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Dean returned to the car some fifteen minutes later, bag of food in hand. He placed the bag on the passenger side floor. Sammy immediately stuck his nose in the bag, sniffing with the force of a vacuum cleaner.

"Hey! Head out of the bag, beast. We'll be back to the motel soon enough. I brought you a double order of Corned Beef Hash." Dean sipped from his extra large to-go cup, again marveling at the smooth taste of the coffee as he backed out of the parking space. Once the car was in motion, Sammy went back to sticking his head out the window, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

Back at the room, Dean opened Sammy's Styrofoam container and placed it on the floor before grabbing his own and sitting down at the little table. He inhaled appreciatively as he opened the lid, revealing his Apple Cinnamon Pancakes with a side of sausage. He poured the two little containers of maple syrup over it all, and as he did with almost every meal, Dean tucked in with great enthusiasm.

After several bites, he looked down to see how Sammy was enjoying his Corned Beef Hash. He didn't expect to see the dog staring back at him with full blown puppy dog eyes engaged. A soft whine reached his ears as the dog shifted his gaze between Dean's Styrofoam container and his face.

"What?" he mumbled around a mouthful of pancake.

The whine grew louder and Sammy lifted a front paw in the air.

"Hey, you've got your own food!" Dean pointed to the dish on the floor.

Sammy looked at said container and let out a snarl.

Dean rolled his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh, for crying out loud. So you're not gonna eat that?" He shoveled in another mouthful of pancake and hunk of sausage.

The puppy dog eyes returned full force and the elder Winchester caved, putting his container of food on the floor, grumbling under his breath all the while.

Sammy, tail wagging, dived into the coveted breakfast.

"Well, while you finish MY breakfast, I'm gonna go take a shower."

When Dean pulled back the shower curtain a bit later, he jumped a foot when he saw the dog staring back at him. Uncomfortable with the dog's intent look, he instinctively wrapped the plastic shower curtain around himself while reaching for a towel.

"Now what?" He saw Sammy's eyes flick to the toilet and then back. "What—you have to go out?" The big brown floppy dog cocked his head to the side but didn't move except to shift his eyes again.

Frustrated, the young hunter slung the too skimpy towel around his hips and stepped out of the tub. "So you don't have to go out. You ate. Dogs don't shower. So—what else could it . . . be?" Finally, Dean's brain kicked in and he put two and two together, "You want water, right?"

WOOF

"So why don't you just drink from the toilet? That's water, isn't it?"

This time Sammy's growl rivaled Stephen King's Cujo.

If Dean hadn't been hanging on to the towel around his hips for dear life, he would have raised both hands in the air in surrender. "Okay, okay—no drinking from the toilet. I get it."

He stalked back into the main room, mumbling, "So what can I use for a bowl?" His eyes immediately fell up on the Styrofoam containers, one now empty and pretty much licked clean. "Yahtzee!" He snatched up the square piece of Styrofoam and marched back into the bathroom where he filled it with water and sat it on the floor. Assured that Sammy would be busy for a minute or two, Dean moved back to the main room, dropped the towel, and hurriedly pulled on his boxers and jeans, not caring that he was still damp from the shower.

When Sammy loped out of the bathroom a few minutes later, beads of water dripping off his chin, Dean was fully clothed and stretched out on his back on the bed, arms pillowing his head. Seeing the dog, he said, "So, what should we do now?"

The dog grunted and hopped up on the opposite bed. Turning in a circle three or four times, he eventually plopped down and curled into a ball, closing his eyes with a sigh of momentary contentment.

"A nap? Oh—well—I guess a nap sounds good," mumbled Dean. With no one to talk to and little else to do besides dreaded research, he closed his eyes also and drifted off to sleep almost as quickly as the dog.

TBC . . .