The sun was just coming over the horizon the next morning as Alicia opened her eyes. The only light in the room was the morning rays shining through the curtains, but the young woman could still make out the hideous shapes of the stupid gaudy rooster lamp and ticking rooster clock. Annoyed, she sighed and muttered under her breath as she sat up and threw the covers aside. She glared briefly at Dean as he lay beside her on his stomach, clutching his pillow and snoring loudly, before getting up.
"Son of a bitch," she hissed softly as her feet touched the cold floor. She swore repeatedly in a whispered voice as she padded over to the bathroom, turning on the light and shutting the door. After taking care of business, she flushed the toilet and came out, turning on the sink and washing her hands. She grabbed a nearby towel and glanced at her reflection in the mirror—and she froze, her eyes widened in horror. "Dean!"
Dean shot up like a cannon, fully awake when he heard the sound of his wife's shout. Heart pounding, he quickly grabbed the large hunting knife under his pillow and leapt out of bed, running toward the bathroom. He stopped short when he saw Alicia standing at the vanity. "Allie?" Alicia turned around, and Dean's eyes widened. "Son of a bitch."
On the other side of the wall, in Sam's room, his phone rang loudly, jarring the hunter from his sleep. He mumbled and reached for it, answering it on the third ring. "Yeah?" he said groggily.
"Get your ass over here now," Dean's voice said. "It's Allie." There was a click as Dean hung up. Sam heard the odd tone of brother's voice and was immediately lert. He threw back the covers, quickly scrambling out of bed and hurried from his room, not even bothering to change clothes or even put on shoes. He sprinted over to Dean and Alicia's room and banged loudly.
"Dean!" he shouted. A few seconds passed before he heard a click and the door opened. Dean, still dressed in his shirt and boxer briefs, knife in hand, stood aside and let him in. "What is it? What's wrong with Alicia?" He looked around, concerned, but didn't see the young woman—or anything else—in the dim light. "Where is she?".
"Well, good news," Dean replied as he walked over to his side of the bed and put his knife on the nightstand. "Allie doesn't have the flu."
"What's the bad news?" Sam asked, concerned. Dean responded by turning on his lamp, flooding the room in enough light for Sam to finally see Alicia. She sat at the foot of the bed, arms folded, looking rather sour—and Sam could see dark pink bumps sporadically dotting her skin from head to toe. Sam's expression changed as his eyebrows shot up. "Are those…?
"Chickenpox," Dean replied bluntly.
"Are you sure?" Sam asked.
"Seeing how I took care of you when you had them," Dean retorted as he walked over and grabbed his clothes, shrugging into his jeans, "and as a big thanks you gave them to me, yeah I'm pretty sure I know what chickenpox looks like, Sam." Alica started scratching her neck, but Dean pointed a finger at her. "Stop it." He ignored the scowl she gave him as she folded her arms, while he sat on the edge of the bed and started putting on his socks and boots.
"You never had chickenpox as a kid?" Sam asked Alicia, confused.
"Hi, I'm the girl who wasn't allowed to have friends or go to school because my father and uncle were overprotective and paranoid bastards, remember?" Alicia replied, annoyed, "so, no, I've never had chickenpox, Sam." She reached up to scratch a spot on her neck.
"Hey!" Dean barked, giving her a look. "No scratching."
"But it itches," Alicia snapped back. "I feel like I've been rolling around in a big freakin' poison ivy bush." She coughed hard and loud, then winced and rubbed the top part of her chest.
"I know, but you can't scratch them," Dean replied. "You'll make it worse."
"I think this is as worse as it can get, Dean," Alicia retorted. She shifted and squirmed as itches started popping up sporadically on her body. "How long will this last?"
"Well, uh," Sam said slowly, "I think the spots will stop appearing in about a week," he shrugged, "maybe a little longer. You should be well enough to travel by that point."
Alicia jerked her head in Sam's direction. "What?" She stood up. "You're saying that I'm gonna have to stay in this cock-a-doodle nightmare of a room for at least a week?!" She heard a snort, and both Alicia and Sam turned to see Dean doing his best to hide a grin. "What the hell's so funny?"
"Nothing," Dean replied, trying to look serious. He looked between his wife and brother, and he sighed, looking amused. "Come on, I can't be the only one who sees the humor in all of this." They gave him blank stares. "Allie has the chickenpox in a chicken-themed motel?"
Alicia opened her mouth, but at that moment the rooster clock suddenly crowed loudly. Dean winced as he remembered he'd set it the night before so he could get up for his shower. He slowly looked at his wife as she slowly closed her eyes, her jaw setting. After a few seconds, she took a deep breath and silently marched over to the nightstand, grabbed the clock, walked over to the front door, opened it, and threw the clock as hard as she could into the parking lot. The antique smashed to pieces as it hit the concrete, and the crowing tapered off like it was being strangled to death. The young woman shut the door behind her and turned around.
"Go suck an egg, Colonel Sanders," she said to Dean before marching past Sam and headed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
Dean finished putting on his boots and stood up. "You know, I think I liked her better when she was sleeping," he said to his brother before heading to the front door.
"Where are you going?" Sam asked.
"If Allie has chickenpox," Dean replied, "we're gonna need more stuff."
"Don't you think we should take her to the doctor now?" Sam asked.
"Sam, it's chickenpox," Dean replied, "not the plague. Allie's gonna be a pain in the ass for a while, just like you were, but she'll be fine."
"I remember you weren't that great to be around either, you know," Sam replied.
"I was a joy to be around," Dean retorted.
Sam snorted. "You had to have oven mitts taped over your hands so you wouldn't scratch." Dean snorted, but didn't deny what Sam had said. "So, what are you gonna get?"
"Uh, baking soda," Dean replied, racking his brain, "oatmeal, calamine lotion, beer."
"Beer?" Sam asked, confused. "How is beer—"
"The beer's for us," Dean interrupted as he opened the door. "Look, I love Allie, but if she's gonna Butch Coolidge the room for the next week while she's sick, we're gonna need the beer."
"Well, maybe she wouldn't be so cranky if you'd pick a less tacky place to stay," Sam mused.
"Oh, I'm sorry our options are limited," Dean snarked, "and I'm not a fortune-teller. Look, next time we roll into town, I'll call every cheap-ass place and ask them what their theme is so we can choose the least obnoxious one. That work for you?"
Sam sighed. This was going to be a long week, he could feel it. "Look, I'll stay with Alicia until you get back," he said. Dean snorted as if to say 'may the Force be with you' before he left, shutting the door behind him.
"This sucks."
Dean, fully dressed in his FBI suit, stopped adjusting his tie and glanced at Alicia's reflection in the mirror. It had been an hour since his shopping trip, during which he had returned (without any beer, much to the brothers' chagrin) and helped treat Alicia's spots with an oatmeal/baking soda paste before helping her take a cool shower (being careful to not rub her spots or get her hair wet). Afterwards, he treated all her spots with calamine lotion, helped her into loose-fitting pajama shorts and a tank top, then got her settled on the loveseat before showering and changing himself.
Dean sighed patiently as he walked over, finishing with his tie. Alicia was semi-laying down, curled under a rooster blanket Dean had found in the closet, while staring at the television screen, which was broadcasting some courtroom drama; large pink areas of calamine lotion covered the spotted areas of her skin. The tissue box, glass of water, both medicine bottles, and the thermometer had been moved to the coffee table. Dean carefully moved things around to sit on the edge of the table, facing her.
"Maybe you should try getting some more sleep," he suggested gently.
"I'm sick of sleeping," Alicia griped. "Besides, I'm too damn itchy to sleep."
"Hopefully the calamine is helping a little bit."
"Did you really have to put the entire bottle on me?" Alicia asked.
"It helped," Dean pointed out, "and it was only half the bottle."
"I look like a leper," Alicia retorted. "I'm ugly."
"You're not ugly," Dean replied.
"You're telling me you find this attractive?" Alicia asked.
Dean snorted. "Trust me, Allie, no one would find this attractive," he replied. Alicia looked at him in disbelief. "But it doesn't mean I still don't love you."
"If you loved me," Alicia said, "you wouldn't have put these on." She held up her hands, revealing the two rooster-shaped oven mitts taped at her wrists with duct tape.
"I told you to stop scratching," Dean replied unapologetically.
"I'm itchy—and I didn't scratch that much."
"You still scratched," Dean replied, "and Sam and I need to go talk to the chaplain."
"You don't trust me, do you?"
"Nope," Dean replied, and Alicia scowled at him. "Hey, look at it this way; if you get bored, you can have your own puppet show." He gave her a cheeky grin.
Alicia rolled her eyes, giving an obviously sarcastic laugh. "Hilarious. Hey, see if you can guess which two fingers I'm holding up right now." There was a knock on the door, and Dean stood up to answer it. Sam, fully dressed in his suit, walked into the room.
"Frank Hardy has decided to grace us with his presence again," Alicia replied sarcastically.
"She still mad about the oven mitts?" Sam asked his brother.
"You didn't have to sit on me," Alicia snarked.
"You were being childish," Sam retorted. Alicia responded by sticking out her tongue before coughing. He knew Alicia was only acting like this because she was sick, but her behavior was even starting to grate on his nerves a little.
"Okay, you two," Dean said. He walked over to the loveseat and looked down at Alicia. "So, we got salt around all the doors and windows, so nothing should get in while we're gone, but don't open the door for anything or anyone, and if something seems off, call us. You got your gun?"
"In my bag," Alicia replied.
Dean nodded. "Look, Allie, I know you're sick and tired of being sick and tired, but try to get some rest, okay? We'll be back in less than an hour, then I'll help you take another shower." He leaned over to kiss her, but Alicia turned her head away. The hunter raised an eyebrow. "What, no kiss?"
"No," Alicia replied in a pouty voice.
"Suit yourself" Dean replied. He walked over to the television and switched the channel, stopping on a station showing his favorite cartoon. He grinned. "Hey, Scooby Doo." He glanced at Alicia. "You can watch this."
"I hate Scooby Doo," Alicia muttered.
Dean stood up, his grin gone as he looked at her in shock. "How can you hate Scooby Doo?"
"It's a cartoon with a talking dog," Alicia replied.
"Not just any talking dog," Dean said defensively. "It's a cartoon with the talking dog."
"A dumb talking dog," Alicia retorted, "who's owned by a dumb pothead with idiotic friends who drove around in a lame van."
"Hey, the only thing Shaggy was ever in possession of were Scooby snacks," Dean refuted.
"Yeah," Alicia replied, holding up her mitts, doing her best to make quotation gestures. "'Scooby snacks'. Why do you think they were hungry all the time, huh—or why he'd always say 'Scooby Doobie Doo'?"
Dean bristled, clearly offended by Alicia's words. "I'm gonna excuse that because you're sick. Come on, Sam." He and Sam headed out the room, and Dean shut and locked the door behind him. Alicia sighed as she settled down, staring numbly at the television screen. She didn't like Scooby Doo much, but she didn't want to get up and change the channel either.
"Wait a minute," Sam said as he and Dean—who looked annoyed—headed to the Impala, "didn't you used to have a crush on Daphne?"
Dean snorted. "No."
"Yeah, you did," Sam retorted. "Remember the time I caught you in the bathroom when you were pretending to kiss her." He grinned as Dean's cheeks turned red. "Oh, man, I can't wait to tell Alicia."
Dean stopped with his hand on the driver's side door handle; he pointed a finger at his brother threateningly. "Don't you dare," he warned before opening the door, "or I'll tell her it was you who 'borrowed' the last of her shampoo last week when you ran out." Sam's grin faded into an unamused expression. He wordlessly opened the passenger side door and got in, shutting it behind him. Satisfied, Dean got in and closed his door before starting the engine.
(End of Chapter 4)