Just for the record I'm Irish. I did live in Lansing tho, when I was 8/9 years old.


Not for the first time in his life, Dean wanted to die. His head felt like he had smashed it up against a brick wall repeatedly and then went at it with a frying pan. He ached all over and his throat felt like sandpaper and tasted of bile. He felt both freezing and roasting at the same time, sweating bucket loads while bone shuddering chills ran through his whole body.

It was very rare that Dean Winchester got sick, but when he did, he went all out. He went the whole nine yards, because when Dean did something he did it wholeheartedly. Unfortunately for him, sickness was the same. Most of the symptoms had already showed up, now he was just waiting for the delirium to come on.

Sam was in the bathroom, soaking a hand towel in cold water for his older brother. He was worried, as usual. Deans drunken delirious stage had yet to come and he was nervous for what it would present him with. He emerged from the bathroom with dread coiling in the pit of his stomach. He placed the wet towel on Deans head.

"You need anything?" he asked as quietly as he could while still being able to be heard.

"Water," Dean rasped. Sam nodded and rose, heading to the small kitchenette in the motel room they shared.

The had been passing through Lansing in Levenworth state, after receiving intel from Bobby that there was a Draugr in the area that had developed a taste for human flesh, or long pig as Dean had taken to calling it after Travis had introduced the word to him, when Dean had fallen prey to the illness. Unlike with other people, it didn't come on slow. It fell on him like a brick when he woke up one morning. He wished he hadn't.

Dean groaned as he shifted onto his side to look out the window. Before he could stop himself, he giggled. Oh God, was the torture never going to end?! Sam would never let him live that one down. He shifted his gaze to the window and gasped, hes voice raw from misuse. Sam came back into the room with the glass of water looking reluctant. He came up to Deans side and place the glass onto his bedside table.

"Dean?" he asked tentively, nudging his brothers shoulder softly. Deans eyes were as wide as saucers and stared fixated at the closed curtains. Sam groaned quietly. Great, just peachy. Dean was halucinating again. Slowly Dean turned his gaze to his brothers worried face.

"Sammy, is it just me or is that pig flying?"

Sam smacked his hand to his face. This was going to be a long day.

Entry in John Winchesters Journal;

Draugr- An undead creature of Norse Mythology. Smell of decay. Described as 'death-black' or 'corpse-pale'. Guards the treasures of wealthy men after death. Rises from graves in whisps of smoke. Known to kill their prey by crushing them with their enlarged forms, devouring their flesh, and drinking their blood. Animals feeding near the grave of a draugr are often driven mad by the creature's influence. Can kill it by wrestling it back into its grave, decapitating its body, salt and burn it, throw into sea/lake. Weapons are no good.