THE ENEMY WITHIN
WOW: heave. Dean has found his nemesis – within the bunker.
Disclaimer: I don't own him, sadly.
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Dean groaned, dry-heaving weakly into his chest as he rolled over, kneading his roiling belly. He turned away from the bucket which Sam had discreetly placed beside his bed and which had once again fulfilled its duty. If he survived this fiasco without puking himself inside out, it'd be a freakin' miracle.
It was that Icelandic Potato Vodka that he'd found in the Letters' drinks cabinet that did it; and for a man who held his liquor as well as Dean Winchester, that was downright humiliating.
Never again.
And thinking about it, he might give the Bavarian Crabapple Schnapps a miss too.
xxxxx
end