Sep 13, 2019
Dean Winchester never had a problem with stealing. A jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread had been the one and only time he had got caught as a kid. As if that had been his first time (or last). As he got older, it had been a case of ‘Hell, I deserve this’; lifting porn from a shut down rural gas station, a priority for anyone who had just spent forty years in Hell. The Viagra had been a fun ‘lift’, although Sam’s ass would disagree. Most recently it had been a baggie full of pot carefully removed from the pocket of whom Dean had referred to as ‘Ganja Girl’ while they discussed junk-less green-eyed monsters. Sam smelt it the moment they were in the car and had shut their doors. In sync, naturally.
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