Swap the Meat, Feel the Heat
The silence in the Impala was deafening. For once, Sam wished that Dean would just blast the stereo. Sing along, babble nonsensically, anything but sit there smirking and occasionally snorting back a gathering storm of hysterical laughter.
And the worst part was that the antibiotics hadn't kicked in yet.
"Dean," the brunette sighed, fidgeting uncomfortably in the shotgun seat, "Can you... I need..."
Dean bit down on his bottom lip and (poorly) smothered an absurd giggle.
Scowling, blushing, Sam ordered, "Pull over, jerk!"
It was humiliating, taking a leak by the side of the road for the fourth time in under fifty miles, hissing in pain as his nethers burned like they were on fire.
Back in the car again, ten minutes down the road, Dean finally lost it, cackling until he actually cried and breathlessly observing, "Guess Gary'd never heard wrap it before you tap it."
"Shut up."
"Cover your stump before you hump?"
"Shut. UP."
"No glove, no love?"
"SHUT UP!!"
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"Swap Meat" made me absurdly happy. And this is what happens when my brain gets happy ;)