Apparently my muse is in a rather comedic mood. The boys' banter in my head is hysterical. I hope it translate well on paper.

Disclaimer: Neither the boys nor anything related to Supernatural belongs to me. I'm just having some fun with the boys, playing around with Eric Kripke's sandbox.

FAIR FOOD

By: Vanessa Sgroi

"Rise and shine, Sammy!" Dean stood at the end of his little brother's bed and smacked at Sam's feet under the blanket.

"Mmpfff. G'way," muttered Sam into his pillow. He snorted softly and turned his head, rubbing his face into the polyester foam.

"C'mon! Seriously, bro—I've—we've—got big plans for today!" An uncommon excitement bled into Dean's tone.

Sam grunted. "Lemme 'lone."

Dean cleared his throat. "Ya know, I'm standing right here by your feet. Don't make me resort to extreme measures."

That got Sam's attention and siphoned away the haze of sleep cloaking him. The tall hunter swiftly rolled over onto his back and pulled his knees up to his chest, extracting his feet from the immediate danger zone. He reluctantly wiped sleep from his eyes then glared at his older brother with as much venom as he could muster so early in the morning. It was a bit of a role reversal for the Winchester brothers as it was usually Sam who was the morning person, chipper or otherwise, but he'd had much more trouble falling asleep the night before than had Dean, and it manifested itself now in sheer grouchiness. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"What the hell, dude? What's so damn important that you had to wake me up at the crack of dawn?"

"Sun's been up for an hour and a half already," Dean shot back. Nowadays, whereas Sam had trouble getting to sleep most nights, Dean had trouble staying asleep. It had become their new normal.

Sam waved a dismissive hand and swung his legs off the bed. "Whatever. Just tell me there's coffee."

"'course there is. I was even a good brother and poured you a cup. It's on the counter."

The younger Winchester stood with a groan and stumbled his way to the motel room's tiny kitchenette. Grabbing the mug gratefully, he lifted it to his mouth and drank deeply before finally turning around to face Dean. He leaned his hips against the counter and crossed his bare feet, wiggling his toes until they cracked.

"So back to the matter at hand…what the hell did you wake me up for?"

Dean's face split into a wide grin. "We're goin' to the fair!"

Sam blinked at his brother, nonplussed. "We're what?"

"Goin' to the fair—the state fair!"

Sam shook his head, his bed-head hair flopping in interesting directions. "So I did hear you correctly."

"Yes. Now, c'mon, get a move on. We're wasting daylight!"

Raising his mug, Sam took another swallow of coffee. His eyebrows vee'd over the bridge of his nose. "Since when do you actually want to go to a fair? I mean, it's just not you, man."

"Since I read this!" Dean shook the crinkled paper he held in his fist.

"What is that?"

"A list of the food attractions that are there."

Knowledge dawned in Sam's eyes. "So basically you want to go eat your way through the fair."

"Listen to this, Sammy," Dean's eager eyes scrolled down the list. "Deep fried bacon-wrapped pickles, deep fried Oreos, deep fried candy bars, oooohhhh—deep fried butter! We've gotta try that."

"No, you—you've—gotta try that. There's no we in that statement." Sam grimaced and put a hand to his stomach. "None of that sounds remotely appetizing, Dean."

Ignoring his brother, Dean continued on, "Deep fried peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches, deep fried bubblegum—okay, I'm not sure about that one—deep fried Coca-Cola, AND—here's the kicker; the main selling point—" Dean paused dramatically. "Three words. Deep. Fried. BEER! Deep fried beer, Sammy! You know we gotta try that! Sounds awesome—even if it is Guinness."

Sam wrinkled his nose. "Awesome really wouldn't be the word I'd use."

Dean's eyes grew soft and pleading. "C'mon. Look!" Dean poked a triumphant finger at the flyer. "They even have something for you—something healthy. Deep fried SALAD. See!"

"Dean, I don't think…"

"Please."

It was the rarely-heard please that got him. Sam huffed out an accepting sigh. "All right, fine. I'll go take a shower and we'll go—on two conditions."

"Yeah? What are they?"

"One—no clown anything. Two—no games. Three—no rides."

"I thought you said there were only two conditions."

"I lied. Four—we going through the animal barns."

"Why?"

"Because I want to."

"Oh."

"Five—

Dean groaned. "My God, how long is this list?"

Sam shot his brother a dirty look and continued, "Five—if you get sick later tonight, I don't want to hear any complaining at all."

"I won't get sick. I have a cast iron stomach."

"Uh huh. So do you agree?"

"Fine. Anything else, oh great one?"

"Yes. We're stopping on the way there to get antacids and Pepto Bismol."

"All right already. Get going so we can get on the road."

Sam put down his coffee cup and headed for the bathroom to shower.

SN * SN * SN * SN

Twelve hours later, the old-fashioned key rattled in the lock and the motel room door swung open. Dean helped his ailing brother over the threshold and across the room, easing him down on his bed.

"One thing—I tried one thing—that stupid deep fried salad and I'M the one who gets sick." Sam groaned and pressed a hand into his stomach.

"Dude, I don't think it was the deep fried salad that did it."

"Oh, yeah? Then what was it?" challenged Sam before he squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his hand in a circular motion against taut stomach muscles.

"I think it was the funnel cake, the sugar waffle, the kettle corn, and the chocolate-covered banana you downed after that. And don't forget—you had that candy apple and that bag of cotton candy too."

"Ooohhh," Sam moaned. "Don't remind me."

Dean moved away from the bed, returning just a few minutes later with a plastic shot glass full of thick pink liquid in hand. He handed it to Sam. "Here, drink this. You'll feel better."

Sam swiftly drank the liquid and thrust the glass back at Dean. He laid his head back on the pillow and watched Dean limp toward the kitchenette to rinse out the glass. "Hey, Dean," he called softly.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry that cow stepped on your foot."

Dean shrugged. "Eh. No problem. Don't worry about it."

"And I'm sorry that that bunny bit you."

Dean raised his bandaged index finger and wiggled it. "I'm up to date on my shots…and so was he."

"Then there was that goat that got loose and head-butted you in the ass—I'm really sorry about that too."

"You laughed."

"I know. Sorry."

Dean rubbed at his abused rear-end. "Yeah, I had to have a talk with that little bastard."

"I remember. You told him he'd be goat chow if he did it again." Sam giggled, which was followed swiftly by a groan. "Don't make me laugh—I might throw up."

"You feelin' any better with the Pepto on board?"

"Yeah. A little. Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I had fun today."

"You know what? I did too. And that deep fried beer really was awesome."

"Even when it came back up after riding the Giant GyroRotor?"

"Okay, maybe not then. But that deep fried butter—now there's a miracle on a stick…"

FIN

A/N: All the foods listed in the story are real items that you can find at state and county fairs and local festivals. Many find them disgusting; however, I think they can be fun to try. I've only had the deep fried Oreos and the deep fried candy bar (which was a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup). The Oreos are amazing.