I felt like posting early. Lucky for y'all. :D

Dean bit back a snicker when breakfast started out cold cereal but suddenly became a feast worthy of IHOP at Sam's announcement that, if Shawn was still interested, there was an open spot in the hunt. And he only managed that because Shawn's waffles were way better than IHOP could ever dream of.

Bobby asked about the hunt and got the details that Ash had shared and Sam had verified.

Bunch of underage kids out partying had forgotten to designate a driver and broadsided a nurse from the local clinic—who just happened to also be the county MADD coordinator. Ironic and sad. And, for the kids in the car, very now she was apparently bent on teaching them all some very lasting lessons about why she was MADD.

She hadn't killed any of them yet, but the incidents were escalating and it was only a matter of time.

The town was a few hours away, but not so far they'd be staying over.

Dean tried suggesting that if Bobby needed someone to stay behind— but didn't even get the whole sentence out before Bobby waved it off.

"I'll be fine for one night, Dean. Probably sleep through the whole thing." He grimaced and sipped his coffee. "Shame to miss the peace and quiet, but oh well."

Damn. Dean had been hoping Bobby would override him and say that Shawn had no business on a hunt and ought to stay here. He sighed and sipped his coffee, silently echoing Bobby's words. Oh well.

o.o

The morning was spent with Sam and Shawn out on the shooting range out back doing speed drills loading the shells and firing off a few handfuls of the things. Dean worked on a fourth cup of coffee and watched the show with a fair amount of amusement since Shawn was quite obviously humoring Sam. Really, this wasn't necessary since they were already very familiar with Shawn's skill with small arms, a fact that Sam himself had pointed out last night in his arguments.

But Sam was taking Dean's admonition to make sure Shawn was ready seriously and so he said nothing. Honestly, he felt kind of like watching his student take on a student of his own and a certain amount of pride swelled inside at that.

He wondered if Dad had ever felt like this when he'd supervised Dean teaching Sam the hunting ropes, and then winced at the pain that thoughts of his father always brought. It wasn't as sharp as it had been a few months ago, but it was definitely still there.

He resisted the urge to rub at his chest like there was an actual physical pain, then hopped off the fence and joined his brother and friend, challenging them both to a marksmanship competition.

If they were going to use up bullets, Dean might as well make some money off of it.

o.o

Lunch was sandwiches—big, thick ones loaded with all kinds of goodies that Dean would never admit to liking on a sandwich. Green things and red things and purple things that came out of the ground instead of from an animal. They kinda worked the way Shawn used them though.

Lunch conversation was Sam spewing all of his encyclopedic knowledge of ghosts and spirits and Shawn soaking it up like a sponge, asking more than a few questions that surprised Dean.

He knew the answers, but he hadn't thought to ask them before his first ghost hunt.

Bobby watched with amusement and Dean just watched.

o.o

They cleaned up when it was done and Shawn joined Dean in performing some maintenance on the Impala while discussing engines. Sam did the watching then, having little to contribute.

Shawn pried stories out of Dean about past hunts—his favorite past time when they were doing something that didn't require discussion, but didn't forbid it either.

"There was this one time in... was it Tallahassee, Sam?"

"The Pekingese?"

"Uhh..."

"The fluffy little ankle biter that destroyed your brand new boots?" Sam said dryly with a grin for Shawn.

Dean glared and wiped at a line of sweat on his cheek, leaving behind a stripe of grease. It blended nicely with the smudges on the other cheek and the smears all over his grey tee and jeans for an overall 'grease monkey' look.

"Yeah," he all but growled. "Bitch chewed them all to hell. Demon dog."

"Literally," Sam said, causing Shawn's eyebrows to rise.

The fake psychic didn't look much cleaner than Dean with dark hand prints on his white tank top and the thighs of his jeans where he'd used them for grease rags. There was a black streak across his forehead from where he'd been trying to reach down at something buried deep in the engine and rested his head on something. That same venture had left his right arm with grime and grease all up and down the length of it as well.

Sam was so not doing laundry this time. Watching from the sidelines meant he stayed nice and clean and that was just the way he liked it. Plus he wouldn't come away smelling like a Jiffy Lube.

"Damn thing was eating the other dogs in the neighborhood," Dean explained, "but it's owner, Miss Marbelle Maystone—"

"Seriously?" Shawn asked, adjusting his grip on the bit of engine he was holding.

Dean gave the wrench in his hand a good yank to make sure the bolt was tight, then nodded. "No shit. That was actually her name. Anyway she just couldn't believe her little Pooksie Pepper—" Shawn snickered and Dean's eyes rolled. "Also the real name. I couldn't make that shit up if I tried. Pooksie just wasn't a killer Miss Marbelle insisted."

Dean snorted and moved the wrench to the next bolt, waiting for Shawn to give him a nod that he was ready. "I've always wondered if she thought that right up until the moment little Pooksie ripped her throat out."

Shawn winced. "Ouch."

"Yup. We had to liberate little Pooksie from the pound, exorcise the ball of fur, and then..." He straightened, shot a glare at his brother as he wiped the wrench somewhat clean of grease, then bent down and repositioned it. "Because Sam is such a girl, we had to drive it to the next county and leave it at the shelter there to be adopted."

"It wasn't Pooksie's fault he was possessed."

"No, but it sure as hell was Pooksie's fault that he peed in my car."

Sam smiled. "I forgot about that," he said and tipped back his head draining the last of his soda from the can.

"I didn't," Dean said shortly.

He and Shawn both straightened, looking over the engine and wiping their hands mostly clean.

"That's it, right?" Shawn asked.

"Should be," Dean said. "Let's start her up. We can take her for a test drive to get dinner. After that we've got to get going so we can do some recon of the cemetery before sundown."

"Sweet," Shawn said, following Dean over to the driver's side.

He stood by while Dean sat on a towel to protect the seats from his greasy jeans, then twisted the keys in the ignition.

The usual sweet sound of a healthy roar, followed by the low rumbling of a well-tuned V-8 answered the call and Dean and Shawn grinned.

"Awesome," Shawn declared and held out a fist.

A contented sigh escaped Dean's lips as he bumped his own fist against Shawn's. "I could listen to that purr all day long."

"And often do," Sam added dryly.

He got two arched eyebrows which lowered as their owners faced each other.

"He just doesn't get it, Shawn," Dean said mournfully. "Where did I go wrong?"

Shawn shook his head. "It's not your fault, Dean," he said, laying a hand on the other man's shoulder. "You did everything you could, I'm sure. Some people... they just don't have any taste, man. They don't know how to appreciate the finer things in life."

"Oh please," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "If this," he said with a wave of his hand at the car and the two fire hazards posing as men, "is what constitutes 'good taste' I don't want it. I'll be in the house when you two are done grunting and pounding your chests."

Shawn and Dean grinned and then Dean cut the engine while Shawn went to lower the hood.

They set about cleaning up and putting away all the tools they'd gotten out, then headed in for showers.

No whump still, I know. *sadface*

BUT OMJ BOYS GETTING FILTHY DIRTY GREASY. GUH. AND SHOOTING THINGS. AND EATING THINGS.

I could watch these boys watch paint dry. You know? :D

Review plz&thx.