Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural!!
How To Settle An Argument: The Winchester Way
"Sam? Do we have any bread?" Dean asked, rummaging through the backseat of the Metallicar, which was usually scattered with food. He'd found some mustard, lettuce and a few slices of turkey and had suddenly gotten a deep desire to have a sandwich. Sam tossed him a single slice of wheat bread and Dean stared at it.
"Well, there's only two slices and I want a sandwich, too," Sam said. Dean rolled his eyes.
"Sammy, hand over the bread," He said, sticking his hand into the front seat, palm up. Sam stopped the car.
"Because I'm the oldest and therefore the hungriest."
"Dean—" Sam was cut off by a smack on the head.
"Sam, give me the fricken bread."
"No." When Sam refused, Dean reached into his wallet and fished out a twenty.
"If you give me the bread, I'll give you twenty dollars." Sam shook his head. "Fine. We'll have to settle this the old fashioned way." Dean ducked back into the seat and began to dig. He tossed two badminton racquets over the seat and followed them with a tennis ball. He kicked open the door of the Metallicar and stepped onto the deserted highway.
"Dean, what the hell?"
"I'll play you in pickleball for that slice of bread. If I win, I get it and if not, you get both," Dean explained. Sam scooted out of the car and yanked one of the racquets from Dean's hand.
"If it goes off the highway, it's out. That line," Dean pointed to a line in the road between them, "Is the net. We'll play to eleven." He served the ball and Sam smacked it back with tremendous force and Dean failed to return.
"Weh-hell, it looks like someone's been eating their Wheaties," Dean commented. He served the ball again and this time hit it back when Sam projected it to him. Sam spiked it and Dean hit it hard, causing it to whiz past Sam.
"So that's how it's gonna be?" Sam said, picking the ball up off the wet pavement.
"Yeah, that's how it's gonna be."
"Alright, then. One-one," Sam whacked the ball at his elder brother and Dean did a Maria Sharapova and the ball came flying back. This continued for a good half hour until they were tied again at seven-seven. At this point, both of the boys had removed their shirts, despite the forty-five degree weather, and sweat was dripping from both of their foreheads.
"Seven-seven," Dean announced. He jumped and served the ball. Neon green fuzz floated to the ground as the ball streaked across the road. Sam returned it and Dean was left chasing after the ball.
"Dammit. How'd he get so athletic?" Dean muttered to himself.
"Excuse me?" Sam asked, putting his hand to his ear as if he hadn't heard. "Did you just say I was more athletic than you?"
"I… I just said you were athletic, but not that you were… Dammit!" Dean served the ball again, and once again, Sam pwned him.
"What is that? Like, Nine-seven? Man, you suck. Looks like that sandwich is gonna be mine." Sam smirked. Dean pouted. This time Sam served, and then got served.
"Who sucks now, manbitch?"
"Whatever. When did you learn to play pickle ball, anyways?"
"About five years ago. Dad and I worked a job at this rec center and they had pickle ball courts. There wasn't actually a poltergeist, so we had a little fun," Dean explained.
"Way to take advantage of things," Sam said sarcastically.
"Just serve the fricken ball." Sam served, got a point, and Dean flipped him the bird.
"Alright, ten-nine, game point," Dean said, throwing the ball in the air to serve. He whapped the ball and it went flying past Sam's head, not even hitting the pavement.
"Glad to see you're happy that I won," Sam said, figuratively sticking his nose in the air.
"It didn't hit the ground, my point. You owe me a sandwich."
"Aw, damn. Get in the car," Dean said, sliding into the driver's seat. Sam got in the other side and Dean revved the engine and took off down the highway. He drove for three miles until a rest stop sign came into view. He pulled into the parking lot and Sam climbed into the backseat and began to excavate the crap in Dean's car.
"Where's the bread?" Dean turned back at Sam and, through a mouth full of sandwich, replied,