This is, in fact, a true article that popped up on my homepage, and, yeah, well, we all know Dean wouldn't pass that one up without saying something.


Indiana was boring and sucked, but Sam had already come to that conclusion the first twelve times they had driven through the state throughout his life. It was one of those days where it was too hot to even contemplate moving, or thinking, or anything much more than breathing, so Sam lay sprawled across the whole motel room bed on his stomach, which unfortunately meant inhaling in the musty smell of something in the comforter, but right, yeah, too fucking high on the Fahrenheit scale in here to care, really.

Dean, on the other hand, completely and annoyingly opposite in only the way siblings knew how, was a bundle of energy and pretty much wouldn't shut up even while cleaning their entire arsenal of guns (and knives and machetes and… Jesus, was that the dreamcatcher he was wiping off as well?). Sam threatened to punch him in the face or never ever let him near any coffee again so help him God, or both, and that shut Dean up for about twenty seconds until he grumbled about his lump of a brother who was too wussy to even handle the heat up north, seriously, should try his hand at a whole damn summer in Florida, that state was completely retarded even down to the weather, and that's when Sam snapped (in a rather muffled fashion) to entertain himself with the laptop, at least.

And yeah, Sam knew that was a really big damn idea even before the words left his lips.

But Dean shrugged and was finally silenced and that was okay, for now.

Sam might have dozed, or something, he really wasn't sure, but then he heard… something, and oh God, he really didn't want to open his eyes right now.

"Oh hell yes," Dean said.

"Oh God," Sam replied. "Dean. The internet is not just for porn, okay?"

"That's real funny, coming from you." A pause. "Heh. I said 'coming.'"

"I swear, Dean, if you mess up my computer again—"

"Relax, Sammy, I'm not lookin' at porn. Though thanks for the idea. Actually, I found an interesting article. Bit of research."

"Yeah?" Sam said, instantly becoming a little less groggy, turning towards Dean. "Something nearby?"

"Eh, um, well," Dean gestured towards the screen, smirking. "Why don't you take a look yourself."

Warily (and muddled with mind-numbing exhaustion) Sam got up and looked at the article his brother was referring to.

He took one look at the headline and scowled. Deeply.

Firstborn sons have higher IQs, Norway study finds.

"I can't believe you made me get up for this," he grumped, pulling away.

"No no no no no," Dean said, grabbing his arm and planting Sam firmly in front of the laptop. "Read."

Blah blah blah, 240,000 Norwegian men, edge of 2.3 IQ points, and oh yeah, there it was, the line that Dean would have highlighted and put a big red circle around it this wasn't, in fact, a laptop (though honestly, Sam wouldn't have put it past him).

Their studies confirmed what many scientists had suspected for more than a century -- that firstborns have an edge.

"Says the Norwegians," Sam scoffed.

"Says the scientific world, Sammy." Dean leaned back, folding his hands on the back of his head. "Kinda burns, doesn't it."

"Bite me," Sam said, about to pull away as something in the article caught his eye. His smirk matched Dean's. "Says here, that 'the relation between birth order and IQ score is dependent on the social rank in the family and not birth order.'" He paused to let that sink into Dean's brain. And then paused a little longer, just to be sure. "I own your ass, bitch."

"What?" Dean said, recoiling in disgust. "Like hell you do."

"I'm taller," Sam said.

"You're bitchier too," Dean shot back automatically. "Too bad I still have the higher IQ."

"You know, instead of having this conversation, I could be sleeping right now." Sam moved to flop back down on his bed.

"You know what, that is a brilliant idea," Dean said, a little word play on top of the sarcasm unnecessary, sure, but Dean probably thought it was clever.

"You were the one who brought it up, genius," Sam mumbled through the comforter, unable to help himself.

A bout of silence, which built up and felt a bit too ominous to Sam, but he didn't have the courage to open his eyes.

"Dean," he said, trying to sound threatening. "No porn."

"Sure," Dean said, sounding amused. "Just as soon as you delete it off your computer."