Chapter 11 - Okay, seriously, these reviews are just egging me on. Now I can't stop writing about Dean and Frankie!! How warped does that make me? Then again, how warped does that make those of you here playing in my gutter? A couple of people have found this story from an LJ spn story search. Welcome to my gutter!! As always, anon reviews are welcome! (If you review anonymously and include your email, I will respond.) PMs are always welcome. My email should be visible from my FFnet homepage. I don't mind requests and/or suggestions - as a matter of fact I'm working on incorporating one suggestion right now which will be a major plot point.

Sam hated bugs. Period. Especially bees. He never knew that before, but he did now. And what the hell had been up with Dean, anyway? Big brother actually slapped him in the ass! Since when was Dean comfortable portraying a gay couple? Sam's head swam with the implications, finally passing it off to Dean's abundant sexual security. His brother was capable of picking up a strange woman any place they found themselves. Hell, he'd been trying to pick someone up for Sam lately.

Then Sam had the vision of the woman dying in the house where Mom died. He had never seen Dean so freaked out, and it certainly wasn't all because of the visions. Sam suspected most of it had to do with returning to Lawrence, but the 'shining' certainly wasn't helping. He waited it out, allowing Dean a little time to process and counting on the fact a woman's life was on the line to persuade big brother to go. As usual, Dean did not disappoint.

Sam was wracked with guilt and Dean was withdrawn. Yeah, perfect. Dean wouldn't even talk to him, much less let him check out the damage from the point-blank shot with rocksalt. He just shrugged Sam off before taking a shower. The fact Dean came out with a shirt on was not lost on him.

As Dean seemed to retreat into himself, Sam hit on a brilliant idea. He found an excuse to go back to the area that hot date of Dean's lived near. Dean perked up instantly. Sam even subtly suggested that he could use a couple of days to research their next hunt and would appreciate it if Dean could be quiet.

Within two hours Dean had another hot date. Thank God. Sam brought out the paperback he bought at the last convenience store. It was too cheesy to read in front of Dean.

Dean pulled into town, wondering what the hell Frankie was up to this time. He pulled out his cell, calling speed dial number one.

"Steve? Is that you?" Frankie asked over a lot of background noise.

"Hell, no," Dean growled. "Why would you think I'm Steve?"

"Yeah, I'm at Mart's," Frankie replied as if Dean hadn't spoken. "Not exactly your kind of crowd, but the place is really jumping. You coming or what?"

Mart's Bar and Grill. Dean thought he remembered where it was, they had been there a couple of times last year. "Yeah, I'm coming. What's going on, Frankie?"

The loud laugh did sound good to his ears. "Just seeing if I still got it. It's been a while since I was in circulation."

Dean couldn't help the laugh that erupted from him. "You kinky bastard," he chuckled. "Okay, fine, I'll play along." Mart's was just ahead. Dean pulled into the parking lot. "See you in five."

"No, they don't care if you bring your own girl, Steve. It's the only way you'll find one here, anyway!" Frankie said with another laugh. "Later!"

Dean shook his head as he shoved the phone in his pocket. He really hoped Sam didn't call while he was in the bar, because he doubted he'd be able to hear it anyway. He spotted Frankie's Buick near the front entrance, but there weren't any parking spaces open now except at the end of the lot. Dean frowned over that, it meant Frankie had been here for a while. Well, if Frankie was trying to make him jealous, the big guy was doing a hell of a job.

He rubbed his silver ring as he stalked through the parking lot. Dean swallowed hard before pushing through the front door, voices and music assaulting his ears. It took him several minutes to spot Frankie sitting at a booth with two other guys. Dean found an open stool at the bar. He ordered a beer. After his beer was served and he added a generous tip, to make sure the bartender kept checking up on him, Dean turned around on his stool to check things out.

This had to be the biggest gay bar in four counties. The place was packed. Maybe it was ladies night. Dean chuckled to himself as he spotted a few guys who would fit in that category, if it weren't insulting to women.

Frankie seemed to be having a good time. The guy sitting beside him in the booth had an arm draped over those massive shoulders, just hanging all over him. The guy across from him was laughing and talking with his hands. Frankie laughed at whatever the guy talking said. Damn him, he was really going out of his way to make Dean jealous. And it was working.

The bartender tapped Dean on the shoulder to see if he needed anything.

"Yeah," Dean shouted into the guy's ear. "Send the big guy over there a beer. From me."

The bartender shook his head. "Guys have been buying him beers all afternoon! No luck!"

Dean shrugged. "Still worth a try! Make sure he sees it's from me!" he shouted back as he handed over a twenty.

The bartender shrugged at him, clearly thinking it a lost cause. He filled a mug and shouldered his way through the crowd to Frankie's table. Setting the beer down, he leaned over to speak into Frankie's ear. Dean watched Frankie's eyes light up when the bartender pointed him out. Frankie gave him a brilliant smile as he lifted his beer in thanks. Dean smiled back, lifting his beer to Frankie. He waited a few minutes before making his move.

Holding his half-full beer, Dean sauntered over to Frankie's booth. He glared at the guy sitting across from Frankie until the guy slid over to make room. Dean gave Frankie his best pick-up smile as he sat.

"You believe this?" the guy complained to the man hanging off of Frankie.

The hanger-on sneered at Dean, which he tactfully ignored. "Hey," he said to Frankie.

Frankie grinned back, obviously enjoying this game. "Hey." He lifted the beer. "Thanks!"

The guy sitting beside Dean snorted loudly. Dean shot him a hard look before offering his hand to Frankie. "Dean."

Frankie shook. "Frank," he shouted back.

Dean made a face as he shook his head. "You don't look like a Frank."

Frankie leaned over the table. "What?"

Dean pitched his voice louder. "I said, you don't look like a Frank."

"What do I look like?" Frankie asked, his eyes laughing at Dean's attempt to pick him up.

"Like a Frankie," Dean replied as the guy hanging on Frankie laughed.

"You blew it," the hanger-on shouted. "Might as well go crawl back to your parole officer!"

Dean gave the guy a cold grin, sizing him up. Soft. Watched too many movies where an average guy can take on somebody who knows what they're doing. No callouses on the hands, probably had a desk job. He'd last two, maybe three seconds in a real fight. Confident the hanger-on was not even a potential threat, Dean returned his attention to Frankie.

He leaned forward on the table, motioning Frankie closer. "You married? You know, exclusive?" he shouted, making sure he was loud enough for the two idiots trying to pick Frankie up to hear.

Frankie's smile broadened as he shook his head.

"Interested?" Dean asked, jerking his head toward the door.

"Depends," Frankie shouted back, "are you good in bed?"

Dean laughed at his audacity. "Baby, I'm good everywhere."

"Yeah?" Frankie shook off his hanger-on to stand. He leaned into Dean's face. "Prove it."

Dean motioned to their beers. "Going to waste the beer."

Frankie grabbed him by his jacket, yanking him to a stand. Dean laughed again, shrugging helplessly at the guys in the booth as Frankie dragged him through the crowd. He fell in step beside Frankie, winding an arm around the waist which took a supporting role in the dreams he'd been having. They stepped out of the bar, their ears ringing from the noise inside.

"What took so damn long?" Frankie demanded, one hand running up Dean's back under his shirt.

"Hell, I had to drive across the whole damn state to get here," Dean replied, groping Frankie's firm ass. "How long have you been here?"

Frankie turned beer-bleary eyes on him. "Long enough to let strange men get me drunk." He laughed, missing a step and nearly falling, but Dean caught him.

"Shit, Frankie. We'll come get your car tomorrow. I'm parked back there." Dean motioned to the last row in the lot.

Frankie chuckled. "Like you'd park closer anyway."

"Hey!"

Dean ignored the strange voice, eyes only for Frankie. "Oh, you think so?" he demanded, kind of enjoying seeing Frankie smashed.

Frankie stopped, spinning to face him and nearly falling over again. Dean scrambled to keep the big guy upright. "I know so," he stated loudly.

"Hey!" The two guys from Frankie's booth ran up, stopping only a few feet away. "We were talking to Frank!"

"Yeah, well, he's done," Dean said flatly, turning Frankie toward the car again.

"Hey, man!" A hand spun Dean around. He resisted sending the guy into next week. "I've been buying him beer for four hours! You can't just walk in here and take advantage of me like that. I've got dibs!"

"Dibs?" Dean asked incredulously before turning on Frankie. "You've been here for four hours? Dude, no wonder you're smashed."

Frankie beamed, tottering gently as he rested a balancing hand on Dean's shoulder. "I was having fun."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I'll bet." He faced the idiot with 'dibs'. "Look, how much did you spend on him? I'll cover it."

The idiot glared, alcohol clearly overriding better sense. "I don't want money. I want him."

Dean glanced back at Frankie's beaming face. Yeah, he would be just eating this up.

"Dude, you can't have him. You can have the money. Now how much?" Dean dug his wallet out. Against his better judgment, he pulled out a fifty. "Here, that should cover it." Dean held it out as he shoved his wallet back in his pocket. "Now go inside and find some other hunk to liquor up."

"Hunk?" Frankie asked, his hand squeezing Dean's shoulder. "Did you call me a hunk?"

"Frankie," Dean growled. "Not now."

The guy Dean had been sitting next to took a couple of steps back. "Uh, Gary? Maybe you should take the money. It's still early, we can find somebody else."

Dean didn't like the sound of that. He took a step forward, narrowing his eyes on the idiot.

"Dean?" Frankie's voice came from behind him. "They were nice to me, don't break them."

Dean waved Frankie off without turning around. "Find somebody else for what?" he demanded in a low voice.

The idiot proved Dean's assessment. He telegraphed his move, allowing Dean to sidestep the blow and land a few of his own. The idiot dropped unconscious to the ground. Dean took a step toward the idiot's partner. The guy backed up, eyes wide.

"Dean," Frankie slurred as a weight fell on his shoulder. "C'mon, babe." Warm lips caressed his neck. "I had a dream," he said against Dean's jaw.

Crap. Frankie had him distracted long enough for the other guy to disappear inside the building. Well, too late now anyway. Dean turned Frankie around, pointing them toward the Impala.

"Don't you want to hear about my dream?" Frankie persisted, stumbling again.

Dean pulled Frankie's arm over his shoulders, wrapping an arm around him again. "Sure, Frankie. Tell me all about it."

"Baby," Frankie said.

"What?" Dean asked, maneuvering him between cars.

"Noooo," Frankie said slowly. "You're supposed to call me baby. Like you did in the bar."

Dean let out a little sigh as he opened the passenger door. He grabbed Frankie by both arms, helping him in. Once Frankie was safely inside, Dean leaned in the open door. "Okay, baby," he said softly. "Tell me about your dream."

Frankie reached up to stroke his cheek. "I'd rather show you," he said suggestively. "Take me home."

"What about Steve?" Dean asked, smiling at him.

"He's staying with my parents for a couple of days," Frankie replied seriously. "I don't want to rent two rooms again. That gets expensive."

"Two rooms?" Dean asked. He crouched next to Frankie. "What are you talking about?"

Frankie beamed at him. "Did you think it was just lucky we didn't get kicked out of that B-n-B?"

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, actually, I did." He met Frankie's gaze. "You shouldn't be spending money on me like that."

"I wasn't! I was spending it on us." Frankie's amazing blue eyes watered. "Don't you think we're worth it?"

Dean patted his arm. "You're drunk. Let's go home, okay?"

Frankie grabbed his arm before he could stand up. "We are worth it, right?"

Dean smiled at him. "Dude, I just took down a guy who's been hitting on you all afternoon. Doesn't that tell you I think we're worth it?" He shook his head at Frankie. "You're going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow. You know that, right?"

"You'll be here to take care of me," Frankie said confidently, laying his head back on the headrest.

"Yeah. I will." Dean closed the door. He walked around to the driver's side and dropped down behind the steering wheel. After he started the car and backed out of his parking space, Frankie slid across the seat to rest his head on Dean's shoulder. Dean drove them slowly back to Frankie's house, wondering if the big guy would still be awake when they arrived. It took an awful lot of alcohol to get Frankie, of all people, this drunk. As he drove, he wondered if maybe those guys slipped a little something extra in Frankie's beers. If it weren't for the heavy weight on his shoulder, Dean would seriously consider heading back to take care of the second guy he let get away.

He pulled into the driveway. From under his seat, Dean produced his garage door opener. He parked inside the garage before trying to get Frankie out of the car. Frankie was really groggy now, but Dean managed to get him talking again.

"You promised to tell me about that dream," Dean prompted, holding Frankie's face between his hands. "Frankie? Can you hear me?"

Big blue eyes fluttered open. "What happened to baby?" he demanded.

Dean limited his head shake to just one. "Right. Sorry." He wet his lips as he thought about how gay this sounded. Well, hell, he'd already slapped his own brother in the ass and discovered he pulled off a convincing gay guy, so why not? Especially if it made Frankie happy. "Frankie, baby, what about that dream?"

Frankie's broad, bright grin made it so worth it. "Really good dream," he said, allowing Dean to help him out of the car. Dean draped one of Frankie's arms over his shoulders. "We were home, just the two of us." One of Frankie's hands grabbed his ass. "And we were in the shower."

Dean chuckled as he unlocked the front door. "You really have a thing for the shower."

"Mmm-hmmm," Frankie murmured, leaning over to stick his tongue in Dean's ear.

"Dude!" Dean chastised as he dropped his keys. He maneuvered Frankie inside to the couch before retrieving his keys.

Frankie looked like he was in a haze, his eyes unfocused, as he patted the cushion next to him. Dean checked the salt line at the front door before joining Frankie on the couch. Instantly big hands were all over him, tugging at his clothes, pulling him down on the couch.

Dean struggled against Frankie's advances, not liking taking advantage of how drugged Frankie was. "I thought you were telling me about your dream," Dean protested.

"Gonna show you," Frankie mumbled, double his efforts in stripping Dean's clothes off.

Realizing it was futile, and the only way to settle Frankie down would be to give him what he wanted, Dean helped Frankie take their clothes off. Frankie seemed to want to head to the shower, but Dean insisted on the bed, afraid the big guy would hurt himself on all that slick tile.

"Okay," Frankie said, spreading out on the bed, "first you have to get me really hard. You know what to do."

Dean obeyed, straddling Frankie's legs. With a sly grin, he leaned over to take the half-hard penis in his mouth. He bobbed up and down a few times until Frankie let out a soft moan of pleasure. Then he paused to swirl his tongue around the head a few times. Frankie's hands gripped the sides of his head. Those big hands made him bob a few more times before pulling him up to Frankie's mouth. He gave the big mouth similar treatment as Frankie tried to position him. Dean broke away to shift up where Frankie wanted him.

"Here?" he asked as the tip of Frankie barely penetrated.

Frankie shook his head, hands gripping Dean's hips. He pulled Dean down until he was fully sheathed inside Dean. Dean rocked back and forth a few times, enjoying it, knowing the wait had been just as hard on Frankie. Planting his hands on each side of Frankie's head, Dean started pumping up and down slowly.

"Trying to make me jealous?" he demanded playfully, unable to actually get upset with a drunk and possibly drugged Frankie.

The wide, bright grin appeared. "Did it work?"

Dean chuckled, moving a little more forcefully. "Yeah. I'm breaking something next time. Like a jaw."

His big hands pulled Dean down for a probing, searing kiss that left him panting. It was good to be home.

A pounding knock on the front door woke him. Dean was pressed against Frankie's back, one leg slung over Frankie's legs. The pounding sounded again. Dean disentangled himself. He pulled on a pair of pants before heading for the front door. As he walked through the den, Dean glanced down to see how unpresentable he looked. His chest was covered with blotched bruises from the shotgun blast. Crap! Dean glanced around the room, spotting his shirt still on the couch. He scooped it up, pulling it on over his head as he approached the door.

Now at least not looking like he was a refugee from a wrestling show, Dean cracked open the door. Two uniformed officers stood outside. What the hell?

"Can I help you?" Dean asked through the crack.

One of the officers motioned to the house. "We understand this is the residence of Frank Warren. Is that correct?"

Dean nodded, still wondering what the hell was going on. "Yeah, that's right. What's this about?"

The second officer moved forward. "His car was abandoned at Mart's Bar and Grill yesterday afternoon. There were reports he might have been forced to leave against his will."

Dean stepped outside, closing the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Those reports wouldn't have been filed by the two idiots who drugged him, would it?" he asked casually.

The cops exchanged a look. "Sir?"

"By the time I got there, Frankie was too smashed for it to be just beer. They had to have slipped him something." Dean locked gazes with one of the cops. "Tell me, how's his jaw?"

The cop's mouth twisted a little, like he was trying not to smile. "Bruised pretty good, but not broken. Might be fractured, though."

Dean snorted, but he wasn't stupid enough to voice what he really thought, that it was too bad the asshole's jaw wasn't broken.

"Dean?" Miss Shelly called. His eyes shifted over to watch their nosy neighbor shuffle across the grass in her fuzzy blue slippers and perpetual faded housecoat. "Dean, is everything all right?"

One of the officers turned to face her. "Ma'am, you live next door?" he asked, flipping open his notebook and pulling out a pen.

"That's right," she said haughtily. "Shelly Benjamin. Now what is going on here?"

"How long have you lived here?" the cop asked.

"Twenty-five years," Miss Shelly replied. "Frank took over the house five years ago." She looked past the cop at Dean. "Frank is okay, isn't he, Dean dear?"

Dean nodded. "He's fine. Just sleeping off all the fun he had yesterday."

"Can we speak with him?" the cop still standing close to Dean asked.

Dean eyed him warily. "I'd rather not wake him. He's going to have one bitch of a hang-over."

Miss Shelly made her way between Dean and the cops. "You leave these boys alone," she admonished. "They're good boys."

"How long have you known, Dean? Is that right? Dean what?" the cop with the notebook asked.

"Since he started dating Frank, about four years ago!" Miss Shelly snapped.

Dean cleared his throat, whispering to her, "Three years."

Miss Shelly spun to glare at him. "Well what took you so long? It should have been four years ago!"

Dean suppressed his chuckle, but the smile bled out onto his face. "Yes, Miss Shelly. I'm sorry."

"And you should be," she snapped. Now she turned on the cops. "If Dean says Frank needs his sleep, then you leave him alone! Now, you two can come back later if you want to talk to Frank." Miss Shelly took one of the officers by the arm, leading him away from the house. "I have fresh coffee, and you can ask me all the questions you want about these two lovely boys. Did you know that Dean gives my car a tune-up every three months?"

The second cop looked rapidly between his partner being taken by Miss Shelly and Dean. "Uh, we'll be back later. We will have to speak with Mister Warren in person."

Dean waved at him. With a sigh, he headed back inside to make coffee. Frankie was going to need it. He didn't like the fact perfect strangers were trying to accuse him of abducting one of the few people in this world he valued, and he really didn't like the assholes being so persistent. Salt guarded against the supernatural, not people. Maybe Frankie needed a dog. A big dog. Too bad Dad and Bobby had that falling out last year, Bobby would probably know what he needed.

As the coffee pot perked happily, filling the pot with delicious dark fluid, Dean's thoughts continued to center on Frankie. It was probably just the asshole with 'dibs' trying to get even with Dean, nothing more than that. He hoped.

"Hey, babe," Frankie's voice filled the otherwise silent kitchen. His face was pinched and he squinted in the bright kitchen light. Dean flipped the light switch down. "I really hope that's coffee," he said, sliding into a seat at the table.

Dean brought him a full mug. "How're you feeling?" he asked gently.

"Like shit," Frankie mumbled. "Get the number of that truck?"

"Frankie?" Dean studied his face carefully. "Do you like dogs?"

Frankie ran a hand over his face. "Dean, don't start. I'm fine here when you're gone. Plus Steve still lives here, so it's not like I'm alone when you're on the road."

"Could you call Bobby anyway? Ask him if he knows of a good guard dog?" Dean asked. "I'm afraid those assholes might know where you live."

Frankie graced him with a smile. "You're so sexy when you worry about me."

"Two cops just came to the door to check on you," Dean told him. "Miss Shelly is having them over for coffee."

Frankie chuckled and stopped abruptly, pressing a hand to his forehead. Dean jumped up to grab the aspirin bottle.

"I almost feel sorry for them," Frankie said. "Her coffee is terrible. I'll bet she's making them look at her scrapbooks too." He smiled as he accepted the pills from Dean. "When do you head back to Sam?"

"Tomorrow," Dean replied.

"You know, I still have the extra room," Frankie hinted.

Dean sighed. Yeah, he knew, and he knew why Frankie hadn't found a roommate to replace what's-his-name. He was still hoping Dean would just tell Sam everything. Dean pulled up his shirt to show Frankie what he was too out of it to notice last night.

"What the hell happened to you?" Frankie demanded in a strong voice, standing for a better look.

"Sam." Dean swallowed hard. "He was under the influence of a dead psycho-psychiatrist, but it was still Sam. Shit, Frankie, you should've heard what he said about me, how pathetic I am. How can I tell him about me now?" He shook his head, lowering his shirt. "It'll just make things worse."

Frankie's hand snaked across the table to grab Dean's as he sat back down. "Maybe, on some level, he knows you're holding back. It might make things better." His thumb caressed the back of Dean's hand. "I know you'd feel better."

Dean sighed heavily as he shrugged. "I really thought we were starting to, you know, click again." He shook his head. "Wishful thinking, I guess."

Frankie sipped his coffee with one hand, the other still clutching Dean's. The silence in the kitchen was warm and comfortable, supportive. Dean squeezed the hand back. "I'll think about it," he promised. "If you call Bobby."

Frankie smiled at him. "Okay, babe. You got a deal."