Fic: 5x Dean Winchester Got Shot Down In Outer Space - SPN/Multi, 5X, Crossover, Gen, Humor, PG-13
This is not the porn you're looking for. I'm still working on it. The Garage Sale Of Doom has descended, so I got a little stopped up - but in the meantime, it had been awhile since I put up fic, so here's something I wrote a few years ago, when I first started writing SPN fic. Enjoy!
Inspired by liptonrm and baylorsr's many hours of rambling about the Supernatural peeps onboard Serenity. It's a 5X fic and each section is Supernatural crossed over with a different fandom - Battlestar Galactica, Star Trek Reboot, Star Wars, Firefly & Galaxy Quest with a little Firefly reprise at the end. A little bit of het implicated because it's Dean after all, but all in all this a General-Humor-Dean-fic. Rated PG-13 and 2,735 words.
Summary: Dean likes women. He’s just not having any luck getting them to notice him these days. Also, they are in space.
Title: 5x Dean Winchester Got Shot Down In Outer Space
Author: The Artful Dodger / dodger_sister
Fandom: Supernatural w/Battlestar Galactica, Star Trek XI, Star Wars, Firefly, Galaxy Quest
Category: 5x, Altered Reality, Crossover, General, Humor
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Sam, Ellen, Cally, Chief, Spock, Uhura, Han, Leia, Jayne, Mal, Wash, Zoe, Saffron and Jane Doe with minor Dean/Saffron
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mild Language and Mild Sexual Content
Spoilers: Minor for Star Trek XI, the end of Galaxy Quest, and the Firefly episode “Our Mrs. Reynolds”.
Summary: Dean likes women. He’s just not having any luck getting them to notice him these days. Also, they are in space.
Word Count: 2,735 words
Date Written: 05/28/09
Disclaimer: Let’s be clear. Nothing in this story belongs to me, except the story itself. The movies and TV shows belong to their creators and studios. My money is extremely meager and none of it comes from the writing of this fic anyways.
Feedback: Bring it. dodger_sister / TheArtofDodger@comcast.net
Beta’d: Nope.
Author's Notes: Because baylorsr and liptonrm started this kick of talking about Supernatural meets Firefly, and well, also, because space is awesome, Dean hates to fly, and it’s funny when Dean can’t get women to notice him. Does that ever actually happen? Hard to wrap my brain around.
Dedication: For liptonrm, because she is made of all the awesome in the whole universe and beyond. And because no other woman can have Dean Winchester, but her. Unless she wants to share. Do you want to share? Damn. Alright, then, he’s just for you.
“So,” Dean said, turning the flashlight on and pointing it under the hood, “you notice anything strange around here?”
The man under the hood chuckled, deep and throaty. “You’re kidding, right?” he asked and then held out his left hand. “Wrench.”
Dean grabbed the tool off the floor and handed it over. “So, that’s a ‘no’, then?”
“Man, this place isn’t anything but strange. Battery charger.”
Dean set the flashlight down and went to get the charger. “Yeah, but I mean like, not your normal kind of strange. Flickering lights, noises like rats scratching…”
The man pulled his head out from under the hood and scowled at Dean. “Are insinuating that my garage has rats?”
“What? No. No, no, no. I just meant…”
“Chief!” a female voice hollered from under the hood of the next bird over.
“Yeah, Cally, coming,” he hollered back. Chief grinned over at Dean and slapped him on the arm, hard. “Your lucky day, New Kid.”
As Chief walked away, Dean felt Sam slide up behind him. “So, how’d it go today?”
“They’re still making me hold the flashlights,” Dean grumbled.
“I meant with the case.”
“Let’s just say, I hope you’re having better luck in Flight School, cuz this place is a total bust.” Dean nodded at the female mechanic and flashed a smile her way.
Cally just rolled her eyes and turned back to her engine.
“Yep,” Dean said, tossing his flashlight into the toolbox and walking off to find himself some dinner. “A total bust.”
***
“Dean, just put it on.”
“I don’t want to.”
Sam sighed. “What’s the problem? It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve ever had to be a janitor for the job.”
Dean kicked at the coveralls on the floor. “Why can’t I be on the bridge like you?”
“Dean, we’ve been over this. Of the two of us, I’m the only one with any Academy training.”
The swishing noise of a door opening alerted them to a new presence in the room.
A female presence, with long silky hair and curves in all the right places.
Their eyes followed her as she searched the shelves for the device she needed. She caught their gaze and smiled knowingly.
Sam nodded politely at his fellow crew member and hoped his cheeks weren't red enough to match his uniform.
Dean kept her gaze and smiled brilliantly, and only slightly leeringly, at her.
She chuckled softly and shook her head at him.
Dean let his gaze drop to her legs, which is probably how he missed the First Officer entering the room.
“Commander Spock,” Sam said.
Spock looked at Dean. Then he looked at Sam. “Uhura, the Captain requires our presence on the bridge.”
Then he looked at Dean again. “As you were, gentlemen.”
Sam watched them exit the room, noticing the way Spock’s hand brushed lightly against the small of Uhura’s back as they went.
Dean waited until the door had closed behind them, before turning to Sam. “Dude, you have got to get me onto that bridge.”
***
Dean had been watching her from his end of the bar for nearly fifteen minutes, when a man straddled the barstool next to him.
“Barkeep,” the man said and motioned at the woman behind the bar. “Shot of whiskey.”
The man nodded at Dean and followed his eye-line to the girl. “Yeah, sight for sore eyes, that one right there is.”
Dean made a noise of agreement and downed the last of his bottle.
“Hair you can bury your face in,” the man went on, slightly slurring his words, eyes heavy-lidded and cloudy. “Petite, but not too skinny.”
“Just young enough to have that baby smooth skin but still legal for my beagle,” Dean added without thinking.
It was just the invitation the man needed.
“Everything’s legal around here, kid,” he said, grinning and offering Dean his hand. “I’m Han. Han Solo.”
“Dean, and the next round is on me.”
“Don’t be silly,” Han told him. “I have a tab here.”
He ordered two shots of whiskey and placed one in front of Dean. “What business you in, Dean?” Han asked, saluting him with the whiskey before tipping it back.
“Hunter,” Dean said, figuring this hive of villainy could handle it.
“Freelance bounty or government hitter?”
Dean chuckled. “Not that kind of hunter,” he said and signaled the bartender for two more.
“Ah,” Han replied knowingly. "That kind of hunter. What’s your specialty? Vampires? Demons? R.O.U.S-es?”
Dean eyeballed the man for a moment and then shrugged. “A little of everything,” he answered honestly.
“Grab-bagging? Where the wind blows. My kind of man.”
Dean nodded and downed his second shot. He slapped Han on the arm and said, “I’m going in.”
He meandered slow and confident down the bar, catching the young lady’s eye and flashing her his most inviting of smiles.
“My, my,” Dean drawled, trying to keep the alcohol out of his voice. “Aren't you just pretty enough to be a princess?” He settled on the stool next to her and leaned in.
She smiled up at him, reaching out and sliding her hand up his arm. “That was real cute. Did you come up with it all by yourself?”
Dean furrowed his brow. She was touching him, which was good. But she also seemed to be mocking him, which was bad.
Someone reached out and tugged at her elbow.
“Princess,” a familiar voice urged, “We should get back to the ship.”
Dean followed the arm holding onto the lady’s elbow up to Han’s face, which was grinning down at Dean.
The Princess smiled sweetly at Han. “But he’s so adorable. Can’t we keep him?”
Han shook his head. “We’ve already got one Wookie. No need for anymore.” He slapped Dean on the arm. “It was a valiant effort, kid,” he told Dean.
Then Han signaled to the bartender. “Anything he drinks tonight, on my tab.”
“You got it, Captain,” the barkeep responded.
Dean watched them walk away together, arm in arm, before turning back to the bar. “A heads up on that one would have been nice, Ellen,” he said to the bartender.
Ellen leaned across the countertop and grinned at Dean. “It would’ve been nice, but not nearly as much fun.”
And she slid him another shot of whiskey.
***
Dean pried up another floorboard.
“Not here,” he told Sam.
“Ssshhh,” Sam urged him. “Keep it down before you wake the whole gorram ship.”
“Too late,” a man’s voice said.
Dean jerked, then his eyes trailed from the steel-toed boots up to Captain Reynold’s face.
“You got thirty seconds to explain to me why you two are tearing up the floor of my ship or I’m gonna have Jayne throw you both out the airlock.”
Dean swallowed hard as the Captain was joined in the doorway by the first mate, the pilot and the heavy, all barefoot and rubbing their eyes.
Mal looked at the watch on his wrist. “Thirty seconds. Ready, set, go.”
Dean looked panicked over at Sam, who was ripping up the floorboards as fast as he could.
“It’s just, there’s, we think your ship is haunted, or cursed, or, maybe, I don’t like to fly,” Dean sputtered. He knew boarding this hunk of junk, with its surly crew and its decaying parts, had been a very bad idea.
Mal checked his watch again. “Tick, tock, tick, tock, gentlemen. Your brother had the doctor knock you out to get you on this boat, Dean, but I won't be so courteous when I throw you off it.”
“Found it!” Sam hollered and held up a small brown pouch. “A hex bag. Most commonly, but not always, used by witches.”
Dean pointed at his brother’s findings. “See,” he said rather maniacally, “a curse.”
“You know anyone who might dabble in the dark arts?” Sam asked them.
Mal curled his fingers into fists and turned on his heels. “River!”
“Wait,” Sam called out and followed after the Captain, Dean could only assume to save that crazy little girl’s life.
He stood up and wiped the sweat and dirt from his hands. “Now that that’s done," he said, taking a deep breath, “and we’re both awake.” He grinned and stepped in closer to Zoe. “Maybe we could get to know one another over some beer and a game of Jacks?”
Wash stepped forward and puffed out his chest. “The Doc’s not the only one on this ship can knock people out,” he told Dean.
Dean scrunched up his face at the pilot.
“I am her,” and Wash emphasized the word by pointing at Zoe, “husband. Us. Married.”
Dean looked at Zoe. Then he looked at Wash. Then he looked back at Zoe and raised his eyebrows in question.
She chuckled and took Wash by the hand. “Come on, babe. Let’s go make-out in the pilot’s chair.”
Wash nodded and Zoe led him away.
Dean scratched his head and turned to Jayne. “So, the other one, Kaylee, right? I can find her in the engine room?”
Evidently the doctor wasn’t the only one onboard that could knock people out.
Jayne hit with his left.
Dean never saw it coming.
***
“I can’t believe we’re on the set of Galaxy Quest!” Dean exclaimed for the seventh time that day.
Sam threw his head back in exasperation and thumped it hard on the metal door behind where they stood. “I can’t believe we are on another haunted Hollywood set.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Dean said. “I mean, we’ve been here three days and we’ve found no violent history associated with the location, the people or any of the materials or sets. We’ve got no EMF readings. None of our usual tell-tale signs. Maybe we were wrong about this one.”
“Then explain all the bizarre happenings,” Sam answered. “The funky thing with the communicators. The goop we keep finding everywhere. Jane speaking in poodle-like-tongues when she’s nervous.”
Dean shrugged. “I don’t know, man. Maybe it’s just Hollywood.” Dean absent-mindedly rubbed at his stomach.
Sam wondered how many Philly-Cheese-Burgers his brother had eaten from the craft table that day. Hell, that hour.
“It could just be the obvious,” Dean said.
“What’s that?” Sam asked, watching the area on the ceiling where the red flashing light had been spotted the previous night.
“You know, aliens,” Dean answered and chuckled at his own joke.
“You know, Dean,” Sam started.
“I know, it wasn’t funny the first time I made the joke. It’s not funny now. I’m just saying…”
“I know, look where we are. Outer Space! Galaxy Quest! Dahdahdah.” Sam cast Dean his most disgusted bitch-face. Dean had crossed the annoying, obnoxious line about two days ago.
Sam was saved from further discussion of aliens - which clearly don’t exist, even Bobby says so - when Jane went walking by and smiled innocently at them both.
Dean had been trying to get her attention since their first day on set.
“Miss Doe,” Dean said, falling into step beside her. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting. I’m Dean, the new P.A.”
Sam was glad to miss the torture of listening to his brother’s bad pick-up lines, the same ones he had tried on Gwen yesterday, when Jane allowed Dean to follow her into the dressing room.
Sam went back to thinking about the case, and was only jerked into reality at the un-characteristically high-pitched voice of his brother yelling, “Oh my god!"
Sam was torn between rushing into the dressing room to see if Dean was hurt, or running the other way in case that was the sound of Dean having smooth-talked Jane into an afternoon delight.
A second passed and Sam heard Dean’s normal-pitched, calmer and cocky voice follow the, “Oh my god,” with an, “I could be into that.”
Sam rubbed at his eyes. His head hurt. He wondered who a P.A. goes to when he needs a Tylenol.
Dean’s voice came from the dressing room again, still normal-pitched, but far less cocky. “You’re engaged to Fred? That’s great! Congratulations.”
Sam smiled because he knew Dean meant it.
Getting his head back in the case, Sam decided to go find the electrical guys and see what they could tell him about the flickering light problems on set.
Just before he rounded the corner, Sam heard his brother’s voice one last time.
“So, you got any sisters?”
***
And That One Time Dean Didn’t Get Shot Down, But Probably Wishes He Had.
Last night it had seemed like a good idea.
Ditching the stakeout. Ditching the job. Ditching Sam.
Hitting a bar. Drinking those Purple Nurples. Taking that random and anonymous woman back to the motel room.
Even now, as Dean watched the woman take his hard-earned poker money out of the back pocket of his jeans, while he lay naked and hand-cuffed to the motel bed, it still seemed like a mostly good idea.
Mostly.
Until she opened his wallet and started pulling out his cards.
“Come on,” Dean begged, pulling on the metal cuffs that held him to the headboard of the heart-shaped bed in the honeymoon suite. Leonard Nimoy and his endless credit had spared no expense. “Alliance Credit Frued is no easy job,” Dean pleaded.
“Tell me about it,” she purred, as she slipped the cards into the toe of her boot.
Just the sound of her voice brought the taste of her honey-soaked lips back to Dean’s tongue.
He watched her slide her little feet into the boots and looked on as the zip made her creamy skin disappear inside high-heeled black leather. Dean’s eyes trailed up her calves to the silver-bladed knife that pressed between her milky thigh and her scarlet thong. His eyes rested on her flat stomach, until that too vanished under green silk that was barely enough material to be called a dress.
Dean met her eyes and hoped he looked pathetic enough to win this one. “You’re taking my hard-earned-hustled green. You’re taking my hours worth of Alliance Credit, which by the way, is all registered under men’s Alliance ID, so what the hell good will it do you? The least you can do is leave me with the key to these things.” And for emphasis, Dean pulled on the handcuffs again.
She smiled at him, which was anything but sweet, and slid up the bed to cover him. With one hand on his chest and one in his hair, she spread across him, her hips pressing into his ribcage, her breasts brushing the side of his face.
“You should consider yourself lucky, Dean,” she whispered into his ear. “Most of my marks are left with nowhere to run and those that want them dead granted all access.”
Dean flashed on the faces of the many that wanted him dead.
“But then, you’re not a thing like most of my marks, are you, Dean?” She rotated her hips against his stomach, the feel of her knife pressing against his hips sending a shiver up his spine and down his dick. “You were the most fun I’ve ever had on the job, that’s for damn sure.”
She slid off him and Dean involuntarily lifted his hips in her direction. She laughed, long and deep, and Dean groaned out loud.
“I’ll tell you what, and just because I respect what you hunters do out there, give me an hour to get moving and I’ll call that delicious brother of yours and let him know where to find you. Deal? Well, of course, deal, you don't have much of a choice, now do you?”
Even when she teased him like this, it went straight to his dick.
Dean struggled to clear his head. “Hunters?” He tried to remember how many Purple Nurples he’d had the night before.
“Oh, please,” she drawled. “You boys introduced yourselves as Agent Oaty and Agent Bars. Amateurs.” She slid her bag onto her shoulder and cocked her head at him, letting her eyes slowly trail up his body until she met his eyes. “Dean Winchester. What a night we had.”
She blew him a kiss and Dean found himself straining forward, tongue darting across his suddenly dry lips.
She opened the door and stepped out into the early morning light. “And Dean,” she called back to him, “next time you see Daddy-dearest, tell him Joannie says ‘Hi’.”
And the door clicked shut behind her.
The End
Inspired by liptonrm and baylorsr's many hours of rambling about the Supernatural peeps onboard Serenity. It's a 5X fic and each section is Supernatural crossed over with a different fandom - Battlestar Galactica, Star Trek Reboot, Star Wars, Firefly & Galaxy Quest with a little Firefly reprise at the end. A little bit of het implicated because it's Dean after all, but all in all this a General-Humor-Dean-fic. Rated PG-13 and 2,735 words.
Summary: Dean likes women. He’s just not having any luck getting them to notice him these days. Also, they are in space.
Title: 5x Dean Winchester Got Shot Down In Outer Space
Author: The Artful Dodger / dodger_sister
Fandom: Supernatural w/Battlestar Galactica, Star Trek XI, Star Wars, Firefly, Galaxy Quest
Category: 5x, Altered Reality, Crossover, General, Humor
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Sam, Ellen, Cally, Chief, Spock, Uhura, Han, Leia, Jayne, Mal, Wash, Zoe, Saffron and Jane Doe with minor Dean/Saffron
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mild Language and Mild Sexual Content
Spoilers: Minor for Star Trek XI, the end of Galaxy Quest, and the Firefly episode “Our Mrs. Reynolds”.
Summary: Dean likes women. He’s just not having any luck getting them to notice him these days. Also, they are in space.
Word Count: 2,735 words
Date Written: 05/28/09
Disclaimer: Let’s be clear. Nothing in this story belongs to me, except the story itself. The movies and TV shows belong to their creators and studios. My money is extremely meager and none of it comes from the writing of this fic anyways.
Feedback: Bring it. dodger_sister / TheArtofDodger@comcast.net
Beta’d: Nope.
Author's Notes: Because baylorsr and liptonrm started this kick of talking about Supernatural meets Firefly, and well, also, because space is awesome, Dean hates to fly, and it’s funny when Dean can’t get women to notice him. Does that ever actually happen? Hard to wrap my brain around.
Dedication: For liptonrm, because she is made of all the awesome in the whole universe and beyond. And because no other woman can have Dean Winchester, but her. Unless she wants to share. Do you want to share? Damn. Alright, then, he’s just for you.
“So,” Dean said, turning the flashlight on and pointing it under the hood, “you notice anything strange around here?”
The man under the hood chuckled, deep and throaty. “You’re kidding, right?” he asked and then held out his left hand. “Wrench.”
Dean grabbed the tool off the floor and handed it over. “So, that’s a ‘no’, then?”
“Man, this place isn’t anything but strange. Battery charger.”
Dean set the flashlight down and went to get the charger. “Yeah, but I mean like, not your normal kind of strange. Flickering lights, noises like rats scratching…”
The man pulled his head out from under the hood and scowled at Dean. “Are insinuating that my garage has rats?”
“What? No. No, no, no. I just meant…”
“Chief!” a female voice hollered from under the hood of the next bird over.
“Yeah, Cally, coming,” he hollered back. Chief grinned over at Dean and slapped him on the arm, hard. “Your lucky day, New Kid.”
As Chief walked away, Dean felt Sam slide up behind him. “So, how’d it go today?”
“They’re still making me hold the flashlights,” Dean grumbled.
“I meant with the case.”
“Let’s just say, I hope you’re having better luck in Flight School, cuz this place is a total bust.” Dean nodded at the female mechanic and flashed a smile her way.
Cally just rolled her eyes and turned back to her engine.
“Yep,” Dean said, tossing his flashlight into the toolbox and walking off to find himself some dinner. “A total bust.”
***
“Dean, just put it on.”
“I don’t want to.”
Sam sighed. “What’s the problem? It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve ever had to be a janitor for the job.”
Dean kicked at the coveralls on the floor. “Why can’t I be on the bridge like you?”
“Dean, we’ve been over this. Of the two of us, I’m the only one with any Academy training.”
The swishing noise of a door opening alerted them to a new presence in the room.
A female presence, with long silky hair and curves in all the right places.
Their eyes followed her as she searched the shelves for the device she needed. She caught their gaze and smiled knowingly.
Sam nodded politely at his fellow crew member and hoped his cheeks weren't red enough to match his uniform.
Dean kept her gaze and smiled brilliantly, and only slightly leeringly, at her.
She chuckled softly and shook her head at him.
Dean let his gaze drop to her legs, which is probably how he missed the First Officer entering the room.
“Commander Spock,” Sam said.
Spock looked at Dean. Then he looked at Sam. “Uhura, the Captain requires our presence on the bridge.”
Then he looked at Dean again. “As you were, gentlemen.”
Sam watched them exit the room, noticing the way Spock’s hand brushed lightly against the small of Uhura’s back as they went.
Dean waited until the door had closed behind them, before turning to Sam. “Dude, you have got to get me onto that bridge.”
***
Dean had been watching her from his end of the bar for nearly fifteen minutes, when a man straddled the barstool next to him.
“Barkeep,” the man said and motioned at the woman behind the bar. “Shot of whiskey.”
The man nodded at Dean and followed his eye-line to the girl. “Yeah, sight for sore eyes, that one right there is.”
Dean made a noise of agreement and downed the last of his bottle.
“Hair you can bury your face in,” the man went on, slightly slurring his words, eyes heavy-lidded and cloudy. “Petite, but not too skinny.”
“Just young enough to have that baby smooth skin but still legal for my beagle,” Dean added without thinking.
It was just the invitation the man needed.
“Everything’s legal around here, kid,” he said, grinning and offering Dean his hand. “I’m Han. Han Solo.”
“Dean, and the next round is on me.”
“Don’t be silly,” Han told him. “I have a tab here.”
He ordered two shots of whiskey and placed one in front of Dean. “What business you in, Dean?” Han asked, saluting him with the whiskey before tipping it back.
“Hunter,” Dean said, figuring this hive of villainy could handle it.
“Freelance bounty or government hitter?”
Dean chuckled. “Not that kind of hunter,” he said and signaled the bartender for two more.
“Ah,” Han replied knowingly. "That kind of hunter. What’s your specialty? Vampires? Demons? R.O.U.S-es?”
Dean eyeballed the man for a moment and then shrugged. “A little of everything,” he answered honestly.
“Grab-bagging? Where the wind blows. My kind of man.”
Dean nodded and downed his second shot. He slapped Han on the arm and said, “I’m going in.”
He meandered slow and confident down the bar, catching the young lady’s eye and flashing her his most inviting of smiles.
“My, my,” Dean drawled, trying to keep the alcohol out of his voice. “Aren't you just pretty enough to be a princess?” He settled on the stool next to her and leaned in.
She smiled up at him, reaching out and sliding her hand up his arm. “That was real cute. Did you come up with it all by yourself?”
Dean furrowed his brow. She was touching him, which was good. But she also seemed to be mocking him, which was bad.
Someone reached out and tugged at her elbow.
“Princess,” a familiar voice urged, “We should get back to the ship.”
Dean followed the arm holding onto the lady’s elbow up to Han’s face, which was grinning down at Dean.
The Princess smiled sweetly at Han. “But he’s so adorable. Can’t we keep him?”
Han shook his head. “We’ve already got one Wookie. No need for anymore.” He slapped Dean on the arm. “It was a valiant effort, kid,” he told Dean.
Then Han signaled to the bartender. “Anything he drinks tonight, on my tab.”
“You got it, Captain,” the barkeep responded.
Dean watched them walk away together, arm in arm, before turning back to the bar. “A heads up on that one would have been nice, Ellen,” he said to the bartender.
Ellen leaned across the countertop and grinned at Dean. “It would’ve been nice, but not nearly as much fun.”
And she slid him another shot of whiskey.
***
Dean pried up another floorboard.
“Not here,” he told Sam.
“Ssshhh,” Sam urged him. “Keep it down before you wake the whole gorram ship.”
“Too late,” a man’s voice said.
Dean jerked, then his eyes trailed from the steel-toed boots up to Captain Reynold’s face.
“You got thirty seconds to explain to me why you two are tearing up the floor of my ship or I’m gonna have Jayne throw you both out the airlock.”
Dean swallowed hard as the Captain was joined in the doorway by the first mate, the pilot and the heavy, all barefoot and rubbing their eyes.
Mal looked at the watch on his wrist. “Thirty seconds. Ready, set, go.”
Dean looked panicked over at Sam, who was ripping up the floorboards as fast as he could.
“It’s just, there’s, we think your ship is haunted, or cursed, or, maybe, I don’t like to fly,” Dean sputtered. He knew boarding this hunk of junk, with its surly crew and its decaying parts, had been a very bad idea.
Mal checked his watch again. “Tick, tock, tick, tock, gentlemen. Your brother had the doctor knock you out to get you on this boat, Dean, but I won't be so courteous when I throw you off it.”
“Found it!” Sam hollered and held up a small brown pouch. “A hex bag. Most commonly, but not always, used by witches.”
Dean pointed at his brother’s findings. “See,” he said rather maniacally, “a curse.”
“You know anyone who might dabble in the dark arts?” Sam asked them.
Mal curled his fingers into fists and turned on his heels. “River!”
“Wait,” Sam called out and followed after the Captain, Dean could only assume to save that crazy little girl’s life.
He stood up and wiped the sweat and dirt from his hands. “Now that that’s done," he said, taking a deep breath, “and we’re both awake.” He grinned and stepped in closer to Zoe. “Maybe we could get to know one another over some beer and a game of Jacks?”
Wash stepped forward and puffed out his chest. “The Doc’s not the only one on this ship can knock people out,” he told Dean.
Dean scrunched up his face at the pilot.
“I am her,” and Wash emphasized the word by pointing at Zoe, “husband. Us. Married.”
Dean looked at Zoe. Then he looked at Wash. Then he looked back at Zoe and raised his eyebrows in question.
She chuckled and took Wash by the hand. “Come on, babe. Let’s go make-out in the pilot’s chair.”
Wash nodded and Zoe led him away.
Dean scratched his head and turned to Jayne. “So, the other one, Kaylee, right? I can find her in the engine room?”
Evidently the doctor wasn’t the only one onboard that could knock people out.
Jayne hit with his left.
Dean never saw it coming.
***
“I can’t believe we’re on the set of Galaxy Quest!” Dean exclaimed for the seventh time that day.
Sam threw his head back in exasperation and thumped it hard on the metal door behind where they stood. “I can’t believe we are on another haunted Hollywood set.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Dean said. “I mean, we’ve been here three days and we’ve found no violent history associated with the location, the people or any of the materials or sets. We’ve got no EMF readings. None of our usual tell-tale signs. Maybe we were wrong about this one.”
“Then explain all the bizarre happenings,” Sam answered. “The funky thing with the communicators. The goop we keep finding everywhere. Jane speaking in poodle-like-tongues when she’s nervous.”
Dean shrugged. “I don’t know, man. Maybe it’s just Hollywood.” Dean absent-mindedly rubbed at his stomach.
Sam wondered how many Philly-Cheese-Burgers his brother had eaten from the craft table that day. Hell, that hour.
“It could just be the obvious,” Dean said.
“What’s that?” Sam asked, watching the area on the ceiling where the red flashing light had been spotted the previous night.
“You know, aliens,” Dean answered and chuckled at his own joke.
“You know, Dean,” Sam started.
“I know, it wasn’t funny the first time I made the joke. It’s not funny now. I’m just saying…”
“I know, look where we are. Outer Space! Galaxy Quest! Dahdahdah.” Sam cast Dean his most disgusted bitch-face. Dean had crossed the annoying, obnoxious line about two days ago.
Sam was saved from further discussion of aliens - which clearly don’t exist, even Bobby says so - when Jane went walking by and smiled innocently at them both.
Dean had been trying to get her attention since their first day on set.
“Miss Doe,” Dean said, falling into step beside her. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting. I’m Dean, the new P.A.”
Sam was glad to miss the torture of listening to his brother’s bad pick-up lines, the same ones he had tried on Gwen yesterday, when Jane allowed Dean to follow her into the dressing room.
Sam went back to thinking about the case, and was only jerked into reality at the un-characteristically high-pitched voice of his brother yelling, “Oh my god!"
Sam was torn between rushing into the dressing room to see if Dean was hurt, or running the other way in case that was the sound of Dean having smooth-talked Jane into an afternoon delight.
A second passed and Sam heard Dean’s normal-pitched, calmer and cocky voice follow the, “Oh my god,” with an, “I could be into that.”
Sam rubbed at his eyes. His head hurt. He wondered who a P.A. goes to when he needs a Tylenol.
Dean’s voice came from the dressing room again, still normal-pitched, but far less cocky. “You’re engaged to Fred? That’s great! Congratulations.”
Sam smiled because he knew Dean meant it.
Getting his head back in the case, Sam decided to go find the electrical guys and see what they could tell him about the flickering light problems on set.
Just before he rounded the corner, Sam heard his brother’s voice one last time.
“So, you got any sisters?”
***
And That One Time Dean Didn’t Get Shot Down, But Probably Wishes He Had.
Last night it had seemed like a good idea.
Ditching the stakeout. Ditching the job. Ditching Sam.
Hitting a bar. Drinking those Purple Nurples. Taking that random and anonymous woman back to the motel room.
Even now, as Dean watched the woman take his hard-earned poker money out of the back pocket of his jeans, while he lay naked and hand-cuffed to the motel bed, it still seemed like a mostly good idea.
Mostly.
Until she opened his wallet and started pulling out his cards.
“Come on,” Dean begged, pulling on the metal cuffs that held him to the headboard of the heart-shaped bed in the honeymoon suite. Leonard Nimoy and his endless credit had spared no expense. “Alliance Credit Frued is no easy job,” Dean pleaded.
“Tell me about it,” she purred, as she slipped the cards into the toe of her boot.
Just the sound of her voice brought the taste of her honey-soaked lips back to Dean’s tongue.
He watched her slide her little feet into the boots and looked on as the zip made her creamy skin disappear inside high-heeled black leather. Dean’s eyes trailed up her calves to the silver-bladed knife that pressed between her milky thigh and her scarlet thong. His eyes rested on her flat stomach, until that too vanished under green silk that was barely enough material to be called a dress.
Dean met her eyes and hoped he looked pathetic enough to win this one. “You’re taking my hard-earned-hustled green. You’re taking my hours worth of Alliance Credit, which by the way, is all registered under men’s Alliance ID, so what the hell good will it do you? The least you can do is leave me with the key to these things.” And for emphasis, Dean pulled on the handcuffs again.
She smiled at him, which was anything but sweet, and slid up the bed to cover him. With one hand on his chest and one in his hair, she spread across him, her hips pressing into his ribcage, her breasts brushing the side of his face.
“You should consider yourself lucky, Dean,” she whispered into his ear. “Most of my marks are left with nowhere to run and those that want them dead granted all access.”
Dean flashed on the faces of the many that wanted him dead.
“But then, you’re not a thing like most of my marks, are you, Dean?” She rotated her hips against his stomach, the feel of her knife pressing against his hips sending a shiver up his spine and down his dick. “You were the most fun I’ve ever had on the job, that’s for damn sure.”
She slid off him and Dean involuntarily lifted his hips in her direction. She laughed, long and deep, and Dean groaned out loud.
“I’ll tell you what, and just because I respect what you hunters do out there, give me an hour to get moving and I’ll call that delicious brother of yours and let him know where to find you. Deal? Well, of course, deal, you don't have much of a choice, now do you?”
Even when she teased him like this, it went straight to his dick.
Dean struggled to clear his head. “Hunters?” He tried to remember how many Purple Nurples he’d had the night before.
“Oh, please,” she drawled. “You boys introduced yourselves as Agent Oaty and Agent Bars. Amateurs.” She slid her bag onto her shoulder and cocked her head at him, letting her eyes slowly trail up his body until she met his eyes. “Dean Winchester. What a night we had.”
She blew him a kiss and Dean found himself straining forward, tongue darting across his suddenly dry lips.
She opened the door and stepped out into the early morning light. “And Dean,” she called back to him, “next time you see Daddy-dearest, tell him Joannie says ‘Hi’.”
And the door clicked shut behind her.
The End