It's not pretty, but it's Sam getting the upper hand of Dean with pranking.
St. John the Baptist Parish said the sign the black Impala roared past. Inside, Dean Winchester drummed on the steering wheel to the rhythm of the song on the radio.
"Rollin'" he caroled with John Fogarty, "Rollin', Rollin on the River – yee-hah!"
He glanced over to where his younger brother was sitting frowning with his arms tightly crossed. "Ah, come on, Sammy, you're not still sulking are you?"
"You called a truce and you couldn't keep it once we were out of Texas," Sam Winchester snapped.
"What child, you don't like a little hot sauce in your gumbo?" Dean imitated the old waitress' heavy accent.
"Just remember, you started it after you said you'd stop."
"All right, Sammy, if you're going to be that way, that was the last one, I promise."
Dean frowned. Sam sounded like he didn't believe him. He switched stations to find weather but the radio was being truculent.
"Dean!" Sam's shout snapped his head up and he yanked the Impala into a tire-screaming swerve as someone from the broken-down bus snatched the girl out of the road. The car ended up on the gravel facing the opposite lane.
Dean jumped out and ran across the road. "Is she all right?" he yelled.
"Yes, Praise God!" The bus was from a Baptist Mission near Taos. Their engine had blown and they were trying to get in touch with someone for repairs. They were a group of twenty-five young people and adults come to be helping hands for Habitat for Humanity.
The brothers crawled up and argued over the engine. They patched the hoses and got the bus started. They followed it in and accepted the mission group's hospitality for sandwiches, soup and a hymn sing.
They were able to help with a couple of problems in the wrecked houses. The little old woman in the wheelchair was stubbornly not moving on until she was sure her "grandbabies" were safe. Sam was able to search them out on the Internet and show her pictures from a family website. She blessed them both before she rolled off into the light.
The second one was a simple salt-and-burn, once Dean stopped laughing at Sam climbing the bookcase to get away from the ghostly cocker spaniel that was ripping his pant leg. In a cupboard in that abandoned house, they discovered over a hundred canning jars filled with money. The seals had kept the money safe from water and mold. They turned it over to the church group.
Dean kept a couple of the jars for expenses and decided that Bourbon Street was the perfect way to end the trip. The bar was more exotic than Sam liked, especially when the waitress blew in his ear and left him squirming.
"Ah, come on, Sammy," Dean leaned back in his chair, a hurricane in his hand. "This is Naw'lins! Live a little!" He held up a bill and the leggy pole dancer bent over backwards to take it out of his fingers with her teeth.
"Yeah, well, you live. I'm driving." Sam stood up. "I'm going to the head."
"Suit yourself," Dean took another swig of the hurricane. The dancer gave a final twirl and walked off with a bored expression. Dean smirked to himself and looked at his phone enjoying the pictures he'd taken of Sam on the bookcase.
"All right, people!" shouted the androgynous announcer, "let's hear it for Miss Tina!" The dancer was maybe a shade or two darker than the original Tina Turner, but her body was just as curvy and the gold spangle miniskirt flashed over legs that didn't quit. She danced over the stage, lip-syncing to the first verse and belting out the chorus that the whole bar echoed.
"If you come down to the river," she caroled coming up to Dean's table. "bet you gonna find some people who live. You don't have to worry, if you got no money, people on the river are happy to give --"and with that, she popped off the stage and square into Dean's lap. "Sing with me big boy."
"Big wheel keep on turnin' Proud Mary keep on burnin’. Rollin" she punctuated the word with a pelvic thrust to Dean's chest that left his eyes popping out, "Rollin' " another thrust, "Rollin' on the River!" Laughing loudly she announced "Happy Birthday, Dean!"
"It's not my birth . . ." Before he could finish, "Tina" promptly planted a kiss on him that he swore later was an attempt to remove his tonsils with her tongue. She hopped back up on the stage to blast off another chorus before running off to cheers.
Dean was gasping for air. Sam was doubled over the back of his chair laughing.
"That was a _guy_!" Dean croaked.
"You said you wanted to live a little," Sam jeered. Dean glared murderously and vowed to get his pictures on the Internet.
Dean yawned. They were in another sleazy "no-tell" on the highway and running out of mason jar cash.
Sam's computer was open. Dean took a look to see if there was any blackmail material and was surprised to see a video website open; UPLOAD COMPLETE. Sam entered with two coffees and a bag of fast food.
"What video shit are you uploading?" Dean asked. Sam quietly set down the food and headed for the door.
Rollin', rollin', rollin' on the river!
"SAM!" Dean roared, snapping case closed. "SAM-U-EL! Yeah, you better start running you son of bitch!"