"Just so you know, I'm hitching home." Dean complained, flopping exhaustedly down on the damp bed in the musty motel room.
Sam's eyes were wide and haunted, "Not kidding. I'm coming with you. That was one terrifying flight."
"Dead, Sammy. I thought we were dead. I ain't kidding."
"It was just turbulence." Sam dropped his duffle beside the other bed and sat on the edge, facing his brother. "Could have done without the appearance of the drop-down oxygen masks though, and the hysterical woman screaming in the seat behind us."
"My chest still hurts."
Sam smiled then, "That's cause you're old. You're old and you eat your weight in grease and fat every single day."
"I'll take a heart attack over plunging to a fiery death any day."
"Keep going the way you are, and you might get your wish." Sam snickered, stopping when the pillow hit him square in the face. "Jerk."
"Bitch."
"Ass."
"Geek."
"Wuss."
Dean sat up. "I ain't no wuss, Sam. I'd just like to keep my ass intact, thank you very much. I'm sort of attached to it. Too attached to see it splattered and frozen all over Alaska."
Sam relented. "You try Dad yet?"
Dean sighed. "No. Not yet. Wanted to restart my heart first."
Sam grinned, pulling out his wallet. "You do Dad duty. I'll find us something to eat. Grease on a bun with a side of salt?" He asked, making for the door.
"You know it."
Sam was laughing as he slipped out the door and noted the chicken joint conspicuously located just across the road. He grinned as he pictured Dean's face when he returned with a grilled chicken salad.
His grin faded though, when he returned a good 20 minutes later to find Dean in the same position on the bed. The older boy was out cold, snoring like a lumberjack, and Sam noted his cell phone still in his far-flung hand. He frowned. Dean had napped for most of the flight, except of course, during the last ten minutes when the plane had suddenly nosedived and almost killed them both.
He shouldn't be this exhausted.
Amateur.
Sam took Dean's cell from his outstretched hand, lay down beside him, and snapped a close-up of their faces, Sam grinning and pointing to the drool. Then he exited the app, closed the phone, and placed it innocently back in his brother's hand, hiding all traces of his evil deed until some future date when Dean opened up his photo album and got a rude surprise.
And he had the nerve to call Sam princess.
"Hey, wake up." He nudged the sleeping beauty. "Food's here."
###
"So how do we kill her?" Dean asked, speaking around his bite of roast beef sandwich. It wasn't a burger, but Dean reasoned it could have been a whole lot worse. That thing that Sam was eating looked like it still had pin feathers. And he could smell the oranges through Sam's unopened salad container. The citrus scent was overpowering.
Gross.
Sam sighed, "Well, she's a deity, so who knows? You can CALM her by brushing and braiding her hair."
Dean made a face. "Thanks Not! Not in mood to romance a sea hag."
"Well, she has no fingers, so I guess a nice hair brushing probably feels pretty good. And anyway, what makes you think she was a hag? In life, she was supposed to be the loveliest in all the land."
"They're always hags, Sam. When's the last time you remember us running up against a Pam-Anderson-type monster?"
Sam opened his mouth to argue and realized Dean was right. The Winchester luck definitely ran toward hags. "Well, anyway, I think she's maiming the fishermen because she feels sorry for their daughters. According to the reports, at least two of the men lived alone - estranged from their families. I'm betting they were all in the same boat." He slapped his hand down on the table and guffawed.
"In the same boat! Ha!"
Even Dean had to snort at that, it was just that bad. "Step away from the motion sickness pills, Sammy. I think you've had enough."
Sam popped the top on his take-out salad, and Dean winced.
"Dammit, Sam. How can you eat that stuff? Go easy on the freaking mandarin oranges already."
Sam stared down at his food. "There's no oranges in this, dude. You're crazy."
"There is. I've been smelling them for the last ten minutes. They're giving me a headache."
Sam dug around with his fork. "Nope. No oranges. You're smelling things, Dean." He looked up. "Probably because you're old."
Dean glared, "This old man is still spry enough to kick your scrawny ass." He rubbed at his temples.
"Spry, Dean? I'm pretty sure you using the word "spry" just proved my point." He grinned, taking a big bite of salad.
Dean watched for a split second longer, then he was diving for the head and puking up roast beef and coffee.
Sam was just a few seconds behind him. "What the hell, Dean? You okay, man?"
Dean groaned, heaving again. "Need something for this headache, Sammy. We got anything?"
Sam nodded and rushed to his duffle. He pulled out his prescription-strength Imitrex and fished one out. He crouched beside Dean and handed it to him with what was left of his soda. "Here, this will work."
Dean took the pill and stumbled back to his bed, falling limp across it. "Get rid of the oranges, please, Sammy? They're making me sick."
Sam nodded and sniffed. He couldn't smell a thing. But he closed the salad container back up and shoved it back into the take-out bag. Maybe the smell was clinging to the bag, and Sam had gotten used to it because he'd been inside the restaurant. He gathered all the food and drinks and napkins and shoved them in beside. Then he took the bag outside and tossed it in the trash. He came back and washed his hands with the motel soap. He sniffed again.
Still nothing. But that should take care of the problem, surely. He stood over his brother, looking down. "Want me to help you get undressed and under the covers?" He asked, concerned.
But Dean just shook his head once and groaned at the resulting pain. "Just let me die here quietly, bro."
Sam chuckled. "You're not dying, Dean. But I hope you're not starting to get my migraines. They really suck."
Dean groaned again.
Sam pulled the blanket off his own bed and arranged it carefully over his brother. Then he snicked off the overhead light and closed the curtain, enveloping the room in darkness. "That should help. I'll be right over here if you need anything, okay?"
"M'kay." Dean slurred sleepily, the pill already taking effect.
Sam smiled, thinking the Imitrex had solved the problem. But two hours later, he was startled out of his research by the sound of his brother's bed shaking. He glanced up and froze, horrified by the sight of Dean locked in a brutal seizure that pulled his lips back in a grotesque grimace and battered his body relentlessly. Sam held on to him for seven minutes before giving in and calling the ambulance.
Dean was still seizing when they arrived.
