A/N: A very happy birthday to GaelicAngel, all the way over in South Africa! *squints* *can't quite make her out*

Sam finds Dean at the photocopier, a hand on his hip, butt sticking out. He looks up at Sam and pushes out a breath.

"Do to page 368."

Dean launches himself at the bathroom.


There's a big pool of pink soap on the counter.

"Hey. You OK?"

Dean turns to him, teeters a little. "Yeah." He eyes the stalls and the sinks in turn. "We should go. Now."


"So, that burger looked pretty rare."

"Roll up your window." Dean's hunched forward, face in his palms.

"What? Why?"

"KFC smell, dude."


It's a photo finish.

Sam's glad there's no photo.


Dean's white and shuddering in bed, hugging the covers to his chest.

"How you doing?"

Teeth clack like castanets. "Think I d-dropped a couple p-pounds in there."


"Machine jam."


"Ate m'card."

"What are you talking about?"

Dean's cheeks are red, eyes bright. "I broke it."

"Hey." Sam feels Dean's forehead. "Crap. Hey, you didn't break anything."


Sam swabs him down.

They sweat.


Dean eats crackers and watches Ferris Bueller's Day Off six times on Sam's laptop.

"How are you not bored?"

"Bueller? Bueller?"


"And what did we learn?"

Dean shrugs into his jacket. "Cutting class is awesome."

Sam sighs.