Seahaven."

"Come on, Sammy, joke's over."

"Not a joke, Dean." Sam pivoted around and continued heading toward the terminal.

"Not going on a plane, dude."

"Whatever, dude," Sam hesitated for a moment and turned back once again to look at Dean. "I can handle it myself, just meet me at the ferry docking port on Sunday. Booked passage back for that day. Should be about a three hour tour back to here." He hefted his duffel over his shoulder. "I'll give ya a call if the weather starts getting rough, an' we get off schedule, 'kay?"

"You're not going after a werewolf on your own, Sammy," Dean argued. The muscle in his cheek jerked erratically, fists clenching and unclenching as he stared at the planes. Cold sweat prickled at his back and the nape of his neck as a sick feeling crept into his stomach.

"Yeah, I am, Dean."

"No, you're not." The images of all the men who had been murdered, swam before Dean's eyes, and he swallowed hard, remembering how they all looked very similar to Sam.

"Dude, I can do this on my own," Sam reasoned, "not like we haven't hunted a werewolf before," he shrugged, "silver bullet to the heart . . . no biggie."

Dean stared at his brother a moment longer, waiting for him to crack a grin or call off the prank, but Sam did neither. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Dean, seriously, I can do this alone," Sam glanced over his shoulder at the planes, then refocused his attention on Dean. "I know how you feel about planes, an' if there was any other way, I'd suggest it. So just stay here. I'll be fine." He turned and started walking away again, not letting Dean argue the point any further.

For a few moments longer Dean stood there waiting for Sam to turn back around, but when he didn't Dean grabbed his duffel and sprinted to catch up with him. "Better be a damn short flight, Sammy."

"Only about a half hour at the most."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

As they boarded the single engine plane, Dean glanced around the small interior, and noticed that besides the pilot and one other man, they were the only ones aboard the aircraft. He quickly took a seat and buckled the seatbelt as tightly as he could around his waist. Gripping the armrests with shaky fingers, he squeezed his eyes shut and began humming songs from Metallica as the plane taxied down the runway.

"How ya doin', Dean?" Sam asked concernedly, after they had been in the air for about fifteen minutes.

"How does it look like I'm freakin' doin', dude?" Dean gripped onto his armrests even tighter as they hit some turbulence and the small craft rocked back and forth.

"Just take deep breaths, an' try to relax." Sam glanced out the window, then leaned over to the man who was sitting across from them. "Sir, can you tell me how much longer till we get to Seahaven."

The man looked at his watch, peered out his window, then replied, "Probably another ten minutes or so. Better get ready." He stood, went to the back of the plane and returned a few minutes later with three parachutes. "Here you go," he said as he put one on, and handed the other two to Sam. "I'll be back in a second to make sure they're fastened correctly."

"What the hell's he talking about, Sammy?" Dean asked as he leaned over and watched the man walk toward the cockpit.

"Dunno, Dean." Sam quickly donned his parachute, and fastened it just as instructed, and Dean followed suit.

The bearded man returned, and went to the door of the airplane. He pushed his dark sunglasses up over the bridge of his nose, and smiled cockily at the boys. "The pilot says we're directly over the jumping point now, so anytime you two are ready to jump."

"Jump?" both Winchesters' said simultaneously.

"Yeah, out of the plane," the man said as if the answer should be obvious.

"Outta this plane?" Dean white-knuckled the armrests, not about to move from his seat.

"No, there's another plane circling around outside this one, we're gonna hop abroad that one an' jump from it." The man chuckled as he shook his head in clear disbelief and amusement. "Course from this plane." He turned, opened the door of the plane, and a rush of cold air filled the cabin. "Now when you jump," he began to instruct, shouting above the sound of the wind, "don't forget to pull your ripcord as soon as you're clear from the wings of the plane." He gripped hold of the cord on his own parachute to demonstrate for both the Winchesters'. "An' keep your knees soft when you land, an' remember to tuck an' roll."

"Not jumpin' out of this damn plane." Dean's eyes widened in horror, his breath coming in short panted gasps.

"Have to," the man stated calmly, "otherwise there's not enough fuel to make it back to the airport."

"Then land the damn thing on the island and refuel," Dean shouted as he sunk further back into his seat, refusing to move from his spot.

"No place to land down there," the man shouted back, "you have to jump or the plane will crash into the water."

Reluctantly Sam got out of his seat, and hesitantly edged toward the open door. He stuck his head out the opening and quickly ducked back inside. "Doesn't look that bad, Dean," he hollered above the din.

"Don't care if it looks like freakin' Disneyland, I'm not jumpin'."

"Would you rather crash with the plane, Dean?" Sam asked, his brows furrowing together.

"But we're talkin' about jumpin' out of a plane here, Sammy . . . a freakin' plane . . . one which I didn't wanna get on in the first place." Dean swallowed hard as he weighed his options, and realized he really didn't have any. Slowly he got out of his seat, and headed for the door. "We live through this, an' you're so a dead man, little brother."

Gripping hold of the edges of the doorframe, Dean poked his head outside the plane, and a blast of chilled air swept past him, stealing his breath away. He then looked down and saw nothing but water below him, and instantly backed away from the door. "Nothin' but water down there."

"Have to swim toward shore when you land, I guess," the instructor said, sounding not at all worried.

Dean stared incredulously at the man, and gave a curt nod, realizing the man was out of his freakin' mind. "So, I'm supposed to jump an' then swim . . . gotcha. Anyone else here thinkin' this plan is freakin' crazy, please raise their hands cause I so don't want to be the only smart one here."

"Dean," Sam grabbed hold of Dean's arm as he made to close his eyes and jump.

"Seriously, Sam, this is not the time for any chick-flick moments."

"What goes around, comes around, Dean," Sam shouted, above the noise of the plane and the wind.

"Huh?"

Sam licked his lips, looked to the instructor, and then smiled at Dean. "April Fools," he uttered and began laughing hysterically.

"What the . . .sonuva . . . this whole thing . . .the hunt . . . the werewolf . . . everything?" Dean stared in open mouthed disbelief at the two men laughing at his expense. "This guy?" He gestured toward the bearded man.

"Name's Jeff," Sam nudged his head toward the man, "went to Stanford with me." he turned toward his friend, and smacked him on the shoulder. "Dude, seriously . . . how the hell did you keep from laughing . . . tuck and roll . . . swim for shore," Sam clutched his stomach, tears streaming down his face as he laughed even harder. "Had to turn away an' bite my tongue to keep from laughing."

"An' the pilot?" Dean asked still not believing his brother had tricked him so thoroughly.

"Jeff's brother, Stan."

"Course he is."

"Seahaven, Dean," Sam laughed all the harder, "Truman Burbank . . . God, it was almost too easy."

"You so suck," Dean muttered as he dropped back down into his seat, and buckled his seatbelt.

"Ah, dude," Sam continued to chuckle as he sat beside Dean, "God, you should've seen your face. I so kicked your ass in April Fool's Day pranks."

"Wait till next year, Sammy . . . you're so dead." Dean settled back in his seat, closed his eyes, and a smile lit across his face as he began planning for next year.