Rating: PG - Gen
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Sam wonders why Dean is so awesome at credit card fraud.
It was amazing how much holding a pencil for long amounts of time could really actually hurt.
"Gotta break a few eggs to make an omelet."
Sam noticed that his brother tended to frequently use sayings that actually had no bearing on what was happening at the moment. Some broken eggs and breakfast had pretty much nothing to do with sitting around and giving themselves carpal tunnel syndrome. With a small sigh he looked at the remaining stack of forms he had yet to fill out and then looked jealously at his older brother's dwindled pile.
In fact, Dean just tossed another complete application on his done side.
"Gotta hit two birds with one stone."
Sam had actually never really liked that particular turn of phrase and he was fairly certain that killing birds had even less to do with credit card fraud than eggs did. He scribbled in yet another imaginary years wage and checked yet another box. They had to do a ton of the things just to guarantee a few hits back. It was all in 'playing the odds' as Dean liked to say, which was another frequent expression that his brother used in the terms of just about anything. However, opposed to the other litany of old sayings, that one usually really did apply to whatever was happening at the moment.
"How do you do these so fast?" Sam groaned.
Dean grinned at him from across the table.
"It's all in the wrist."
"More like all in the bullshit." Sam mumbled back down at his form.
"Call it what you'd like." Dean said with a smile and a shake of his head. "It's still art."
"Art huh?" Sam's shoulders hitched in a small laugh. "How do you figure that?"
"Dunno." His brother shrugged. "Just do."
Sam wondered why exactly Dean had chosen that particular word for what it was that they were doing. They weren't exactly marching into a bank with pantyhose over their heads but they were still stealing money. It was easy to just slowly fill out paper after finely printed paper and not really think too hard on what exactly it meant to seal it all up in envelopes and drop in a mail box.
But maybe his brother had a point. It did take a certain something to it that made it ever work out at all. The entire process could never be called simple.
The right series of monetary numerology. The correct age bracket. Perfect feigned legitimacy. The right combination of a thousand details that would make up a completely false identity that some clerk and office would have to look at and instantly believe. What they wrote down had to appear solid enough that some stranger out there would buy it just long enough to tap what they had conjured into a computer.
Dean thumped the table with his fist and made a small sound of frustration.
"What?" Sam asked.
"I hate this part. It's hard."
His older brother had that look on his face that he had when they were kids and he was faced with some mystifyingly boring homework that he couldn't be bothered to work out. Sam thought about all the collected verified addresses, pilfered social security numbers, preferable occupations, and created historical proof of income. Pick your poison, they all were difficult to get to come all together into something believable.
"Which is that?"
Dean let out a sigh and rubbed at the back of his head.
Sam felt himself crack into a real smile before he could help it.
"Running out of little known and ill fated 1970s drummers?"
"You'd think that could never happen, but yup." His brother sat back tiredly. "I think I'm gonna have to do something I never thought I would have to do."
Sam slid a finished application aside and looked forlornly at the next one. "Yeah, what's that?"
"I'm gonna have to start using little known and ill fated 1980s keyboardists." Dean said grimly. "British ones."
Dean nodded solemnly. "You know what they say..."
Sam wasn't sure he did but he was ready anyway.
"There's more than one way to skin a cat."
Dean paused and reconsidered. "Uh, live by the sword, die by the sword?"
Sam penciled in a random birth date. "How about ars longa, vita brevis."
Dean looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.
Sam smiled. "It means, art is long, but life is short."
His brother broke into a wide smile back.