A/N: I have not fallen off the 25 Days of Fic bandwagon! I was major sick yesterday, so that's why this is late coming. The one meant for today is forthcoming!

In all fairness, Dean started it. Him and his stupid pranks.

Dean thought it was downright hilarious to turn the volume all the way up on his laptop and leave it on a porn site. The startled jump compiled with absolute embarrassment of being in a diner when it happened was enough to set Dean howling with laughter as Sam hurriedly hit mute and pounded the escape key.

"Freakin' hysterical, Dean," Sam growled, kicking his brother as hard as he could under the table, "You're a real comedic genius."

"Don't be a sore loser, Sammy," Dean chastised, kicking him cheerfully back, "No one looks cute with a frowny face."

Sam scowled deeper at Dean's waggling eyebrows, moving the laptop to block his brother's stupid, smug face.

Sam tried to let it go. He knew that if he retaliated, things would just escalate, and there was a real possibility they could both end up in the ER, pranks gone wrong or too far.

But Dean, of course, couldn't let it rest. He had to push, had to try to make Sam push back with some stupid prank or another.

Next it was the itching powder in his clothes, which was one of Dean's favorites. What it lacked in creativity, it made up for in irritation, and after half an hour being stuck in an interview with a victim of a poltergeist, Sam was quite ready to cheerfully murder him.

"Dean, I swear to God, knock it the fuck off," Sam finally growled at him later, after a thorough, hot shower, and carefully examining his clothes bag. He wouldn't put it past his brother to dump itching powder in his whole duffle. (He hadn't, thank god.)

"Ah, come on Sammy," Dean scoffed, "Don't be such a downer, just having some fun with you."

"It's not 'fun,' Dean, it's immature, and a royal pain in the ass, so just stop it!"

"Oh my god, get a sense of humor, Sam!" Dean snapped, turning away from him and turning up the volume on the television in a huff.

Sam hoped that was the end of it. If he refused to play, Dean would get over the pranks, and they could just get back to normal.

He should have known better. The clown doll under his pillow was the last straw.

"You wanna play, Dean? We'll play." Sam muttered darkly, closing the motel door as quietly as he could.

* * *

"SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!"

Even on the second floor of their motel, Sam knew the exact moment when his brother saw the Impala.

* * *

Tinsel. Fucking. Tinsel.

Every fucking inch of the car was covered in it. His goddamn brother had taken the time to wrap everything from the wheels up in gold tinsel, even the seats and the steering wheel, which not only had the garlands of it wrapped around it, but the loose strands as well. He also saw clumps of the loose tinsel draped over the mirrors, threaded through the heating vents, and scattered all over the carpeting.

He was going to murder him. And no one was going to blame him in the slightest.

"SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!" Dean bellowed, turning on his heel and booking it back up the stairs, already thinking of all the ways he could kill Sam quietly and get rid of his body.

He flung the door open angrily to find his brother patiently waiting for him, sitting on the edge of his bed with his eyebrows raised.

"You are dead," Dean growled threateningly, pointing an accusing finger at him, "Absolutely, completely dead."

"All's fair in love and war, Dean," Sam remarked casually, and Dean fumed.

"Dead!"

"Oh shit," Sam squeaked, just managing to scramble up and get his legs under him as Dean charged at him, tackling him to the ground.

The resulting skirmish was short-lived, but fierce, and by the time Sam managed to pin Dean, arm twisted up behind his back and knee digging into his lower back, there was more than enough rug burn, bruises, and pulled hair to go around.

"Next time, it'll be car parts," Sam threatened, tightening his grip on his wildly thrashing brother, "Now I mean it, Dean, no more of your stupid pranks."

"Damage that car, and it will be the last thing you ever do," Dean growled, and Sam scoffed.

"Yeah, well, considering you're the one face-first in the carpet, I'm not too worried. Now, truce, or am I going to have to hold you down like this forever?"

Dean stopped struggling, panting heavily and cursing.

"Fine, dammit, no more pranks! Now get off me, you gigantic freak!"

"And a merry Christmas to you too, Dean."

The rug burn on Dean's face went away fairly quickly. The tinsel ground into the carpeting and stuffed into the crevices of the seats, however, stuck around for a fair amount longer. In Sam's book, it seemed only fair.