"You wanna stop for some burgers?" Dean asked, glancing at his brother, as they drove down the highway to their next big case. They didn't know what their next big case would be of course, but that wasn't going to stop them. "We could pick up some newspapers, look through the want-ads for ghostbuster job openings."

Sam shrugged, staring off into the distance morosely. He did that a lot. "Sure, Burger King or something."

Dean made a face. "I'm not really feelin' like a Whopper, Sammy."

Sam snorted and glanced at his brother. "I could say something, but-"

"Oh, shut it. Can't we just get McDonalds for once?" Dean pouted at his brother but only got a glare in return.

"You promised we'd never have to go there again," Sam growled.

"But you were five!" Dean replied. "Aren't you over it yet?"

"No! I'm not over it!" Sam retorted angrily.

Dean rolled his eyes and looked back at the road, remembering how it had all happened.

***

"Okay, boys, let's pick out something fast and get back on the road," their father had said, pushing them up towards the counter.

"I want a cheeseburger!" Dean had yelled, pointing at the colorful menu. He was excited, they never got to come to McDonalds, and he liked it way better than the canned stuff they usually had to eat.

"Right, one cheeseburger Happy Meal," his father had told the person behind the counter. "What do you want, Sammy?"

But Sam wasn't saying anything. Dean had turned around to see what was wrong with his brother, when he saw him staring at a large statue of Ronald McDonald. "Hey, Sammy? Don't you wanna eat?"

Sam just shook his head slowly, his eyes large and fixed to the statue.

"Something wrong, boy?" their father had asked, patting Sam on the head. "Aren't you hungry?"

Sam shook his head again, and then slowly lifted his arm and pointed at the statue. "...moved."

Dean rolled his eyes. "It's just a statue, Sammy, it can't-"

"What was that?" their father asked again, this time his voice was harsh.

"I saw him move. He... he looked at me." Sam's voice was trembling, and he looked pale.

"It can't move, Sammy," Dean said, pulling on his younger brother's ear. Little brothers were so dumb.

"We're getting out of here, boys," their father said, grabbing both of their arms and dragging them out of the McDonalds quickly. They'd eaten some sandwiches from a gas station in their hotel room, and Dean had glared at Sam the entire night for ruining his delicious dinner. That is, until their father had told them that they'd be going back to that McDonalds that night.

When they arrived, the McDonalds was closed. This was before the renaissance of the 24-hour drive-through and fries cooked in vegetable oil. (Dean missed the old fries.) Their father had picked the lock and gotten them inside.

"I heard a story about statues coming to life around here... better safe than sorry," their father had said.

"But... but dad, Ronald McDonald can't come to life, he's not an evil statue," Dean had tried to argue. "And I didn't see him move!"

"Sometimes only very young children can see things, Dean, you know that. And it's better safe than sorry." With that, their father had shot the Ronald McDonald statue in the chest with his shotgun. Sam had screamed, and Dean had frozen in shock.

Their father walked over to the remains and picked up what was left of the shattered head of Ronald McDonald, just one of his eyes and his forehead and the top of his head was left. He held it up to Sammy's face. "Is he still moving?"

***

Dean started laughing, remembering how Sam would cry and hide under the bed every time a McDonalds commercial came on TV, and how he'd been scared of clowns ever since

"What's so funny?" Sam asked, glaring at his brother suspiciously.

"You," Dean said, choking back his laughter and smirking at him in the rearview mirror. "Just you." As Sam glared at him, he pulled off onto an exit with a Burger King sign leading their way.