"This expired in 2004."
"'Sfide. Give it."
Sam weighs the blister pack. "Seriously?"
"You wadda beat Pestiledce or dot?"
Sighing, Sam drags his eyes over Dean's faceful of soaked Kleenex. "Yeah."
"They just pridt a date to scare people idtuh-HHH... idtuh buyigg bore. HHHH-uh... KHKHXZHH-hyuh!" Dean snaps double, mousetrap-fast. He honks, dabs. "Hoo. We got eddythig else?"
"No."
"So fork it over." He spreads back into the headboard, cups his goosebumped arms. "Dude, for real. This sucks. Get bee off the bedch. " He snuffles.
"Yeah. OK." Sam pops out two pills, proffers fresh tissues. "This is ghetto, man."
"HhhHHH-TCHHGZHZHF! 'Sfide."