Disclaimer: See chapter 1.
A/N: Seems that there are enough sick puppies (like myself) that want to see the story finished. This chapter has a few more curse words because I just can't imagine Dean & Sam using any other language. If it helps, I winced and felt guilty each time I typed one.
Chili Cook-Off, Chapter 2 The Preschool
By Surplus Imagination
Dean adjusted himself within the confines of his blue jeans. Going without underwear may seem like the sexy, macho thing to do, but he had never been a fan of that scratchy, bare feeling. He hastily tied on his boots and lurched to his feet, giving his legs a jiggle to settle 'the boys' down.
There on the ground lay his dirtied boxers. He was so tempted to just leave them there to avoid the embarrassment of washing them out in front of Sam. But there was the practical matter that he didn't have a ton of underwear to just throw away a pair. Dean shrugged his shoulders, snatched up the offending garment and started toward the car. Maybe he could sneak a wash when Sam was sleeping.
As he crossed the double-lane, Dean saw Sam attempting to wash vomit off back passenger window with one of the water bottles. That was thoughtful of the big lout. It was the least Sam could do after that tantrum about Dean's little 'home run'.
The poltergeist at the preschool needed to be dealt with soon, puke-splashed Impalas be-damned. Dean had promised Bobby that he'd see to it before the next Sunday service. Seeing that it was already Saturday afternoon, the job would have to be done tonight. The quick wash would have to do until he could guilt Sam to do a more thorough job. In fact, he might be able to con Puke-Boy into a much needed wax job.
All thoughts of waxing the car vanished when Dean saw Sam's face. It took true talent to display all those colors at once. Sam's face was definitely a nauseous green with overtones of light-headed pale. Unhealthy flush of fever showed red in his cheeks. Black and purple highlighted the facial palette with bruising under both eyes. Damn, he hated it when Sam was sick. This particular bug appeared to be a doozy. It was time to punt the poltergeist quickly and toss Sam into bed.
Dean dodged a speeding Honda and quickly got into the car. This time he was careful not to slam the door and rock the car. Sam also sat down through his open door. He tossed down the empty water bottle, sighed heavily and leaned back with eyes closed.
Dean tossed down his underwear between the seats on top of the tissue box and reached over to feel Sam's forehead. It was a testament to how sick Sam must be feeling, because his brother didn't flinch, or pull away.
"How you feeling there, Kiddo?" Dean asked softly. Sam definitely had something of a fever.
"I'll live," Sam intoned. "You had better have cleaned off your hands, because that was just disgusting."
"What was disgusting?" Dean drew back warily. Fear trickled down his spine in anticipation of what would come next.
"You do know that your entire ass was hanging out the bushes, don't you?" Sam cracked one over-bright eye.
Dean just stared at him.
"Couldn't you feel the breeze from the passing cars? And I mean cars, as in lots and lots of cars," Sam smirked. The paleness of his face made the sick humor seem demented.
Dean found that he had no words.
"Damn, but your ass is white. You need to get more sun, Dude," Sam sniggered, which turned into a cough. After several hacking moments, Sam turned and wheezed out, "That was just like Austin Powers. You know the scene in the tent with the potatoes? Only you weren't in a tent…and those weren't-"
"Enough!" Dean interrupted with a roar.
"-potatoes," Sam gasped out the finish. He gave Dean a pained look, lurched out the door and started heaving once again.
Ears burning with embarrassment, Dean threw himself across the car to catch the back of Sam's pants effectively keeping his brother from falling into the vomit puddle face first. He was never going live that bush thing down. He ought to just let Sam take a swan-dive into his own spew. But his brotherly instincts won over the need for spiteful revenge. Sam's retching had to hurt. Dean braced himself to keep Sam aloft.
Wincing at each gut-wretch spasm, Dean's arm quivered from the strain of supporting his brother by the waistband and waited for the round to end. Eventually, he was able to drag his brother back into car seat. If at all possible, Sam looked even sicker.
"You look like crap, Bro," Dean sympathized. "No poltergeist for you." Dean looked around for a fresh water bottle. Puking dried a body out.
"Give me a minute," Sam rasped. "I'll be fine."
Sam really did feel like crap. He was starting to think this was food poisoning on top of a cold, or maybe the flu. Either way, he was screwed. "You need someone to watch your back." A surge of sickness came out in a foul-smelling belch. Sam reeled at his own smell and hung the air freshener on the mirror.
"Yeah, I suppose you can puke on the spook. That'll take care of everything," Dean groused.
Dean gave the car a search. There were no water bottles anywhere. He did find a half drunk Coca-Cola bottle of indeterminate age wedged under his seat. Dean shook it experimentally to try and judge the freshness. Nope, he could see flecks of mold decorating the surface.
Tossing it into the back seat, he turned to find Sam holding up his soiled boxers with a look of horror on his face. "I almost blew my nose on them," Sam whispered, his throat swallowing convulsively.
Dean snatched the boxers away and dumped the tissue box on Sam's lap in one motion. The boxers joined the moldy Coke bottle somewhere in the back seat.
"Shut your door, Sam. We'll stop for a drink before we hit the church," Dean ground out. "You, Puke Boy, are gonna sit this one out!"
45 minutes later, Dean pulled into the empty parking lot of the large Baptist church. It was nearly dark on this mid-winter day. Beside him, Sam was nursing on a ginger-ale and looking much better. Other than a humiliating moment in the gas station from an ill-released fart, Dean's bowels were behaving. How was he to realize just how far the smell could travel in that small store? Good thing they weren't ever going back there again.
Bobby said that keys to the church's preschool would be left for them under the mat in the building to the far right. A mischievous poltergeist had been terrorizing the daycare kids for years by dunking them into the toilets and spraying water from the sink. The 'happenings' were dismissed as kids acting up. Things had recently turned ugly when one of the teachers was hit from flying scissors. It was a good thing that all the scissors in the room were blunted for kid safety.
One of the teachers called Bobby, who called the boys, who had already made up the appropriate herbal bags to be placed in the four corners of the school. This should be a slam-dunk job.
Dean glanced at the dangling pine tree air freshener Sam had hung on the rearview mirror before getting out of the car. He would toss it out at the motel. He was certain that it wouldn't be needed anymore. He hated the smell of the little cardboard stinkers. Beside him, Sam climbed out, too.
"Where do you think you are going?" Dean asked. "You are sitting this one out, remember?"
"I'm fine, Dean." Sam stood a little straighter. "I can rest after the job is done."
"The last thing I need in there is for you to be blowin' chunks while I'm frying the poltergeist," Dean huffed.
"Oh, like you aren't going to be right there beside me bombing the porcelain sea," Sam threw right back, quirking an eyebrow.
"I can control myself, whereas you'll be tossing your cookies every five minutes." Dean's arms spread wide in a gesture of total control.
"Better than the dirty squirties," Sam countered.
"Dating Porcelain Patty," Dean snarked.
"Download a brownload," Sam returned with folded arms.
"Vector-spew," Dean spat.
"Punishing the toilet," Sam growled.
"Hock a furball," Dean blew back. He was certain he could win this little repartee.
"Dropping a load," said Sam a little out of breath.
"Calling Ralph..."
"Spray-painting the porcelain…"
"Make a pavement pizza..."
"Poppin' a gooky..."
Dean paused in his part of the banter. "Gooky? Never heard that one."
"Check out Transwiki:List of toilet slang. It related to Wikepedia," Sam grinned. "Look Dean, we're both feeling….under the weather. I say that two sickies are better than one."
"Figures that Geek Boy would have to research for insults." Dean's internal pipes gave a loud gurgle. He might need to hit the head before toasting the spirit. "Fine, we both hit the job and then head out of here. You call me if you start upchucking again."
"Deal."
The preschool building was split into two large rooms with a bank of windows lining the entire front wall. Through the window Dean could see tiny tables and even tinier chairs in groups of four. Childish finger-painting projects decorated the walls. Mobiles of leaves and feathers dangled from the ceiling. The average person would see a primary-colored school and be happy in the thought of children learning. Dean and Sam saw a room filled with potential flying objects. A poltergeist in there could do them some serious damage.
Sam found the key under the mat, as promised. They unlocked both doors before going in. Splitting up the herbal bags, Dean took the room on the right, Sam the left.
Sam entered the preschool room intent on making this the fastest job ever. He had been holding back on just how bad he felt to Dean. His lips were burning with hidden fever and his gut was on fire. Dully, his eyes searched out the corners of the room. The far corner by the window would do for one bundle. The other would have to go to the far back into the bathroom. Sam's stomach lurched with the thought of the bathroom. He hoped that his gorge would stay down long enough to get the first bag in place.
Winding through the pint-sized tables, Sam heaved aside a bookcase filled with Dr. Seuss books, quickly kicked a hole in the plaster, and tossed in the bag. No sweat. However, the moment he slid the bookcase back in place, his stomach decided to turn inside out.
Clutching his sore stomach, Sam bolted across the schoolroom knocking chairs left and right. He lunged through the bathroom door to discover two tiny toilets; each looked less than twelve inches tall. Their seats were only about the size of a dinner plate. One of the seats appeared to be sprinkled with tiny yellow drops.
With growing nausea, Sam looked around the room noticing that it didn't look as if the room had been cleaned in weeks. Sam suddenly realized that it probably hadn't be cleaned since the latest poltergeist attack. Those tiny yellow drops had to be…
Sam never finished the thought as his stomach burst forth with energy-draining force. Dropping to his knees in front the seemingly clean toilet, Sam's ginger-ale came back up like a rocket.
It was just like puking into the coffee can Dad kept in the Impala for emergency sickness; a small target area that splashed back on the user. Except this time, the coffee can was on the floor. Bent over nearly in half, Sam closed his eyes and groaned before next wave hit. This bout was really bad and he didn't want to know what was soaking through the knees of his pants on the floor. He really didn't.
Stomach achingly empty, Sam choked and spat out the last of the vile spew. His entire body was shaking. Sam wasn't sure if he could stand, much less finish the job. Dean had been right. He was more liability than help right now.
Sam propped his upper body on the tiny toilet seat with one arm and shakily flushed with the other. The evidence of his sickness swirled down the commode with a loud gurgle. Sam reached into his pocket and flipped out his phone. He thumbed the speed dial for Dean and waited. He needed backup and fast.
The phone rang and rang and rang. Sam dropped his head wearily on the seat edge. He could feel that sickness rising again. Without looking, Sam ended the call before the voicemail picked up and dialed again. Come on Dean, come on.
The poltergeist's rest was disturbed with the flush of the toilet. It had existed in the depths of the pipes for years. With unholy joy, the spirit sped through the sewage and burst into the bathroom it claimed as its own. The spirit crowed with glee and gathered its force.
Sam lay listlessly on the over the seat after calling his brother for the third time. He was starting to really worry about Dean not answering. He was working up the energy to climb to his feet when Dean finally answered.
"What?! I'm kinda busy here, Sam." Dean voice sounded strained, like he was in pain.
"Sorry man, I'm feeling-"
Sam never got to finish his plea. At that moment the poltergeist focused all of its energy and forced Sam's head through the seat ring and into the water. Sam flailed and dropped his phone as his face was submerged. The bowl was so small that his nose squashed against the bottom. Surprised, he involuntarily inhaled a measure of the water. He tried to push away from the bowl, but the poltergeist was stronger and shoved his face in harder. If he didn't do something quick, Sam was going to drown in a quart-sized preschool toilet.
With his last ounce of strength, Sam bunched his muscles and pushed backwards…to no resistance. The spirit was gone. The effort tossed him backwards about three feet where he vomited up the inhaled water and tried to get his breath in great heaves.
As Sam caught his breath, he heard Dean's voice on the phone screaming, "Sam! Answer me, Sam! What's happening?"
Sam got on his hands and knees and crawled toward to phone when he heard, "Sam! Oh no. Holy shit!" And the phone went silent. Sam knew where the spirit had fled.
Tbc
Aren't those tiny toilets bizarre? I never met a poltergeist, but I did once have a chili emergency during a Girl Scout meeting. I don't think that toilet was more than eight inches high! Next chapter Dean is going to get the benefits of my experiences. I hope you tune back in for more (and hopefully pop me a review!). Thanks for reading!
Surplus