Here, Dean, here, Sam, I have pie...
Dang. No such luck. Still don't own Supernatural. Rats.
AN: thanks to FireSage for the idea. :D
***spn***~~~~~
Dean surfaced, trying hard not to gasp. "Dang it, Sammy, why do I gotta be the one diving after clues?"
Sam smirked. "Because you lost. Now get back in there, there's a couple of bags you haven't gone through yet."
The elder brother stood hip deep in garbage, glaring death at his sibling. "One of these days, I swear I'm going to figure out how you cheat at rock-paper-scissors," he told him, before taking a deep breath and submerging himself once more in trash bags.
"You always pick rock, you rock-head," murmured Sam, casting about the rest of the alley while he awaited his brother's next emergence.
Dean, meanwhile, was swimming through some of the most nauseating refuse he'd ever encountered in his life-long career. Coffee grounds...banana peels...eggs...cigarettes...ew, I don't even wanna know what that was... He sniffed his beslimed hand. Oh, yuck. Diaper pail leavings. But not a single, solitary bit of evidence of witchery, spells, or anything remotely demonic.
He heaved himself over the side of the dumpster. "Nothin', Sam. Unless that egg is part of the Rite of AshkEnte."
"Huh?"
The elder brother ignored this. "Gimme the towel, will ya?"
Sam blinked at him. "Towel?"
"Yeah, Sam, the towel. You think I'm gettin' in my baby with all of this on me?" He gestured to his body. His clothes had acquired a distinctly multicolored hue, and flies were starting to swarm. He batted them away from his face with a brown-smeared hand. A globule of something Sam preferred not to think about landed on his shoulder.
He cleared his throat nervously. "Uh... there is no towel. Sorry."
"What?"
"Guess-you're-walking-sorry-see-ya!" Sam babbled, diving into the driver's seat and pulling away.
Dean swore after the retreating car. "You coward! You just don't wanna smell me! Get back here with my car, Sam!" Sniffing under his armpits, he made a face. "'s not like I smell that bad..." he muttered under his breath.
And started walking.
~~~~~***spn***~~~~~
An hour later, the door to the motel banged open. Dean stalked in, trailing a cloud of flies. Sam, sprawled on the bed with his laptop, pinched his nostrils together but otherwise ignored the death glare his brother shot him on his way into the shower.
"Soak your clothes while you're at it!" he called.
A wet t-shirt hit him in the face.
"Next time, Sammy, next time..."
