The sun was shining as Sam walked out of his room, dressed for the day, his bag slung on his shoulder. He closed the door behind him and gleaned at the Impala in its parking spot, the trunk open. The hunter headed over, seeing Dean was loading up his and Alicia's bags in the trunk.
"Morning, Sammy," Dean said cheerfully.
"Morning," Sam replied, slightly annoyed before forcefully slinging his bag into the trunk.
"You're Mr. Sunshine this morning," Dean asked. "What's your problem?"
"You know," Sam replied, "ever since you and Alicia got married, the only thing I've asked is that when we're in adjoining rooms, you two keep the noise down if you're doing—"
"Each other?" Dean interrupted, smirking. Sam glared at him with his trademark bitchface. "Look, it's not our fault the walls are thin."
"Yeah, but you could try to keep it down," Sam retorted. "It's been three weeks since Lake Tahoe, and I've been woken up fifteen times because of the noises you two make."
"You know," Dean said, "what we're doing is a beautiful and natural act between two people in a loving relationship."
"But I shouldn't have to hear it," Sam replied.
Dean just grinned, then glanced over as he heard the sound of a door slamming hard. Alicia, dressed in her normal casual attire, marched over, her face clouded over. "Morning, honey," he replied cheerfully.
"Bite me," Alicia grumbled as she opened the back door of the car, quickly got in, then slammed it shut. Dean's smile slowly faded as Sam looked at his brother, his frown turned into a smug expression.
"Oh, yeah, I'm feeling the love," Sam replied, slightly sarcastically, before heading over to the front passenger door.
"She's fine," Dean said before slamming the trunk shut and walking to the driver's side. "She just needs her morning coffee." The two got in, and Dean started the engine before glancing over his shoulder. Alicia sat in the back, arms folded, her face dark. "You okay?"
"I'm freakin' peachy," Alicia replied, "but I would've appreciated a little more sleep, Dean."
"I let you sleep in 'til seven," Dean protested.
"Thirty minutes is not sleeping in." She shook her head. "You know, this is why I hate that damn pouty face. I was all ready to go to sleep, because I was exhausted from your naked body massage, but, no, you had to make sure Mr. Happy was happy."
Dean bristled, frowning. "Hey," he replied defensively, "don't put this on me. If you really weren't in the mood for anything, you could've said something and I would have backed off." Alicia rolled her eyes. "And I noticed you weren't exactly complaining last night either, remember? Sam said he heard you through the walls, and it sure as hell wasn't snoring."
"Hey, leave me out of this," Sam replied quickly, wishing he could just vanish as he tried to melt through the car's frame and disappear.
"Trust me," Alicia retorted, "it's easier to just have sex with you, because when I say no, you just spend days moping about like a whiny little bitch. Remember two weeks ago when I was on my period, and we couldn't have sex for four days?"
Sam closed his eyes and sighed, silently begging for lightning to strike him, for rabid dogs to attack, for a violent spirit or demon to show up, for anything to happen to stop this conversation.
Dean grinded his teeth as he set his jaw, scowling at her. "Fine, if that's how you feel," he replied angrily, "then don't worry; it won't happen again." He turned around and forcefully mashed the power button on the radio.
"You're as cold as ice, you're willing to sacrifice our love."
"Oh, look, honey, they're playing your song," Dean snarked, and he made a point by turning up the volume loudly. The lyrics blared through the car for a few moments before the radio was abruptly turned off. Dean frowned, then reached out and pressed the power again. The radio was once more turned off. Dean growled. "Dammit, Allie, I told you not to use your hocus pocus on the car!"
"Then keep the damn radio off," Alicia spat back. "I don't wanna hear it right now. I have a headache."
"Oh, so you're gonna use that excuse outside the bedroom now?" Dean asked.
Alicia narrowed her eyes. "It was only that one time," she replied, "and I actually had a headache," Dean rolled his eyes and reached for the dial, "and if you switch that damn thing on again, I'll disable it for a week."
Dean paused with his hand near the dial, and he inhaled sharply as set his jaw and ground his teeth. He silently counted to ten before he calmed down–slightly. He glanced at Sam, who opened his mouth, but Dean held up a finger. "Not a word," he threatened his brother.
Sam promptly shut his mouth as Dean shifted the car into reverse and quickly backed up, then put the car into drive and pushed hard on the gas. The Impala's tires squealed, and the car peeled out of the parking lot, heading west on the two-lane road. Sam looked out his window as the scenery blurred by, and only one thought crossed his mind: the honeymoon period was definitely over.
Hours later, the Impala turned into the parking lot of the Fowl Mouthed Motel, stopping in front of the building's entrance. Dean put the car in park, then glanced over his shoulder. Alicia was curled on her side, sleeping peacefully. "I'll check us in," he replied curtly to Sam. "You can wake up Sleeping Beauty." The long drive had allowed Dean to calm down from his fight with Alicia—mostly because Alicia had fallen asleep shortly after the ride started—but he still wasn't too happy with how she had talked to him and threatened to break the car's radio. He didn't wait for Sam to even respond as he got out and shut the door, heading into the lobby.
Sam sighed patiently, shaking his head. He knew Dean and Alicia's fight would blow over—which would result in very loud make up sex—but they still grated on his nerves. It was like dealing with a couple of overgrown toddlers. He was constantly tempted to give them advice, but it always seemed to fall on deaf ears, so he usually just stayed out of it. He turned and leaned over the seat, gently shaking Alicia's shoulder.
"Hey, Alicia," he said. "Wake up." Alicia yawned and shifted, but didn't wake up. Sam shook her shoulder a little more firmly. "Alicia."
"Let me sleep," Alicia mumbled in a whiny voice, her eyes remaining closed.
"You've been sleeping since we left Sheridan," Sam replied. "That was over four hours ago. We're in Scottsbluff now."
"Then wake me when we get lunch," Alicia muttered.
"We already ate lunch," Sam replied, "and breakfast; we tried waking you up. Don't you remember?"
Alicia just stared at him for a few moments before she closed her eyes again. "Just give me a few more minutes," she mumbled.
Sam furrowed his eyebrows at her unusual behavior. In the few months that he'd known Alicia, he had quickly gathered she wasn't much of a morning person, but she had always managed to wake up and get going just fine—especially when she had her morning coffee. He had never known her to behave like this, then he paused and he tilted his head when saw how flushed the young woman's cheeks appeared. He gingerly put his wrist on her forehead and exhaled as what he had hoped against was confirmed: Alicia was running a fever. "Great," he said softly. He sighed and turned around as the driver's side door opened and Dean got in.
"Okay, two rooms," the hunter said, handing a room key to his brother. "They're adjoining, but I don't think you're gonna have to worry about losing any sleep for a while." He saw his brother's serious expression. "What?"
"It's Alicia," Sam replied. "She's—"
"Is she still asleep?" Dean interrupted, incredulous, as he turned and saw his sleeping wife. He snorted in disbelief. "Okay, that's it." He leaned over the seat and shook her shoulder hard. "Hey, Allie, wake up."
"Dean, wait," Sam said.
"Look," Dean continued, ignoring Sam as he spoke to Alicia in an annoyed voice, "you wanna be pissed off at me for whatever reason, fine, but we're at our motel, and you've had four extra hours of sleep, so unless you wanna be sleeping in the car tonight, get your ass up right now."
"Hey," Sam replied sternly as he grabbed Dean's arm, "knock it off, Dean."
"What, you're taking her side?" Dean asked angrily, jerking his arm free.
"I'm not taking anyone's side," Sam said, irritated, "but stop acting like a jerk. I think I know why Alicia was acting sour earlier and why she's so tired."
"Really?" Dean asked, unconvinced.
"I think she's sick," Sam replied. Dean snorted. "Dean, think about it. She was really tired, she said she had a headache, and refused coffee, breakfast, and lunch. When has she ever done that, except when something was wrong? And I just felt her forehead; I'm pretty sure she has a fever."
Dean saw his brother's expression wasn't wavering. He glanced back at Alicia, and finally noticed her flushed appearance. He leaned over and felt her forehead, and his eyebrows furrowed when he felt how hot she was. His countenance softened as he sighed. "Dammit," he said softly.
"We should get her to a doctor," Sam replied.
"No," Dean answered. Sam gave him a look. "Sam, we can't risk a demon finding out where we are and alerting Ramiel or Azazel or one of the others. We'd have no way to fight them off."
"Isn't that what these are for?" Sam asked, holding up his right hand, showing the ring. "Jimmy made these to keep the demons from finding us at all, and they seem to be working so far."
"Only because we've managed to lay low," Dean countered. "No major cities, no staying in one place for long, minimal interaction with the locals." He shook his head. "We're not gonna risk a possible confrontation while Allie's sick. She's in no condition right now to fight anything, much less a Prince of Hell."
"So, what do we do?" Sam asked.
It had been years since the last time either of them had been sick, but as the one who had been responsible for taking care of his brother when they were younger, Dean still knew the standard protocols. "Well, she probably has the flu," he answered, "so I'll get her changed and into bed, and you can find a drugstore or something."
"Water, soup, crackers, and Jello?" Sam asked.
"And a thermometer and some aspirin," Dean added.
"What about our case?" Sam asked.
Dean shifted the car into drive. "We'll figure that out later," he replied. He drove off toward the back of the building where their rooms were located and parked right in front of their rooms. The brothers exited the vehicle, and Dean tossed Sam his and Alicia's room key. The younger Winchester caught it before heading to the trunk to get their bags. Dean opened the back door and maneuvered his arms around Alicia, gently pulling her out and lifting her into his arms; still asleep, Alicia leaned against Dean's chest. Dean followed Sam to their room door, who carried both his brother's and Alicia's bags, and Sam quickly unlocked and pushed it open, standing aside to let Dean in; he followed behind, closing the door behind him.
The repetitive ticking sounds aggravated the ache in Alicia's head, and she felt like she was wearing a fur coat in the middle of a sauna. She slowly opened her eyes and saw she was staring at the most hideous ceramic rooster she had ever seen: it was about a foot tall, realistically painted—and it had a ticking clock face in its belly. It was positioned next to a gaudy gold rooster lamp with a white shade, a small glass with water, a tissue box, a small bottle of aspirin, another bottle of cough syrup, and a white and blue digital oral thermometer; all the items were on top of a particle board nightstand. The woman glanced down and realized she was lying on one side of a king bed, under horribly bright red sheets covered in gold roosters—and she was in a tank top and shorts. Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, the young woman slowly sat up and looked around the rest of the room—and then quickly wished she hadn't.
Even though most all the lights in the sleeping area were off, Alicia could easily make out the decor: rooster theme—in the most hideous way possible. The bed was flanked on the opposite side by another matching nightstand (complete with another gaudy rooster lamp), pushed against one of four fake wood panel walls, which were sporadically decorated with any and every kind of chicken or rooster art a person could imagine. Adjacent was a wood sliding door that most likely opened to a small closet. An old-fashioned television sat on a particle board stand, pushed against a wall near the door. Across from it was a small loveseat covered with dingy red upholstery. The large picture window near the front door was covered by cream colored curtains decorated with roosters.
The bathroom vanity—a long, particle board cabinet with an orange countertop, mirror, sink, and overhead lights—was only separated from the rest of the room by a gold metal framework, decorated with roosters. A door off to one side led to a small room with a shower and toilet, both mustard yellow with chipped paint and rust spots. The floor, dingy red and brown checkered linoleum, covered every square inch of the room, from the front wall all the way to the bathroom. The young woman glanced at the kitchenette. It was pretty standard—a red fridge, a sink, a coffee maker, and a large hotplate—with wood panel cabinets and orange countertops. Dishes—rooster themed, of course—were in the drying rack by the sink, and at the round wood table sat Dean and Sam, books, papers, and Sam's laptop spread out over the surface as they talked softly.
"What the hell?" the young woman mumbled. The brothers looked over at the sound of her voice, and their professional expressions softened as Dean got up and walked over, sitting on the edge beside her.
"Hey," he said. "Thought you were gonna sleep all night. You want some water?" Alicia nodded, and Dean handed her the glass. She took a small sip before handing it back to her husband.
"What happened?" Alicia asked. "Where are we?"
"We're in Scottsbluff," Sam said. "You were sleeping when we arrived."
"Nebraska?" Alicia asked. "How long ago was that?"
"About seven hours ago," Dean answered.
"You let me sleep for seven hours?" Alicia asked.
"Actually, it was closer to eleven," Dean replied. "You passed out shortly after we left Sheridan, but all things considered, you need to get as much rest as possible." Alicia looked confused. "You got the flu, Allie."
"Look, I know I said I had a headache," Alicia protested, "but it doesn't mean I—"
"You have a fever of one oh one point eight," Dean interrupted, "that's on top of your headache, plus the fact that you've been sleeping for almost eleven hours straight and you haven't eaten in about twenty-four."
"I'm trying to watch my girlish figure," Alicia replied sarcastically.
"You wanna try to eat something now?" Sam offered. "We bought some Jello, soup, and crackers."
Alicia shook her head. "I'm not hungry," she replied stubbornly.
"Can you try eating a little something?" Sam pressed gently. "It'll help keep your strength up."
Alicia glanced up and saw how concerned the brothers appeared, and she sighed. "Fine, I'll try some crackers." Sam headed back to the kitchenette as Dean handed her the water glass again. "I'm not that thirsty."
"You need to take some more aspirin," Dean replied. "It'll help with the fever." He grabbed a couple of pills from the aspirin bottle and handed them to his wife. She reluctantly took them and popped them in her mouth, then took a sip of water, swallowing everything before handing the glass back to her husband.
"Dean?" Alicia asked. "Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?" Dean asked.
"Taking care of me," Alicia replied.
Dean looked a little confused. "Because you're my wife," he said slowly, "and you're sick. Why wouldn't I take care of you?"
"Because of what I said earlier," Alicia replied. "What I called you."
"So?" Dean asked. "It's not the first time you've called me names when you weren't feeling well."
"Dean, I called you—"
"Allie, remember that whole 'to have and to hold, yadda yadda, in sickness and health' thing we said in our vows?" Dean interrupted. Alicia nodded. "Do you really think some stupid name is gonna be enough to make me even consider breaking that promise?" Alicia just stared at him for a moment, touched by what he just said before her chin quivered, and then she just started bawling. Dean was a little startled at first, but he simply leaned over and wrapped his arms around her, gently holding her. "Allie, what's wrong?"
"I'm a horrible person," Alicia bawled, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You're still taking care of me, even after I treated you like crap."
"You're not a horrible person," Dean replied, amused. "You're sick, okay? People tend to lash out when they're sick."
"I called you a whiny little bitch," Alicia blubbered as she rested her head on his shoulder.
"You've called me worse," Dean replied. "Look, if anyone should be saying they're a horrible person, it's me. I should've known you weren't feeling well long before we reached the motel." He pulled back, his expression gentle as he looked at her. Tears dotted her flushed cheeks, her eyes were red from crying, and even her nose was dripping a little. She looked absolutely miserable, but Dean found her looking strangely adorable. Dean grabbed some tissues from the box and gently blotted the tears off her cheeks. "Look, let's just forget about what happened, and worry right now about getting you over this, okay?" He handed her another tissue, and Alicia nodded before taking it and blowing her nose—loudly. She handed the used tissue to her husband, who grimaced a little, but gingerly took it and quickly threw it away in the nearby trash can.
Sam, who had located the crackers but was giving the couple some room, figured it was safe to venture over. While he'd never say it out loud, he was thankful the two managed to smooth things over—without having to resort to sex. He opened the package and handed it to his brother, who took one out of the plastic bag and handed it to the young woman. She hesitated briefly before taking a small nibble, chewing slowly. She grimaced as she swallowed, but her stomach did feel a little better having some food on it. She gingerly took another bite.
"So, what's the case?" she asked after a few moments.
"Nothing you need to worry about," Dean replied.
"Come on," Alicia whined slightly. "Look, just because I'm gonna be stuck in this barnyard hellhole until I'm better doesn't mean I shouldn't know why we're here." She glanced around and grimaced at the decor, then started to raise her right hand. "This place is giving me a headache."
"No," Dean and Sam replied quickly and urgently as Dean firmly grabbed her wrist before she could make any motion.
"Why not?" Alicia asked, annoyed. "This place is like a cross between Stephen King and Old MacDonald. It's an eyesore, and I can fix it."
"It might not be a good idea to do any magic when you're sick," Sam replied gently.
Alicia glanced at them, and she recognized their expressions; she sighed. "What did I do, and how bad was it?"
"Not too bad," Sam explained. "You just had a small coughing fit about two hours ago…and all the doors in the room kept swinging open and closed with every cough until we got those on." He nodded, indicating her wrists, and the young woman glanced down, noticing the two small, oval chain-linked iron bracelets—one on each wrist. "Haven't had a problem since."
Alicia sighed. She had bought them a few weeks ago on a whim when they were working a case in Stillwater, Oklahoma, and—even though she would have never normally purchased anything with iron—she was fascinated by the intricate and delicate chainwork, so she purchased them but never wore them, keeping them instead with her weapons stash. "Well, looks like they're finally good for something," she replied glumly. She sighed. "So, since I can't change this Foghorn Leghorn nightmare, would you please tell me what the hell you're working on?"
Dean glanced at Sam, who shrugged and gave him an 'it's your call' expression. Dean sighed before looking back at Alicia. "We're not sure, actually," he replied. "Sam stumbled across a story in the paper this morning after you passed out. A patient at the local hospital, a Mrs. Abigail Denton, age thirty-five, went in for routine gallbladder surgery. No complications, but the next day she began behaving erratically. All attempts to restrain and sedate her failed, so the local chaplain was brought in by the family who performed a successful exorcism."
"Demon?" Alicia asked, concerned.
"That's what we thought at first" Dean continued, "so after we got you settled in and you were sawing logs, Sam went to the hospital, asked some questions, did some digging. Turns out the hospital has had a string of exorcisms dating all the way back to the late seventies. All successful, and all performed by the same chaplain. Turns out he's developed quite a reputation over the years."
"But you don't think it's a demon?" Alicia asked.
"There were none of the typical signs while I was there," Sam replied. "No sulfur smells, no one saw black eyes on the victims, nothing."
"EMF?" Alicia asked.
"Totally useless with all the radios and equipment," Dean said.
"What about magic?" Alicia asked, not completely convinced that it wasn't a demon, "and has anyone talked to the chaplain?"
"We're gonna go talk to him tomorrow," Dean replied patiently. Alicia opened her mouth, but Dean held up a hand. "And, no, you can't join us, and that's enough questions. You need to get some sleep."
"I've slept for eleven hours," Alicia said in a slightly whiny voice. "I'm not tired." She stifled a yawn.
"Uh huh," Dean said, unconvinced. "Lay down." Alicia didn't look happy, but she didn't resist as her husband gently pushed her to lay down. "Get some rest." He covered her with the sheets as the young woman slowly closed her eyes. By the time Dean leaned over and kissed her forehead, Alicia was already asleep.
"Are we completely sure we're not dealing with a demon?" Sam asked softly as he and Dean walked back to the table and sat down.
"Pretty sure," Dean said as he picked up another book and started thumbing through it. He glanced up and saw his brother's uncertain expression. "Come on, Sam, you really aren't buying into Allie's paranoia, are you?"
"Dean, if anyone has a reason to worry about demons, it's Alicia," Sam said. "Dealing with one when we're all at full strength is one thing, but," he shrugged, "like you said earlier: Alicia's in no condition right now to fight anything."
"There's also no signs that there is any demonic presence," Dean pointed out, "unless there's something you're not telling me."
"Trust me, if there was any sign of a demon," Sam said, "I would have said so."
"Then there you have it," Dean replied. "There's no demon, just…something we haven't figured out what it is yet. Maybe the chaplain can help fill in a few missing pieces." He went back to reading his book.
Sam just watched his brother. "And what if it turns out to really be a demon?" he asked after a few moments.
Dean glanced up at Sam, then looked over at Alicia as she slept, snoring ever so slightly. The hunter took a deep breath and let it out slowly, setting his jaw. "We'll deal with it."
(End of Chapter 3)