I'm still working on my other story, but this came to me, demanding to be written. I hope you enjoy!

One:

Winchester prank wars were brutal. Sam wasn't sure about Dean, but he knew he spent a great deal of time between pranks thinking up new ones for the next time he needed them. When he was a younger kid, it was basic stuff like cellophane on the toilet seat and hair dye in the shampoo. Now that he was a teenager, pranks had escalated to ex-lax brownies and starting rumors around school that Dean had done hard jail time for being an underage male stripper named Sugar Pole.

Dean was even more creative, taking entirely too much pleasure in surprising Sam with some awful pranks and having access to a wider variety of tools that could be used against his younger brother. John had finally stepped in, forbidding Dean to play any further pranks on Sam when the older brother had spiked Sam's OJ with alcohol (how had the kid not noticed?), resulting in Sam puking on the shoes of his homeroom teacher and having to be picked up from the nurse's office, giggling and slurring as he tried to explain himself. In Dean's defense, he had only given Sam a little, not realizing how poorly Sam would tolerate it. After John had to meet with the school social worker for Sam's suspension to be lifted, he had informed Dean that the next time he tried to prank his little brother, he wouldn't live to tell the story.

Of course, after his headache receded, Sam's suspension gave him ample time to plan his next prank. After all, John had told Dean that he couldn't prank any longer. He had never told Sam the same, probably assuming Sam understood it went for both of them. Technically, though, Sam had not been forbidden to continue and he planned on pulling one last epic prank before his dad realized his mistake.

If only he could figure out a way to get to the car without Dean noticing…

His opportunity came two days later, while John and Dean sat at the rickety kitchen table, pouring over books and drinking a six-pack. Just the thought of beer made Sam's stomach turn after the side effects of Dean's surprise cocktail a few days back, so he had stayed far away, letting his brother and dad handle the research that he could complete in half the time.

"We could really use some help in here, son." John said sternly, an order masked as a suggestion as he sometimes liked to use with Sam, letting the younger brother think he had a chance to say no before dropping the hammer on the conversation.

Sam walked to the kitchen table and blanched as the smell of beer overpowered him, reminding him of the morning he spent being reprimanded by school administration before spending hours curled around the toilet. The prank would have been funny if it had happened to anyone else.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked, not liking Sam's pale face.

Sam took a step back, swallowing hard as he felt acid rise. He really needed to get over this, there weren't many days where John wasn't drinking and he couldn't stay away forever. For now, the memories were too fresh in his mind and he was pretty sure just the memory of heaving up tainted orange juice for hours was going to cause a repeat performance right this second if he didn't get away. "I just need some air."

John carefully watched his youngest son, seeing the boy's distress, and nodded, "Stay close, bring a gun."

"Yes, sir." Sam replied, hurrying away before his father changed his mind.

Alone outside, Sam ran his fingers through his hair and took a few deep breaths, feeling much better now that the stench of cheap beer wasn't infiltrating his senses. He knew he had to work quickly; if he knew his brother half as well as he knew he did, Dean was already looking for excuses to ditch their dad and come to check on him outside, and if Dean showed up, the prank would be ruined. He had never done this before, but he had seen his brother and father do it multiple times and it didn't look too hard.

Sam walked to the trunk, pulling out the jack and positioning it under the rear driver tire, hoisting up the car before glancing back at the door. Still closed, he was safe. He hastily unscrewed the bolts, pleased that there was no real learning curve to working the tools he had seen in use multiple times throughout the years. Slipping the bolts into his pocket, he removed the tire, trying to figure out where to stash it. Their motel room was on a corner, so it wouldn't take much to roll it around to the rear of the building. Dean would find it easily, but the prank wasn't to keep the tire away as much as it was to remove it in the first place. He hastily rolled it behind the building, then sprinted back to the car, dropping the bolts into the trunk and wiping the smudges from his hands before closing the trunk as quietly as possible. Still no sign of Dean, he had been successful.

He walked back inside, holding his breath as he walked into the kitchen area and took a book from the table, then retreated to one of the beds, "What exactly are we looking for, Dad?"

Both John and Dean gave him a puzzled look; Sam was great at research, but he rarely volunteered to do it on his own.

"You, uh, feeling better?" Dean questioned, eyeing his brother scrutinizingly.

Sam nodded, stretching out on the top of the bed to get more comfortable, lazily flipping through the book while he waited on someone to fill him in on what they were looking for. He couldn't make eye contact with Dean, because he had a feeling if he did, Dean would be able to read on his face that he had defiled their precious Baby.

Dean's gaze narrowed, Sam was actively avoiding looking at him. He thought back to Sam's behavior before and after stepping outside for air, trying to fit together the pieces of the Sam-puzzle to explain why things didn't seem quite right, then asked, "Did you hurl?"

"Gross, no." Sam retorted, "Dad? What are we looking for?"

"What did you do?"

Sam looked up at John, guilty for a split second before forcing his face to relax and look more neutral. The split second was all it took before John and Dean both rose. Dean immediately started looking around the room, wondering what was going to jump out at him or harm him in some way-if Sam wasn't bracing for the fallout, he would have laughed at the paranoid behavior that seemed to consume both of them after an intense prank war. John, on the other hand, realized Sam had been outside and wasted no time leaving the room to make sure the car was still there and in one piece.

As soon as John opened the door, Dean came to the same conclusion and darted after him, leaving Sam staring down at his book with a smirk on his face. He wouldn't follow, because he didn't really want to be within smacking radius of either fellow Winchester-his father was just as protective of that car as Dean was. He had to admit that maybe he'd crossed a line with this one...but at the same time, Dean had crossed a line, too, with his. That made it okay, right? The thirteen year old certainly thought so.

"Sam!" John shouted, then burst into the room in a fury, "Didn't I tell you two that the pranking needed to stop?"

Sam was getting the feeling he should have taken his father telling Dean off and forbidding pranks as a lecture to both of them, because, come to think of it, John wasn't really a "technically…" type of person. He swallowed hard, remaining silent as he tried to think of something he could say to defend himself, but all he was coming up with was 'that jerk deserved it', which wouldn't fly with the eldest Winchester.

John's gaze grew even darker at Sam's silence, forcing Sam to answer even though he knew it was the wrong thing to say, "You told Dean he couldn't play any more pranks. You specifically said Dean, you weren't talking to me or telling me anything at all. And you always tell me I need to mind my own business when you're talking to Dean in front of me…" He paired the lame excuse with a pitiful expression that Dean fondly termed his 'puppy dog eyes', in hopes that John would be forgiving.

John opened his mouth to rant about willful disobedience, then closed it. It wasn't going to do any good, the damage was already done. The contrite look on his son's face made it clear this wasn't going to happen again. And the kid did have a point; he'd have to be more specific from now on, as much as he hated having to spell things out for the two teenagers who should know better. He ran a hand across his face, shaking his head slightly, "You'd make a great lawyer some day. Now get out there and fix my car."

"Yes, sir." Sam replied, relieved that he hadn't been grounded for eternity or that his father hadn't outright killed him for breaking the rules he knew applied to him.

He approached Dean, who wouldn't even look at him as he shimmied the tire back into place, "I can do it, Dean."

"Haven't you done enough?" Dean replied snarkily, using much more force than was necessary to adjust the tire so he could attach the nuts to it, "Turning my hair pink and ruining my chances with Lydia Schmidt were one thing, but why did you bring Baby into this? She's an innocent bystander."

"For the same reason you humiliated me in front of my entire class?" Sam retorted, his lingering irritation still evident in his tone, "You know, even when I can go back on Monday, I don't want to. People pick on me enough as it is."

"They're picking on you?" Dean asked, looking up to meet Sam's guilty expression, "Why didn't you say something?"

"Would it have mattered?"

"It would to them when I killed them." Dean replied, his tone dark and serious, "Anyway, don't worry about those losers, we'll be gone by then. Dad thinks the Schwarmandling has left the area, he's trying to track it but no leads so far."

He finished with the tire, then lowered the jack, tossing the wrench to his brother, adding lightly in a tone that was meant to indicate they were okay, "Besides, this was a good thing."

"It was?"

"Hell yeah, next time the tire blows out in the rain, you can get out there and change it instead of me."

Sam stared at his brother, speechless for the first time in a long time. Shaking his head with an amused expression, he asked, "Guess the joke was on me, after all?"

Dean laughed, putting the tools away and slamming the trunk closed, "Always will be, kid. Big brother's prerogative."

"We good?"

"Always. Truce?"

"Truce."

And all was forgiven.