fic: The Zombie Love Bug Concatenation (SPN/Middleman; Dean/Wendy; pg)
The Zombie Love Bug Concatenation
Supernatural/The Middleman; Dean/Wendy, Sam; pg; 3,025 words
There are zombies at the mall. This is not a metaphor.
I blame mousapelli. She supplied many of the ideas and many of the funniest lines. Thanks to angelgazing for laughing at my jokes.
~*~
The Zombie Love Bug Concatenation
The third time the little red Smart Car cuts them off in traffic, Dean says, "I swear to God, I'm gonna crush it like a tin can."
"Dean."
"Seriously, Sam. Who thought it was a good idea to let people drive around in toy cars? Wasn't the VW Bug bad enough?"
"The Bug is a classic, Dean. You said it yourself." Sam shifts in his seat, getting ready to argue. He rests his elbow on the window frame, and out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see him grin. "You loved The Love Bug when we were kids. It was one of your favorite movies."
"That is a dirty lie!"
"You totally subjected me to a thirty minute rant about the Lindsay Lohan remake."
"That was a travesty, Sam. I lost a lot of respect for Matt Dillon for even appearing in it."
"I didn't know you had any respect for Matt Dillon."
"Bite your tongue, Sam! He played Dally in The Outsiders. And he was awesome in The Flamingo Kid."
"I did like The Flamingo Kid."
"Damn straight."
The red Smart Car weaves in front of them again, and Dean gets a look at the chick driving--dark hair, white shirt, strong jaw, kinda hot. Still, the Smart Car puts her out of the running.
He glances over at Sam and grins. "I've only got one rule, Sammy."
"Never eat anything you find on the floor of the car?"
"Never bang a chick in a Smart Car."
Sam snorts. "Even if she was really hot?"
"Have some self-respect, man! You'd have to fold yourself in half to--I can't even think about it!" He shakes his head to rid himself of the disturbing images.
"So you would actually turn down sex with a hot woman if she wanted to do it in a Smart Car?"
"I would suggest we use my car instead." He pats the dashboard. He can't count the number of times he's had sex in the car over the years. She's a better wingman than Sam half the time. At least for picking up chicks.
"What if you can't? What if I've got the car? What if she says her car or the highway? Would you still turn sex down?"
"I would find some other place, Sammy. I have a lot of experience with these things, you know?" Sam mutters something that sounds derogatory, so Dean doesn't try to figure out what it is. "Why are you so fixated on this?"
"I think the question is, why are you so fixated on this?"
"Because that freaking toy car keeps cutting us off!"
"So you're going to refuse to have sex with a woman you'll never meet in a car you'll never see again?"
Well, when you put it like that, Dean thinks, it does sound a little crazy, but he says, "You never know, Sam. Our lives are weird."
Sam snorts and changes the subject, because there's no disagreeing with that.
*
Dean hates shopping for new boots. Even as a kid, he'd hated it, though boots were the one thing Dad almost always tried to buy new, and since Sam's feet were always big for his age, they hadn't often had to resort to trying on used shoes that smelled like other people's stinky feet.
He laces up the new boots and stands, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. They feel pretty good. His old ones have given up the ghost--the leather is shot from all the salt and holy water, despite the way they waterproof it, and the treads have long since lost their traction. But boots are expensive, and it's been a while since they felt safe enough to use one of the credit cards. Penney's is having a sale, though, so Dean goes for it.
He's kneeling on the floor, packing his old boots into the box the new ones came in, when he hears the first scream. Followed by several more screams, the sickening thud of a body hitting the ground, and then a whole lot of running.
Dean takes the gun out of his waistband and stands slowly. Using the racks of shoes as cover, he makes his way across the shoe section of the store. When he peers out from around the last rack, he sees three dead bodies splayed out in front of the escalator and a group of zombies gnawing on their insides.
Three headshots and three of the zombies are down. The two that are left keep eating. Gross. There's not a lot that turns Dean's stomach anymore, but that comes close.
Dean pulls out his phone and hits Sam's number on speed-dial. "Pick up, pick up, pick up," he mutters as it rings and then goes to Sam's voicemail. "There are zombies at the mall, Sam. This is not a joke or a metaphor." He takes a picture and sends it to Sam, so Sam knows he's not fucking around. "I'm heading for the hunting section at Sears. Meet me there."
Dean makes his way towards Sears through the crowds of screaming, terrified people who are trying to make it to the exits. None of the rent-a-cops these places hire as security is doing anything to help them or make their exodus safer. He shakes his head in disgust and in quick succession takes out another four zombies in front of Victoria's Secret--shame about the lingerie--and reloads without stopping. He's lucky the zombies are the slow, shuffling type, but he also knows how quickly his luck can turn. He's got two clips left in his jacket pockets, and Sears isn't as far away as he'd feared.
He's not the only one hoping to arm himself--he finds a group of suburban dads yelling and waving guns around when he gets to the hunting section, and one scary-ass granny with a rifle. And, holding a small, boxy gun that looks more like something out of Star Wars than Sears, is a hot chick in a white shirt, tie, and vest combo.
She's talking into her watch like Dick Tracy. "Yeah, boss, I'm trying to get them out safely, but they're a bunch of cowboys. You know how these weekend warriors are. They all think they're John McClane." Dean snorts in agreement. "Hold on, got one coming toward me right now."
Dean pulls out his FBI badge. "Special Agent Dean Jones, Miss--"
She flips open her own badge. "Special Agent O'Dea," she says.
"Yeah, okay, what are the odds of that?"
"That two off-duty FBI agents would just happen to converge in the sporting goods section of Sears during an unexpected zombie outbreak?" She raises her weird gun. "Duck!" Dean ducks and she takes off the head of a zombie behind him.
"That one of the FBI agents would have the same name as the actress who played the main chick in Night of the Living Dead." He raises his own gun. "My turn," he says, and she hunches down so he can shoot another zombie. Its head explodes in a spray of blood and brains, and its body collapses. The action movie wannabes look like they're pissing their pants now. Dean looks at the chick and she nods like she knows what he's thinking.
"Cover me," he says, grabbing a shopping bag from one of the suburbanites and dumping out the guy's new dishtowels. O'Dea takes out another zombie as Dean heads for the glass case containing the ammo he needs. He wastes a bullet shattering the lock, and sweeps what he can into the shopping bag. He also grabs a shotgun or two. O'Dea raises an eyebrow and he shrugs. "Can't hurt to have extra weapons."
"Listen, Jones," she says, her tone indicating she doesn't believe it's his name any more than he believes O'Dea is hers, "help me get these people out of here, and I won't arrest you for impersonating a federal agent."
"You won't arrest me?" he repeats. "Sweetheart, I'm not the one flashing a fake FBI badge around here."
Another scream interrupts their bickering and she says, "Whatever, Jones, we need to get moving. You gonna help me out?"
"Yeah," he says, taking down another zombie before it can eat one dude in a Yankees cap.
"Let's go," he says to the civilians. "Line up in pairs, like you're on a grade school field trip."
"Buddy system all the way," O'Dea confirms.
Dean grins at her. "Agent O'Dea's gonna take point--follow her if you want to live." She frowns but doesn't contradict him.
"What about you?" Yankees cap guy asks in a quavery voice. His Jeter t-shirt is spattered with gore.
"I'll bring up the rear. Just keep looking straight ahead, okay? Grandma, you go up front with Agent O'Dea." She's the only one who didn't drop her weapon when the zombies showed up, so they might as well put her to good use. "You know how to use that thing?" He jerks his chin at the rifle in her gnarled, veiny hands.
"I've been shooting since before you were an itch in your daddy's britches," she answers.
"Good enough for me," O'Dea says as the civilians fall in behind her. "We don't have to head back out into the mall. There's an exit on the first floor, through housewares."
Dean's phone rings as they're slipping through the automotive section, heading for the escalators. "Where the fuck are you?" he snaps.
"The botanica across town," Sam says. Dean can hear horns honking and tires squealing in the background.
"You better not be messing up my car."
"The car's fine, Dean. It looks like the outbreak is confined to the mall."
"Well, they are places of great evil."
Sam huffs a laugh. "How are you doing?"
"Helping some civilians escape. Meet me in the parking lot."
"The whole main strip is a parking lot right now, Dean. Everyone's trying to either get out of town or get to the mall to help."
"Uh, I'm sure it's an important call," O'Dea says, "but we've got zombies on our six."
Dean turns and shoots. A zombie explodes all over a display of snow tires. "I'll call you back."
"Be careful," Sam says.
"Always." Dean tucks the phone away and takes out two more zombies that are trying to creep on up on them while O'Dea blasts a path to the doors ahead of them.
Things get a little hairy on the escalators, but soon enough, he and O'Dea are herding their pack of suburban dads (and one grandma) out into the chilly parking lot and the waiting arms of Emergency Services.
Dean edges away from the cops, hoping to catch sight of Sam and the car, and O'Dea follows. She's talking into her watch again, but low enough this time around that Dean can't hear her. When she's done, she says, "I think the outbreak is contained. That was my boss on the phone. He's taken care of patient zero."
"Good, good," he tells her, figuring he and Sam will have to get rid of whatever idiot raised the zombies later on that night. "You've been a big help," he says, trying to sound official, "so I guess I won't arrest you for impersonating a federal agent." He pulls his phone out. "Sam, where are you? Where the hell is my car?"
"I'm still stuck in traffic, Dean. It's gonna be at least twenty minutes, half an hour, before I get there."
Dean grunts and hangs up. O'Dea is watching him, one eyebrow raised, her arms crossed over her chest. He likes the way the vest looks on her, and that she wears the tie with her top button open.
"Herbie hasn't shown up yet, huh?" she asks.
"Huh?"
"The Love Bug, Agent Jones. I loved that movie as a kid."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"The original, I mean," she clarifies. "The remake was a travesty. I don't know what Matt Dillon was thinking."
"I know, right?" he says before he can stop himself. "Ah, fuck." He holds out a hand. "My name really is Dean, though."
She's got a good grip. "Wendy," she answers. "Nice pick-up on the Night of the Dead Living reference. Most people wouldn't have gotten it."
"I'm not most people."
"I'm getting that."
"That was pretty nice shooting," he says. "Cool gun."
"Yeah," she says with a wide grin, taking it out and showing him, proving that he's not the only one high on the adrenaline of killing zombies. "I know."
He covers her hand on the handle. "The sights--"
"Yeah," she says again, swinging her body around so she's standing in the circle of his arms when they bring the gun up and sight down one of the swirling lights on an ambulance. He shifts closer. She smells really good. She shivers and he can feel it where they're pressed together. She turns her head, lips parted like she's going to say something and he kisses her. She tastes like spearmint gum. She pulls back long enough to say, "Lemme put the gun away," and he smiles against her cheek when she turns her head. "My car's not too far away," she says, invitation clear in her voice and the way her mouth opens under his.
"Oh, hell, no," he says when he gets a load of the red Smart Car she's unlocking. "You're the one who kept cutting me off on the highway."
"You drive that old Chevy?" she says, laughing. "Why am I not surprised?"
"She's not old," he says, righteously offended on his baby's behalf. "She's classic."
"If you say so."
Dean sniffs and folds his arms over his chest. "You wanna get in my pants, you can't insult my car."
"Right back atcha."
"This is not a car," he says, thumping a hand on the roof of the Smart Car. "It's a giant toy."
"It gets me where I'm going," she says. "If it helps, think of it as a giant sex toy."
While he's working that out, she shoves him into the passenger seat and climbs on top of him. He appreciates the warm weight of her in his lap, but there's not nearly enough room for one of them, let alone both, in the seat. She reaches down but instead of unzipping his jeans or her pants, she pushes the seat back.
"Okay?" she asks, mouthing at his earlobe.
"Uh." Dean flails out with his left hand and hits a button on the steering column. Suddenly the car is beeping and rocking from side to side, even though they haven't gotten to that part yet, and there's a sound like tires being pumped full of air.
"Pontoon deployment complete," a computerized voice says.
"What the fuck?"
"Oh, cool," Wendy says, wriggling against him in a completely distracting way. "I didn't know it came equipped with pontoons."
"I didn't know that happened outside of, like, Bond movies."
Wendy laughed into his mouth. "No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to fuck me."
"That's not--You know, I think I like your version just fine."
Dean tries to stretch his legs out a little and his knees bump into the glove compartment. Wendy swallows down his grunt of pain with a kiss. The glove compartment opens, banging into his knees and Wendy's ass, and they both jump (Dean hits his head on the roof) when a cheerful male voice says, "Safety first, Dubbie! Don't forget to cover up! No glove, no love!" And a shower of condoms rains from the glove compartment.
Wendy presses her face to the crook of Dean's neck. He can feel her shaking, though with laughter or fury, he isn't sure. Given what he's seen of her over the past little while, he's pretty sure it's not tears. It takes her a few seconds to catch her breath. "Oh, my god, boss," she says into her watch, "activate code 86."
Dean makes a grab at one of the condoms. "Jolly Fats Wehawkin Rubber" is printed in yellow on the foil packet. "I'll show you jolly fats," he murmurs into the sweaty skin of Wendy's chest, and then he thinks and decides that no, he really doesn't like that as a new nickname for his dick, which he's never thought of as particularly jolly. He rips the packet open but the condom is a freakish neon green and he's not okay with that. He reaches for another, which turns out to be pink with a giant double M on it. Wendy starts laughing again, like she can't believe it either, and it takes five or six more tries to come up with one that's a plain blue.
"Let's get this party started," Dean says. Wendy hums in agreement.
It turns out that you can have sex in a Smart Car, but Dean wouldn't recommend it.
Not that he tells Sam that, when Sam finally arrives.
"You take care, Wendy," Dean says, climbing stiffly out of her car to find Sam leaning against the Impala two parking spots over. She grins and waves and speeds off in her little sex toy car, and Dean stretches, trying to ignore the creak and pop of his back and his knees.
Sam smirks at him. "So much for your rules."
"It was roomy enough. Bigger on the inside, you know?" He gives Sam a dirty smirk of his own and an exaggerated wink.
"Liar."
"There was enough room to set the car rocking!"
"Dean, I could exhale and set that thing rocking."
"It had pontoons, Sam."
Sam's quiet for a long time, like he's thinking that through. Finally, he says, "Okay, I don't know what to do with that, but if you've developed some new fetish, I don't want to know."
"Shut up and drive," Dean answers amiably, climbing into passenger seat and sighing in bliss at all the room he has. "I'm never complaining about the legroom again, baby," he murmurs into the upholstery. He closes his eyes in contentment as Sam puts the car in drive. He's killed zombies and gotten laid. He deserves a nap.
end
~*~
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~*~
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Supernatural/The Middleman; Dean/Wendy, Sam; pg; 3,025 words
There are zombies at the mall. This is not a metaphor.
I blame mousapelli. She supplied many of the ideas and many of the funniest lines. Thanks to angelgazing for laughing at my jokes.
~*~
The Zombie Love Bug Concatenation
The third time the little red Smart Car cuts them off in traffic, Dean says, "I swear to God, I'm gonna crush it like a tin can."
"Dean."
"Seriously, Sam. Who thought it was a good idea to let people drive around in toy cars? Wasn't the VW Bug bad enough?"
"The Bug is a classic, Dean. You said it yourself." Sam shifts in his seat, getting ready to argue. He rests his elbow on the window frame, and out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see him grin. "You loved The Love Bug when we were kids. It was one of your favorite movies."
"That is a dirty lie!"
"You totally subjected me to a thirty minute rant about the Lindsay Lohan remake."
"That was a travesty, Sam. I lost a lot of respect for Matt Dillon for even appearing in it."
"I didn't know you had any respect for Matt Dillon."
"Bite your tongue, Sam! He played Dally in The Outsiders. And he was awesome in The Flamingo Kid."
"I did like The Flamingo Kid."
"Damn straight."
The red Smart Car weaves in front of them again, and Dean gets a look at the chick driving--dark hair, white shirt, strong jaw, kinda hot. Still, the Smart Car puts her out of the running.
He glances over at Sam and grins. "I've only got one rule, Sammy."
"Never eat anything you find on the floor of the car?"
"Never bang a chick in a Smart Car."
Sam snorts. "Even if she was really hot?"
"Have some self-respect, man! You'd have to fold yourself in half to--I can't even think about it!" He shakes his head to rid himself of the disturbing images.
"So you would actually turn down sex with a hot woman if she wanted to do it in a Smart Car?"
"I would suggest we use my car instead." He pats the dashboard. He can't count the number of times he's had sex in the car over the years. She's a better wingman than Sam half the time. At least for picking up chicks.
"What if you can't? What if I've got the car? What if she says her car or the highway? Would you still turn sex down?"
"I would find some other place, Sammy. I have a lot of experience with these things, you know?" Sam mutters something that sounds derogatory, so Dean doesn't try to figure out what it is. "Why are you so fixated on this?"
"I think the question is, why are you so fixated on this?"
"Because that freaking toy car keeps cutting us off!"
"So you're going to refuse to have sex with a woman you'll never meet in a car you'll never see again?"
Well, when you put it like that, Dean thinks, it does sound a little crazy, but he says, "You never know, Sam. Our lives are weird."
Sam snorts and changes the subject, because there's no disagreeing with that.
*
Dean hates shopping for new boots. Even as a kid, he'd hated it, though boots were the one thing Dad almost always tried to buy new, and since Sam's feet were always big for his age, they hadn't often had to resort to trying on used shoes that smelled like other people's stinky feet.
He laces up the new boots and stands, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. They feel pretty good. His old ones have given up the ghost--the leather is shot from all the salt and holy water, despite the way they waterproof it, and the treads have long since lost their traction. But boots are expensive, and it's been a while since they felt safe enough to use one of the credit cards. Penney's is having a sale, though, so Dean goes for it.
He's kneeling on the floor, packing his old boots into the box the new ones came in, when he hears the first scream. Followed by several more screams, the sickening thud of a body hitting the ground, and then a whole lot of running.
Dean takes the gun out of his waistband and stands slowly. Using the racks of shoes as cover, he makes his way across the shoe section of the store. When he peers out from around the last rack, he sees three dead bodies splayed out in front of the escalator and a group of zombies gnawing on their insides.
Three headshots and three of the zombies are down. The two that are left keep eating. Gross. There's not a lot that turns Dean's stomach anymore, but that comes close.
Dean pulls out his phone and hits Sam's number on speed-dial. "Pick up, pick up, pick up," he mutters as it rings and then goes to Sam's voicemail. "There are zombies at the mall, Sam. This is not a joke or a metaphor." He takes a picture and sends it to Sam, so Sam knows he's not fucking around. "I'm heading for the hunting section at Sears. Meet me there."
Dean makes his way towards Sears through the crowds of screaming, terrified people who are trying to make it to the exits. None of the rent-a-cops these places hire as security is doing anything to help them or make their exodus safer. He shakes his head in disgust and in quick succession takes out another four zombies in front of Victoria's Secret--shame about the lingerie--and reloads without stopping. He's lucky the zombies are the slow, shuffling type, but he also knows how quickly his luck can turn. He's got two clips left in his jacket pockets, and Sears isn't as far away as he'd feared.
He's not the only one hoping to arm himself--he finds a group of suburban dads yelling and waving guns around when he gets to the hunting section, and one scary-ass granny with a rifle. And, holding a small, boxy gun that looks more like something out of Star Wars than Sears, is a hot chick in a white shirt, tie, and vest combo.
She's talking into her watch like Dick Tracy. "Yeah, boss, I'm trying to get them out safely, but they're a bunch of cowboys. You know how these weekend warriors are. They all think they're John McClane." Dean snorts in agreement. "Hold on, got one coming toward me right now."
Dean pulls out his FBI badge. "Special Agent Dean Jones, Miss--"
She flips open her own badge. "Special Agent O'Dea," she says.
"Yeah, okay, what are the odds of that?"
"That two off-duty FBI agents would just happen to converge in the sporting goods section of Sears during an unexpected zombie outbreak?" She raises her weird gun. "Duck!" Dean ducks and she takes off the head of a zombie behind him.
"That one of the FBI agents would have the same name as the actress who played the main chick in Night of the Living Dead." He raises his own gun. "My turn," he says, and she hunches down so he can shoot another zombie. Its head explodes in a spray of blood and brains, and its body collapses. The action movie wannabes look like they're pissing their pants now. Dean looks at the chick and she nods like she knows what he's thinking.
"Cover me," he says, grabbing a shopping bag from one of the suburbanites and dumping out the guy's new dishtowels. O'Dea takes out another zombie as Dean heads for the glass case containing the ammo he needs. He wastes a bullet shattering the lock, and sweeps what he can into the shopping bag. He also grabs a shotgun or two. O'Dea raises an eyebrow and he shrugs. "Can't hurt to have extra weapons."
"Listen, Jones," she says, her tone indicating she doesn't believe it's his name any more than he believes O'Dea is hers, "help me get these people out of here, and I won't arrest you for impersonating a federal agent."
"You won't arrest me?" he repeats. "Sweetheart, I'm not the one flashing a fake FBI badge around here."
Another scream interrupts their bickering and she says, "Whatever, Jones, we need to get moving. You gonna help me out?"
"Yeah," he says, taking down another zombie before it can eat one dude in a Yankees cap.
"Let's go," he says to the civilians. "Line up in pairs, like you're on a grade school field trip."
"Buddy system all the way," O'Dea confirms.
Dean grins at her. "Agent O'Dea's gonna take point--follow her if you want to live." She frowns but doesn't contradict him.
"What about you?" Yankees cap guy asks in a quavery voice. His Jeter t-shirt is spattered with gore.
"I'll bring up the rear. Just keep looking straight ahead, okay? Grandma, you go up front with Agent O'Dea." She's the only one who didn't drop her weapon when the zombies showed up, so they might as well put her to good use. "You know how to use that thing?" He jerks his chin at the rifle in her gnarled, veiny hands.
"I've been shooting since before you were an itch in your daddy's britches," she answers.
"Good enough for me," O'Dea says as the civilians fall in behind her. "We don't have to head back out into the mall. There's an exit on the first floor, through housewares."
Dean's phone rings as they're slipping through the automotive section, heading for the escalators. "Where the fuck are you?" he snaps.
"The botanica across town," Sam says. Dean can hear horns honking and tires squealing in the background.
"You better not be messing up my car."
"The car's fine, Dean. It looks like the outbreak is confined to the mall."
"Well, they are places of great evil."
Sam huffs a laugh. "How are you doing?"
"Helping some civilians escape. Meet me in the parking lot."
"The whole main strip is a parking lot right now, Dean. Everyone's trying to either get out of town or get to the mall to help."
"Uh, I'm sure it's an important call," O'Dea says, "but we've got zombies on our six."
Dean turns and shoots. A zombie explodes all over a display of snow tires. "I'll call you back."
"Be careful," Sam says.
"Always." Dean tucks the phone away and takes out two more zombies that are trying to creep on up on them while O'Dea blasts a path to the doors ahead of them.
Things get a little hairy on the escalators, but soon enough, he and O'Dea are herding their pack of suburban dads (and one grandma) out into the chilly parking lot and the waiting arms of Emergency Services.
Dean edges away from the cops, hoping to catch sight of Sam and the car, and O'Dea follows. She's talking into her watch again, but low enough this time around that Dean can't hear her. When she's done, she says, "I think the outbreak is contained. That was my boss on the phone. He's taken care of patient zero."
"Good, good," he tells her, figuring he and Sam will have to get rid of whatever idiot raised the zombies later on that night. "You've been a big help," he says, trying to sound official, "so I guess I won't arrest you for impersonating a federal agent." He pulls his phone out. "Sam, where are you? Where the hell is my car?"
"I'm still stuck in traffic, Dean. It's gonna be at least twenty minutes, half an hour, before I get there."
Dean grunts and hangs up. O'Dea is watching him, one eyebrow raised, her arms crossed over her chest. He likes the way the vest looks on her, and that she wears the tie with her top button open.
"Herbie hasn't shown up yet, huh?" she asks.
"Huh?"
"The Love Bug, Agent Jones. I loved that movie as a kid."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"The original, I mean," she clarifies. "The remake was a travesty. I don't know what Matt Dillon was thinking."
"I know, right?" he says before he can stop himself. "Ah, fuck." He holds out a hand. "My name really is Dean, though."
She's got a good grip. "Wendy," she answers. "Nice pick-up on the Night of the Dead Living reference. Most people wouldn't have gotten it."
"I'm not most people."
"I'm getting that."
"That was pretty nice shooting," he says. "Cool gun."
"Yeah," she says with a wide grin, taking it out and showing him, proving that he's not the only one high on the adrenaline of killing zombies. "I know."
He covers her hand on the handle. "The sights--"
"Yeah," she says again, swinging her body around so she's standing in the circle of his arms when they bring the gun up and sight down one of the swirling lights on an ambulance. He shifts closer. She smells really good. She shivers and he can feel it where they're pressed together. She turns her head, lips parted like she's going to say something and he kisses her. She tastes like spearmint gum. She pulls back long enough to say, "Lemme put the gun away," and he smiles against her cheek when she turns her head. "My car's not too far away," she says, invitation clear in her voice and the way her mouth opens under his.
"Oh, hell, no," he says when he gets a load of the red Smart Car she's unlocking. "You're the one who kept cutting me off on the highway."
"You drive that old Chevy?" she says, laughing. "Why am I not surprised?"
"She's not old," he says, righteously offended on his baby's behalf. "She's classic."
"If you say so."
Dean sniffs and folds his arms over his chest. "You wanna get in my pants, you can't insult my car."
"Right back atcha."
"This is not a car," he says, thumping a hand on the roof of the Smart Car. "It's a giant toy."
"It gets me where I'm going," she says. "If it helps, think of it as a giant sex toy."
While he's working that out, she shoves him into the passenger seat and climbs on top of him. He appreciates the warm weight of her in his lap, but there's not nearly enough room for one of them, let alone both, in the seat. She reaches down but instead of unzipping his jeans or her pants, she pushes the seat back.
"Okay?" she asks, mouthing at his earlobe.
"Uh." Dean flails out with his left hand and hits a button on the steering column. Suddenly the car is beeping and rocking from side to side, even though they haven't gotten to that part yet, and there's a sound like tires being pumped full of air.
"Pontoon deployment complete," a computerized voice says.
"What the fuck?"
"Oh, cool," Wendy says, wriggling against him in a completely distracting way. "I didn't know it came equipped with pontoons."
"I didn't know that happened outside of, like, Bond movies."
Wendy laughed into his mouth. "No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to fuck me."
"That's not--You know, I think I like your version just fine."
Dean tries to stretch his legs out a little and his knees bump into the glove compartment. Wendy swallows down his grunt of pain with a kiss. The glove compartment opens, banging into his knees and Wendy's ass, and they both jump (Dean hits his head on the roof) when a cheerful male voice says, "Safety first, Dubbie! Don't forget to cover up! No glove, no love!" And a shower of condoms rains from the glove compartment.
Wendy presses her face to the crook of Dean's neck. He can feel her shaking, though with laughter or fury, he isn't sure. Given what he's seen of her over the past little while, he's pretty sure it's not tears. It takes her a few seconds to catch her breath. "Oh, my god, boss," she says into her watch, "activate code 86."
Dean makes a grab at one of the condoms. "Jolly Fats Wehawkin Rubber" is printed in yellow on the foil packet. "I'll show you jolly fats," he murmurs into the sweaty skin of Wendy's chest, and then he thinks and decides that no, he really doesn't like that as a new nickname for his dick, which he's never thought of as particularly jolly. He rips the packet open but the condom is a freakish neon green and he's not okay with that. He reaches for another, which turns out to be pink with a giant double M on it. Wendy starts laughing again, like she can't believe it either, and it takes five or six more tries to come up with one that's a plain blue.
"Let's get this party started," Dean says. Wendy hums in agreement.
It turns out that you can have sex in a Smart Car, but Dean wouldn't recommend it.
Not that he tells Sam that, when Sam finally arrives.
"You take care, Wendy," Dean says, climbing stiffly out of her car to find Sam leaning against the Impala two parking spots over. She grins and waves and speeds off in her little sex toy car, and Dean stretches, trying to ignore the creak and pop of his back and his knees.
Sam smirks at him. "So much for your rules."
"It was roomy enough. Bigger on the inside, you know?" He gives Sam a dirty smirk of his own and an exaggerated wink.
"Liar."
"There was enough room to set the car rocking!"
"Dean, I could exhale and set that thing rocking."
"It had pontoons, Sam."
Sam's quiet for a long time, like he's thinking that through. Finally, he says, "Okay, I don't know what to do with that, but if you've developed some new fetish, I don't want to know."
"Shut up and drive," Dean answers amiably, climbing into passenger seat and sighing in bliss at all the room he has. "I'm never complaining about the legroom again, baby," he murmurs into the upholstery. He closes his eyes in contentment as Sam puts the car in drive. He's killed zombies and gotten laid. He deserves a nap.
end
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