A Fashionable Profit-Supernatural fic
Title: A Fashionable Profit
Rating: R
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: None
Category: CRACK!FIC, Humor
Summary: "Why the hell didn't you tell me they were taking your picture in nothing but a pair of Daisy Dukes?"
Notes: We completely butcher the entire modeling franchise because we know nothing about it whatsoever. We would have done research, but this is crack fic, so we just made stuff up instead.
P.S. Apologies to Calvin Klein for everything.
HUGE thank you to munchkinofdoom for betaing this for us. (Sorry I forgot to include this last night hun.) ;)
Because several people have asked, no, we will not allow anyone to take our stories to translate and post onto other websites/forums. Thank you for the offer but we want full control of our stories so no, we won't be giving control of them to anyone.
"It'll only be this once, Dean-we're running low on cash and it'll be at least another four weeks before the next credit card application comes through."
"Why can't you just hustle some pool?" Dean's arms were crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed, his lower lip jutting out (and John knows Dean would kill him if he ever said this out loud) in an unhappy pout.
"Look, Dean-I know it isn't ideal, but we need the money. Sammy needs new clothes for school, we're running low on ammunition, and if you and Sammy want to eat this month a couple hundred hustled from pool just ain't gonna cut it." John knew it was kind of low using Sammy, Dean's one real weakness, against him, but they really were reaching a low point money wise and at least this was one way they could get some quick cash without any injuries; though if the look on Dean's face was any indication, John might just have to start sleeping with both eyes open.
"One time--you promise?" John saw the resignation in Dean's eyes and smiled, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Just this once. I promise. Now go grab a shower and find your best clothes-the audition is in two hours."
-----
Dean glared at the smiling kid in front of him, all blindingly white teeth, perfectly combed hair and clothes pressed, making the kid look like a mini banker. "Hi, I'm Jason-is this your first time auditioning? It can be scary, and a little intimidating, especially since all of us here have been on dozens of auditions. I was in a commercial last month for GAP and I'll probably get this one as well. They just love me."
Dean wondered how much trouble he'd get in if he knocked 'Jason' on his ass and marred that pretty little face of his. Glancing at his father, who raised an eyebrow in his direction, Dean figured it probably wasn't worth it. Although the idea of being kicked out for beating the shit out of this asshole was pretty tempting.
Thinking better of it, Dean rolled his eyes at Jason before pivoting on his heel and walking away without saying a word. Flopping into the seat beside his father, Dean scowled at the rest of the teenagers in the room, giving the clear signal to 'fuck off'. "This blows."
"Dean…"
"No, Dad really-I'm seventeen and you have me sitting in some loser agent's office to audition for a fucking GAP commercial when we should be out hunting!" Dean hissed. "Am I the only one that sees how fucked up this is?"
"Watch your mouth," John growled.
Dean blinked, eyebrows furrowing, "Since when have you ever cared about me watching my mouth?"
"Since you sounding like you belong in some back alley is a sure fire way not to get this job."
Dean huffed, bouncing his leg impatiently. "They're not even going to look twice at me, Dad. You should prepare yourself for disappointment."
"Are you kidding me?" John grinned, bumping his shoulder against Dean's. "You're by far the prettiest one here."
"You're lucky I don't believe in patricide," Dean snapped, and crossed his arms.
John raised an eyebrow. "Have you been helping Sam study again?"
"You wouldn't believe the crazy ass words they give him on his spelling tests," Dean said.
"I mean it, Dean," John snapped. "Watch your mouth."
"This is an insult," Dean said. "Why couldn't you have brought Sam down here? He's the one that looks like he belongs in prep school."
"He's barely thirteen," John said with a sigh. "Just try to smile, okay?"
Dean bared his teeth, not exactly nicely. "Yeah, whatever." He watched the people standing around the room. "What a bunch of wimps."
"We need the money, Dean," John said. "I wouldn't ask you otherwise."
"Can't we just knock off a Seven Eleven or something?" Dean asked.
"Dean," John snapped.
Dean rolled his eyes, slouched a little further, and started watching the people walking by outside the glass wall, because they were infinitely more interesting than the people he was stuck with inside. The whole place was all a little more upscale than he was used to, and even his best pair of Vans had dried blood stained down the sides of the left shoe, and were coated with mud around both of the soles. They probably thought the leather jacket was an attempt to look a part, but it was just the only one he had.
He noticed an older man catch his eye and frown at him. Dean straightened a little, going instantly on alert and, beside him, he felt his father do the same. The man approached them, and Dean noticed that the people all quickly moved out of his way, gasping slightly and watching him in awe as he came to a stop right in front of Dean.
"Are you here for the Gap audition?" he asked.
Dean glanced at his father, before looking back. "What's it to you if I am?" he snapped.
The man gave a small smile. "I thought I'd offer you something better."
Dean snorted. "Not interested, thanks."
John leaned forward with narrowed eyes. "As you said, we're here for the Gap audition."
The man smiled again, unperturbed. "Well, if you change your minds, I'll gladly hire this young man without an audition. He has just the attitude I've been looking for."
"Really?" Dean said lazily. "He thinks I need to get a new one."
John gave him a withering glance before turning back to the stranger. "As my son said, we're not interested."
"Here's my card, just in case," he said, and slipped the card to John.
Dean threw him a patronizing wave as he went out the doors again. "Asshole," he said.
Jason wandered up to them, looking a little dazed. "What did he say?" he asked.
Dean resisted the urge to flip him off. "He thinks I'm prettier than you," he said.
Jason frowned a little. "I can't believe this is your first audition and you got scouted out by Calvin Klein."
John's eyes widened and Dean slouched back in his chair. "Calvin who?"
------
They ended up ditching the Gap audition, and Dean almost wished they'd just stuck it out, because he was pretty sure there was no way in hell Gap was ever going to hire him. "You're going to apologize, first thing," John told him.
"He likes me for my attitude," Dean said petulantly. "I'm not apologizing for anything."
"We need this, Dean," John snapped. "You got offered a job by Calvin Klein. This is more than we'd hoped for."
"Damn right it's more than I'd hoped for," Dean snapped. "I'd hoped you'd come to your senses and decide we should spend the day at the shooting range instead."
John just sighed and pushed Dean towards reception. Dean leaned over the counter and smiled at the too perky receptionist behind the desk. "Hi," he said.
She blushed a little and flashed a smile. "Let me guess, you're here for an audition?"
Dean grinned a little wider and flashed the business card, twirling it between his fingers. "Actually," he said. "I was told I didn't need one."
Her eyes danced a little and she reached for the phone. "Just one moment."
John pulled him aside. "So you can be nice," he said wryly.
Dean grinned. "When properly motivated," he said.
"Well, why don't you keep it up when we meet with this guy, okay?" John snapped.
"You want me to flirt with the nice older gentleman that wants to take pictures of me in my underwear?" Dean asked, and raised an eyebrow.
John frowned. "Good point," he said. "Keep up the attitude."
"Mr. Klein wants you to come right up," the receptionist told them. "Just go directly to the top floor."
Dean whistled lowly as they started towards the elevator, nodding towards a group of women. "I guess there is one upside to being here," he said.
John grabbed his arm and gave him a shove towards the elevators. "They're too old for you," he said.
"Ha! Once, in Kentucky, there was this waitress, had to be thirty, and she--"
John slapped him upside the head. "I really don't want to know, Dean."
"I've never had any complaints, that's all I'm sayin'," Dean said.
"For your future reference, if you ever want driving privileges again, you might want to stop talking like this in front of me," John said. "And you don't talk to your brother like this, do you?"
"Sammy?" Dean said incredulously, as he hit the call button for the elevator. "He still believes in cooties. It's a damn shame, if you ask me. I'd already been to third base by his age."
John heaved a sigh as the elevator doors opened, and a herd of stick women came rushing out. Dean smiled at them, and John shoved him inside, hitting the button for the top floor before anyone else could get in with them. He knew it was his own fault, really. He'd been too busy teaching Dean how to shoot a gun to give him the sex talk, so, like with everything else, Dean had figured it out for himself.
"You've filled your quota of telling me things I didn't ever want to know, for the rest of your life, Dean," John said. "So knock it off."
Dean grinned at him as he leaned against the elevator wall, which proved he knew just how uncomfortable he was making his father, and was most definitely doing it on purpose. "Hey, this was your idea," he said, in that way that John knew meant Dean was going to make the whole experience as unpleasant as he could.
The elevator doors finally opened again, onto another wide open and perfectly modeled floor. A young woman with a clipboard met them at the door. "This way," she said, and started off.
Calvin Klein smiled at them when they came in, a little too smugly, in Dean's opinion, so when he held out a hand, Dean just looked at it; until John shoved him and gave him a glare. Dean gritted his teeth and took it, and Klein watched him in amusement. "I never caught your name," he said.
"Dean Winchester," he said, at least it was in this state.
Klein leaned back against his desk and eyed him appraisingly. "I had a model back out on me yesterday, so I need someone on short notice. You up for it?"
"Yeah, I think I can manage to stand around and pout while you take my picture," Dean said. "How much are you payin'?"
"Dean," John snapped, never mind that Dean knew John wanted to know himself.
Klein just smiled indulgently. "That depends on how well the ad does, you'll be paid a set amount whenever it's used, and you'll get 2000 up front."
"Deal," Dean said, because he might know nothing about modeling, but they only needed a couple thousand to get them to the next place. John nodded his approval.
"Have you ever had any modeling experience?" he asked.
"No," Dean said, and flashed a brilliant smile. "But I've done lots of...acting, all over the states."
Calvin Klein raised an eyebrow, either disbelieving or impressed.
-----
"Just...go somewhere else," Dean hissed. They'd been brought down into the middle of the action, so to speak, and were surrounded by clothing racks and half dressed people and camera flashes.
John watched him with narrowed eyes. "After what I've learned today, I'm not sure I trust you alone around all these models."
Dean rolled his eyes. "This is humiliating enough without you around," he said. "This one chick keeps coming at me with a fucking powder puff."
"Language," John snapped.
"Oh, please," Dean said. "It's your favorite word."
"I don't want you here alone," John said, and glanced around suspiciously, fingers toying with his belt loops because that's where his holsters should be.
"These people eat once a week," Dean snapped. "I think I can manage to fend them off."
John was still frowning. "You got your cell phone?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah," he said, "in case Sam needs to call."
John decided not to get into that particular discussion again. Sam always called Dean, because John hadn't answered one too many times, and he hasn't been able to make up for it yet. "Okay," he said. "I've got mine, and I'm keeping it on, anything happens, you call me."
"Jesus, Dad," Dean said. "It's not like we're on a hunt. You're leaving me with a bunch of yuppies."
A few passing models flashed him scathing glances, which quickly melted away when Dean smiled at them. John pointed at him, and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Behave yourself," he said.
"Don't I always?" Dean called after him innocently, as John headed back towards the elevator.
"Dean," Calvin Klein said, as he rejoined him. "This is our photographer, Milton Crane."
Dean nodded at the man, taking him in at once. He was wearing a black mesh top, too tight black jeans, and combat boots, which unfortunately seemed to be the norm around this place. Dean stuck his hands into his leather jacket, grateful for it, right about when the photographer smiled and said, "Now, let's get you out of these clothes."
"I don't even get dinner first?" Dean asked, because he had sarcasm auto-pilot for when he would otherwise have been speechless.
The photographer smiled. "We can do that after, if you want."
Dean snorted and Klein whispered something in the photographer's ear that sounded a lot like "he's underage."
"Angie," Klein said, and snapped his fingers. A woman, somewhere near thirty, jogged over at his call. "Will you get Dean here ready for the photo shoot?"
"No problem," she said, and smiled at Dean. "This way," she said.
Dean followed her. They made their way over to another clothing rack, and Angie eyed him up. He'd think she was checking him out, but he was pretty sure she was just literally sizing him up. She grabbed a pair of ripped blue jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and then a pair of underwear.
He looked at the underwear suspiciously. "What the hell are these?" he asked.
Angie looked at him like he was a visitor from another world. "They're boxer briefs," she said.
Dean glared at them. "There's boxers and there's briefs, since when did they come two-in-one?"
Angie flashed him a grin. "Just strip and put them on, cutie," she said, and then she turned on her heel and flounced away.
Dean sighed, but did as he was told. The clothes were a surprisingly good fit, and Dean was reluctantly impressed by Angie's strange ability to look at someone and know their exact size.
He wandered back out, and Angie pointed at him. "Take off the shoes and socks," she said, without even looking up.
Dean sighed and pulled them off. "And just think," he muttered to himself. "I coulda been out killing things tonight."
"Lovely," Angie said, and grabbed his arm. She pulled him over into one of the photo sets, and stood him up against a faux brick wall. "You're gonna be a hit, darling."
"I'm not really in this for the celebrity," Dean said petulantly. "I'm more of a mercenary model, so there's no reason to stroke my ego."
Angie's lips quirked upwards, but she didn't comment.
"Very nice," Crane said, as he wandered over and started looking through the camera. "But lose the shirt."
Angie didn't wait for Dean; she just reached for the hem and ripped it off. Dean was a little startled, and his hair got a little disarrayed. Angie shook her fingers through it, pulling it up a little more. "Nice," she said, before her eyes strayed down. "And nice. You work out?"
"Like you wouldn't imagine," Dean said.
"Good, good," Crane said, and played with the focus on the lens. "Now undo his pants."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Who would stand leaning against a building with their pants undone?" Dean asked.
"Someone that wants to get paid," Crane told him, and Angie pulled the zipper down.
-----
John looked up when the elevator doors opened to see Dean stalking towards him, a scowl on his face and a blush rising in his cheeks. "How did it go?"
Dean glared at him. "We are never speaking of this again."
"That good, huh?" John smirked.
"They want us to wait around while they develop the proofs." Dean said sullenly, sinking into one of the over stuffed and completely uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room.
John nodded, sat in the chair beside Dean and glanced at his watch. "How long did they say it would take?" Sammy would be out of school soon.
Dean leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling, mouth turned down. "They didn't--just that they need me to hang around in case they need to retake any of the shots."
Twenty minutes later Calvin Klein himself stepped from the elevator, glancing around the reception area and grinning when he spied Dean and John. "Mr. Winchester, I'd like to speak with you for a moment if I may."
Throwing Dean a warning glance not to get into any trouble, he stood and followed the man toward a side office. "Your son's proofs came back."
John nodded.
"I'll be honest with you Mr. Winchester. They were fantastic--some of the best I've seen in a long time. Does your son have an agent?"
"Uh--" John blinked in surprise. "No, actually--he's sort of freelance at the moment."
Klein nodded, leaning against the desk behind him. "I'd like to offer your son a photo spread, ads, billboards--the whole nine yards. He has a look that I think is perfect for our new campaign. The usual payment will be doubled, and of course Dean will receive a percentage each time one of his ads is run."
John's eyes widened. "Uh," he cleared his throat, "I'll have to think about that."
"Of course, of course. You take your time, discuss it with Dean--if he's interested I can have Georgie draw up a contract by the end of the week."
"How long would this photo shoot take?" John asked, mind whirling.
"Truthfully, it depends on how the proofs turn out after each spread, but on average for a campaign the size I'm offering Dean--I'd say at least four, maybe six weeks of work total." Klein stuck out his hand, a smile on his face. "You still have my card? Just give Carol a call when you've decided--we'll go from there."
"Thank you," John said, still shocked. He followed Klein out of the office, sighing in exasperation when he spotted Dean sitting on the edge of the receptionist's desk, smiling widely and leaving the girl blushing. His son--Casanova.
When Dean saw them walking towards him, he hopped off the desk with a wink to the receptionist and took a step towards his father. "Can we get out of here now?"
John rolled his eyes at his son. Klein stuck out his hand with a bright smile. "Thank you for coming down, Dean. The proofs look great. See David in accounting on your way out and he'll cut you a check for today's shoot. We look forward to hearing from you soon." With a nod towards John, Klein disappeared into the elevator, leaving Dean frowning in confusion.
"Hearing from me?" He turned, throwing his father a suspicious look. "What the hell is he talking about?"
John waved Dean's question off. "We've got to stop and pick up your check and then go get Sammy-he'll be out of class in fifteen minutes. You know what he gets like if we pick him up late." John strode towards the hallway that would lead them to the accounting offices, not looking to see if Dean was following him.
Pocketing the receptionist's phone number, Dean jogged to catch up to his father. "What did he say?"
"Apparently you're the greatest thing since sliced bread." John said with a wry smirk, chuckling when Dean straightened at the compliment. "He said the shoot went well, the proofs all came out great."
"Thank God." Dean muttered. "There's no way I was doing that all over again."
John choked, not looking Dean in the eye, "Uh-about that."
Dean stopped in the middle of the hallway. "No way, no fucking way! You promised it would be a one time thing, Dad. ONE time!"
"Dean…"
"Forget it! I am not doing that again. You don't know what they made me do!" Dean waved his hand around, his voice a barely controlled hiss.
John frowned. "What did they make you do?" he asked, suddenly worried this gig hadn't been as on the up and up as he'd first thought.
Dean's hands clenched into fists at his side, "They…" he took a deep breath, "they tried to put eyeliner on me! EYELINER!"
John's brows furrowed deeper. "Eyeliner? Why would they try and get you to put makeup on?"
"Fuck if I know." Dean shook his head, starting back towards accounting, "Said something about it being 'in' and that it'd make me look edgier." He snorted. "They want edgy, I could have brought in my colt."
John coughed out a laugh. "Somehow I don't think they're looking for you to be quite that edgy."
"Yeah well, I'm not doing another one." Dean huffed, glancing at John from the corner of his eye. "We've got too much shit to do; or have you given up hunting to pimp me out full time?"
Cuffing Dean on the back of the head, John growled. "The least you could do is listen to what they're offering you."
"They're offering to take pictures of me half naked with make-up on for Christ's sake, Dad!" Dean barked, not quite loud enough for his voice to echo, but loud enough to show just how pissed he was.
"They're offering to pay you double what you got this time, plus a percentage every time one of your ads runs; that's a lot of money, Dean." John placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, lowering his voice. "We could stick around here till Sammy's done school. We wouldn't need to hustle anyone for some quick cash. There are plenty of things to hunt close to here. It would only be for a month…six weeks tops."
Dean sighed, hunching his shoulders and sticking his hands in his pocket. He really, really did not want to say yes, but Sammy had been complaining louder than usual lately whenever John mentioned having to move on before summer hit, before he finished school. And though Dean didn't get why his kid brother loved school so much, he knew that the chance for Sammy to have a normal life, even if for a few extra weeks, would have his brother practically vibrating in excitement. "This bites."
John grinned. "It won't be so bad."
They reached the accounting offices and John waited in the hall while Dean went in to pick up his check. Ten minutes passed and John stuck his head around the door, seeing his son once again flirting; this time with 'David' the attractive money manager. John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning against the wall to wait for Dean. It was bad enough hearing about his son's exploits with the female population without wondering if Dean was just as experienced with the male population. He was getting too old for this shit.
Dean sauntered out, saw his father frowning, and smirked. John raised a hand, shaking his head. "I don't want to know."
----
Dean had been right. Sammy nearly tackled him when he found out that they would be staying so that he could finish out his year of school. He was thankful his brother hadn't asked what had changed their father's mind; Dean had no intention of telling Sam about the modeling gig-especially since Dean planned to be as far away from this city as possible the minute the photo shoot was finished. He had no intention of sticking around to see the ads come out.
His first week was pure hell. They had him in clothes he wouldn't be caught dead in, had him in almost no clothes at all, forced him into wearing the fucking eyeliner. By the time John picked him up on Friday evening, Dean looked about ready to strangle someone-and the way he glared at his father, John suspected it might be his throat Dean was imagining his hands wrapped around.
John figured a hunt would help take Dean's mind off of the job, and help to burn off a little of his frustrations. Dean was grinning when they took down the werewolf, panting as he held his arm protectively across his ribs. A quick check assured John it wasn't anything worse than a bruised rib and he sighed in relief before they headed back home.
The next morning though had brought out an ugly black and blue bruise on Dean's side, and John cursed to himself. He had a feeling that Dean's employers wouldn't be too pleased. "Shit," John muttered, pressing carefully on the bruise, watching Dean wince. "How the hell are we supposed to explain this?"
"I zigged when I should have zagged?" Dean smirked. Dean dodged the slap John aimed at his head, laughing and rolling his eyes. "Relax-if anything, it'll just add to the edgy image they want me to have."
In reality they were just as upset as John suspected, but apparently Judy the makeup whiz managed to cover the worst of it with her own mix of concealer and they stuck to shooting Dean from the right side until the bruise faded. He'd always been a fast healer, so luckily it only took a couple of days before you could barely see the last smudges of yellowish green on Dean's side. But John had decided that hunting was out for the remainder of the job. He couldn't risk Dean getting hurt again.
Dean stared incredulously at his father. "Wait-let me get this straight. You're telling me I can't go out hunting with you because you're scared I'm going to get hurt? Scared I'm going to get hurt-and ruin the fucking photo shoot?!" Throwing his arms in the air, Dean shouted. "Jesus, Dad! You weren't fucking worried about me getting hurt before, but now that my looks are bringing in some cash suddenly my safety is more important than getting the job done?!"
John slammed his fist into the table, shocking Dean into silence. "You and your brother are the only things that matter to me, God dammit! I worry every time I put a gun in your hand, every time you leave my fucking sight, Dean-but we need this money!" Taking a deep breath, John leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "Look-this is important," he said wearily, the fight suddenly draining from him.
Dean flopped into the chair across from John, rubbing a hand over his face and looking far older than his seventeen years. "I'm sorry-I know it's important, I know we're important. We need the cash. I'll finish the job-you can count on me, Dad."
John smiled tiredly, reaching out and patting Dean's hand. "I know I can." Standing and walking to the fridge, John grabbed a couple of beers. "Thirsty?"
Dean grinned, accepting the bottle and taking it for the apology it was meant as. Downing half of it in one swallow, he narrowed his eyes at his father. "What the hell am I supposed to do while you're out hunting?"
With a mischievous smirk John said innocently, "Practice putting on your eyeliner?"
Grabbing the empty bottle of holy water sitting on the table Dean threw it at his father's head, snorting when John caught it without so much as a blink. "And you wonder how Sammy and I became such smart asses."
----
By the end of the fourth week, Dean was ready to shove the camera down Crane's throat. If he heard 'okay, now pout for me' one more time he wouldn't be held responsible for his actions.
The last two weeks, he was told, would be the 'let's get Dean naked' portion of the shoot-at least that's what Dean heard in his head. The boxer briefs they gave him each subsequent day seemed to get tighter and smaller until Friday came and he looked at himself in the mirror and wondered what the hell the point of wearing them was when they didn't hide a god damned thing. "Oh, hell no!"
"Dean," Angie sighed.
"Look at me!" Dean scowled at Angie over his shoulder in the mirror. "This is practically pornographic!"
Angie rolled her eyes, quirking an eyebrow at Dean. "I didn't realize you were such a prude."
"Hey!" Dean pointed. "I am not a prude!"
"Dean, you look hot-that's the point. Every girl that sees these ads will be fantasizing about you in these tight little black boxer briefs, serving them breakfast in bed." Angie patted Dean on his ass with a wink and started walking away. "They're ready for you; get your ass in gear, Winchester."
Dean narrowed his eyes at the back of Angie's head, crossing his arms over his chest. "That," he muttered, "is just fucking disturbing."
Crane grinned when Dean walked out. "Fantastic, darling! You look smashing; now get your ass in my shot so I can melt my camera with these photos." Dean rolled his eyes at Milton, walking over to the set and standing stiffly beside the fake kitchen counter. "Oh come on now, Dean-give me sexy, give me pouty-make me believe you're in your kitchen…"
"Like I'd walk around my kitchen in these," Dean huffed in annoyance.
"You've got your girl back in the bedroom, she's waiting for you to get the whipped cream…open the fridge," Crane continued, ignoring Dean's comment. "That's right, now put your arm on the door, lean over-that's it, beautiful!" Dean blinked as Milton snapped photo after unending photo. "Cock your hip-there we go. Fantastic!" The fridge was full of food and Dean's stomach growled. Reaching in, he snagged a strawberry, popping it into his mouth and rolling his eyes at the delighted squeals from Crane. "Angie! Lower the boxer-briefs a little, I want to see some hipbone."
When the photo shoot was finally finished, and Dean had managed to scrub off all the makeup they'd applied to his eyes, he pulled on his own clothes with a sigh of relief. Only one more week to go-he didn't think he was going to make it.
-----
Dean placed his pillow over his head and groaned. Sammy had woken up at six, the way he always did, and hadn't stopped his non-stop chattering since. John, always one step ahead of everyone, had gone to get them breakfast and left Dean here alone to deal with him.
"Sammy, I swear to god," he said.
Sam grabbed the pillow from him and looked at him dubiously. "Are you sick?"
"Yes," Dean said. "Yes, I'm very, very sick, now give that back."
Sam put the pillow behind his back. "You can't sleep all day," he said. "It's Saturday. We should do something. We haven't done anything in forever."
"Can't, I've got work," Dean said.
Sam frowned. "Why can't I ever go to work with you?" he asked.
"Because the very thought terrifies me," Dean said, and reached around him to grab the pillow. He collapsed back onto bed with a sigh.
Sam frowned. "What do you do again?" he asked. "My friend Jeremy said Calvin Klein was for pussies."
"If you want to live, don't ever say that word again," Dean said. "And also, you should beat that Jeremy kid up."
"Do you make clothes?" Sam asked, determined.
Dean couldn't really blame him for his persistence. They had pretty much spent their every waking moment together up until the last few weeks, and Sam hadn't been taking it well. He sighed and sat up. "I wear clothing," he said.
Sam raised an eyebrow, in a manner years older than himself. "That's your job?"
"Unbelievable, huh?" Dean said. "We go around saving people's lives for free, and now they're paying me a small fortune to stand around and do nothing."
"That doesn't make any sense," Sam said. "What are you really doing?"
"God, Sammy," Dean said tiredly, and dropped his head into his hands. "Don't make me say it."
Sam crossed his arms. "Say it," he demanded.
"Look, I'm kind of modeling, alright? But not really, just for money."
"You're modeling?" Sam said, incredulous. "Does Dad know about this?"
"Do I know about what?" John asked, as he entered with two greasy food bags and a couple of sodas.
Sam tilted his head back. "That your son is catering to the misconceptions and unrealistic standards of beauty by aligning himself with the advertising companies."
"I never should have let you sign up for the debate team," Dean said.
"Sam's on the debate team?" John asked, and grinned. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"
"Well?" Sam demanded. "Did you know?"
"You think I'd let Dean disappear every day without knowing where he's going?" John asked.
"I stay after school two hours for debate club on Thursdays and you never knew about that," Sam said matter-of-factly. "I can't believe you would allow your son to turn himself into a sex symbol."
John narrowed his eyes. "What do you know about sex symbols?"
"Oh please," Sam said, sounding a little scarily like Dean, "all these motels have cable."
"It's just a one time thing," Dean said reasonably, though he threw an ironic glare at his father behind Sam's back. "I wanted to do it, okay?"
Sam looked at him dubiously. "You wanted to?" he repeated.
"Yeah, sure," Dean said. "It's like free money."
Sam looked uncertain. "This won't end well," he said.
John sighed and wondered why Sam had to act like the adult all the time.
-----
The last week went by faster than Dean was expecting. He was a little worried about himself, but he'd actually started falling into a routine. He went in on Friday for a couple of hours, just to redo a couple of shots, and then it was finally over.
"I'm going to miss you around here, darling," Angie said. "You're not just eye candy, you've got a brain too."
"Gee, thanks," Dean said. "You're such a sweet talker."
"And you're such a smart ass," she said, making no move to leave as Dean slipped his shirt over his head and then leaned down to put on his shoes.
He flashed her a blinding grin, the one they'd never once captured on film. Angie thought Crane had screwed up hugely there. "Well, you're a lot of fun, Angie, and as much as I've enjoyed having your hands down my pants, I can't say I'm sorry to leave."
Angie shook her head. "You're not built for this kind of life," she said. "I think that's probably why you're so good at it. You don't have a blank stare in your pictures like most of these airheads do."
"They're not all bad," Dean said, smiling over at a pair of girls in micro bikinis. He waved at them and they started giggling.
Angie snorted. "Calvin wants to say goodbye, he should be here in a few minutes."
"Can't wait," Dean said, grabbing his jacket, and shrugging into it. "I'm picking up my kid brother from school today."
"I think he's got another offer for you," Angie told him.
Dean turned to face her, but kept walking, backwards, to the elevator. "Yeah, well, that's the other reason I'm not sticking around," he said, and with a quick phony salute, he hit the call button and didn't look back again.
-----
John decided to go ahead and ride out the next couple of weeks while Sam finished up school, and Dean was happy for him, he was, but he really, really wanted to get the hell out of this place. Sam was just so damn excited about finally graduating with people he actually knew, that Dean couldn't bring himself to hold it against him. That didn't stop him from being restless to the point of edgy by the time school was finally out.
"I don't know why I have to wear this," Sam complained.
"It’s graduation," Dean said. "You're leaving elementary school behind. Clip on ties are required for such landmarks."
Sam made a face but let Dean snap it on. "Where's Dad?"
"He's running a little late," Dean said. "We'll meet him there."
Dean called a taxi to take them to the school, using some of the two hundred dollars John had given him from the job.
This place was a little more crowded than the small towns they were used to, and Dean let Sam grab his jacket to pull him through the crowd. "I'd introduce you to my friends," Sam said, "but most of them you've told me I should beat up."
"Most people deserve it," Dean said.
"And that's why I'm not introducing you to my friends," Sam said. "Just sit down somewhere and try and look normal."
"You ask a lot," Dean said, and grinned.
Sam rolled his eyes. "You probably shouldn't bother saving a seat for Dad," he said.
"Hey, he's coming," Dean said. "He just had to meet with an old friend about some guns."
"Shh," Sam snapped.
"For hunting," Dean said slowly. "You know, hunting deer."
"You really don't do normal very well, do you?" Sam asked. "How about quiet, can you do quiet?"
"When did you get to be such a smart ass?" Dean asked with a frown.
"Since always?" Sam said.
"Excuse me."
Dean and Sam glanced, up to see a group of young mothers standing beside them. "Yes?" Dean said.
"We were just wondering, because Alice doesn't think you are, but--" The woman blushed a little and bit her lip.
Dean raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Are you that Calvin Klein model?" she blurted.
Sam placed his head in his hands. "Why me?" he asked.
"I'm pretty sure this is happening to me," Dean hissed.
Sam took a deep breath and raised his head. "No, no he isn't," Sam said. "Now please, take your seats. The ceremony is going to start any minute."
"What, are you the usher now?" Dean asked when the women left again, though they left reluctantly, and were still watching Dean.
"I got rid of them, didn't I?" Sam asked. He reached over and grabbed the hood of Dean's sweatshirt, and pulled it up. "Try not to look so much like you're a Calvin Klein model. This is my graduation."
"Yeah, yeah, normal," Dean said. "I got it."
"It is him," a young girl said gleefully. "Oh my gawd, you're like so hot. We were just looking at the billboard on the way here, and talking about how hot you were, and then like...it was like wow that's him, right here."
Sam sighed. "You have him mistaken for someone else," he said. "This is my brother. He's just a normal guy."
"No, no, it's him," said another girl. "You can't miss that billboard. It's like...like twenty feet tall."
"What billboard?" Dean asked, stricken. "What are you talking about?"
"They're all over town," she said. "Can I have your autograph?"
"For the love of--" Sam glared at them. "Get lost," he snapped.
"Hey," Dean said. "What happened to all your diplomacy?"
"We're leaving," Sam said.
"But, Sam, this is your graduation, you've been talking about it for months. Look, I'll go if you want, but--"
"What's the point if you're not here?" Sam snapped. "You're the only one that bothered to show up."
"Sammy," Dean said.
Sam ripped off the tie and started for the door.
"Seriously," the girl said. "Can I have your autograph? It might like, be worth money or something."
Dean rolled his eyes and spun on his heel, taking off after Sam. "Sam," he said, catching up with him just as he reached the curb. "I'm sorry, but don't let this ruin everything, okay?"
Sam heaved a sigh. "Even when we try to be normal, try to stay in one place, we can't."
"You're overreacting," Dean said.
Sam just nodded across the street, and Dean glanced up. "Holy shit," he said.
The Impala slid up to the curb beside them, and John leaned out the window. "What's going on?" he asked. "Am I late?"
"It's not worth it," Sam said, and got into the backseat.
"Not worth it?" John shut off the car and turned around. "What happened?"
"Dean's a celebrity now," Sam said. "All the girls in my class want his autograph. I figured I'd cut my losses."
Dean fell down into the front seat. "I hate my life," he said.
John glanced from one son to the other. "What are you talking about?"
"Look out the window to your right if you want to be scarred for life," Sam said.
"Please don't," Dean said, but of course, John did.
"Christ," John said. "What the hell are they doing putting that across from an elementary school?" Then he leaned down a little further, and saw the rest of the poster. "What the--Dean, that's you."
"Tell him what he wins," Sam said.
Dean slouched into the seat. "Well, yeah, see, I kind of did this modeling thing. You might remember."
"Why the hell didn't you tell me they were taking your picture in nothing but a pair of Daisy Dukes?" he snapped.
Dean glanced at him, entirely unflustered. "They're called boxer briefs. They're two-in-one and they're surprisingly comfortable."
"I'm not in the mood, Dean," John snapped.
"Hey, this was your idea," Dean said.
"Can we just leave before the people lining up to ogle Dean get a little braver and start mauling the car?" Sam asked. "And for the love of all that's holy, would you put your hood back up?"
John glared at his younger son in the rearview mirror, but put the car in drive. "I'm not happy about this. I think me and Calvin Klein are gonna have to have a talk."
"You can't kill Calvin Klein," Dean said.
"I said talk," John said.
"When you say talk you mean kill," Dean said.
"He's right," Sam agreed. "Talk means kill in dadspeak. Kind of like I'll be there right at five means I'll be twenty minutes late."
"You're so pushing it, kid," John said.
"I missed my graduation and all my friends’ mothers were looking at Dean like he's jailbait," Sam snapped. "I think I have a right to be upset."
Dean spun to look at him. "Do you even know what that means?"
"Hey, I watch soap operas," Sam said.
"Not anymore you don't," John snapped. "What the hell are they putting on TV these days?"
"Nothing worse than what they're putting on billboards," Sam said petulantly. "And I don't care what you say, I'm not missing Luke and Laura's wedding."
"How did this even happen?" Dean asked. "It was supposed to be one little thing for some extra cash."
"I told you this wasn't going to end well," Sam said, and then smiled, vindicated.
Rating: R
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: None
Category: CRACK!FIC, Humor
Summary: "Why the hell didn't you tell me they were taking your picture in nothing but a pair of Daisy Dukes?"
Notes: We completely butcher the entire modeling franchise because we know nothing about it whatsoever. We would have done research, but this is crack fic, so we just made stuff up instead.
P.S. Apologies to Calvin Klein for everything.
HUGE thank you to munchkinofdoom for betaing this for us. (Sorry I forgot to include this last night hun.) ;)
Because several people have asked, no, we will not allow anyone to take our stories to translate and post onto other websites/forums. Thank you for the offer but we want full control of our stories so no, we won't be giving control of them to anyone.
"It'll only be this once, Dean-we're running low on cash and it'll be at least another four weeks before the next credit card application comes through."
"Why can't you just hustle some pool?" Dean's arms were crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed, his lower lip jutting out (and John knows Dean would kill him if he ever said this out loud) in an unhappy pout.
"Look, Dean-I know it isn't ideal, but we need the money. Sammy needs new clothes for school, we're running low on ammunition, and if you and Sammy want to eat this month a couple hundred hustled from pool just ain't gonna cut it." John knew it was kind of low using Sammy, Dean's one real weakness, against him, but they really were reaching a low point money wise and at least this was one way they could get some quick cash without any injuries; though if the look on Dean's face was any indication, John might just have to start sleeping with both eyes open.
"One time--you promise?" John saw the resignation in Dean's eyes and smiled, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Just this once. I promise. Now go grab a shower and find your best clothes-the audition is in two hours."
-----
Dean glared at the smiling kid in front of him, all blindingly white teeth, perfectly combed hair and clothes pressed, making the kid look like a mini banker. "Hi, I'm Jason-is this your first time auditioning? It can be scary, and a little intimidating, especially since all of us here have been on dozens of auditions. I was in a commercial last month for GAP and I'll probably get this one as well. They just love me."
Dean wondered how much trouble he'd get in if he knocked 'Jason' on his ass and marred that pretty little face of his. Glancing at his father, who raised an eyebrow in his direction, Dean figured it probably wasn't worth it. Although the idea of being kicked out for beating the shit out of this asshole was pretty tempting.
Thinking better of it, Dean rolled his eyes at Jason before pivoting on his heel and walking away without saying a word. Flopping into the seat beside his father, Dean scowled at the rest of the teenagers in the room, giving the clear signal to 'fuck off'. "This blows."
"Dean…"
"No, Dad really-I'm seventeen and you have me sitting in some loser agent's office to audition for a fucking GAP commercial when we should be out hunting!" Dean hissed. "Am I the only one that sees how fucked up this is?"
"Watch your mouth," John growled.
Dean blinked, eyebrows furrowing, "Since when have you ever cared about me watching my mouth?"
"Since you sounding like you belong in some back alley is a sure fire way not to get this job."
Dean huffed, bouncing his leg impatiently. "They're not even going to look twice at me, Dad. You should prepare yourself for disappointment."
"Are you kidding me?" John grinned, bumping his shoulder against Dean's. "You're by far the prettiest one here."
"You're lucky I don't believe in patricide," Dean snapped, and crossed his arms.
John raised an eyebrow. "Have you been helping Sam study again?"
"You wouldn't believe the crazy ass words they give him on his spelling tests," Dean said.
"I mean it, Dean," John snapped. "Watch your mouth."
"This is an insult," Dean said. "Why couldn't you have brought Sam down here? He's the one that looks like he belongs in prep school."
"He's barely thirteen," John said with a sigh. "Just try to smile, okay?"
Dean bared his teeth, not exactly nicely. "Yeah, whatever." He watched the people standing around the room. "What a bunch of wimps."
"We need the money, Dean," John said. "I wouldn't ask you otherwise."
"Can't we just knock off a Seven Eleven or something?" Dean asked.
"Dean," John snapped.
Dean rolled his eyes, slouched a little further, and started watching the people walking by outside the glass wall, because they were infinitely more interesting than the people he was stuck with inside. The whole place was all a little more upscale than he was used to, and even his best pair of Vans had dried blood stained down the sides of the left shoe, and were coated with mud around both of the soles. They probably thought the leather jacket was an attempt to look a part, but it was just the only one he had.
He noticed an older man catch his eye and frown at him. Dean straightened a little, going instantly on alert and, beside him, he felt his father do the same. The man approached them, and Dean noticed that the people all quickly moved out of his way, gasping slightly and watching him in awe as he came to a stop right in front of Dean.
"Are you here for the Gap audition?" he asked.
Dean glanced at his father, before looking back. "What's it to you if I am?" he snapped.
The man gave a small smile. "I thought I'd offer you something better."
Dean snorted. "Not interested, thanks."
John leaned forward with narrowed eyes. "As you said, we're here for the Gap audition."
The man smiled again, unperturbed. "Well, if you change your minds, I'll gladly hire this young man without an audition. He has just the attitude I've been looking for."
"Really?" Dean said lazily. "He thinks I need to get a new one."
John gave him a withering glance before turning back to the stranger. "As my son said, we're not interested."
"Here's my card, just in case," he said, and slipped the card to John.
Dean threw him a patronizing wave as he went out the doors again. "Asshole," he said.
Jason wandered up to them, looking a little dazed. "What did he say?" he asked.
Dean resisted the urge to flip him off. "He thinks I'm prettier than you," he said.
Jason frowned a little. "I can't believe this is your first audition and you got scouted out by Calvin Klein."
John's eyes widened and Dean slouched back in his chair. "Calvin who?"
------
They ended up ditching the Gap audition, and Dean almost wished they'd just stuck it out, because he was pretty sure there was no way in hell Gap was ever going to hire him. "You're going to apologize, first thing," John told him.
"He likes me for my attitude," Dean said petulantly. "I'm not apologizing for anything."
"We need this, Dean," John snapped. "You got offered a job by Calvin Klein. This is more than we'd hoped for."
"Damn right it's more than I'd hoped for," Dean snapped. "I'd hoped you'd come to your senses and decide we should spend the day at the shooting range instead."
John just sighed and pushed Dean towards reception. Dean leaned over the counter and smiled at the too perky receptionist behind the desk. "Hi," he said.
She blushed a little and flashed a smile. "Let me guess, you're here for an audition?"
Dean grinned a little wider and flashed the business card, twirling it between his fingers. "Actually," he said. "I was told I didn't need one."
Her eyes danced a little and she reached for the phone. "Just one moment."
John pulled him aside. "So you can be nice," he said wryly.
Dean grinned. "When properly motivated," he said.
"Well, why don't you keep it up when we meet with this guy, okay?" John snapped.
"You want me to flirt with the nice older gentleman that wants to take pictures of me in my underwear?" Dean asked, and raised an eyebrow.
John frowned. "Good point," he said. "Keep up the attitude."
"Mr. Klein wants you to come right up," the receptionist told them. "Just go directly to the top floor."
Dean whistled lowly as they started towards the elevator, nodding towards a group of women. "I guess there is one upside to being here," he said.
John grabbed his arm and gave him a shove towards the elevators. "They're too old for you," he said.
"Ha! Once, in Kentucky, there was this waitress, had to be thirty, and she--"
John slapped him upside the head. "I really don't want to know, Dean."
"I've never had any complaints, that's all I'm sayin'," Dean said.
"For your future reference, if you ever want driving privileges again, you might want to stop talking like this in front of me," John said. "And you don't talk to your brother like this, do you?"
"Sammy?" Dean said incredulously, as he hit the call button for the elevator. "He still believes in cooties. It's a damn shame, if you ask me. I'd already been to third base by his age."
John heaved a sigh as the elevator doors opened, and a herd of stick women came rushing out. Dean smiled at them, and John shoved him inside, hitting the button for the top floor before anyone else could get in with them. He knew it was his own fault, really. He'd been too busy teaching Dean how to shoot a gun to give him the sex talk, so, like with everything else, Dean had figured it out for himself.
"You've filled your quota of telling me things I didn't ever want to know, for the rest of your life, Dean," John said. "So knock it off."
Dean grinned at him as he leaned against the elevator wall, which proved he knew just how uncomfortable he was making his father, and was most definitely doing it on purpose. "Hey, this was your idea," he said, in that way that John knew meant Dean was going to make the whole experience as unpleasant as he could.
The elevator doors finally opened again, onto another wide open and perfectly modeled floor. A young woman with a clipboard met them at the door. "This way," she said, and started off.
Calvin Klein smiled at them when they came in, a little too smugly, in Dean's opinion, so when he held out a hand, Dean just looked at it; until John shoved him and gave him a glare. Dean gritted his teeth and took it, and Klein watched him in amusement. "I never caught your name," he said.
"Dean Winchester," he said, at least it was in this state.
Klein leaned back against his desk and eyed him appraisingly. "I had a model back out on me yesterday, so I need someone on short notice. You up for it?"
"Yeah, I think I can manage to stand around and pout while you take my picture," Dean said. "How much are you payin'?"
"Dean," John snapped, never mind that Dean knew John wanted to know himself.
Klein just smiled indulgently. "That depends on how well the ad does, you'll be paid a set amount whenever it's used, and you'll get 2000 up front."
"Deal," Dean said, because he might know nothing about modeling, but they only needed a couple thousand to get them to the next place. John nodded his approval.
"Have you ever had any modeling experience?" he asked.
"No," Dean said, and flashed a brilliant smile. "But I've done lots of...acting, all over the states."
Calvin Klein raised an eyebrow, either disbelieving or impressed.
-----
"Just...go somewhere else," Dean hissed. They'd been brought down into the middle of the action, so to speak, and were surrounded by clothing racks and half dressed people and camera flashes.
John watched him with narrowed eyes. "After what I've learned today, I'm not sure I trust you alone around all these models."
Dean rolled his eyes. "This is humiliating enough without you around," he said. "This one chick keeps coming at me with a fucking powder puff."
"Language," John snapped.
"Oh, please," Dean said. "It's your favorite word."
"I don't want you here alone," John said, and glanced around suspiciously, fingers toying with his belt loops because that's where his holsters should be.
"These people eat once a week," Dean snapped. "I think I can manage to fend them off."
John was still frowning. "You got your cell phone?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah," he said, "in case Sam needs to call."
John decided not to get into that particular discussion again. Sam always called Dean, because John hadn't answered one too many times, and he hasn't been able to make up for it yet. "Okay," he said. "I've got mine, and I'm keeping it on, anything happens, you call me."
"Jesus, Dad," Dean said. "It's not like we're on a hunt. You're leaving me with a bunch of yuppies."
A few passing models flashed him scathing glances, which quickly melted away when Dean smiled at them. John pointed at him, and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Behave yourself," he said.
"Don't I always?" Dean called after him innocently, as John headed back towards the elevator.
"Dean," Calvin Klein said, as he rejoined him. "This is our photographer, Milton Crane."
Dean nodded at the man, taking him in at once. He was wearing a black mesh top, too tight black jeans, and combat boots, which unfortunately seemed to be the norm around this place. Dean stuck his hands into his leather jacket, grateful for it, right about when the photographer smiled and said, "Now, let's get you out of these clothes."
"I don't even get dinner first?" Dean asked, because he had sarcasm auto-pilot for when he would otherwise have been speechless.
The photographer smiled. "We can do that after, if you want."
Dean snorted and Klein whispered something in the photographer's ear that sounded a lot like "he's underage."
"Angie," Klein said, and snapped his fingers. A woman, somewhere near thirty, jogged over at his call. "Will you get Dean here ready for the photo shoot?"
"No problem," she said, and smiled at Dean. "This way," she said.
Dean followed her. They made their way over to another clothing rack, and Angie eyed him up. He'd think she was checking him out, but he was pretty sure she was just literally sizing him up. She grabbed a pair of ripped blue jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and then a pair of underwear.
He looked at the underwear suspiciously. "What the hell are these?" he asked.
Angie looked at him like he was a visitor from another world. "They're boxer briefs," she said.
Dean glared at them. "There's boxers and there's briefs, since when did they come two-in-one?"
Angie flashed him a grin. "Just strip and put them on, cutie," she said, and then she turned on her heel and flounced away.
Dean sighed, but did as he was told. The clothes were a surprisingly good fit, and Dean was reluctantly impressed by Angie's strange ability to look at someone and know their exact size.
He wandered back out, and Angie pointed at him. "Take off the shoes and socks," she said, without even looking up.
Dean sighed and pulled them off. "And just think," he muttered to himself. "I coulda been out killing things tonight."
"Lovely," Angie said, and grabbed his arm. She pulled him over into one of the photo sets, and stood him up against a faux brick wall. "You're gonna be a hit, darling."
"I'm not really in this for the celebrity," Dean said petulantly. "I'm more of a mercenary model, so there's no reason to stroke my ego."
Angie's lips quirked upwards, but she didn't comment.
"Very nice," Crane said, as he wandered over and started looking through the camera. "But lose the shirt."
Angie didn't wait for Dean; she just reached for the hem and ripped it off. Dean was a little startled, and his hair got a little disarrayed. Angie shook her fingers through it, pulling it up a little more. "Nice," she said, before her eyes strayed down. "And nice. You work out?"
"Like you wouldn't imagine," Dean said.
"Good, good," Crane said, and played with the focus on the lens. "Now undo his pants."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Who would stand leaning against a building with their pants undone?" Dean asked.
"Someone that wants to get paid," Crane told him, and Angie pulled the zipper down.
-----
John looked up when the elevator doors opened to see Dean stalking towards him, a scowl on his face and a blush rising in his cheeks. "How did it go?"
Dean glared at him. "We are never speaking of this again."
"That good, huh?" John smirked.
"They want us to wait around while they develop the proofs." Dean said sullenly, sinking into one of the over stuffed and completely uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room.
John nodded, sat in the chair beside Dean and glanced at his watch. "How long did they say it would take?" Sammy would be out of school soon.
Dean leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling, mouth turned down. "They didn't--just that they need me to hang around in case they need to retake any of the shots."
Twenty minutes later Calvin Klein himself stepped from the elevator, glancing around the reception area and grinning when he spied Dean and John. "Mr. Winchester, I'd like to speak with you for a moment if I may."
Throwing Dean a warning glance not to get into any trouble, he stood and followed the man toward a side office. "Your son's proofs came back."
John nodded.
"I'll be honest with you Mr. Winchester. They were fantastic--some of the best I've seen in a long time. Does your son have an agent?"
"Uh--" John blinked in surprise. "No, actually--he's sort of freelance at the moment."
Klein nodded, leaning against the desk behind him. "I'd like to offer your son a photo spread, ads, billboards--the whole nine yards. He has a look that I think is perfect for our new campaign. The usual payment will be doubled, and of course Dean will receive a percentage each time one of his ads is run."
John's eyes widened. "Uh," he cleared his throat, "I'll have to think about that."
"Of course, of course. You take your time, discuss it with Dean--if he's interested I can have Georgie draw up a contract by the end of the week."
"How long would this photo shoot take?" John asked, mind whirling.
"Truthfully, it depends on how the proofs turn out after each spread, but on average for a campaign the size I'm offering Dean--I'd say at least four, maybe six weeks of work total." Klein stuck out his hand, a smile on his face. "You still have my card? Just give Carol a call when you've decided--we'll go from there."
"Thank you," John said, still shocked. He followed Klein out of the office, sighing in exasperation when he spotted Dean sitting on the edge of the receptionist's desk, smiling widely and leaving the girl blushing. His son--Casanova.
When Dean saw them walking towards him, he hopped off the desk with a wink to the receptionist and took a step towards his father. "Can we get out of here now?"
John rolled his eyes at his son. Klein stuck out his hand with a bright smile. "Thank you for coming down, Dean. The proofs look great. See David in accounting on your way out and he'll cut you a check for today's shoot. We look forward to hearing from you soon." With a nod towards John, Klein disappeared into the elevator, leaving Dean frowning in confusion.
"Hearing from me?" He turned, throwing his father a suspicious look. "What the hell is he talking about?"
John waved Dean's question off. "We've got to stop and pick up your check and then go get Sammy-he'll be out of class in fifteen minutes. You know what he gets like if we pick him up late." John strode towards the hallway that would lead them to the accounting offices, not looking to see if Dean was following him.
Pocketing the receptionist's phone number, Dean jogged to catch up to his father. "What did he say?"
"Apparently you're the greatest thing since sliced bread." John said with a wry smirk, chuckling when Dean straightened at the compliment. "He said the shoot went well, the proofs all came out great."
"Thank God." Dean muttered. "There's no way I was doing that all over again."
John choked, not looking Dean in the eye, "Uh-about that."
Dean stopped in the middle of the hallway. "No way, no fucking way! You promised it would be a one time thing, Dad. ONE time!"
"Dean…"
"Forget it! I am not doing that again. You don't know what they made me do!" Dean waved his hand around, his voice a barely controlled hiss.
John frowned. "What did they make you do?" he asked, suddenly worried this gig hadn't been as on the up and up as he'd first thought.
Dean's hands clenched into fists at his side, "They…" he took a deep breath, "they tried to put eyeliner on me! EYELINER!"
John's brows furrowed deeper. "Eyeliner? Why would they try and get you to put makeup on?"
"Fuck if I know." Dean shook his head, starting back towards accounting, "Said something about it being 'in' and that it'd make me look edgier." He snorted. "They want edgy, I could have brought in my colt."
John coughed out a laugh. "Somehow I don't think they're looking for you to be quite that edgy."
"Yeah well, I'm not doing another one." Dean huffed, glancing at John from the corner of his eye. "We've got too much shit to do; or have you given up hunting to pimp me out full time?"
Cuffing Dean on the back of the head, John growled. "The least you could do is listen to what they're offering you."
"They're offering to take pictures of me half naked with make-up on for Christ's sake, Dad!" Dean barked, not quite loud enough for his voice to echo, but loud enough to show just how pissed he was.
"They're offering to pay you double what you got this time, plus a percentage every time one of your ads runs; that's a lot of money, Dean." John placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, lowering his voice. "We could stick around here till Sammy's done school. We wouldn't need to hustle anyone for some quick cash. There are plenty of things to hunt close to here. It would only be for a month…six weeks tops."
Dean sighed, hunching his shoulders and sticking his hands in his pocket. He really, really did not want to say yes, but Sammy had been complaining louder than usual lately whenever John mentioned having to move on before summer hit, before he finished school. And though Dean didn't get why his kid brother loved school so much, he knew that the chance for Sammy to have a normal life, even if for a few extra weeks, would have his brother practically vibrating in excitement. "This bites."
John grinned. "It won't be so bad."
They reached the accounting offices and John waited in the hall while Dean went in to pick up his check. Ten minutes passed and John stuck his head around the door, seeing his son once again flirting; this time with 'David' the attractive money manager. John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning against the wall to wait for Dean. It was bad enough hearing about his son's exploits with the female population without wondering if Dean was just as experienced with the male population. He was getting too old for this shit.
Dean sauntered out, saw his father frowning, and smirked. John raised a hand, shaking his head. "I don't want to know."
----
Dean had been right. Sammy nearly tackled him when he found out that they would be staying so that he could finish out his year of school. He was thankful his brother hadn't asked what had changed their father's mind; Dean had no intention of telling Sam about the modeling gig-especially since Dean planned to be as far away from this city as possible the minute the photo shoot was finished. He had no intention of sticking around to see the ads come out.
His first week was pure hell. They had him in clothes he wouldn't be caught dead in, had him in almost no clothes at all, forced him into wearing the fucking eyeliner. By the time John picked him up on Friday evening, Dean looked about ready to strangle someone-and the way he glared at his father, John suspected it might be his throat Dean was imagining his hands wrapped around.
John figured a hunt would help take Dean's mind off of the job, and help to burn off a little of his frustrations. Dean was grinning when they took down the werewolf, panting as he held his arm protectively across his ribs. A quick check assured John it wasn't anything worse than a bruised rib and he sighed in relief before they headed back home.
The next morning though had brought out an ugly black and blue bruise on Dean's side, and John cursed to himself. He had a feeling that Dean's employers wouldn't be too pleased. "Shit," John muttered, pressing carefully on the bruise, watching Dean wince. "How the hell are we supposed to explain this?"
"I zigged when I should have zagged?" Dean smirked. Dean dodged the slap John aimed at his head, laughing and rolling his eyes. "Relax-if anything, it'll just add to the edgy image they want me to have."
In reality they were just as upset as John suspected, but apparently Judy the makeup whiz managed to cover the worst of it with her own mix of concealer and they stuck to shooting Dean from the right side until the bruise faded. He'd always been a fast healer, so luckily it only took a couple of days before you could barely see the last smudges of yellowish green on Dean's side. But John had decided that hunting was out for the remainder of the job. He couldn't risk Dean getting hurt again.
Dean stared incredulously at his father. "Wait-let me get this straight. You're telling me I can't go out hunting with you because you're scared I'm going to get hurt? Scared I'm going to get hurt-and ruin the fucking photo shoot?!" Throwing his arms in the air, Dean shouted. "Jesus, Dad! You weren't fucking worried about me getting hurt before, but now that my looks are bringing in some cash suddenly my safety is more important than getting the job done?!"
John slammed his fist into the table, shocking Dean into silence. "You and your brother are the only things that matter to me, God dammit! I worry every time I put a gun in your hand, every time you leave my fucking sight, Dean-but we need this money!" Taking a deep breath, John leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "Look-this is important," he said wearily, the fight suddenly draining from him.
Dean flopped into the chair across from John, rubbing a hand over his face and looking far older than his seventeen years. "I'm sorry-I know it's important, I know we're important. We need the cash. I'll finish the job-you can count on me, Dad."
John smiled tiredly, reaching out and patting Dean's hand. "I know I can." Standing and walking to the fridge, John grabbed a couple of beers. "Thirsty?"
Dean grinned, accepting the bottle and taking it for the apology it was meant as. Downing half of it in one swallow, he narrowed his eyes at his father. "What the hell am I supposed to do while you're out hunting?"
With a mischievous smirk John said innocently, "Practice putting on your eyeliner?"
Grabbing the empty bottle of holy water sitting on the table Dean threw it at his father's head, snorting when John caught it without so much as a blink. "And you wonder how Sammy and I became such smart asses."
----
By the end of the fourth week, Dean was ready to shove the camera down Crane's throat. If he heard 'okay, now pout for me' one more time he wouldn't be held responsible for his actions.
The last two weeks, he was told, would be the 'let's get Dean naked' portion of the shoot-at least that's what Dean heard in his head. The boxer briefs they gave him each subsequent day seemed to get tighter and smaller until Friday came and he looked at himself in the mirror and wondered what the hell the point of wearing them was when they didn't hide a god damned thing. "Oh, hell no!"
"Dean," Angie sighed.
"Look at me!" Dean scowled at Angie over his shoulder in the mirror. "This is practically pornographic!"
Angie rolled her eyes, quirking an eyebrow at Dean. "I didn't realize you were such a prude."
"Hey!" Dean pointed. "I am not a prude!"
"Dean, you look hot-that's the point. Every girl that sees these ads will be fantasizing about you in these tight little black boxer briefs, serving them breakfast in bed." Angie patted Dean on his ass with a wink and started walking away. "They're ready for you; get your ass in gear, Winchester."
Dean narrowed his eyes at the back of Angie's head, crossing his arms over his chest. "That," he muttered, "is just fucking disturbing."
Crane grinned when Dean walked out. "Fantastic, darling! You look smashing; now get your ass in my shot so I can melt my camera with these photos." Dean rolled his eyes at Milton, walking over to the set and standing stiffly beside the fake kitchen counter. "Oh come on now, Dean-give me sexy, give me pouty-make me believe you're in your kitchen…"
"Like I'd walk around my kitchen in these," Dean huffed in annoyance.
"You've got your girl back in the bedroom, she's waiting for you to get the whipped cream…open the fridge," Crane continued, ignoring Dean's comment. "That's right, now put your arm on the door, lean over-that's it, beautiful!" Dean blinked as Milton snapped photo after unending photo. "Cock your hip-there we go. Fantastic!" The fridge was full of food and Dean's stomach growled. Reaching in, he snagged a strawberry, popping it into his mouth and rolling his eyes at the delighted squeals from Crane. "Angie! Lower the boxer-briefs a little, I want to see some hipbone."
When the photo shoot was finally finished, and Dean had managed to scrub off all the makeup they'd applied to his eyes, he pulled on his own clothes with a sigh of relief. Only one more week to go-he didn't think he was going to make it.
-----
Dean placed his pillow over his head and groaned. Sammy had woken up at six, the way he always did, and hadn't stopped his non-stop chattering since. John, always one step ahead of everyone, had gone to get them breakfast and left Dean here alone to deal with him.
"Sammy, I swear to god," he said.
Sam grabbed the pillow from him and looked at him dubiously. "Are you sick?"
"Yes," Dean said. "Yes, I'm very, very sick, now give that back."
Sam put the pillow behind his back. "You can't sleep all day," he said. "It's Saturday. We should do something. We haven't done anything in forever."
"Can't, I've got work," Dean said.
Sam frowned. "Why can't I ever go to work with you?" he asked.
"Because the very thought terrifies me," Dean said, and reached around him to grab the pillow. He collapsed back onto bed with a sigh.
Sam frowned. "What do you do again?" he asked. "My friend Jeremy said Calvin Klein was for pussies."
"If you want to live, don't ever say that word again," Dean said. "And also, you should beat that Jeremy kid up."
"Do you make clothes?" Sam asked, determined.
Dean couldn't really blame him for his persistence. They had pretty much spent their every waking moment together up until the last few weeks, and Sam hadn't been taking it well. He sighed and sat up. "I wear clothing," he said.
Sam raised an eyebrow, in a manner years older than himself. "That's your job?"
"Unbelievable, huh?" Dean said. "We go around saving people's lives for free, and now they're paying me a small fortune to stand around and do nothing."
"That doesn't make any sense," Sam said. "What are you really doing?"
"God, Sammy," Dean said tiredly, and dropped his head into his hands. "Don't make me say it."
Sam crossed his arms. "Say it," he demanded.
"Look, I'm kind of modeling, alright? But not really, just for money."
"You're modeling?" Sam said, incredulous. "Does Dad know about this?"
"Do I know about what?" John asked, as he entered with two greasy food bags and a couple of sodas.
Sam tilted his head back. "That your son is catering to the misconceptions and unrealistic standards of beauty by aligning himself with the advertising companies."
"I never should have let you sign up for the debate team," Dean said.
"Sam's on the debate team?" John asked, and grinned. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"
"Well?" Sam demanded. "Did you know?"
"You think I'd let Dean disappear every day without knowing where he's going?" John asked.
"I stay after school two hours for debate club on Thursdays and you never knew about that," Sam said matter-of-factly. "I can't believe you would allow your son to turn himself into a sex symbol."
John narrowed his eyes. "What do you know about sex symbols?"
"Oh please," Sam said, sounding a little scarily like Dean, "all these motels have cable."
"It's just a one time thing," Dean said reasonably, though he threw an ironic glare at his father behind Sam's back. "I wanted to do it, okay?"
Sam looked at him dubiously. "You wanted to?" he repeated.
"Yeah, sure," Dean said. "It's like free money."
Sam looked uncertain. "This won't end well," he said.
John sighed and wondered why Sam had to act like the adult all the time.
-----
The last week went by faster than Dean was expecting. He was a little worried about himself, but he'd actually started falling into a routine. He went in on Friday for a couple of hours, just to redo a couple of shots, and then it was finally over.
"I'm going to miss you around here, darling," Angie said. "You're not just eye candy, you've got a brain too."
"Gee, thanks," Dean said. "You're such a sweet talker."
"And you're such a smart ass," she said, making no move to leave as Dean slipped his shirt over his head and then leaned down to put on his shoes.
He flashed her a blinding grin, the one they'd never once captured on film. Angie thought Crane had screwed up hugely there. "Well, you're a lot of fun, Angie, and as much as I've enjoyed having your hands down my pants, I can't say I'm sorry to leave."
Angie shook her head. "You're not built for this kind of life," she said. "I think that's probably why you're so good at it. You don't have a blank stare in your pictures like most of these airheads do."
"They're not all bad," Dean said, smiling over at a pair of girls in micro bikinis. He waved at them and they started giggling.
Angie snorted. "Calvin wants to say goodbye, he should be here in a few minutes."
"Can't wait," Dean said, grabbing his jacket, and shrugging into it. "I'm picking up my kid brother from school today."
"I think he's got another offer for you," Angie told him.
Dean turned to face her, but kept walking, backwards, to the elevator. "Yeah, well, that's the other reason I'm not sticking around," he said, and with a quick phony salute, he hit the call button and didn't look back again.
-----
John decided to go ahead and ride out the next couple of weeks while Sam finished up school, and Dean was happy for him, he was, but he really, really wanted to get the hell out of this place. Sam was just so damn excited about finally graduating with people he actually knew, that Dean couldn't bring himself to hold it against him. That didn't stop him from being restless to the point of edgy by the time school was finally out.
"I don't know why I have to wear this," Sam complained.
"It’s graduation," Dean said. "You're leaving elementary school behind. Clip on ties are required for such landmarks."
Sam made a face but let Dean snap it on. "Where's Dad?"
"He's running a little late," Dean said. "We'll meet him there."
Dean called a taxi to take them to the school, using some of the two hundred dollars John had given him from the job.
This place was a little more crowded than the small towns they were used to, and Dean let Sam grab his jacket to pull him through the crowd. "I'd introduce you to my friends," Sam said, "but most of them you've told me I should beat up."
"Most people deserve it," Dean said.
"And that's why I'm not introducing you to my friends," Sam said. "Just sit down somewhere and try and look normal."
"You ask a lot," Dean said, and grinned.
Sam rolled his eyes. "You probably shouldn't bother saving a seat for Dad," he said.
"Hey, he's coming," Dean said. "He just had to meet with an old friend about some guns."
"Shh," Sam snapped.
"For hunting," Dean said slowly. "You know, hunting deer."
"You really don't do normal very well, do you?" Sam asked. "How about quiet, can you do quiet?"
"When did you get to be such a smart ass?" Dean asked with a frown.
"Since always?" Sam said.
"Excuse me."
Dean and Sam glanced, up to see a group of young mothers standing beside them. "Yes?" Dean said.
"We were just wondering, because Alice doesn't think you are, but--" The woman blushed a little and bit her lip.
Dean raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Are you that Calvin Klein model?" she blurted.
Sam placed his head in his hands. "Why me?" he asked.
"I'm pretty sure this is happening to me," Dean hissed.
Sam took a deep breath and raised his head. "No, no he isn't," Sam said. "Now please, take your seats. The ceremony is going to start any minute."
"What, are you the usher now?" Dean asked when the women left again, though they left reluctantly, and were still watching Dean.
"I got rid of them, didn't I?" Sam asked. He reached over and grabbed the hood of Dean's sweatshirt, and pulled it up. "Try not to look so much like you're a Calvin Klein model. This is my graduation."
"Yeah, yeah, normal," Dean said. "I got it."
"It is him," a young girl said gleefully. "Oh my gawd, you're like so hot. We were just looking at the billboard on the way here, and talking about how hot you were, and then like...it was like wow that's him, right here."
Sam sighed. "You have him mistaken for someone else," he said. "This is my brother. He's just a normal guy."
"No, no, it's him," said another girl. "You can't miss that billboard. It's like...like twenty feet tall."
"What billboard?" Dean asked, stricken. "What are you talking about?"
"They're all over town," she said. "Can I have your autograph?"
"For the love of--" Sam glared at them. "Get lost," he snapped.
"Hey," Dean said. "What happened to all your diplomacy?"
"We're leaving," Sam said.
"But, Sam, this is your graduation, you've been talking about it for months. Look, I'll go if you want, but--"
"What's the point if you're not here?" Sam snapped. "You're the only one that bothered to show up."
"Sammy," Dean said.
Sam ripped off the tie and started for the door.
"Seriously," the girl said. "Can I have your autograph? It might like, be worth money or something."
Dean rolled his eyes and spun on his heel, taking off after Sam. "Sam," he said, catching up with him just as he reached the curb. "I'm sorry, but don't let this ruin everything, okay?"
Sam heaved a sigh. "Even when we try to be normal, try to stay in one place, we can't."
"You're overreacting," Dean said.
Sam just nodded across the street, and Dean glanced up. "Holy shit," he said.
The Impala slid up to the curb beside them, and John leaned out the window. "What's going on?" he asked. "Am I late?"
"It's not worth it," Sam said, and got into the backseat.
"Not worth it?" John shut off the car and turned around. "What happened?"
"Dean's a celebrity now," Sam said. "All the girls in my class want his autograph. I figured I'd cut my losses."
Dean fell down into the front seat. "I hate my life," he said.
John glanced from one son to the other. "What are you talking about?"
"Look out the window to your right if you want to be scarred for life," Sam said.
"Please don't," Dean said, but of course, John did.
"Christ," John said. "What the hell are they doing putting that across from an elementary school?" Then he leaned down a little further, and saw the rest of the poster. "What the--Dean, that's you."
"Tell him what he wins," Sam said.
Dean slouched into the seat. "Well, yeah, see, I kind of did this modeling thing. You might remember."
"Why the hell didn't you tell me they were taking your picture in nothing but a pair of Daisy Dukes?" he snapped.
Dean glanced at him, entirely unflustered. "They're called boxer briefs. They're two-in-one and they're surprisingly comfortable."
"I'm not in the mood, Dean," John snapped.
"Hey, this was your idea," Dean said.
"Can we just leave before the people lining up to ogle Dean get a little braver and start mauling the car?" Sam asked. "And for the love of all that's holy, would you put your hood back up?"
John glared at his younger son in the rearview mirror, but put the car in drive. "I'm not happy about this. I think me and Calvin Klein are gonna have to have a talk."
"You can't kill Calvin Klein," Dean said.
"I said talk," John said.
"When you say talk you mean kill," Dean said.
"He's right," Sam agreed. "Talk means kill in dadspeak. Kind of like I'll be there right at five means I'll be twenty minutes late."
"You're so pushing it, kid," John said.
"I missed my graduation and all my friends’ mothers were looking at Dean like he's jailbait," Sam snapped. "I think I have a right to be upset."
Dean spun to look at him. "Do you even know what that means?"
"Hey, I watch soap operas," Sam said.
"Not anymore you don't," John snapped. "What the hell are they putting on TV these days?"
"Nothing worse than what they're putting on billboards," Sam said petulantly. "And I don't care what you say, I'm not missing Luke and Laura's wedding."
"How did this even happen?" Dean asked. "It was supposed to be one little thing for some extra cash."
"I told you this wasn't going to end well," Sam said, and then smiled, vindicated.