A/N: More banter! Featuring a super gross thing I used to do as a kid with Twizzlers hahaha...

"Awww man you got Twizzlers?" Dean lamented as Sam plopped himself into the passenger seat.

"What? Yeah, why?" he asked, distracted, pulling on the bag.

"I… hate it when you get Twizzlers," Dean muttered, starting the car up. Sam stared at him. "You suck on them and it's loud and gross…"

"Shut up, it's not that bad," Sam dismissed, nimbly pulling a single long red licorice strip from out of the bag. "They're a little stale…" he murmured to himself. Dean glanced at him and sighed.

"I don't even get why or how you created so many weird ass ways to eat food…"

"Actually, they say that kids with weird food habits didn't have that many friends growing up so they substitute food for friends and that's why they end up 'playing with their food.'"

Dean made a face.

"Did you just make that up to guilt me?"

"Didn't make it up, but yeah," Sam smirked.

"You're a little shit, you know that?" Dean shook his head ruefully, repressing his smile as Sam gave a low-key laugh of agreement. He popped one end of the licorice into his mouth and started sucking on it to soften it up. Five minutes later Sam began to use the edges of his teeth to gently whittle the grooves of the Twizzlers down. Sam's goal, Dean knew, was to get a smooth, skinny, and disgustingly wet strip of licorice before he could eat it all the way.

After a particularly loud smacking slurping noise from the passenger seat, Dean couldn't handle it.

"Sam, I swear to god you sound like a dog licking its balls right now."

Sam pulled the Twizzlers out of his mouth with a loud, wet pop.

"Ew."

"Yeah, ew, because it is 'ew.'"

"Stop it, you'll give me a complex. I'm getting self-conscious now."

"Good."

"Leave me alone - let me appreciate my Twizzlers. I don't fuck with you when you devour pie like an animal."

Dean quirked his head back with a confused expression.

"What's wrong with the way I eat pie?"

Sam shot him a look of disbelief.

"Are- you're kidding, right? Everything."

"Well…" Dean trailed off, "bet it's not as bad as you with Twizzlers."

"It is."

"Eat your stupid Twizzlers."

They'd gotten on the road about half past six in the morning after a woefully early night for both of them. Sam wasn't sure why Dean had checked out of the bar so early last night but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Unfortunately this gift horse's mouth was more like a scrunched, constipated expression and a couple conversation starters that failed to launch at the last minute - followed by long, upset sighs then more silence.

Sam flipped his case file shut and settled himself more comfortably in against the passenger seat to look at his brother.

"Dean, what is it?"

"Do you think I come off gay?" Dean immediately asked, eyes firmly on the road.

"Yes," Sam shot back, his tone comically certain. Dean gave Sam a double-take and threw him a low, restrained punch.

"Fuck you," he muttered as Sam laughed.

"Why? Did something happen last night?"

Sam started snickering; the question was meant in terms of how Dean struck out with the girl he'd been flirting with but after the question was out it came off a lot like Sam was suggesting something else. Sam watched his brother move from annoyance to finally breaking a reluctant smile, shaking his head as he kept his eyes on the road.

"You're a dick," Dean muttered.

"So you like dick?"

Dean snorted and punched Sam again, the two of them falling into their own fantastically immature sense of humor.

"I swear to god, Sam-"

"Seriously," Sam grinned, "what happened? The girl thought you were gay?"

"Yeah!" Dean said, eyes widening with outraged disbelief. "What does that… how does that even happen? I was like… seriously, dude, like… Neon sign I was up for it-"

"Neon signs, huh?"

Dean huffed an affirmative.

"Sounds fabulous," Sam added before falling back to cackles at his brother's expense.

"You are the fucking worst…" Dean grumbled, failing to hide his smile.

"No, but, in all truth, I don't know how she could've gotten that from you."

"Right?!" Dean came back into the fold, hanging onto Sam's words for some affirmation. "I'm like…"

"Even dudes think you're hitting on them sometimes so it's nuts a girl would thi-"

"Whoa whoa… what the fuck?" Dean turned to look at Sam, pissed, and Sam stared back at him innocently before shrugging.

"What? They do," Sam put his hands out, biting his lip to hide the smile trying to creep up.

"When?!"

Sam opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water before he could speak.

"Well, uh, all the bartenders, for starters."

"No they don't!"

"Yeah they do, Dean. When you're like… doin' that smooth shit with a girl? You don't turn it off when you face the bartenders to order and if they're gay…" Sam trailed off with a flirty lilt.

Dean was shaking his head vigorously in denial, lips in a full pout.

"That's never happened."

"Uh, yeah it has."

"Uh, no it hasn't," Dean shot back in a dumb mimicry of Sam.

Sam started laughing.

"Okay," Sam dragged out, "if you say so."

A few beats of silence, and then "I would've noticed, Sam," Dean pitched bitterly.

"Or I would've noticed because the bartenders ask me what's up with you."

Dean let out a silent gasp and Sam couldn't help but start guiltily laughing under his breath.

"Has that seriously happened?" Dean asked, his voice hushed.

"Like just… just once or twice," Sam choked out, surreptitiously wiping his eyes free of tears.

"Jesus Christ," Dean muttered like this was a revelation and Sam covered his mouth, biting his knuckles, watching his brother go through the stages of acceptance.

After a couple minutes of contemplation, Dean spoke up.

"Why… why hasn't that happened with you with me? Like… you're the one with long hair. You look like a girl!"

"I don't think that's how that works, Dean…" Sam under-toned, "and I don't look like a girl!" he added, then realized he'd pitched his voice into a whine. Great.

"First, yes you do so look like a girl and second, please - oh wise one - tell me how it works then."

Sam scrunched up his face and shrugged.

"I don't know. I'm not a flirt?"

Dean's disgusted expression was priceless.

"I'm a flirt?"

"Well, no…" Sam hedged and Dean relaxed slightly, "you're more of a slut."

Sam watched, entertained as hell as Dean sputtered until he could get a coherent sentence out.

"You… you… you're the feelings… slut… you should be the gay one!"

"What the hell is a feelings slut?"

"You suck," Dean replied heavily.

"Look, Dean, if you don't want to be gay then don't be gay. Simple as that," Sam baited lightly, completely unable to stop teasing the shit out of his brother.

Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"I'm not… dude. I don't want to be gay because I'm not gay. I would want to be gay if I were gay, Sam!"

"What if you were bi?"

"What's bye?"

"Bisexual. Like you have the hots for both guys and girls."

There was a pause from Dean, his head ticking to the side in consideration, and Sam snorted.

"Well okay I'm not gonna lie," Dean glanced at Sam sleazily, "if I were bisexual I would definitely want to be bisexual."

Sam started openly laughing at that.

"What, like because double the odds every night you go out?"

Dean chuckled under his breath and pointed at Sam.

"Exactly."

"Slut."

"Feelings slut."

"That's not…" Sam stopped and reconsidered. "Okay," Sam relented as he rubbed his eye and opened the case file again.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Sorry, man, but we gotta stop off at the next rest stop," Sam said evenly, shifting around a little in his seat.

"Wha-Can't I just pull over on the side?"

Sam pursed his lips, uncomfortable his answer was going to be more informative than he'd like.

"No, Dean."

Dean sighed and shrugged, silently accepting the admission. Sam noticed his brother take on that expression he always wore when he was remembering something.

"Sam, how many cups of coffee did you have this morning?"

"Dean, oh my god, leave it," Sam warned, covering his mouth to hide his embarrassed smile as Dean grinned.

Ten minutes later at the gas station, Dean wished his brother well with his coffee shits. Loudly. And busted out laughing watching his brother's mortified run to get out of sight and into a bathroom.

"Do it again, do it again!"

Sam laughed at his brother's excitement and took a second to collect himself dramatically before straightening up and leaning forward, rubbing his hands together.

The Impala was idling at an intersection in a sleepy junction town, the red light glaring down on them, challenging Sam.

"Okay okay okay," Sam rubbed his hands together and squinted. "Okay, ready?" Sam asked and Dean broke his sleep-deprived, punchy chuckling to answer.

"Yeah-yeah-go, Sammy," he slurred, his speech always lazier when he was tired.

Sam took a deep breath and let it out at the red light.

Behold, the light turned green, and the two of them whooped with victorious laughter as Dean accelerated through.

"I'll get it next time-"

"No-"

"I will-"

"No, you're sucking at it tonight. Try tomorrow - we agreed the luck runs start and end every twenty-four hours."

"What if the next twenty-four hours starts in the next ten minutes? What then? Check mate, bitch," Dean added, snapping his fingers then pointing at his flustered little brother.

"You can't do that! We agreed like… I was like… eight when we agreed on midnight."

"Meaning I was…" Dean paused for a second and blinked and Sam huffed a laugh, fully understanding the hiccup in thought to do math. His brain was as fried as Dean's right then. "Twelve! - shut up, Sam - Twelve. A twelve year old can't predict stoplight luck rotations… things…"

"Okay try it - try this one coming up," Sam relented, smiling. The Impala came to a stop. Dean pretended to center himself by passing an open hand down his face with closed eyes. He let out a long, smooth breath, stared at the red light with a deep inhale, and blew out at it.

The light remained red.

"Boooo," Sam intoned dully and Dean laughed indulgently with his brother before shaking his head and leaning his weight over the steering wheel as they idled.

"Ugh, I need a bed," Dean breathed.

"Well we can stop here, can't we? There's gotta be a motel around," Sam offered, voice light and relaxed. The light turned green and as they passed by various storefronts and restaurants, Sam caught sight of a Red Roof Inn.

"Dean - motel," Sam pointed. Sam saw his brother squint in its direction.

"Okay yep," his brother yawned, "we're gonna do that."

"Cool," Sam replied as he pulled his phone out to randomly look at the place's Yelp reviews.

"No, we're not sleeping in the car tonight," Sam announced angrily. He kept his eyes on the road as he drove but that didn't stop his right hand from jabbing the air at every emphasized word. "It's fifty-five degrees out, I am six foot four, and thirty-two years old. We do not sleep in the Impala unless it's an emergency. New rule. I am making a new rule, Dean."

"Your rules suck. And what does your height have to do with it? I'm tall too."

"That's cute," Sam shot back, smiling at his brother's disgruntled reaction to being called 'cute.' "My height matters because I have to stick my feet out the window."

"Sammy, you do know knees can bend, right?"

"I do that and it fucks with my spine," Sam muttered, slightly embarrassed but not enough to forfeit a decent night's sleep in a bed. He didn't wait for his brother's ribbing; already anticipating it and getting doubly annoyed before Dean could even utter a syllable. "Look, we sleep in the car tonight? Either my feet turn into ice blocks or I'm a hunchback come morning… and I will whine about it to you, Dean," Dean made a face, "Oh yeah. I will. All day. That's a promise."

Silence fell upon them, Sam inwardly vowing to himself Dean would have to wrestle him if he thought he was going to get him to pull over anywhere except a motel parking lot.

Dean sighed.

"Knowing you, you'd probably cry a little bit too."

Sam pressed his lips together, suppressing his smile, as he started nodding.

"I will fucking… sob… like a… broken woman…" Sam started laughing along with Dean, "yes, I will. No, absolutely."

"Well you know I can't stand the sight of a woman crying, so I guess motel it is."

"Thank you - I will take that win," Sam snickered, "And you know what?" Sam pointed at Dean, "I'm gonna remember this - I'm gonna use this card again."

"What, threatening to cry like a broken woman?" Dean dead-panned. Sam laughed through his nose, his dimples deep as ever as his body subtly shook. "Pretty sure that card would work on anyone, Sammy. Nobody wants to see your ugly-ass cry-face."

Sam opened his mouth with amused indignation but all that came out was a pitched "ah." He glanced over at Dean and realized his brother was watching him with a sly glint to his eyes. Sam breathed out and huffed a laugh.

"Stop… fuckin' with me," Sam muttered and Dean started laughing again. "Nobody looks good when they cry," Sam grumbled to himself.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment if you can spare the time! ~ Alex