Sam and Dean pushed open the hospital doors into the blinding afternoon sun, dropping onto the bus bench. John would recover, but the doctors insisted on keeping him for a couple of days, and the boys were on strict orders to lay low.
"S'posed to be a lot of rain this weekend," said Sam, his fingers inches from Dean's thigh and itching to close the gap, "Not much we could hunt, even with the truck."
Dean ran his hands thru his hair. "I'm gonna go crazy stuck in that hotel."
Sam bit his lip, turning to practical matters. "How much we got?"
Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking over at a snack machine as he counted the change. "You got anything on you?"
Sam shook his head. "We got food at the hotel though."
"We got tap water and a box of noodles," said Dean, stuffing the change back, "That ain't food."
"I could steal us some ketchup packets, water it down for spaghetti sauce." said Sam, his hand creeping onto Dean's leg. He had a fifth of whiskey secreted away, and was eager to get Dean alone with it behind a locked door. "It's almost Italian."
"Think I'll stick with the tap water," said Dean, distracted as he noticed the local newspaper, "Hey check this out."
"What is it?" he asked, putting his hand back in his lap, his heel tapping impatiently on the concrete as he stared at Dean's back.
Dean pressed a finger to the glass. "Storm hit north of here in Crabbe County, the whole town's in a blackout," he said, a slow smile spreading across his face as he read on, "Holy crap. Sammy?"
Dean licked his lower lip, contemplating a bad idea. "Wanna make a lot of money?"
"Dean, I think this is a really bad idea."
"Shut up and hold the bag open."
Sam craned his neck to check for the cop on duty, a duffle bag gaping between his hands as Dean stumbled inside a gas station dumpster with a flashlight.
"Find anything?" asked Sam.
Dean swung the light in his face. "I would if you've let me work."
Sam shielded his eyes with one hand. "All I see are a bunch of old phonebooks, what are we supposed to-"
"Ah ha!" shouted Dean, pushing some litter aside, "Ding ding we have a winner!"
"Come on Dean," Sam asked, wrinkling his nose, "Ahat are we, hobos now?"
"We are geniuses is what we are now." said Dean, a damp pile of magazines resting against his chest.
Dean dropped them into the duffle thru the little hatchway, half-clad women in a variety of poses scattering across the bottom as they landed.
"Ma'am Quarterly?" Sam asked.
"It's for dirty old men," said Dean, continueing to forage, "Like, if you're into piano teachers with whips?"
Sam set the bag down, turning to a page at random. Seated on a lace-covered bench, a blonde old enough to be a Mavis or a Gerty played the piano with her cantaloupe breasts. "People buy this?"
"Naw, they just swipe a copy on their way to the john, s'why you find so many copies in the garbage."
Sam held out the magazine with thumb and forefinger. "Dean, no one's gonna buy this from us."
"Says the kid spoiled by years of a solid internet connection. Ain't you heard about Crabbe County?"
"Was all over the news last summer," said Dean, "Syphilis outbreak. And not a bunch of trailer trash, I mean nice, clean-cut upper middle class white kids. Hundreds of 'em. The town got scared, and ever since they'd had everything to keep kids from gettin' laid."
"I heard about that," Sam admitted, "They passed this crazy curfew system, no liquor stores, no driving without supervision-"
"-and absolutely no porn," said Dean, horror-struck at the notion, "We'll be heroes."
"It smells like pee in there." said Sam, earning him a pine-shaped air freshener in the face.
"Trust me," he said, leaping out of the dumpster, dropping more magazines into the bag, "When the power goes out, the man with print pornography holds all the cards. We're gonna live like kings."
"And then we go back to the hotel?" asked Sam, looking up hopefully.
Dean placed a finger under the kid's chin, tilting him up and smiling. "You're in a hurry."
Sam blushed. "N-no, I just-"
"What's in the hotel room that I can't wait for?" he asked, grabbing Sam's hips and walking them backwards until Dean had his back to the chainlink fence.
"It's nothing, it's just..." he said, a little weak in the knees as their eyes met, "We got all this time alone."
"We're alone now," he said, eyes half-lidded, "You need four walls to tell me something?"
Sam bit his lip, but his hands were bolder, taking Dean's face and kissing him softly. "Please" he pleaded, "Let's just go back to the room."
Dean looked away in exasperation, but Sam turned him back, kissing him harder, whispering into his neck. "I got a bottle 'a jack under the mattress, I can pour shots for you and you...you can just lay there if you want."
Sam's leg pressed inside of Dean's knees suggestively, and for a moment Dean closed his eyes and let himself sink against the chainlink like a bug on a spider's web, that warm mouth searching the shadow of his collarbone. "We ain't got no money." Dean rasped.
"I don't care." he whispered, pressing against him, one hand reaching behind Dean's head to curl in his hair. John wouldn't be able to interrupt them this time, and it had given him some ideas.
Dean sucked in his breath, and then, regretfully, laid a hand against Sam's chest to keep him at arm's length. "I wouldn't feel right, keepin' an eye on you-"
"We'll be fine, we can steal-"
"What if, what if we got mugged, and, and I needed to pay a cab for the ER?" Dean hazarded, "I can't steal a cab."
Sam opened his mouth to retort, and then crossed his arms, turning away.
"Don't get your panties in a twist," Dean said, smiling, "Two hours, gimme two hours and we'll head back."
Sam looked back at him. "I still don't think this is a good idea."
Dean hoisted the bag over his shoulder. "Tell me all about while we're thumbing a ride."