A couple of mind-numbingly dull hours passed, both brothers becoming more and more distracted and fidgety; backs aching from being bent over the table, eyes aching from reading the tiny, untidy print in the ancient book.
"It was Daisy, wasn't it?" Sam's voice eventually broke the pall of boredom that had descended over them both.
"What?" Dean blinked a film of dust out of his tired eyes.
"The Shetland Pony?" Sam repeated with a grin; "Daisy?" He had decided baiting his brother was by far the most entertaining way to fill a break from their dry, tedious labours.
"Go and boil your face," came the ingracious response.
Sam's mischievous grin crept back across his face as he stared at Dean who was pointedly trying to ignore him.
He failed and slammed the book shut with a scowl.
"I know what you're thinking, you pervy troll," he snapped, "and you know perfectly well that Bobby was able to find the incantation to lift the spell before things got - well - out of hand."
Sam spluttered as his fragile veneer of self-control began to crack.
"All I did was hit on her and buy her some flowers," Dean added with misplaced satisfaction.
"I remember," chuckled Sam, "she ate them."
Dean's glare darkened.
"Right," he barked, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation; "well, you can be fugly-ass Succubus bait then, just so I can sit in the Impala in comfort and watch you get stood up by something that no one else would touch with a long stick, bitch."
Sam snorted with laughter and leaned back in his chair. He knew that was an empty threat; whatever was said, it was a moot point; however irritated Dean became, he would never allow Sam to put himself at risk as bait to the succubus.
"Anyway Samantha; Mister Sammy Smug McSmartass," Dean announced, rising from the table; "it wasn't Daisy, it was Dolly. So you were wrong." He smiled with immense satisfaction; " So stop your sniggering and poke it up your ass, loser."
Dean strode away from the table toward the refrigerator looking mightily pleased with himself. Battle won by Dean Winchester, and that deserved a long, cold beer.
Sam watched him go, his face alight with wicked glee.
"Dean, that's so sweet," he crooned; "Dolly must have meant a lot to you, I mean, you never remember the name of your human conquests …"