Sammy leaned over and retched into the bucket.
It had been 12 hours since they stopped at this crappy motel and Sam started spewing a technicolor stream of crappy diner food.
"Unghhh, I never should have eaten that crap," he moaned and slowly fell back onto the springy motel room bed.
Dean looked at him and smirked, partly out of pride, mostly out of worry.
"Hey, its not my fault you have a delicate stomach, Princess."
Dean knew how horribly sick Sam felt though, so when Sam flipped him the bird, Dean sighed, relieved he was going to be alright .