Fighting Dirty
by Deanie McQueen


Sam and Dean were watching Sister Wives.

"Janelle is fucking amazing," Dean said, as he chewed on a cherry-flavored Tootsie Roll. Sam's head was in his lap and Dean's fingers were absently threading through the luxurious brown locks (the little bastard needed a better shampoo. Shit was greasy and it smelled like petunias.)

"Kody is too promiscuous," Sam said in disgust. "This has nothing to do with religion whatsoever, Dean. I don't care how you want to justify his polygamist lifestyle."

"Mm...Three wives," Dean replied.

"Four, now," Sam reminded him.

"Mm...four million wives."

"You idiot."

The show played merrily, though fuzzily on the standard, outdated television set. The room smelled of Dean's socks and Sam's prissy hair products and spilled booze and long-since smoked tobacco.

Sam was tired of watching Sister Wives. He didn't understand this penchant Dean had for TLC, but Sam greatly disapproved of this trashy programming. A quick glance at the dully-lit digital clock on the nightstand confirmed that it was time for The Barefoot Contessa, which was on a far classier channel.

"The Food Network is a far classier channel," Sam informed Dean. Dean jerked his leg in response and Sam made an ouchie noise. That hurt his ear. "Stop it, Dean. Gimme the remote."

"Only if Paula Deen is on."

"Ina Garten."

"No."

"She's amazing and she lives in the Hamptons. This is evidence of her worth."

"I'm sorry me and Dad couldn't give you that debutante ball you really wanted, Princess."

"You should be sorry."

Dean cruelly tugged on the ends of Sam's hair. Sam yelped in response.

"M'telling."

"Telling who?"

"Someone who cares," Sam said seriously, and he sniffed, rubbing his nose against Dean's denim covered thigh.

Dean flicked his little brother's head. "Don't get your snot on me, Snot."

"It's my turn for the remote," Sam informed him. "And don't call me Snot. I am not mucus. I am a real boy."

"Snot," Dean replied, as per usual.

This angered Sam immensely. Sam did not find Dean's taunts appropriate at all.

"I don't find your taunts appropriate at all, Dean," Sam said as he punched Dean in the side of his leg. Dean retaliated by taking two amazingly fierce fingers and pinching Sam's side.

"Ow. That hurt, you moron." Sam decided he wasn't going to let Dean win this one. In a bold and sudden move, Sam got Dean in a leg-lock around his head and used his powerful thighs to squeeze Dean around the neck. Dean squawked like a persnickety bird.

"Sonuvabitch!" he rasped. His hands were going everywhere trying to dislodge Sam's tremendous shanks from around his dainty neck and, in a last, desperate effort, he resorted to punching his brother in the dick.

Sam screamed, but at least his legs came loose. "Dean!" he wailed, as he tumbled out of his brother's lap and onto the floor. "My dick!"

"Well, what the fuck were you doing with your damn shanks around my neck?" Dean yelled back. "This is what you get, Sammy!"

"My dick!" Sam hollered again, clutching his groin and curling into the fetal position. Tears were streaming down his young and vulnerable face and Dean felt a stab of guilt over the fact that he just punched his brother in the dick.

"Sammy..." he said, in a very guilt-ridden voice.

"Dean," Sam cried pitifully. "Why are you so mean. I just wanted to watch the Barefoot Contessa make her delicious Butternut Squash and Apple Soup and then you go and..and..." Sam broke down into incoherent sobs.

Dean felt terrible. "Sam?" he asked. "Sammy...m'sorry...you're right, polygamy isn't appropriate. And the Barefoot Contessa is...still a pretentious bitch, but I'm still sorry. About the polygamy thing, I mean."

"Dean!" Sam blubbered, holding out his arms for his big brother to hold him, and Dean, of course, obliged, because he knew penis injuries were grave and excruciating.

"Sorry," Dean said. "M'so sorry." He now realized the severity of his assault on his baby brother and he knew in his heart that Pastor Jim wouldn't approve.

Sam clung fiercely to Dean, and Dean clung fiercely back, strong arms around strong bodies gripping tightly, deep, but soft voices whispering apologies and love into prissy hair and stubbled chins.

"I love you, Dean," Sam said, tearfully.

"And I love Sister Wives," Dean replied, and they hugged until the morning came.