HAPPY HOLIDAYS, impala_chick
Author: TBA
Recipient: impala_chick
Title: It's the End of the World As We Know It (and I Feel Fine)
Characters: Dean Winchester, Joe Jonas
Pairings: Joe/Dean
Rating: R.
Wordcount: 2890
Spoilers: Season 5 of Supernatural.
Warnings: Nope.
Disclaimer: Don't own. I wish I did though.
A/N: Un-beta'ed, all mistakes are my own. Feel free to inform me of them and I will fix them. Set three years after Season 5, in the middle of the post-apocalyptic US, spoilers for after S5 ep 2
Summary: The Apocalypse isn't all that bad. Really.
The Request: I didn't really base this off of a request. I based it more off of what she wanted to see in the fic, which was car!sex. Heh.
Dean’s in another no name bar, this one’s just outside of Mobile, Alabama (and really, who in hell names these places), when the Jonas Brothers, the fucking Jonas Brothers, start playing through the tinny radio sitting on a stool in the corner. The bar’s filled with brawny guys, so it’s not like anyone had turned it on, because come on, what normal guy listens to the Jonas Brothers?
Dean’s sitting by himself at the bar, a beer bottle sitting idly between his hands, when he hears the song. His head turns to look at the radio, and he sees this guy standing there, who had obviously just changed the station. The guy turns and as he looks at Dean his eyes flash black and he winks, then he saunters out. Dean doesn’t even bother following him, he’s pretty sure half of the guys in this bar are possessed as well. He’s also pretty sure that they know exactly who he is too, that he’s Dean Winchester, the one sent to kill them all. But he knows they don’t care at all.
Dean lifts the beer bottle to his lips and takes a long drink, finishing the bottle off. Once he’s done he wipes his lips with the back of his hand, setting the bottle down with a clink on the counter. The barmaid walks over, her hips swaying and a grin splits across her face when she sees Dean’s eyes on her ass.
“Can I getcha something else?” she questions seductively, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the counter. Dean can see she’s pushing her elbows towards her chest, trying to give herself some extra lift that she really doesn’t need.
He shakes his head, although regretfully. “No thanks, sweetheart, I’m gonna head out for the night.” He gives her the trademark Dean Winchester smile, and pulls a few crumpled bills out of his back pocket. “This should cover the beer,” he tells her, and sets them down on the counter next to her. He turns around and heads towards the door, and when he looks back he sees her glaring at him, eyes pitch black.
He pushes open the door of the bar, and the first thing he sees is the Impala peeling out of the bar’s parking lot. His eyes widen, and before he gets a chance to think, he’s moving, feet pounding against the pavement as he chases after his baby. She’s not going too fast, most likely because the guy driving it has no idea how to handle her, so Dean catches up quickly. He dives in through the passenger side window, thanking God he left it open, and lands in someone’s lap. Luckily, the surprise of someone leaping through the window startles the guy and he pulls his foot off the gas pedal and slams on the break, and the car skids off to the side of the dusty road.
The guy struggles for a short while, but it’s hard because Dean’s bigger than him and he’s practically sitting on the guy’s lap, trying to grab both of his arms. And then he does, and he twists the guy around so he’s got his face pressed into the leather seat. Dean grabs a ziptie from where he’s got a pack laying in the back seat, and he winds it around the guy’s hands and pulls it tight. The guy struggles again, wiggling around from his spot under Dean, until he realizes that it’s pretty much a lost cause and just falls limp on the seat.
Dean pushes open the door and gets out, then he grabs the guy by the scruff of the neck and tosses him on the dirt. The guy makes a pained noise and tries to get up, but Dean punches him in what he thinks is the guy’s jaw, he doesn’t know because this guy’s hair is practically down to his chin. Dean can see the dirt caked in the guy’s fingernails, and he sees how torn and rotted the guy’s clothes are. He’s got a pair of worn black Chucks on, and the soles of the shoes are wearing away.
Dean storms back to his car and grabs a bottle of holy water, and then he flings some at the guy. When it hits him, he flinches, but he doesn’t smoke. That’s a good sign, at least. He’s human, and now Dean doesn’t have to worry about the guy killing him while he chews him a new one.
“What in hell do you think you’re doing, kid?” Dean bellows, grabbing the guy by his shoulders and shaking him. When he wraps his hands around the guy’s arms, he can feel how sickly thin they feel below the tattered short-sleeved shirt he’s wearing, and he pulls away like he’s been burned. “Jesus Christ, when was the last time you ate?”
The guy doesn’t answer, and so Dean reaches forward and pushes the long hair out of his face. He jerks back, because the guy really is a kid. He looks like he’s at most twenty-three, and he’s got these big brown doe eyes, and he’s just staring up at Dean like he’s the only person on the earth that matters. And that’s weird, because Dean doesn’t even know the kid’s name.
“I was just…” the kid tries, but he shakes his head, starting again. “My brothers, they went missing, and I needed a car to try and find them, and I didn’t know there were still people in this part of town, and I thought that a demon owned this car and that they would be in there for a while, and…” he sucks in a huge breath “that if the demon caught me it really wouldn’t matter, and so I…” He shuts up when he sees the weird look Dean’s giving him.
“So let me get this straight, kid,” Dean says slowly. “You wanted to try and find your brothers, so you went to steal a car from demons, knowing that if they caught you you’d be gutted like a fish?” The kid nods, and Dean rolls his eyes. He pulls his knife out of his back pocket and cuts the zip-tie from the kid’s hands. “What’s your name?” Dean asks as he holds out a hand for the guy to grab to get up.
“It’s Joe,” the kid says, and he grabs Dean’s hand and pulls himself up. He brushes off his ass from where it was pushed against the dirt, and rubs at his wrists. They’re an angry red, and Dean almost feels bad for pulling the tie that tight.
“Look,” Dean says, “I know where you’re coming from, with the whole ‘losing your brothers’ thing. My baby brother’s out there somewhere too.”
“Oh,” Joe says, “are you looking for him?”
Dean shakes his head. “No,” he says, “he left on his own.” Joe’s eyes widen, and Dean nods. “Yeah,” he says, “stupid kid. But he’s got a good head on his shoulders, he knows what he’s doing.”
Joe shakes his head and stares at the ground. “How can anyone know what they’re doing?”
Dean shrugs. “Easy,” he replies, and motions for Joe to follow him as he walks towards the trunk. Dean pops the latch and pushes the trunk lid up, and Joe gapes at the contents.
“Holy shit,” he says, hands reaching out as if to touch the guns, but Dean shakes his head curtly and Joe pulls his hand back.
“Don’t touch,” Dean says simply, and Joe nods, shoving his hands into his pockets. Dean slams the lid of the trunk down and walks towards the drivers side door. He opens it and looks back at Joe, who’s just standing at the back of the car, looking lost. For a second, Dean contemplates what would happen if he left the kid there, just climbed into his car and drove into the red sunset, but he doesn’t get in, he jerks his head. “C’mon, kid, you coming?”
Joe starts, nodding eagerly, and then he walks quickly around to the passenger side door and slides in, slamming the door behind him.
Dean gets in and starts the car up, pulling away from the curb and accelerating with ease. Joe raises a brow.
“How can you get it to go that fast?”
Dean grins. “You’ve got to know how to drive her,” he replies, reaching out a hand and petting the dashboard lovingly. He glances at Joe, who’s just staring out the window now, and flicks on the radio. He figures he’ll ease Joe in, figure out what kind of music the kid listens to. So, despite his better judgment, he opens his mouth. “You can change the radio if you want,” he replies, and he watches from the corner of his eye as Joe leans forward and finds a station that’s actually broadcasting and not just static. He leans back in the seat and folds his arms again, then goes right back to staring out the window.
About twenty minutes later, Dean can tell Joe’s started to feel comfortable. He’s singing along to the songs he knows, and he’s really good. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say that Joe’s voice sounded vaguely familiar. So it really shouldn’t have surprised him like it does when another Jonas Brothers song comes on the radio. Dean glances over at Joe, wanting to gauge his reaction. If the kid likes this song, he’s gonna chuck him out the window. He’s surprised to see that Joe’s face is red, and he’s looking really hard at his lap.
“What’s wrong?” Dean asks, and Joe shrugs, awkwardly. “N-nothing,” he replies, but then Dean hears a voice coming through the speakers that sounds so much like Joe’s, it’s not even funny. The song ends a few minutes later, and Dean narrows his eyes and turns to face Joe. “Joe, what’s your last name?”
Joe’s face turns bright red, and underneath the dirt it looks like he’s gonna be sick. “It’s not really that important,” he says, but Dean keeps staring, until Joe caves. “Jonas,” he mumbles, and Dean slams on the breaks so hard that the car fishtails and skids off to the side of the road.
“And you neglected to tell me this?” Dean asks, his face turning red. Joe just nods weakly. “Can we just forget about it though?” he asks, “It’s not like it matters anyways. It’s not like we perform anymore or anything.” Dean glares a little, but nods. “Yeah. Whatever.” He presses down on the gas pedal and accelerates towards the setting sun.
*
A few weeks later finds Dean and Joe, holed up inside a random motel in Pittsburg. Dean’s at the little wooden table, and Joe’s laying on the bed with his laptop on his lap. He’s on MySpace, staring at their profile with a blank expression. Dean looks up from where he’s pouring over a notebook, and sees the look on Joe’s face. “What’s up?” he asks, and Joe looks at him with a weird expression on his face.
“It’s our MySpace,” he says, “we used to get like, twenty-five comments every second. But now…” he points to their comment page; they hadn’t gotten a comment in a week. “It’s like everyone fell off the face of the Earth,” he says quietly, and Dean swallows, because Joe’s pretty much right.
*
Now that Joe’s got Dean with him, he’s been eating properly. And he’s bulking up again. Dean had thought that Joe used to be muscular before the end of the world, and boy, was he right. Dean can see as Joe’s arms began to fill out the t-shirts again, instead of leaving the sleeves hanging limply. He sees the curves of Joe’s abs when it got so hot out that Joe’s thin wife beater stuck to his chest. But he wasn’t looking. No, he wasn’t looking at those things, nor was he looking when Joe’s eyes fall on Dean’s chest while they were out chopping wood, and Dean definitely doesn’t notice the large bulge in the front of Joe’s pants after that.
It’s on a dusty, red Sunday that everything blows up in their face.
Dean’s on a hunt, trying to distract himself from the end of the world. It’s another one of those routine things; this time there’s a farmer who’s being haunted by the ghost of a cow. The cow’s been getting into the feed and screwing with the farmer’s mind, and normally Dean wouldn’t have paid any attention to it. But Joe wanted to see him hunt, so Dean figured he would take the case so that neither of them would get hurt.
They’re poking around the barn, looking for the ghost cow, but instead it finds them. Dean’s in a stall and Joe’s sitting on a stack of hay, when Dean hears a loud ’snort’ and then a disgusted sound from Joe. He bolts back into the barn to find the ghost cow hovering right next to Joe, and Joe dripping with green gunk.
“The damn thing just sneezed on me!” Joe cries out, stamping his foot indignantly when Dean doubles over with laughter. The cow, meanwhile, floats casually over to the hay where Joe had once sat and begins munching away on strands. Dean leads Joe away, and they find the cow’s corpse and burn it quickly, so the hunt’s over without much incident. Joe watches while Dean salts and burns, moaning pathetically about the slime all over his body.
“There’s no way you’re getting in the car like that,” Dean comments, and Joe narrows his eyes.
“Then how, exactly, are we gonna get back?”
Dean points to a hose that’s laying coiled up in the corner.
Joe follows Dean’s finger, and then he groans.
*
Joe’s sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala on top of a towel, hair dripping wet. He’s naked, wrapped in a thick blanket. His clothes are tied tightly in a plastic baggy in the trunk, and he’s curled in a ball on the seat, staring angrily at Dean.
“I don’t get it,” he says, “why couldn’t I just take off the clothes and sit here, why did you have to spray me with water, which, may I add, was freezing????”
Dean laughs. “Because your hair would have been slimy,” he retorts, “and it would have gotten all over my car.”
Joe grunts and tucks himself further into a ball. “This blanket is scratchy,” he says, and shifts more under it. “I can’t get comfortable,” he says as he moves, trying to find a spot where the blanket isn’t poking him. And then he freezes.
“What?” Dean asks, turning to glance at Joe.
“N-nothing,” Joe replies, and sucks in his lip.
“No, tell me.”
“Dean, come on. It’s fine. Just leave it alone, okay?”
Dean chuckles. “It’s got you hot and bothered, hasn’t it?”
Joe blushes a deep red, and tries to sink further into the blanket, but when he shifts a quiet moan slips past his lips and he flushes even more.
“Don’t worry about it,” Dean mutters, “just take care of it. Okay?”
Joe’s head whips to look at Dean. “Wh-what?”
“Take care of it,” Dean tells him. “If I was in your position, I’d take care of it.” He waves his hand. “Get to it.”
Joe just gapes incredulously, but his hand slides slowly and reluctantly under the blanket.
*
Two minutes of Joe moaning as he humps his fist proves to be too much for Dean.
He twists his arms, and with a jerk of the wheel the Impala rumbles over to the side of the road. Dean kills the engine and turns to stare at Joe, who’s got the blanket haphazardly thrown to the side. His legs are sprawled out, one on the seat and one on the floor, and his fist circles his cock tightly.
“Wh-why’d you stop?” Joe pants, staring at Dean with this wrecked expression.
Dean growls, low in his throat, and pushes himself towards Joe. Joe’s eyes have approximately one second to widen before Dean’s lips are pressed against his own, and Dean’s tongue is practically down his throat.
Joe fists his fingers in Dean’s hair and pulls his head closer. His hips rut up against Dean’s belt, hissing as his cock scrapes against the metal buckle.
It’s over too fast, and too soon, but it’s over. The car is suddenly quiet as Dean awkwardly wipes Joe’s come off of his jeans and Joe tucks himself further in the blanket. He shoves his head under the wool material and curls into a ball again, and even through the gray wool Dean can tell that Joe’s freaked.
“Don’t sweat it, kid,” Dean murmurs, and starts up the Impala. He pulls away from the curb and reaches over, flicking on the radio. Joe’s iPod is connected to the radio, and so streams of Benton Paul float through the radio. Dean picks up Joe’s iPod and scans through, then presses play.
The first words of Lovebug can be heard, and Joe peaks an eye up through the covers.
“It’s gonna be fine,” Dean tells him, and Joe nods once, then buries his head back under the blanket.
-END-
Recipient: impala_chick
Title: It's the End of the World As We Know It (and I Feel Fine)
Characters: Dean Winchester, Joe Jonas
Pairings: Joe/Dean
Rating: R.
Wordcount: 2890
Spoilers: Season 5 of Supernatural.
Warnings: Nope.
Disclaimer: Don't own. I wish I did though.
A/N: Un-beta'ed, all mistakes are my own. Feel free to inform me of them and I will fix them. Set three years after Season 5, in the middle of the post-apocalyptic US, spoilers for after S5 ep 2
Summary: The Apocalypse isn't all that bad. Really.
The Request: I didn't really base this off of a request. I based it more off of what she wanted to see in the fic, which was car!sex. Heh.
Dean’s in another no name bar, this one’s just outside of Mobile, Alabama (and really, who in hell names these places), when the Jonas Brothers, the fucking Jonas Brothers, start playing through the tinny radio sitting on a stool in the corner. The bar’s filled with brawny guys, so it’s not like anyone had turned it on, because come on, what normal guy listens to the Jonas Brothers?
Dean’s sitting by himself at the bar, a beer bottle sitting idly between his hands, when he hears the song. His head turns to look at the radio, and he sees this guy standing there, who had obviously just changed the station. The guy turns and as he looks at Dean his eyes flash black and he winks, then he saunters out. Dean doesn’t even bother following him, he’s pretty sure half of the guys in this bar are possessed as well. He’s also pretty sure that they know exactly who he is too, that he’s Dean Winchester, the one sent to kill them all. But he knows they don’t care at all.
Dean lifts the beer bottle to his lips and takes a long drink, finishing the bottle off. Once he’s done he wipes his lips with the back of his hand, setting the bottle down with a clink on the counter. The barmaid walks over, her hips swaying and a grin splits across her face when she sees Dean’s eyes on her ass.
“Can I getcha something else?” she questions seductively, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the counter. Dean can see she’s pushing her elbows towards her chest, trying to give herself some extra lift that she really doesn’t need.
He shakes his head, although regretfully. “No thanks, sweetheart, I’m gonna head out for the night.” He gives her the trademark Dean Winchester smile, and pulls a few crumpled bills out of his back pocket. “This should cover the beer,” he tells her, and sets them down on the counter next to her. He turns around and heads towards the door, and when he looks back he sees her glaring at him, eyes pitch black.
He pushes open the door of the bar, and the first thing he sees is the Impala peeling out of the bar’s parking lot. His eyes widen, and before he gets a chance to think, he’s moving, feet pounding against the pavement as he chases after his baby. She’s not going too fast, most likely because the guy driving it has no idea how to handle her, so Dean catches up quickly. He dives in through the passenger side window, thanking God he left it open, and lands in someone’s lap. Luckily, the surprise of someone leaping through the window startles the guy and he pulls his foot off the gas pedal and slams on the break, and the car skids off to the side of the dusty road.
The guy struggles for a short while, but it’s hard because Dean’s bigger than him and he’s practically sitting on the guy’s lap, trying to grab both of his arms. And then he does, and he twists the guy around so he’s got his face pressed into the leather seat. Dean grabs a ziptie from where he’s got a pack laying in the back seat, and he winds it around the guy’s hands and pulls it tight. The guy struggles again, wiggling around from his spot under Dean, until he realizes that it’s pretty much a lost cause and just falls limp on the seat.
Dean pushes open the door and gets out, then he grabs the guy by the scruff of the neck and tosses him on the dirt. The guy makes a pained noise and tries to get up, but Dean punches him in what he thinks is the guy’s jaw, he doesn’t know because this guy’s hair is practically down to his chin. Dean can see the dirt caked in the guy’s fingernails, and he sees how torn and rotted the guy’s clothes are. He’s got a pair of worn black Chucks on, and the soles of the shoes are wearing away.
Dean storms back to his car and grabs a bottle of holy water, and then he flings some at the guy. When it hits him, he flinches, but he doesn’t smoke. That’s a good sign, at least. He’s human, and now Dean doesn’t have to worry about the guy killing him while he chews him a new one.
“What in hell do you think you’re doing, kid?” Dean bellows, grabbing the guy by his shoulders and shaking him. When he wraps his hands around the guy’s arms, he can feel how sickly thin they feel below the tattered short-sleeved shirt he’s wearing, and he pulls away like he’s been burned. “Jesus Christ, when was the last time you ate?”
The guy doesn’t answer, and so Dean reaches forward and pushes the long hair out of his face. He jerks back, because the guy really is a kid. He looks like he’s at most twenty-three, and he’s got these big brown doe eyes, and he’s just staring up at Dean like he’s the only person on the earth that matters. And that’s weird, because Dean doesn’t even know the kid’s name.
“I was just…” the kid tries, but he shakes his head, starting again. “My brothers, they went missing, and I needed a car to try and find them, and I didn’t know there were still people in this part of town, and I thought that a demon owned this car and that they would be in there for a while, and…” he sucks in a huge breath “that if the demon caught me it really wouldn’t matter, and so I…” He shuts up when he sees the weird look Dean’s giving him.
“So let me get this straight, kid,” Dean says slowly. “You wanted to try and find your brothers, so you went to steal a car from demons, knowing that if they caught you you’d be gutted like a fish?” The kid nods, and Dean rolls his eyes. He pulls his knife out of his back pocket and cuts the zip-tie from the kid’s hands. “What’s your name?” Dean asks as he holds out a hand for the guy to grab to get up.
“It’s Joe,” the kid says, and he grabs Dean’s hand and pulls himself up. He brushes off his ass from where it was pushed against the dirt, and rubs at his wrists. They’re an angry red, and Dean almost feels bad for pulling the tie that tight.
“Look,” Dean says, “I know where you’re coming from, with the whole ‘losing your brothers’ thing. My baby brother’s out there somewhere too.”
“Oh,” Joe says, “are you looking for him?”
Dean shakes his head. “No,” he says, “he left on his own.” Joe’s eyes widen, and Dean nods. “Yeah,” he says, “stupid kid. But he’s got a good head on his shoulders, he knows what he’s doing.”
Joe shakes his head and stares at the ground. “How can anyone know what they’re doing?”
Dean shrugs. “Easy,” he replies, and motions for Joe to follow him as he walks towards the trunk. Dean pops the latch and pushes the trunk lid up, and Joe gapes at the contents.
“Holy shit,” he says, hands reaching out as if to touch the guns, but Dean shakes his head curtly and Joe pulls his hand back.
“Don’t touch,” Dean says simply, and Joe nods, shoving his hands into his pockets. Dean slams the lid of the trunk down and walks towards the drivers side door. He opens it and looks back at Joe, who’s just standing at the back of the car, looking lost. For a second, Dean contemplates what would happen if he left the kid there, just climbed into his car and drove into the red sunset, but he doesn’t get in, he jerks his head. “C’mon, kid, you coming?”
Joe starts, nodding eagerly, and then he walks quickly around to the passenger side door and slides in, slamming the door behind him.
Dean gets in and starts the car up, pulling away from the curb and accelerating with ease. Joe raises a brow.
“How can you get it to go that fast?”
Dean grins. “You’ve got to know how to drive her,” he replies, reaching out a hand and petting the dashboard lovingly. He glances at Joe, who’s just staring out the window now, and flicks on the radio. He figures he’ll ease Joe in, figure out what kind of music the kid listens to. So, despite his better judgment, he opens his mouth. “You can change the radio if you want,” he replies, and he watches from the corner of his eye as Joe leans forward and finds a station that’s actually broadcasting and not just static. He leans back in the seat and folds his arms again, then goes right back to staring out the window.
About twenty minutes later, Dean can tell Joe’s started to feel comfortable. He’s singing along to the songs he knows, and he’s really good. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say that Joe’s voice sounded vaguely familiar. So it really shouldn’t have surprised him like it does when another Jonas Brothers song comes on the radio. Dean glances over at Joe, wanting to gauge his reaction. If the kid likes this song, he’s gonna chuck him out the window. He’s surprised to see that Joe’s face is red, and he’s looking really hard at his lap.
“What’s wrong?” Dean asks, and Joe shrugs, awkwardly. “N-nothing,” he replies, but then Dean hears a voice coming through the speakers that sounds so much like Joe’s, it’s not even funny. The song ends a few minutes later, and Dean narrows his eyes and turns to face Joe. “Joe, what’s your last name?”
Joe’s face turns bright red, and underneath the dirt it looks like he’s gonna be sick. “It’s not really that important,” he says, but Dean keeps staring, until Joe caves. “Jonas,” he mumbles, and Dean slams on the breaks so hard that the car fishtails and skids off to the side of the road.
“And you neglected to tell me this?” Dean asks, his face turning red. Joe just nods weakly. “Can we just forget about it though?” he asks, “It’s not like it matters anyways. It’s not like we perform anymore or anything.” Dean glares a little, but nods. “Yeah. Whatever.” He presses down on the gas pedal and accelerates towards the setting sun.
*
A few weeks later finds Dean and Joe, holed up inside a random motel in Pittsburg. Dean’s at the little wooden table, and Joe’s laying on the bed with his laptop on his lap. He’s on MySpace, staring at their profile with a blank expression. Dean looks up from where he’s pouring over a notebook, and sees the look on Joe’s face. “What’s up?” he asks, and Joe looks at him with a weird expression on his face.
“It’s our MySpace,” he says, “we used to get like, twenty-five comments every second. But now…” he points to their comment page; they hadn’t gotten a comment in a week. “It’s like everyone fell off the face of the Earth,” he says quietly, and Dean swallows, because Joe’s pretty much right.
*
Now that Joe’s got Dean with him, he’s been eating properly. And he’s bulking up again. Dean had thought that Joe used to be muscular before the end of the world, and boy, was he right. Dean can see as Joe’s arms began to fill out the t-shirts again, instead of leaving the sleeves hanging limply. He sees the curves of Joe’s abs when it got so hot out that Joe’s thin wife beater stuck to his chest. But he wasn’t looking. No, he wasn’t looking at those things, nor was he looking when Joe’s eyes fall on Dean’s chest while they were out chopping wood, and Dean definitely doesn’t notice the large bulge in the front of Joe’s pants after that.
It’s on a dusty, red Sunday that everything blows up in their face.
Dean’s on a hunt, trying to distract himself from the end of the world. It’s another one of those routine things; this time there’s a farmer who’s being haunted by the ghost of a cow. The cow’s been getting into the feed and screwing with the farmer’s mind, and normally Dean wouldn’t have paid any attention to it. But Joe wanted to see him hunt, so Dean figured he would take the case so that neither of them would get hurt.
They’re poking around the barn, looking for the ghost cow, but instead it finds them. Dean’s in a stall and Joe’s sitting on a stack of hay, when Dean hears a loud ’snort’ and then a disgusted sound from Joe. He bolts back into the barn to find the ghost cow hovering right next to Joe, and Joe dripping with green gunk.
“The damn thing just sneezed on me!” Joe cries out, stamping his foot indignantly when Dean doubles over with laughter. The cow, meanwhile, floats casually over to the hay where Joe had once sat and begins munching away on strands. Dean leads Joe away, and they find the cow’s corpse and burn it quickly, so the hunt’s over without much incident. Joe watches while Dean salts and burns, moaning pathetically about the slime all over his body.
“There’s no way you’re getting in the car like that,” Dean comments, and Joe narrows his eyes.
“Then how, exactly, are we gonna get back?”
Dean points to a hose that’s laying coiled up in the corner.
Joe follows Dean’s finger, and then he groans.
*
Joe’s sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala on top of a towel, hair dripping wet. He’s naked, wrapped in a thick blanket. His clothes are tied tightly in a plastic baggy in the trunk, and he’s curled in a ball on the seat, staring angrily at Dean.
“I don’t get it,” he says, “why couldn’t I just take off the clothes and sit here, why did you have to spray me with water, which, may I add, was freezing????”
Dean laughs. “Because your hair would have been slimy,” he retorts, “and it would have gotten all over my car.”
Joe grunts and tucks himself further into a ball. “This blanket is scratchy,” he says, and shifts more under it. “I can’t get comfortable,” he says as he moves, trying to find a spot where the blanket isn’t poking him. And then he freezes.
“What?” Dean asks, turning to glance at Joe.
“N-nothing,” Joe replies, and sucks in his lip.
“No, tell me.”
“Dean, come on. It’s fine. Just leave it alone, okay?”
Dean chuckles. “It’s got you hot and bothered, hasn’t it?”
Joe blushes a deep red, and tries to sink further into the blanket, but when he shifts a quiet moan slips past his lips and he flushes even more.
“Don’t worry about it,” Dean mutters, “just take care of it. Okay?”
Joe’s head whips to look at Dean. “Wh-what?”
“Take care of it,” Dean tells him. “If I was in your position, I’d take care of it.” He waves his hand. “Get to it.”
Joe just gapes incredulously, but his hand slides slowly and reluctantly under the blanket.
*
Two minutes of Joe moaning as he humps his fist proves to be too much for Dean.
He twists his arms, and with a jerk of the wheel the Impala rumbles over to the side of the road. Dean kills the engine and turns to stare at Joe, who’s got the blanket haphazardly thrown to the side. His legs are sprawled out, one on the seat and one on the floor, and his fist circles his cock tightly.
“Wh-why’d you stop?” Joe pants, staring at Dean with this wrecked expression.
Dean growls, low in his throat, and pushes himself towards Joe. Joe’s eyes have approximately one second to widen before Dean’s lips are pressed against his own, and Dean’s tongue is practically down his throat.
Joe fists his fingers in Dean’s hair and pulls his head closer. His hips rut up against Dean’s belt, hissing as his cock scrapes against the metal buckle.
It’s over too fast, and too soon, but it’s over. The car is suddenly quiet as Dean awkwardly wipes Joe’s come off of his jeans and Joe tucks himself further in the blanket. He shoves his head under the wool material and curls into a ball again, and even through the gray wool Dean can tell that Joe’s freaked.
“Don’t sweat it, kid,” Dean murmurs, and starts up the Impala. He pulls away from the curb and reaches over, flicking on the radio. Joe’s iPod is connected to the radio, and so streams of Benton Paul float through the radio. Dean picks up Joe’s iPod and scans through, then presses play.
The first words of Lovebug can be heard, and Joe peaks an eye up through the covers.
“It’s gonna be fine,” Dean tells him, and Joe nods once, then buries his head back under the blanket.
-END-