Placed just after the events of 12x07, The Rock Never Dies
I had to add a bit of humor to that angsty ending.
One shot, warning for a single F-bomb
I don't own any of this.
His eyes fluttered open to the sound of music on the radio. Soft mattress and many fluffy pillows warmed his sprawled out body. Sun rays bathed the large room and reflected off of every shiny surface in the luxurious space.
He yawned trough a smile and stretched. He felt good.
Rythm and nature's call made him sway his way into the bathroom. Finishing his business, he showered, ignored the razor in favor of light scruff and ran fingers through short, wet strands, spikes already forming as air dried his blond hair.
Shuffling to the beat of the song, he opened the walk in closet and started sifting through many articles of top-quality clothing. Fancy, casual, yoga clothes… Leather. He grabbed a black leather jacket from the collection of coats and tossed it on a chair in the corner. Form fitting white t-shirt, grey jeans, modern ankle boots (Leather of course) all found themselves thrown on the same pile while their owner pranced around the wardrobe in boxers and sunglasses, singing into a hanger like it was microphine.
He dressed himself as if preforming an opposite striptease show and checked his reflection in the wall-to-wall mirror. He looked just as good as he felt. Laughing for no particular reason save for being filthy rich and hot as hell in summer time, he sauntered out of the room not bothering to turn off the radio.
He drove the sleek muscle car with windows rolled down and nodded his head to the loud beat, giving not a single fuck about any possible dirty looks from more responsible drivers. Why be responsible if you have money to cover for you. Of course he could always have somebody else drive him, but where would be the fun in that?
Cameras started flashing and battling for his attention the moment he arrived at his destination. Hundreds of girls and guys frantically screamed behind the walls of railings and security, calling his name.
Exiting the car, he waved, grinned and posed for the crowd. Red carpet was made for him to march over. He walked straight to VIP entrance, followed by euphoric cries and security. Just as he was reaching for the door handle, a single fan managed to jump the guards and latch onto his sleeve, begging for a selfie. He didn't consider himself a snob who refused their fans (at least not all the time) so he waved the security off and flashed a smile for the teen's phone. As the guards started dragging him back, the boy shouted "I wanna be just like you when I grow up!"
Pausing in his reach for the door again, Dean turned and lowered his aviators to wink at the kid. "If I was you" he paused for effect "I'd wanna be me, too." Then he laughed and entered the building, leaving the sunglasses on.
Dean snapped out of the dream with a yelp, promptly hitting his head on the Impala's window. Sam gave him a half concerned, half bemused glance from the driver's seat, asking if he was ok.
Sitting up from his slumped position on the passenger's side, Dean rubbed a palm down his face and took a few moments to compose a fitting answer.
"We are never going to LA again."
He shuddered.
"…Ever."
The end.
Thanks for reading!
And yes, Dean was quoting 'Me Too' by Meghan Trainor.