A/N: This was just a little bit of fluff based off of the day when the weather decided to dump over two feet of snow on my neighborhood.

It was a stupid thing. It really, truly was. And most of the time, they acknowledged it as such. It wasn't really a tradition, either. It was just something they did, like cleaning the guns or picking cherry pie at the diner. It was what they did.

And god knew they went through a lot of states, and a lot of those states had snow. They'd driven through Colorado two weeks ago, and there'd been some pretty decent snow. Enough that they could've packed it in their hands and made a snowman out of it. But it hadn't had the right feel. The feel of snow.

This morning, though. This morning was the right one.

And the best thing about it, Dean thought, was that Sam didn't have a freakin' clue this year.

As soon as Dean had gotten up, the room had felt colder. The floor had been about frozen beneath his feet, and even as he'd stumbled and cursed his way over to the heater (as quietly as he could, though, because Sammy was still asleep and he wasn't about to wake his brother up), he'd glanced out through the small crack between the curtains.

The bright white had made him freeze in an entirely different way. One glance back at Sam had confirmed that his brother had slept through his morning bitching again. Slowly Dean had crept over to the window and pulled the curtains aside, letting light in.

Lots of light, reflecting off of mounds of snow.

He swore now that he'd felt his eyeballs pop out of his eyes, and a Cheshire grin of epic proportions had grown on his face. It had been just the right type of snow, too: the packing type that had enough powder that it would explode upon impact. The perfect type for a snowball fight.

And this year, Dean was getting the first freakin' shot.

Sam had gotten up a little after that, not even hissing when his feet had hit the floor because there hadn't been a cold floor: Dean had had the heat all the way up. He wasn't going to give away the fact that it had snowed the night before. "Be right out," he'd mumbled, and Dean had acquiesced as much as he could've without giving anything away. But as soon as Sam had disappeared into the bathroom Dean had lunged for the doorway.

Which was where he was now, still standing and gazing out at the snow. It was still falling, and the lack of cars on the road made the silence softer somehow. Not creepy silent, like he was used to. No, this was...nice. This was a safe kind of quiet.

Maybe that was why they always picked their snowball fights in this weather.

He wondered briefly if he should head out and grab his real boots out of the trunk, but he had his other boots: they'd do. Besides, their snowball fights never lasted long: it was generally over fast enough, and neither was really able to declare a victory. And that was why the first snowball thrown was so important, and his grin turned mischievous again. God it was gonna be good to get one over on the kid. He hadn't been able to for years now, but this year? This year Sam didn't even know it'd snowed. There was no way: Dean had shut the curtains, turned the heat up, hadn't tried to wake Sam up at all. His brother was half-awake and still would be upon coming out of the bathroom.

It was perfect.

Dean could hear his brother running water to wash his hands now, and he started searching for the perfect snowball. He started scooping and packing until he had a snowball that fit nicely in his hand. He couldn't seem to wipe the grin off his face, but c'mon, this was absolutely fantastic in every single freakin' way.

"Hey Dean?"

Dean glanced behind on instinct, even as the other half of his brain realized that Sam sounded decidedly more awake than he should've. Sure enough, two seconds later his face was covered in snow. Cold slithered down his neck, and he used his free hand to wipe his face clear. When he opened his cold, wet eyes, Sam was leaning against the bathroom doorway, looking highly pleased with himself. "There's a window in the bathroom," he supplied helpfully. "And I got up at about 4:30 this morning because I couldn't sleep. By the way, it's snowing."

"Really, I hadn't noticed," Dean said flatly. Dammit the hell, he'd seriously thought he could get first snowball this year. It'd been perfect, and he should've freakin' hit the kid as soon as he got out of bed.

Except Sam was grinning ear to ear like he rarely did, and Dean's annoyance faded into a grin of his own. And besides... "Don't see you with any more ammo, for someone who noticed it was snowing first," Dean said, and tossed his own snowball into the air. Sam's grin faltered for a second in realization, and there was a moment of silence, waiting.

Then Sam darted back into the bathroom and Dean threw his snowball even as he gave chase. Ahead of him, Sam shrieked like a little girl as his snowball hit true, and Dean grinned. So what if he didn't get first snowball?

He slid into the bathroom before Sam could shut it, already reaching for the windowsill that did indeed contain enough snow for more snowballs. They'd move the fight outside, eventually.

But not before Dean gave him snowballs two through five.