Benny was whistling. Dean didn't know the tune, but Benny had been whistling it for some time, and Dean found he quite liked it, thank you very much, and would like to enjoy it for some time more. Benny had his hat tipped down over his head, and in his hands he absent-mindedly whittled a little man of wood - Benny was pretty damn good at whittling, Dean thought, and he didn't mind that his position left wood shavings falling on the flat of his back.

Dean sprawled over Benny's thighs, head buried in Benny's own jacket, which he'd removed after saying it was to damn hot to wear. Dean was dozing, not really awake or really asleep, and here he had settled a few hours back as they made their way down river.

"Let's go pickpocketin' in the next town down." Benny said.

"I can't pickpocket." Dean mumbled against his thigh, and he was disappointed that Benny had stopped whistling because it had been soothing and comfortable to his ears, but he liked to hear Benny talk all the same.

"I'll teach ya." Benny said readily, and here he set the whittling knife and the wooden figurine aside. Dean stretched and gave a soft sigh as Benny stroked over his back, throwing the woodshavings aside.

"Teach me to whittle too."

"Yer dad didn't teach you to whittle?"

"My dad didn't teach me nothing." Dean muttered, thinking of how his brother had left, and how he should have gone when Sam did.

"Oh right." Benny sounded like he had a little guilt in his voice, but Dean waved a hand.

"Don' worry." Benny let his hand drop, and it rested on Dean's lower back. Dean felt he quite liked the weight of Benny's warm hand there, and when Benny moved it away, he protested readily until Benny returned it to its place. "We can't do this in front'a people. They might think stuff."

"We won't go in front of people then." Dean said. Benny nodded, drawing absent little circles on the other boy's back, tracing up and down his spine.

"Sounds damn good to me."