Title:Fairytales and Coffee Cups
Fandom/Pairing: Supernatural - Dean/Jo
Rating: Adult – naughty language and dirty thoughts
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters.
Summary: It's been six months since Dean and Jo's encounter at the parking lot of the Wild Coyote. This is Dean's story.
The hot spray of the shower hits his back and he thinks that nothing has ever felt this good. His body aches and there are bruises and cuts all over his skin. After spending the past four hours hunting a ghost that ended up being a hoax, he's definitely looking forward to relaxing and knocking back a few.
He shifts and winces, clutching the side of hip. He knows that it's going to bruise by the time morning comes. He shakes his head, almost laughing at himself. He should be used to this by now. His muscles should have adjusted to the strains of the job. After all he's almost thirty years old. He's been hunting for almost half his life.
He turns his face into the stream of water and closes his eyes. Suddenly, the image of tangled blonde hair and fogged up windows flash in his mind. Dean moans and thumps his head against the white tiles of the shower stall. Even after six months she still haunts his thoughts and his dreams.
He curses and grabs the bar of soap. He lathers his body, scrubbing furiously at his skin. If she's not going to leave his mind then maybe he can scrub her out of his skin. However, the more he tells himself not to think about her, the harder it becomes to forget. Why can't she just leave him alone? Why can't he stop thinking about her? He's avoided her ever since that night. He hasn't called but neither has she. He tells himself that it's for the best. That he should just chalk it up to a great one-night stand, if only his body would listen to his mind.
His hand drifts down his chest following the little trail of hair that leads down to his groin. He grips his cock, using the slippery wetness of the soap to add to his pleasure. He thinks about her as he strokes himself – the smell of her hair, the taste of her skin, the heat of her body. It was only one time, but Dean continues to play the scene over and over in his mind.
His hand moves faster as he remembers her throaty moans and the breathy sounds she made as he thrusted into her in the backseat of his car. He bites down on his bottom lip as he pumps faster, harder, squeezing himself with each stroke.
The images come faster blurring until all he can see are her eyes. Her deep, dark, lustful eyes. He groans as he spills himself in his hand, the water from the shower washing away any evidence of his lust for Jo.
It's not until the water cools and Sam pounds on the door that Dean realizes how long he'd been in there.
"Hang on, I'll be right out," he hollers, turning off the tap and wrapping a towel around his waist. He yanks the door open, letting the steam billow out into the bedroom.
"What's the emergency?" He asks, grabbing his shirt off his bed.
"Dude! You've been in there for almost half an hour," Sam complains. "I've had to take a leak for the past fifteen minutes."
Dean smirks and shrugs. Sam and his itty bitty bladder. He pulls his shirt over his head and almost gets knocked over by Sam as he runs to the bathroom.
Pulling on a well-worn pair of jeans, he checks the time on his watch and smiles. It was just late enough for the bar to be busy but early enough for the good-looking chicks to still be around. Maybe he can find someone to help him forget.
"Hey Sam," he calls, knocking on the bathroom door.
"What?" He hears Sam yell.
"I'm going down to the pub that we saw earlier. You wanna come?"
"No thanks," Sam replies. "I've got to check some emails and I wanted to turn in early tonight."
Dean rolls his eyes, "When did you hit menopause? You're such a grandma, you know that?"
He shakes his head, "Suit yourself then." He grabs his keys off the nightstand and head out the door.
The drive to the bar doesn't take very long. His eyes scan the room as he saunters up to the counter. He notices the crowd is pretty thin. He frowns. He's a little disappointed but a bar is still a bar. He grabs the empty stool at the counter and waves the bartender over. Tonight was looking like a good night to get falling-down, pissed drunk.
He orders shots of Cuervo and a pint of beer. Even before his mug hits the wooden counter, he's already got the tequila shot to his lips. He doesn't waste time after he downs the shot, quickly chasing it with a big gulp of beer. He feels the liquor burning the back of his throat and winces, feeling comfort from the familiar pain. He gestures to the bartender again, making sure to tell him to keep it coming. The bartender shakes his head and Dean offers up a credit card from his collection of fakes.
When the second round comes he takes it a little slower this time because he's a little distracted by the sexy brunette that just sat down a few seats away from him. He catches her eye and gives her a flirty half-smile and by the time she gets her second drink, she's sitting right beside Dean laughing at all his lame jokes and touching his arm.
When the clock strikes one and the bartender calls for the last round of drinks, the two of them are no longer inside the bar. Instead, they're squeezed into the front seats of the Impala and are busy fogging up the windows.
Dean squeezes his eyes shut and runs his palms along her soft, pliant body. He tells himself that everything is good. That things are about ready to rock and roll. She starts to talk, whispering sweet nothings in his ear but all he wants her to do is shut up and just fuck. No words, no sounds. Just straight out physical pleasure, no strings attached. He opens his eyes and lays a finger on her lips to quiet her. He shuts his eyes again desperately wanting to lose himself in her heat, but it feels all wrong. It's not just her hair or her scent or the way her gasps sound a little rehearsed.
It's everything.
He pulls himself away from her and opens his eyes. She frowns and asks what the matter is but of course he doesn't say a word. He breathes a silent sigh of relief when he hears his phone ring, knowing that it couldn't have come at a better time.
"Hello," he clears his throat, glancing at his fuming make-out partner from the corner of his eye.
"Where are you, Dean?" Sam asks.
"I'm in the parking lot…at the bar," Dean says, noticing the woman is now glaring at him. "What's that, Sammy?" He continues. "Uncle Bobby needs to go to the hospital?"
"What?" Sam says, confused.
"Well, what about your car?" Dean's caustiously watching her from the corner of his eye. "Still in the shop? Fine. I'll be right over." He shuts the phone and places it back in his pocket.
"Sorry babe," Dean says apologetically, adding a pout to make it look genuine. "That was my brother…Sam. He says that our diabetic uncle is having an episode and that we should take him to the hospital." He shrugs and the corner of his lips twitch into a smirk. "Maybe we can do this again another time?"
The brunette looks at him in contempt, clutching the door handle. "I don't think so," she says before storming out of the car, making sure the door slams behind her.
"My car!" Dean exclaims, caressing the passenger side door. "Are you okay, baby?" He mutters as he continues to rub the surface until he's satisfied that no permanent damage was made.
"Bitch," he glares at the woman one final time before turning on the ignition and flooring the gas. He peels out of the parking, leaving a cloud of dust behind him.
As he pulls into the motel, he notices that Sam's already packed and waiting for him in the parking lot.
"What's going on, Sammy?" Dean asks, leaning out the window.
Sam pulls the back doors open, tossing their bags into the backseat. "I just got a call from a hunter over in Nevada. A group of boy scouts and their scout master disappeared three days ago."
"Okay," Dean says. "Why would this involve us?"
"Because, Dean," Sam replies as he settles himself in the passenger seat. "They found a disappearing trail in the middle of the desert. One minute there were footsteps, the next they were gone."
Dean doesn't say anything. He simply presses his foot a little harder on the gas pedal, making the engine roar. He tells Sam to check the map for the quickest way to Arizona as he keeps his eyes trained on the road.
His grip tightens on the steering wheel as the minutes pass. He hates cases involving children. His mind flashes to the last time he and Sam encountered the Shtriga. How the little boy, Michael reminded Dean of himself at that age. He shakes his head, not wanting to think about the past. Instead, he pops a tape into the stereo and fills the car with the moody voice of Jim Morrison and The Doors.
The following night, Dean finds himself in the middle of the desert as he and Sam approach an old abandoned refinery.
"Are you sure it's here, Dean?" Sam asks, trailing closely behind him.
"Yeah, I'm sure," Dean says. "Well, ninety percent sure," he amends.
"Dean," Sam warns.
"Will you shut it," Dean hisses, shooting his brother a look. "Let's just find these kids, waste the ghoul, then we can go have a beer."
Dean creeps along, keeping his body pressed against the wall. As they get further into the building, the metallic scent of blood gets stronger. He feels his heart pounding hard in his chest. They cross a hallway and he gets the sudden feeling that he's being followed. He tightens his hold on the silver knife in his hand and checks to make sure that the gun is still sitting snugly in the waistband of his jeans.
The feeling of being followed gets stronger as they search through the building. Dean sees a glimpse of a shadow through the frosted glass partition. He signals to Sam to be ready before he comes whipping around the corner, knife raised in the air only to miss his target, implanting the knife into the wall instead.
A foot collides with his calf, knocking his legs from under him and he falls hard onto the concrete floor. Within a matter of seconds he's grappling with the other person on the ground.
He ducks the other person's blows as he tries to get a few punches in of his own. They're moving much too fast for him to see who he's fighting with. All he knows is that his opponent is strong despite being small.
"Stop!" He hears his brother hiss. "Dean, you have to stop!"
He feels the person beneath him stops struggling.
Dean manages to flip the other person onto his back as he straddles his thighs.
"Dean?" A woman's voices calls.
Dean's eyes finally focuses on the person beneath him. He sees long, blonde hair splayed against the concrete and Dean's gut clenches. Of all the places…
"Jo?" He says uncertainly.
"That's what I've been trying to tell you guys," Sam says before pulling Dean off of Jo. He helps Jo off the ground and Dean watches as she dusts the dirt off herself.
"God! You almost killed each other," Sam exclaims, readjusting his weapons in his hands.
Dean misses the glare Jo shoots his way because he's too busy scowling at her for spoiling his hunt.
"What the hell are you doing here, Jo?" He demands.
"What are you guys doing here?" Jo quips back.
"Hunting," Dean snaps.
"Same here," Jo replies.
Dean shakes his head. "Well you can stop. We're here now. Sammy and I will take care of it."
Jo tenses her jaw. "I don't think so, Dean. This is my hunt. You and Sam can leave."
"Guys," Sam whispers harshly. "You need to shut up. I think I hear the kids."
Dean and Jo simultaneously look in the direction Sam is pointing at and the three of them quietly stalk towards the room. Sure enough a group of five boy scouts are tied up against a post and Dean can see a trail of blood leading to another room.
They quietly rush into the room, immediately reassuring the young boys that they're safe. They work quickly to release the children while keeping a close eye for the ghoul.
"Jo, take the boys outside," he barks, his attention divided between the children and the room they'd just left.
"What are you going to do, Dean?" Jo asks, although she already knows.
"I'm going to waste the bastard," he replies, gritting his teeth.
"You can't do it by yourself," Jo shakes her head. "The creature has a familiar. It's going to take more than one person to kill it."
"Just go, Jo," Dean snaps. "Sam, help Jo get these kids to safety."
"I'm staying with you, Dean," Jo says firmly.
Dean stares at her for a second. He notes the way she's standing, weapon in hand, eyes on the prize and he knows that she's done this before.
"Fine," he grits out reluctantly, hating to put her in danger but knowing that there's nothing he can do to stop her.
"Sam," he calls before gesturing towards the exit. He sees his brother look hesitantly at Jo before ushering the scared children out the door.
"Let's go," Dean says not bothering to wait for her as he stalks back into the room they came from.
He lingers at the corner, motioning for Jo to be still. He listens and hears the half-dragging steps of the ghoul. He cautiously peeks into the room and sees the ghoul, currently in human form, dragging a bloody leg. He feels Jo trying to make her way around him so he puts an arm around her waist, wanting to spare her from the gore. But Jo is nothing if not determined. She manages to escape his hold and sees for herself the bloody mess that the creature has left behind.
Dean looks down at Jo and is impressed by her composure. He thought that she would have thrown up at the sight. Jo tips her head at the opposite side of the room indicating that they separate and move in at opposite angles. Reluctantly, Dean nods knowing that they might have a better chance of killing the ghoul if they catch it by surprise.
He watches Jo cross the room until she disappears into the shadows. He waits a moment before he begins to stalk the ghoul.
Movement catches the corner of his eye and he turns his head in it's direction, only to be greeted by shadows. He turns back to his prey but it's too late. The creature has now dropped the leg of it's victim and is glaring angrily at Dean.
"Shit," he hisses as he watches the creature shed it's human form, it's bones making a sick cracking noise as it changes it's shape. It stalks towards him and Dean stands his ground knowing that he'll only get one shot at stabbing the creature through the heart.
The creature rushes at Dean as he raises his knife. The ghoul is faster than he expected and he feels one of it's arms collide with his ribs. He grunts in pain but manages to duck from a second blow. Dean pushes himself up quickly, ignoring the burning sensation that exploded at his side.
"Oh you've done it now, bitch," Dean sneers, wiping the blood from his lip. "You want some? Come and get some."
The creature rushes him again but this time Dean manages to cut it on it's shoulder. The creature let's out a preternatural scream and Dean almost covers his ears from the painful noise. This time it's Dean that rushes the ghoul. He manages to get a few deep cuts into it but the creature is strong and ends up flinging Dean across the room.
The knife falls out of Dean's hand and clatters to the floor. The creature continues to stalk towards him and Dean feels the familiar trickle of fear lodge in the back of his throat.
"Jo," he calls, clutching the side of his ribs. "Anytime now."
The ghoul lunges and Dean barely has time to roll before it pounces on him again. However, just as it's about to rip his limbs out of their sockets, it jerks and begins to scream. It starts to smoke and within seconds it's nothing but a pile of sand, the silver dagger that was embedded into it's back clangs to the ground.
"Took you long enough," Dean quips, wincing as he pusehs himself up on his elbows.
"I was trying to get a good shot," Jo replies, bending down to help Dean up off the ground. "That son of a bitch was fast."
"You're telling me," Dean says, leaning on Jo.
"I guess next time –"
Dean doesn't have time to react because something comes running out of the shadows, wrenching Jo from his hold. Dean scrambles for his knife and gun and chases after the creature.
Judging from it's size, Dean knows that it's the ghoul's familiar. He curses himself for having forgotten about it. He sees Jo struggling as the large insect-like thing pins her to the ground. Dean fires off a shot hitting the creature squarely on it's back. It lifts it's head giving Dean the chance to throw his knife. It hits the beast between the eyes, causing it to release it's hold on Jo.
He sees Jo roll over, grab the knife from the creature's head and stab it in the heart.
"Are you okay?" He asks, helping to push the creature off of her.
"I'm awesome," Jo grunts, using Dean to help push herself up off the ground.
The two of them half-drag, half-pull each other out the door. Once they get outside, Dean searches his pockets for his cell phone and quickly dials Sam. When he's satisfied that the his brother and the kids are safe, he breathes a sigh of relief before ending the call.
"Where's your car, Dean?" Jo asks, slinging Dean's arm over her shoulder as he stumbles along.
"Sam took it," he replies. "He's going to drop off the scouts at the sheriff's station."
"Is that really wise? You guys are wanted by the FBI remember?" She reminds him.
"Its cool," Dean grunts, clutching his side. "Sam knows what to do."
Jo nods and the conversation ends. They reach an old pickup truck by the side of the abandoned road and Jo fishes a set of keys out of her pocket.
Dean's comment on her poor choice of vehicles dies on his lips when he feels the sudden urge to vomit. He leans against the side of the truck and retches.
"Shit, Dean!" Jo exclaims, moving to rub his back. "I think you might have broken a rib."
When Jo helps Dean into the truck, he doesn't argue. The pain at his side is so intense that all he can do is sit back, letting his arms hang limply at his sides.
"No hospitals, Jo," he mumbles.
"Its okay," Jo assures. "I've got a friend who can help."
Dean doesn't remember much after that. When he opens his eyes again, he's lying on a bed in an unfamiliar bedroom. He looks around and sees his brother fast asleep in a chair in the corner.
He pushes himself up and winces. Where the hell was he? He feels the bandage wrapped tightly around his torso before gingerly swinging his legs to the floor.
As he looks around, he notices that the bedroom is pretty sparse. A bed, an armchair, and a plain pine dresser were its only contents. He pads into the living room and sees an old, ratty couch and a small TV perched on a milk crate. He hears some rustling that catches his attention.
Jo is standing in the kitchen with her back turned washing dishes. Dean stands there watching her and he can't help but think how nice it would be to see her doing something so simple and domestic in a different setting. He catches himself, however, before the fantasy goes on any longer, shaking the thought out of his head. Thinking about such things were dangerous.
"Got anything to eat around here?" He asks, limping into the kitchen.
"Dean!" Jo exclaims, as she stops what she's doing and wipes her hands on her jeans. She goes and helps him into a chair. "What are you doing up? You're supposed to be in bed."
"Nah, I'm fine," he says rubbing the bandage. "I'm freakin' superman." He punctuates his statement by wincing.
Jo hides her smile as she sits across the table. They sit there in silence, Dean tapping a random rock song on the table, while Jo picks at invisible crumbs.
"So this is where you live, huh," Dean says, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
Jo snorts. "Yeah. Home sweet home."
"Its pretty decent," he comments.
Jo shrugs. "Its okay, I guess. Give me a place to sleep between shifts and hunts."
Dean nods. "So you're hunting now, huh."
She rolls her eyes. "Yes, Dean. I'm hunting now. I've been hunting for over a year."
He purses his lips together and nods. He figured as much. Looking at her he could tell that many things had changed since he saw her in Duluth. He should have noticed the last time he saw her but hell, he was too busy getting it on with her at the time. But now, he could see how much she's grown. That sweet, annoying girl was gone, replaced by a more confident woman. A woman who carried secrets and who'd seen violence and fear.
Jo pushes herself away from the table and grabs a couple of mugs from the cupboard. She busies herself pouring coffee as Dean continues to watch her back.
"Uh, I just want you to know that Sam and I won't be bugging you much longer," he says. "As soon as he's up and ready, we'll head out."
Jo stills and he sees her shoulders rise and fall in a sigh. "Dean," she says. "You just cracked a rib. Its going to take a hell of a lot longer than a few hours for that to heal. Besides, Mikhael said that you're to stay in bed for at least a couple of weeks."
"Who's Mikhael?" Dean asks, belatedly kicking himself as soon as he said it.
The corner of Jo's lip quirks. "Why Dean Winchester, are you jealous?"
"No," Dean replies a little to quickly. "You can do whatever the hell it is you want. Its your life."
Jo shakes her head in amusement. "He's a friend who works with me at the pub. He was a doctor in Russia. Although its none of your business," she adds belatedly.
Dean's secretly glad to hear her answer, but he'd never admit that of course.
Jo places a steaming mug of coffee on the table in front of him. "Drink this and I'll go wake up Sam. I've got to give you your meds in an hour so I guess you better get something to eat. There's bread and eggs in the fridge." She pauses and smiles.
"What's so funny?" Dean asks, annoyed.
"Nothing. Just…ironic, is all," she replies.
Dean watches her leave the room, bringing the cup to his lips. He almost chokes on his coffee when he realizes what Jo meant. Never in a million years did Dean Winchester think that the tables would be turned. That he would end up becoming the damsel in distress.