The boys are suffering; it's someone's fault.
I rehashed the idea of this drabble in my longer story, Hot Spots.
"Hot" came a muffled voice
Sam sat on his bed stewing moodily in the suffocating heat and tried to ignore it.
"Yes dude, so am I, but it's midsummer in Texas and the aircon's broken"
"Meltin'" gasped Dean, face down on his bed; a thin sheet spread over his hips, bare back glistening with perspiration.
Sam sighed in the treacle thick air. "Do I need to remind you that it was you that broke it when you kicked it for makin' too much noise last night? …"
Dean looked up with effort and glared at the offending aircon unit.
"Friggin' trash!" he snorted.