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."

"Yeah?"

"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.

---

end