Chapter Three

Dean is surprised upon his return come lunchtime to see Tony sitting in the middle of the motel bed, legs crossed and laptop open on the comforter in front of him. He has a pair of wiry rectangular spectacles perched on the tip of his nose, a concentrated frown accented by the glow of the screen, and he's sucking his teeth as he processes whatever it is he's doing.

"You wear glasses?" Dean asks, his voice slightly hoarse as he tightly grips the doorknob behind him. He shifts the weapon bag on his shoulder awkwardly.

Tony briefly glances over at the younger man, making a distracted confirmation noise while clicking something on the laptop. "Sure do."

Dean's immediately locking the door and approaching the bed, unloading the duffel onto the floor before leaning over the bed, leaning one hand on the bed while taking Tony's face in the other, and pressing an urgent kiss to his shocked lips.

Gathering his bearings again, Tony reaches up and squeezes the back of Dean's neck firmly—his signature kissing move for him—parting his lips and relishing Dean's taste and relieved exhale as the kiss deepens. They battle tongues for a few moments before Tony reluctantly breaks the kiss.

"Hungry?" he purrs, grinning broadly.

Dean's groin tightens at this and he kneels onto the bed, shedding his jacket in one fluid move. "Oh hell yes," he growls.

Without a second thought, Tony snaps the laptop shut and pushes it aside on the bed, making room for he and Dean to collapse together, bodies moving together to remove clothing and gain as much friction as possible before either one of them loses the immediate will to live.

Fifteen minutes later finds them sated and tired, sweaty and breathless, coming down from a fevered high, lying on their backs beside each other. Linked hands resting between them are the only physical contact at that point.

"So," Dean starts, shamelessly folding his free arm behind his head, eyes darting across the ceiling. "Why're you here?"

"Well, my mother and father had some sort of relationship that eventually led to conception—"

Smirking, Dean shakes his head and squeezes Tony's hand. "We had a lunch date."

Tony turns his head to face Dean. "We did. And I planned to make it. That's why I'm here. We had a case but it was open and shut; the wife pretty much immediately admitted to killing her husband and we had some pretty hard evidence right away. One of the quickest cases we've ever had actually."

Dean's watching Tony talk. "You sure you didn't put away an innocent woman just so you could keep a lunch date with me?"

It's Tony's turn to grin. "You get rid of the ghosts yet?"

"Tonight. We gotta um..." He hesitates. "We gotta...do something...slightly less than legal that...may or may not consist of defacement of a cemetery."

Tony purses his lips, not quite irritated. "You gotta dig up a grave?"

"It's the only way to gank these things. Salt and burn the remains, man."

There's a brief pause before Tony speaks again. "Make sure I'm nowhere near you when you do this. I don't give a rat's ass what you do but it could cost me my job."

Dean lets go of Tony's hand and reaches over to rub his stomach affectionately. "Yes, sir," he murmurs seductively.

Tony winks at him.

=o=o=o=o=

Hours later, well after the sun has set, Dean and Sam are sitting in the Impala, staring out at the graveyard in front of them with matching furrowed brows. Dean taps his thumb on the wheel of the car absently, his frown deepening, and finally Sam slowly looks over at him.

"I know this might sound crazy," the youngest in the car says steadily, in a tone he's often employed that makes him sound like he's either talking to a ticking time bomb of a mental patient or a toddler, "but usually the best way to dig up a grave is to not be in the car while you're doing it."

"Do you think I would've made a good cop?"

Sam's eyebrows nearly jump off his face. "What?"

"Never mind, let's go."

Sam briefly considers checking his brother's pupils but initially shrugs it off, following suit when Dean ducks out of the car and shuts the door after himself. Still, that was a rather uncharacteristic question and curiosity is a strong beast.

"Have you eaten any funny brownies lately?"

Dean actually grins as he sticks the key in the lock and opens the trunk. "Nah. I guess I'm just..." His hand freezes over the shovels inside the trunk as he's suddenly drenched in arctic air, his breath coming out in vapor puffs in front of him.

Without batting an eyelash, Dean grabs the salt and shovels while Sam dives forward and snatches one of the sawed-offs and a flashlight. In sync they slam the trunk shut and make a mad dash to the cemetery, frantically searching for the right pair of tombstones before their defensive guests arrive.

"You know," Dean barks as Sam hurriedly shines the light at the slabs of stone, "for a pair of twins who were separated at birth, living separate lives and reunited only to be murdered by their respective adoptive parents..." He ducks and races down a row of graves, squinting at the names carved into them, "...in their own homes...these ladies are kinda cranky!"

"Shit!" Sam hisses just then, the flashlight going off and flying out of his hands.

"Found them!" Dean exclaims suddenly. Without delay he begins laying a large enough circle of salt around the adjoining graves, giving plenty of room to dig, and once the circle is closed Sam lowers the sawed-off, exhaling deeply. Dean tosses him a shovel and, upon Sam dropping the gun, they begin to dig.

Sam comes upon his coffin first. He hoists himself out of the hole in the ground to grab the salt and lighter fluid Dean had in his jacket pocket, dumps the salt, squirts the fluid, lights a lighter, wipes his brow as the bones go up in flame with ease.

"How you doin', Dean?"

"Almost there," Dean mutters, still digging. Sam frowns slightly. "Come help me, will ya?"

Sam grabs his shovel and jumps down to assist.

Once that skeleton is also in flames, the younger Winchester turns to his brother. "You seem distracted."

Dean shakes his head distractedly.

Another silence as Sam rolls his eyes. They stare at the fires for a moment or two before Dean speaks up again, his voice quiet.

"It's about Tony."

"Are you two okay?" asks Sam, concerned.

"We're fine." Dean sets his jaw. "I think I'm..."

Pause.

"Pregnant?"

A full five seconds pass before Dean leisurely turns his head to Sam, staring at him as if he spontaneously grew four extra arms. Sam shrugs.