Something Fishy
Dean was so busy making sure Sammy had a go on all the rides at the town fair he wanted, he forgot he was supposed to get something for dinner on the way back to the motel. He left Sammy in their room while he went to the store. Now he's back with a plastic bag of SpaghettiOs and chips, and Sammy's jumping off the bed to meet him before he has the door shut.
"Shh!" Sammy whispers, his serious face on. "Don't wake Fishy."
Dean had won the goldfish at the fair by scoring enough points at a shooting game. Sammy had been fascinated with it, and the smile on Sammy's face when Dean said the fish was for him had been more than worth the dollar. After the fish had been on all the rides with Sammy, they'd brought it back to the motel. Dean had found a pink, spotty vase for it to live in and placed it on the windowsill.
Dean rolls his eyes at the unimaginative name Sammy has chosen for the fish, looks at the windowsill—and freezes. "Sammy... what happened to Fishy?"
"He was thirsty so I gived 'im some of Daddy's special juice."
Dad had left one of his duffels behind when he'd left this morning—Dean's sure if he checks it now, he'll find a half-empty bottle of Jack. Fishy is floating upside-down in a solution of Tennessee whiskey and crappy motel water.
"I'm sure Fishy was very happy about that."
THE END
Author's Note: I've never owned a fish. This has been a disclaimer.