A/N: First of all, I want to say never EVER doubt the power of this medium. I became a fan of Supernatural by reading fan fic first, then finding the episodes, so I owe my obsessive love of the brothers Winchester to all of you wonderful writers! Its my first time playing the game, and I'm not even playing by the rules(I'm late AND over the 100 word drabble) This is my first Supernatural fic, and the first piece of fan fiction I've posted here since 2002…My writing has improved in the intervening 7 years, trust me.
Apparently I missed a list of Enkidu's favorite things, but I hope you have an awesome birthday anyway!
Disclaimer: No, I don't own the show powerful enough to drag me back into a world I thought I had left behind. Eric Kripke is an incredible man.
The list of things Dean Winchester hated with a passion was long enough to fill a book, but only a few things did he ever hate purely for the sake of the Impala. Traffic jams were one of those things. The interstate had been stop and go for an hour and they were still more than a half a mile from the necessary exit. It just didn't seem right for his baby to be trapped in the middle of an ocean of cars, being jolted between stop and start –her beautiful body was made for long stretches of open black top and someone with a heavy right foot.
A low moan from the passenger seat made Dean cast a concerned glance at the one thing he loathed above all others: a sick Sammy. Really it was his brother in any sort of pain or discomfort, but a majority of their aches and pains could be eased with a couple of extra strength Tylenol or a shot from their limited morphine supply. Illness usually had to run its course, making Dean feel completely useless in the mean time.
Truth be told, the kid looked like crap. Sam was curled up in a ball, his legs drawn up on the seat and both arms wrapped around his stomach. His eyes were closed, eyebrows scrunched together in unease but his mouth was open as he took in long draws of air and tried to quell the churning in his gut. It felt like everything was moving, shaking- the Impala was a ship being tossed by heavy waves and the youngest Winchester let out an involuntary whimper. Dean sighed, already mentally berating himself for not noticing sooner. He'd attributed the sweat on his brother's face to the heat of a Midwest Indian summer, not the flu.
Big brother radar failed me this time.
Furious honking from the annoyingly yellow hummer parked behind the Impala interrupted his thoughts, the heavyset man behind the windshield leaning forcefully into his horn. Dean rolled down his window, turning back so he could shout at the other driver.
"What is your problem, asshole? I can't go anywhere either, so lay the hell off!" He pulled his head back in the car, muttering under his breath. "Stupid road-rage hick." Dean turned his attention back to his brother. "You with me, Sam?" He asked, placing a hand on his brother's neck and giving it a squeeze. Glassy hazel eyes cracked open and Sam let out a small groan.
"..feel sick.." He shifted in his seat, uncurling from his ball to lean forward and rest his forehead against the dashboard. Maybe the pressure would help stop the pounding in his skull, though it wasn't helping his stomach as much as he had hoped.
"I know you are, baby bro. Hang in there. First motel we see, we'll stop. I promise."
"I didn't mean it as a state of being. Future tense, as in 'I think I'm going to be,'" Sam corrected, swallowing against the tightness in his throat that accompanied nausea. "Soon to be present tense."
"Sammy, only you would be worried about verb tenses when you're gonna puke." Dean let out a mixed sigh, frustrated and sympathetic as he rubbed his brother's back with his right hand. "Can you hold on for just a few more minutes? I mean, there's not even anywhere to pull over…" He felt the shudder under his hand as Sam took a deep breath and nodded slowly.
More honking from behind. Dean looked up to see that traffic in front of him had indeed moved forward. An entire three yards. One look in his rear view mirror showed the guy in the over sized vehicle giving Dean a few non-family friendly hand gestures. Dean returned the sentiment with a two armed salute of his own. This guy was really starting to piss him off.
He did ease off the brake momentarily to catch up to the car before him, then pressed it down again. The impala lurched forward, and that was enough for Sam. The muscles under his jaw contracted and he covered his mouth with a hand with a muffled 'umph'. He wasn't going to make it. Dean swore in rapid succession.
"Shitshitshit." Dean knew deep down that in the worst case scenario, he could probably be willing to forgive his baby brother for upchucking in the passenger seat floor. That didn't mean he wanted to test the theory if he didn't have to, though. He twisted around, hurriedly searching the back seat for something useful to grab, finally coming across an ancient McDonalds lunch sack.
"Here!" He quickly shoved the open paper bag into his brother's face, Sam instantly gripping the sides as his stomach roiled, violently returning both breakfast and diner from the night before. Dean patted his back as he was sick a second time, coughing and sputtering when he came up for air that didn't smell like French fries.
"I know you hate clowns Sammy, but Ronald just saved your sorry ass." Sam smiled weakly at the joke, keeping his head down but feeling confident enough to close the bag.
"Seriously though, feel any better?" A hesitant nod and a few shaky breaths were Dean's response. Cars around them started inching forward again, and Dean peeked his head out the window again to see vehicles farther up the road slowly picking up speed. Maybe things were looking up. "Can you make it a few more miles until we find a place to pull off?" A stronger nod this time, Sam wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Yeah, I should be ok for a little while. Sorry about this." Dean let out a snort.
"It's the car you should apologize too. You would have ruined her interior if we hadn't stopped to get you a happy meal three weeks ago." Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean cuffed him gently on the shoulder. "You know the rules- you're not on top of your game, you tell me. If you're sick, we stop for a few days."
"Uh huh, like you ever let me do that for you." Sam replied with a small shake of his head. "You're such a damn hypocrite." He wrinkled his nose as he looked down at the vomit filled fast food bag, held closed his left hand. "And what am I supposed to do with this?"
"Hey, I was ta- what the hell?!" Dean shouted as the Impala jumped forward, even though his foot was still pressed firmly on the brake. He spun around, finding the hummer's grill suddenly much closer to the back window than it had previously been. Damn stupid ass had the nerve to bump him!
"Sonofabitch! That is it!" Absolutely no one messed with his car. Dean glanced at the hummer in his rearview mirror, the sopping paper sack in his brother's hand and the blessedly deserted off ramp coming up on his right. Traffic was getting up to speed and the Impala was in the turn lane. He could make it. "It's on. Gimme the bag, Sammy." Sam blinked at him warily.
"I have better aim than you do."
A/N: I did not intentionally copy Iheartsam07's Sick sam+ paper bag drabble. This thing took me a couple of hours to write, and when I later saw her entry I went 'Ah, crud monkey.'