Disclaimer: I do not own any of the SPN characters, but I will play with them-shamelessly!

This is not any direct relation to my story IN THE FOLD but I can't guarantee a character or two from that story might not pop over to say hello and take a swat at one of the boys. Hope you enjoy it!

You know the drill-please leave a review! Thanks!

Sam knew that starting a prank war with Dean was a bad idea; they always ended badly for him. Dean always managed to one up him, like the time Sam had offered to do laundry and switched Dean's favorite jeans with an identical pair, only a few inches shorter in length. He had listened to Dean go on and on about how he must be getting a late growth spurt. Sam had patted himself on the back until Dean had found his other jeans in the trunk and plotted revenge. It had taken months for Sam's hair to fully recover. He had been biding his time ever since.

So when he found himself being tempted to formulate another prank, he knew he should have resisted the urge. Instead, he was holed up in the hotel room while Dean was out hustling pool at the bar down the road. Sam looked at the shoebox on the bed and grinned. Dean's cassette tape collection was the target this time. Sam carefully used the razor blade to lift the label off the last cassette tape. He knew he had to be quick, Dean had already been gone two hours and Sam didn't want to get caught. He grabbed the glue stick and swiped the back of the old paper label and fixed it to the decoy cassette. He laid the tape back in the box and shoved the whole box back into his duffel; he would have to be sneaky to get it back into the Impala. He grabbed the now-unlabeled cassette tapes that held Dean's real music collection and tossed them into a shopping bag and shoved them in next to the box. The labels from the decoy tapes got flushed down the toilet, no need to take the chance that Dean would find them and figure out when Sam had done.

All he had to do now was wait for the open road to call to Dean and his impossibly old music collection.

Two hours later, Dean stumbled over the slightly raised sidewalk in front of the hotel, the Impala keys held tightly in his grip. He hated to leave her back at the bar, but after hustling pool and buying a few rounds of drinks, he knew he couldn't drive. He stepped in front of the hotel room door and tried the handle, locked. He slipped a key in the lock, but it wouldn't turn. He stared at the door handle, his vision slightly blurry; the dim lamp outside the door not helping push away the darkness of the very early morning hours. He groaned when he realized he had put the Impala's key in the doorknob, he tried to pull the key loose but it was stuck.

"Sammy!" he called out as he knocked on the door. He glanced at the dark window, only his kid brother would go to bed early on a Friday night. Course, it was like two o'clock in the morning…but hey! Hustling pool was a hard job with a tough schedule and if Sam couldn't help then he could at least let him in the room. Dean knocked again, louder this time and yelled, "Sam! Let me in!"

Dean was caught off guard as the door in front on him opened, the light flipping on and blinding him. He threw a hand up to protect his sensitive eyes, but not before he got a glimpse at the scrawny man in front of him.

"This is not your room, dumbass!" the small man said. "You and your…guy…are the next room down!"

Dean listened as the door slammed shut. He sighed and reached for the keys hanging out of the doorknob. As he tried to pull the key free he heard a snicker from his left. He turned and saw Sam leaning against the wall shaking his head and grinning, the light from their room illuminating him.

"Problems," Sam asked, unable to keep the grin off his face.

"No," Dean lied with a slight whine as he tried harder to pull the keys free. He tried twisting them to no avail. He felt his exhaustion pairing off with his drunkenness and dropped his head against the door; the thump of his head apparently not settling well with the already obnoxious occupant. Sam watched in amazement as the door suddenly jerked open, causing Dean to fall inside of the room, his face frozen in surprise.

Dean felt clumsy as he was hauled to his feet and shoved out of the room, but not before feeling a fist make contact with his cheekbone. "I said this wasn't your room," the man said as Dean stumbled on his feet. Sam stepped up and grabbed Dean, steadying him. He towered over the man, knowing his physical appearance would deter him from doing anything further. The man froze and looked up at Sam, a good fourteen inches taller than him. Sam reached towards the man, making him back up into the room. Sam grabbed the Impala keys and with one swift tug pulled it free from the doorknob. He held them up for the man to see and said, "We'll be needing these."

Sam stalked away from the door, his hand firmly clamped on Dean's collar as he pushed Dean towards their room. He tossed the keys on the table and pushed Dean towards his bed.

"You need to get some sleep," Sam said. "Just how drunk are you?"

"Drunk enough that the Impala got left behind, but not so drunk that I can't feel how much my face hurts now," Dean whined as he lowered himself to the bed. He tried to lean down to untie his work boots, but his head swam and his fingers were to clumsy to untie the knot. He gave up and dropped back onto the bed, sinking into a dreamless sleep.

Dean woke the next morning to the sound of the Impala's engine cutting out. He raised an eyelid and surveyed the room, Sam's bed was empty. Dean winced as the light from the window harshly burned his eyes; he pulled the covers back over his head and nestled deeper into the rough sheets. Just once, he wished they could stay in a nice hotel…or even a bed and breakfast, one that served pie for breakfast. But they got enough raised eyebrows with their 'two queens' bed routine as it was, no need to help ruin their appearance any further.

As Sam stepped back into the hotel room, he tossed a bag of breakfast sandwiches on the table before setting a cup of coffee on the nightstand nearest Dean.

"You awake," Sam asked as he sat down at the table and pulled the laptop out.

"Mmmmmmm," Dean mumbled from his fortress of cotton solitude. "No."

"Rough night," Sam asked, his voice steeped in disapproval.

"Let me sleep Sam," Dean mumbled again. "I'm hung over… stop talking. You want me to come over there and thump you?"

"I got you coffee," Sam stated as though that were the most simple and prescribed cure.

"What's in it," Dean asked.

"Uh-coffee," Sam stated. "Why?"

"Might need a little hair of the dog this morning," Dean said as one of his hands snaked out of the blankets, waving a flask at Sam.

"Seriously? You want booze for breakfast," Sam asked in disbelief. Deep down, he was worried; this was becoming a trend for Dean. He knew Dean carried a lot of things around, but hitting the bottle, or flask in this instance, this early was ridiculous. "No. Get up, have some coffee and breakfast, and get in the shower. I'll start looking for a job for us."

The flask disappeared back into the blankets followed by a disheartened sigh. Dean pulled the covers free, he knew he wasn't going to get any more sleep. Not when Sam was getting in his bossy mode.

Sam watched as Dean's face came into view, the bruise from neighbor making him look even more rundown and tired. "We don't need to look for a job," Dean said as he untangled himself from the bed sheets. "Bobby called last night while I was at the bar. He found us a job."

"Bobby called you while you were at the bar," Sam repeated, as he sat back and scrutinized his brother's face. "Do you even remember what he said about the job?"

He didn't miss the scowl that crossed Dean's face. "Yes, Francis, I do," Dean stated firmly. "I may have been out drinking but I am capable of taking a message."

"So what was it," Sam asked.

Dean smirked and rolled up his left shirt sleeve to reveal actual notes, written in blue ink. "I told you, he called, and I took the message," Dean stated. He twisted his arm around and squinted at the message.

"A round of people dying….uhhhh….," Dean said as he continued to squint at his arm. "Down in Florida. Looks like heart attacks but isn't."

Sam waited a minute before crossing his arms and looking intensely at Dean. "That all," Sam asked. Something in the way he asked made Dean's temper flare.

"Yes, Sam, that's all," Dean snarled as he further disentangled himself from the sheets and headed for the shower. "You want their social security numbers? Or the names of their dentists? Bobby said he would call later with more details."

Sam sighed as the bathroom door slammed behind Dean. He heard the shower kick on but it didn't cover up the sounds of Dean retching. Sam shook his head and wondered why Dean was always so determined to be so unforgiving to his body, he wasn't getting any younger, and certainly his liver wasn't getting any less saturated. Sam had tried to bring it up a few times, but Dean always shut him down with a comment about Sam watching to many Lifetime movies or needing to eat less salad and more barbeque.

When Dean stepped out of the bathroom on a puff of steam, he could see the duffel bags packed and at the door. He knew Sam was in a mood again. Probably because Dean had gone out again last night, but it beat sitting around the hotel and watching crappy late night television while Sam huffed around the room and worried about things they had no control over. Or things that Dean controlled.

Dean grabbed his duffel bag and crammed the last of his clothes inside. He grabbed Sam's duffel bag and tossed them both into the trunk of the car. He watched as Sam walked across the parking lot from the small office, a little packet in his hand; Dean tossed him the keys before moving to the passenger door. They both slid onto the seat and Sam cranked the engine. Before he changed gears, Sam handed him the small packet, Dean turned it over in his hand. Ibuprofen. A peace offering. One he would take in a heartbeat.

"Thanks man," he said as he ripped the packet open and dry swallowed the two pills. "Head's killing me."

Sam laughed and said, "Yeah, well if I ever get to drive while you're okay, it'll be a miracle."

They rode in silence for the first three hours, Dean occasionally dozing off only to spring awake at the slightest bump in the road, glancing around as though to make sure Sam hadn't just crashed the car. Sam tried to ignore his brother's behavior, he knew they had a long drive and Bobby hadn't even given them the town name yet.

Hours later, Dean woke to the steady movement of the car. It was a familiar feeling, one that had lulled him to sleep on many occasions; one that made him instantly relax and feel as though everything was okay. It was a power house of steel and chrome and leather, but most of all it was home.

He turned to see Sam gazing at the minivan driving in front of them, a strange look on his face. Dean glanced at the minivan, a look of pure horror crossing his face; it was plastered with honor roll stickers and the little sticker family, down to the little two dogs. As Sam pulled the Impala around to pass the minivan, Dean tried to follow his gaze and see what Sam saw. A stroller in the back, teenager slouching in the backseat with his earphones in place, two car seats the middle seat –twins, and the parents talking up front, laughing and smiling. Normal, typical even. Everything Sam had ever wanted rolled up in one hideous chunk of vehicle.

Dean watched Sam's expression as they passed the van. Sam shifted uncomfortably when he realized Dean had been watching him. He felt guilty somehow, as though Dean could see his desire for a different life; like he was cheating on the hunter's life by wishing for something a little more like the Walton's and less like the Munsters.

"What Dean," Sam asked, trying to not sound like he was grinding his teeth as he spoke.

"What? Nothing," Dean said innocently. "You look a little bit like someone just kicked your puppy back there."

Sam's jaw tightened, he made a point of not taking the bait.

"You wanna talk about it," Dean asked suddenly, turning in the seat and looking at Sam.

"What? No," Sam said defensively. "And since when did you get all into talking about crap?"

"I don't, just thought you might to get it off your chest," Dean said as he shifted in the seat. "No big deal to me, you can keep your white picket fences and Volvo's to yourself. "

"And why is that such a problem for you," Sam suddenly snapped, his hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, not noticing how he was pushing the accelerator as his temper climbed. "What is so wrong with me wanting normal? I get you love this life, the crappy food, crappy hotels, the-hustling pool and chasing down waitresses. I don't, okay? Does that make me such a bad person, really?"

"No it doesn't Sam," Dean said with a sigh he pulled the box of cassette tapes out from under the seat. "Just means you're setting yourself up for disappointment."

Sam didn't say anything as Dean picked through the cassette collection, apparently not noticing anything amiss. Dean picked up a cassette and thrust it into the player. He cranked the volume, expecting to hear Hell's Bells blast through the speakers.

Sam paused and waited, watching Dean from the corner of his eye. As the show tune 'I Feel Pretty' spilled out of the speakers, he held back a laugh as Dean all but dove for the cassette. He ejected it from the tape deck with the kind of force he usually reserved for exorcisms before chucking it out of the window.

"Dean! That could have hit another car," Sam exclaimed as he glanced into the rearview mirror. Dean didn't say anything as he shoved another tape in, turning the volume down this time. The sweet sounds of 'The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow' swept through the car for a split second the tape was sailing out of the car before coming to a shattering stop on the asphalt. Dean held the cardboard box at arm's length as though it contained an atomic bomb and took a deep breath before asking, "Anything you want to confess, Sam? You can make this easy on yourself…I can be merciful!"

The look on Dean's face made Sam burst into laughter, his previous outburst forgotten.

"You so deserved that man," he said with a look of satisfaction. "You remember when you were putting Nair in my shampoo? Made me think I was losing my hair? Now we're even."

"Guess again Sammy boy," Dean said as he tossed the box into the backseat. "We're just getting started."

So there it is, chapter one. It's been surprisingly hard to get into this story-I was working on 'In the Fold' for so long this just seems weird! Let me know how you feel, whether you loved or hated it.

Next stop, Florida…and a special kind of torture for Sam ;) hehehehehehe

Thanks WinnJenster, for giving this a once over and letting me channel Sam via your SamRadio.

Hey! Hey! Hey! I see you-yeah you-you read it and you're about to leave without jotting down a review! I'll break out my talking board and send my ghost after you! Leave a review! Bwahahahahahaha