"Not fair," Sam said when he saw Dean's fist, raised in triumph, over the tall barrier of the front seat. "You're using a weighted projectile."
"You are such a geek, man," Dean said after several seconds of hard-core crunching.
"Still," Sam scowled, picking another piece of popcorn off his chest before the artificial butter could leave a stain on his t-shirt or flannel.
"Dude, you picked popcorn at the Circle K. See what trying to keep your girlish figure gets you?" Dean tossed another M&M up in the air, nearly hitting the dome light. Sam sat up so quickly he gave himself a head rush, but still saw Dean catch it neatly between his teeth.
"Dad's gonna be pissed if you finish that whole bag," Sam predicted smugly, lying back down in the back seat.
"No, he won't," Dean said, totally confident, head lolling against the leather of the passenger seat. "I swiped an extra bag for him," he explained breezily.
"Dean!" Sam said, messing up his next toss by bolting upright again. "That's -"
"That's life, Sammy," Dean interrupted. "'Sides, that clerk was a douchebag, sayin' all that stuff."
"What stuff?" Sam hadn't heard a thing, but then he did get lost in reading the blurbs on the small rack of paperbacks tucked in the back.
"Nothin'," Dean said, tossing an M&M up in a perfect lob that Sam caught easily in his mouth. "There you go," he said proudly.
"I'm hungry," Sam said, swallowing the chocolate. He answered Dean's raised eyebrow. "For real food."
Dean didn't bother to lift his head, just flipped open the glove compartment and felt around inside it like a blind man. "You're SOL, pal," Dean said.
"No, I'm pretty sure that's you," Sam said, and snatched the bag of M&Ms while Dean's attention was on the crap Dad had stuffed in the glove compartment. Dean squawked indignantly and threw an empty water bottle at Sam's head. Sam ducked easily and scarfed down a large handful of candy. "Mmmmm," he taunted.
"Oh, that's how it's gonna be?" Dean asked.
"You want it back?" Sam asked, careful to stay out of reach of Dean's lightning-quick hands. "You tell Dad I did the obstacle course in two hours flat and . . ." he trailed off, trying to think of what else he could get while the getting was good, tilting his head thoughtfully.
"See what keeping your girlish hair gets you?" Dean asked, fists buried in Sam's hair. Sam's eyes were watering, but he managed to smear his greasy fingers on Dean's face as they squirmed.
"Quit it," Sam gasped
"Make me," Dean said, eyes squinched shut against Sam's fingers.
"Truce?" Sam begged, and Dean let go. His hair was going to hurt for a week. He popped the kinks out of his neck while Dean reclaimed his bag of chocolate and scrubbed his face with his t-shirt.
"Hey," Sam said, as something clicked in his brain. "If you lifted all this stuff, you've still got a couple bucks, right?"
"Wondered when you'd figure that out," Dean said, and then popped another M&M. "But I wasn't sure you were ready to face your arch-nemesis."
"What?" Sam asked, confused, watching as Dean shrugged back into his jacket. "Who?" Then he saw Dean's wicked smile.
"Ronald McDonald," Dean said, and slammed the door behind him.