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