Rating: PG - Gen
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Dean helps Sam find a real job...
"What are you doing?"
The sight of his brother lost behind a newspaper was not an uncommon event to say the least but the usual local stuff was cast aside on the bed. Sam flipped through the sports section and the everything else Dean normally kept for himself before tossing it all away in the trash.
"Just lookin' at the want ads."
Sam jerked his head up from the latest about the World Cup to look at him.
"Yup." Dean snapped the paper up as he turned a broad page.
"Can't find a poker game?" Sam asked doubtfully.
"Are you kiddin'? I have one tonight and one tomorrow."
Figured. His brother could find a card game, pool table or something you could put money on no matter where they ended up. It was a constant in the universe. Like ice machines and cheap paper wrapped soap.
"Then what are you looking at jobs for?"
Dean looked up and gave him a smile.
"'Bout time you started pulling your weight around here."
"Hey, I filled out the last credit card applic--"
"Yeah yeah, you know I don't mind supporting you Sammy but sometimes we're a little short at the end of the month-- oh hey, here's a good one!" Dean brightened but then reconsidered the ad closely. "Wait, it says you must have good people skills..."
Sam snatched the paper out of his hands.
"I can find my own job thanks." He mumbled.
"What about a sperm bank?" Dean leaned back on his bed and crossed his hands behind his head. "You got that ivy league good stuff! You could probably rake it in. So to speak."
"Do you really think we should be breeding?"
"Yeah, maybe not." Dean agreed with a sigh.
Sam glumly scanned the rows of fast food gigs and road clean up day labor. He read the first one he found.
"Wanted: Able bodied person needed to assist in the purging and disposal of cooking equipment in trendy down town eatery."
Dean snorted a laugh. "Sounds like slopping out a decade's worth of a some fried chicken joint's rancid grease traps."
"Hey, cheer up." His brother assured him. "There's always one sure fire fall back way to make some cash in a perfectly legal and helpful manner."
He looked up at Dean hopefully, but slightly suspicious.
"There's always the pole." Dean grinned and shook a single dollar bill as a visual aid.
Sam fought the smile he attempted to hold back at the idea and promptly failed. It was easier to give in to his brother's soft laughter and join him in seeing the futility of taking what needed to be done with any seriousness.
"Maybe you could sell those vacuums door to door." Dean helpfully suggested. "I bet those guys run into a lot of women home all alone..."
Sales reps. Clerks. Doctor's receptionist. Ditch digger. At the end of the day, it was not his real job anyway, so what did it really matter? Let it be dirty. Let it be hard on his back. Hell, let it even be some mindless task he had once congratulated himself while walking Stanford's halls that he'd never have to stoop to doing.
"Maybe you could capitalize on your special skills..." His brother pondered aloud as he was distracted by a take out menu. "You could, I dunno, vibe out missing Chihuahuas or something?"
Sam wondered if he was too old to take up a paper route.