A/N: Im so sorry! I keep getting so erratic, but I have a bad habit of creating a story whenever I want to. I had this idea after thinking about why Dean drives so much. Hmmm...You guys know, T for Deans mouth and puking.
Dean is perfectly miserable. Eight p.m. outside of Craptown, Middle of Nowhere and his stomach is doing some nasty flops.
The triple stack of pancakes a few hours ago along with two slices of something called breakfast pie (basically French toast and bacon in a pie shell) had seemed like an awesome idea considering he would be driving, but Sam had surprised him by taking the wheel.
Then he knew he was fucked in a couple hours.
"You okay, Dean? "Sam asks
"Fine." Dean says, anxiously swallowing a mouthful of spit.
By the tenth mile, Dean has gone a marshmallow-y shade, accompanied by a sheen of sweat.
"Dee? "Dean perks up at the nickname. Sam hasnt used that ever since he was three or four and only when he was worried.
The older man takes his eyes off the horizon. "Feeling a little carsick? "Sam says, trying hard not to be smug.
"Hell yeah."
"Just breath through it."
That works. For at least a half a mile. Then Dean says urgently, "Sam!"
"Hang on, Dean, were on the freeway!"
"I dont care! "Dean says, going green.
"Alright, alright, hang on! "Sam says. He becomes frantic, glancing around for a place to pull over.
A palm slaps to Deans mouth. "Hurgh!"
Before Sam can even pull over, with a quick "Motherfuck!", Dean empties his breakfast into the Impala.
"Awwww, fuck! Dean..."
"Shoulda let me drive."
A/N: Sorry if it was OOC, but my mind was demanding carsick Winchesters. I swear, as soon as Cramps is finished, I will get back on with Honey, I Shrunk The Mauraders if anybody keeps up with that.