Dean looked all around the diner, half looking to be a victim and half looking for a victim. Once he was positive the small diner was clear of danger, he smiled tightly at Sam as he finished the last of his eggs.
"You go start the car, I'll pay." Dean slid the key to the Impala over the table and nodded to the door. Sam looked around; judging every person his eyes met, and looked back to Dean, copying his taut smile. He didn't know exactly what his brother was going to do, but he had a pretty good idea.
"Alright then..." Sam left his sentence unfinished as he slid from the booth and walked away.
Once Dean heard the bells above the door ring with movement, he looked up, searching the diner again for his target. Then he spotted him; an older man. His dark, slightly graying hair fell into his eyes and his wise blue eyes judged the diner. Careful not to wrinkle his suit, he sat on one of the many bar stools at the counter, waving over a waitress. He tapped his neatly trimmed fingernails against the solid glass of the tabletop. He waited for a few minutes, ready for the waitress to return, maybe with coffee, and Dean decided to wait for the waitress to come back before striking.
Finally the waitress came back, and just like Dean guessed, she had a pot of coffee in her hand, steam steeping from the top. She poured him a cup and smiled as she turned away to take more orders.
Dean took a deep breath, preparing himself mentally for what he was about to do. He slid from the booth, picking up his warm, half-drunken coffee along the way, and walked in the man's direction. As he got close enough, he purposely stepped on the heel of his own boot, sending him forward. He landed perfectly, the brown liquid spilling down the man's blazer and tie. Dean caught himself just before his shin hit the floor and looked up at the man. He had his lips in a firm line and slowly shook his hands to shake off the coffee. A few people had stopped eating to look at the scene unfold, as Dean opened his mouth agape. He quickly looked around in search for napkins and both men remained quiet, too shocked to say anything.
Dean grabbed a nearby napkin, the thin, delicate piece of cloth no match for the coffee as it was soaked merely seconds after Dean applied it to the shirt.
"I'm so sorry, I really am. This- it, it was a terrible accident and I never wanted to ruin your suit..." Dean continued to rant as he patted the coffee from the man's shirt. He intentionally patted the pockets a little harder. He had to bite back a huge smile when he felt a large, thick rectangle taking up most of the room in his pocket. The wallet was positioned so that it was very close to the top of the pocket. This guy was bound to be pick-pocketed sooner or later by the way this wallet was situated. Dean quickly glanced around; all the people that were previously looking had turned away and began eating again. Dean let a small, barely noticeable smile out. This had to be a good day for Winchesters.
"Don't worry about it, son, I'll just get it dry-cleaned." The man said and Dean looked up to meet his eyes. Just as the man turned away to get more napkins, Dean slipped his wallet, covering his movements with a fake sneeze.
"God bless you." The man said, smiling slightly. If only he'd known; Dean had had enough of angels, demons, leviathans, anything and everything.
"Thanks." Dean said, nodding once. He slipped the wallet in his pocket as the man turned his head again, and pulled more napkins from the table. "I'm sorry about this, I really am," Dean patted the napkin one last time before adding it to the pile of used napkins on the table. "But my brother – he's waiting for me outside in the car. I'm really sorry about this whole thing."
The man smiled. "It's ok. Go to your brother. I'll just take it to my dry cleaners in the morning. Have a good day." The man smiled as he grabbed his own coffee and Dean nodded and smiled and quickly walked out the door. He walked right to the prowling Impala with his head low, not stopping once. He slid in the seat of his beloved car, the hot air swirling with the cool air he'd let in.
"Got it?" Sam asked, leaning his book against his knee.
"Yeah, I got it." He mumbled as he backed away from the yellow lines and peeled out of the parking lot, tires screeching as he did so.
It took twelve different diners and a little over fifty dollars for gas, but Dean and Sam still got the reward for it.
"So, Sam," Dean started, cruising down the road. "Wanna hit that strip mall we pasted on the way up?"
Sam slowly turned his head to Dean, confusion and wonder scribbled across his face.
Dean smiled at his brother and took his eyes off the road for a second to ruffle his hair with a light laugh. "Well, Sammy, when you work hard, you get to play hard."