Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Dean/OFC
Category: Humour, romance (in that order)
Characters: Dean, Sam, OFC
Disclaimer: Don't own anything, not being paid
Notes: Set approximately 2 years in the future (i.e. 2009).
Spoilers: None
A/N: Huge thank you to starrylizard and lunardreamed for betaing. Written for spnhetlove's on LJ's Crash and Burn challenge.
Summary: The first time Dean and Sam met Marijana (and wasn't that a hell of a name), Dean hit on her. The second time she threatened to call the police.
This all left him a little flummoxed.
The first time Dean and Sam met Marijana (and wasn't that a hell of a name), Dean hit on her.
Even as he was doing it, he wasn't sure why. She just wasn't his type. She wasn't stunningly gorgeous with a perfect body and/or trashed. Instead she had a round face, more curves then he normally liked and he wouldn't be surprised if she was a teetotaller. Her clothes weren't tailored to draw his (or any other male's) attention; she wore a loose hoodie and jeans that didn't make her look bad but didn't flatter her either.
But there was something about her that drew Dean's interest. She, however, ignored his flirtations and escorted them out of the house.
When they got back to the car, Sam started in on him.
"Dude," he hissed, "that wasn't nice."
"What wasn't?" Dean replied, completely confused.
"Hitting on a girl that you'd never touch in a million years."
"But," Dean floundered, "I don't hit on girls that I wouldn't, you know."
"Mrs Hollingway?"
"She wasn't a girl, she was a creepy ass older lady." Dean shuddered in remembrance.
"Anyway," Sam gave him the 'lets get back on track' look, "I've never seen you with a girl who wasn't drop dead gorgeous or trashed, so cut it out."
Dean had to admit that Sam had a point, but there was something about Mari (and didn't that make him giggle) that had his radar pinging madly.
The second time Dean and Sam met Mari she threatened to call the police. And it wasn't because Dean hit on her again.
The third time, Mari beat him repeatedly in the chest with her handbag as her house burnt to the ground.
"Are you hitting on me?" she screamed while standing in an aqua nightie with bears holding hands on the front and her hair mussed up every which way.
"Um, yes?" his brain stupidly replied, still caught up in the fact that he'd just saved the damsel in distress from a very nasty family of ghosts (and wasn't that something) and therefore she should be grateful. When the bag hitting paused and her eyes narrowed, he rethought his answer. "No?"
She sank to the ground and he followed her down, worried by the slightly vacant expression on her face and the fact that he could see that she hadn't shaved her legs in at least a week and it didn't bother him in the slightest. If he could avoid shaving, he would too, so why should he have an issue with her doing it?
"I'm in my nightie," Mari said rather dazedly, "you just burnt my house down and you're hitting on me." She shook her head. "That's just great."
And then she promptly burst into loud, messy tears. Dean, not knowing what else to do, awkwardly put his arms around her and let her soak tears and snot on his shirt. He tried to ignore the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra and her chest was pressed against his and it was a bit too cold to be wearing just a nightie and nothing else, because while he would hit on her while her house burnt down, he was not going to hit on a chick who was in tears.
It wouldn't be very gentlemanlike.
The fourth time Dean met Mari she seemed to have forgotten that she'd snotted all over his shirt and he'd let her and hadn't hit on her at the time. Although, at least she didn't threaten to call the police or try to hit him with her handbag, so it was progress. And she wasn't wearing a nightie or a hoodie, instead she was wearing a nice tight top and tighter jeans that showed off the hour glass of her figure and her wonderful curves that his brain had suddenly noticed.
He thinks he can be forgiven for hitting on her that time.
She still turned him down.
The fifth time, he went alone and got right to the point.
"I like you."
Mari just looked at him like he'd walked out of an insane asylum. And yeah, admittedly, he could have used a little more finesse and not just blurted it out like a five year old, but everything about this has been abnormal so far, so why should this be any different?
"Are you just trying to get into my pants?"
Unsure of the right answer he wisely kept his mouth shut.
"You like me." The words sounded very different coming out of her mouth, more flat, doubtful.
"Um, yes?" He'd have thought that had been obvious.
She sat down on the sofa, a perplexed look on her face.
"But you don't even know me."
Dean sat on the edge of the coffee table opposite her, hoping it was sturdy enough to take his weight. "Haven't you ever just liked a person when you met them?"
She nodded. "Thought they were cute, yes. Liked them? Yes. Always mutually exclusive."
He raised an eyebrow. "So which one am I?"
"Cute," she said decidedly. "I'd need to get to know you to decide about the other."
"Well, get to know me," Dean whispered as he leant forward and pressed his mouth against hers. Very quickly he was kissing air as she pushed him back, jumped up and hurried across the room.
"See," she said unsteadily, "that was lust, not like."
"So?" Dean stood up.
"I don't want lust," she said. At his look, she amended her statement. "Well, I do, but I want more than lust and I want the lust to wait a little while."
Dean blinked. She'd somehow managed to say all that in one breath.
"Do you get what I mean?"
He shook his head slowly, not sure how they ended up here. "No, I really don't."
"Look." She stuck a decidedly cute pose. "I need to date a guy for a while, like a couple of months, before I sleep with them. And no offence-" She waved at him.
"None taken," he said.
"-But you seem like the kind of guy who wants dessert now, and see, that's not really compatible, so I don't think this really will work out. So you better leave."
Dean gave his head a little shake, shaking off the distracting image of Mari spread-eagled naked in the Impala, trying to get the rush of words to order in a way that made some sort of sane Earth sense. "Sorry, I lost the gist of what you were saying."
"You want sex now; I don't want it for a long long time on Dean timescales," Mari said at a reasonable speed. "So you probably should go."
He turned slightly and pointed to the door behind him and she nodded. He had to admit that he'd never really been faced with the sort of prospect she'd put before him; on the whole, the chicks he met in bars were there for one thing.
"Okay, well, I'll just go then." He pointed behind himself again. "Have a nice…life," he settled, unable to think of a better word.
"You too," she offered back, extending her entangled hands to him.
"Right."
She smiled slightly at him and he turned and walked away. He'd go back to the motel and see whether Sam wanted to hit a bar. There was no reason for the night to be a complete waste.
"Hey, Sam," Dean rubbed his neck, "you know how some chicks want to wait a while before having sex? What do the guys do?"
Sam smiled, looking puzzled. "Some guys want to wait a while too, Dean."
Dean took a long gulp of his drink. "Yeah, I don't buy into that. They're guys. Guys want to have sex. It's like a law of freaking nature or something."
"You're not every guy."
Dean leered. "Oh, I try to be."
"Did this conversation have a point or is this just more Dean Winchester exploits 101?"
"I just…" Dean trailed off and Sam grinned in realisation.
"You tried to ask Mari out didn't you?"
Dean raised the bottle to his lips and looked away.
"Oh my god, you did, didn't you?" Sam laughed. "Well, brother, it's good to know some women can resist your charms."
"Shuddup."