Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor do I own the "I don't do shorts..." line.

Summary: Jess convinces the guys to go to the beach.

Author's Note: I hope you all enjoy!

"Get up."

The words were accompanied by persistent tugging on his very warm and comfortable blanket. He groaned in protest. "Jess..."

"Come on, Sam," she insisted, pulling a bit harder. "Dean's here today, remember?"

Sam nodded his head against the pillow, still not letting the blanket go. The room was that pleasantly chilled temperature that air conditioners achieved in the dead of summer, and the bed was soft, and he'd waited up for Dean – who had arrived after 3 in the morning.

"I remember," he murmured. "He's asleep too..."

"It's ten-thirty, come on," she added, tugging his arm now. "It's Sunday."

"No . . ."

"Sam . . ."

"Go away," he grumbled, pulling his arm out of her grasp and turning away from her.

"Sam!"

"Go away," he repeated.

She glared at his back, then hissed, "FINE!" through gritted teeth, annoyance dripping from the word. Jess huffed out of the room, letting the door slam in her wake.

Behind her Sam didn't even stir.

Down the hallway and into the living room she found Dean, sprawled out on the sofa bed, lying on his stomach and out like a light.

"Dean, get up," she said, standing over him.

He didn't stir.

"Dean!" she tried again.

He mumbled something and lifted his head, eyeing her blearily. "Wha's 'rong?"

"Nothing, I just -"

His head dropped back to the pillow before she could finish and he turned away from her.

"Dean! Get up!"

"No . . ."

"Come on!"

"No . . ." he grumbled.

"You're supposed to be visiting us!" she cried, getting annoyed at him too.

"Visit you later . . ."

"It's ten-thirty!"

"Tha's nice . . ."

"Come on!"

"Go 'way," he echoed Sam, burrowing into the mattress.

"It's Sunday!"

"Go away," he repeated, shifting away from the side of the bed she was standing near.

She glared at his back. Then huffed out of the living room into the kitchen, slamming the door as she left. Behind her, Dean didn't even stir.

Jess could hear them clearly from the living room. Which was actually pretty amusing, because she was sure that they thought they were whispering.

They also thought she was mad at them.

Granted, Jess had been more than a little miffed with them earlier.

She'd spent the morning stomping around the apartment and slamming doors and nothing. Neither of them had stirred.

Okay, so yeah . . . Dean had come in well after two o'clock, which is when she'd gone to bed. And, true – they always stayed up and talked about those Winchester World Secrets, but still . . . it was Sunday and they'd both just lain there like slugs, ignoring her.

They were all supposed to have gone to a resort and spa today, and she'd had to tell the others to go ahead without them because the boys were out cold.

So yes, earlier she had been a bit pissed. But now . . . now, she had a new plan; and the more pissed they thought she was, the greater her likelihood of success.

"So what's wrong with her?" she heard Dean ask .

"I don't know!" Sam responded urgently. Jess could practically feel them staring at the living room door.

"Is it one of those emo-women days that you were supposed to remember?"

Ah, her brother-in-law and his way with words. She smiled at how disgusted he sounded.

"I don't think so . . ."

Her smile grew as she could practically hear Sam running through a list of emo-women days in his head.

"First time you met?" Dean asked, apparently trying to help Sam get through the list.

"September."

"First Date?"

"October."

"First kiss."

There was a pause, then, "September."

Now, she could practically feel Dean arch an eyebrow. "First time you had se--"

"DEAN!"

A chuckle.

Jess rolled her eyes.

"I'm just askin' . . ."

"Well, don't – and no," Sam responded.

There was another pause, then, "Birthday?"

"April."

"Some Hallmark holiday?"

"Dude, Valentine's Day is in February."

"I know that! I'm not an idiot! I'm just thinkin' maybe there's another one or something!"

She heard Sam huff, "Well, there isn't."

"So what's wrong with her?"

"I don't know."

There was a pause then, "Are you sure it's not an anniversary?" Dean asked.

And when Sam didn't respond, but seemed to be going through the list again, it dawned on her that they were just going to keep going in circles with this.

"Maybe when you remember you first met is not when SHE remembers you first met," Dean encouraged.

"We were in the same class. We had a project -"

"IT'S NOT AN ANNIVERSARY!" Jess yelled from the living room, rolling her eyes. There were days when she looked at them and marveled at how they could possibly even be related, let alone brothers; and then there were days like today when she honestly thought they shared a brain.

There was a pause and then the door swung open. Quickly, she adjusted her expression to fit the model of abject misery. Sam strode in, Dean following close on his heels. The boys sat on the sofa across from her.

She glared at them.

"Jess, what's wrong?" Sam asked, giving her his worried look.

And she almost caved right then, because he looked so sorry . . .

But success of her plan depended on this so she narrowed her eyes instead. "You should know," she snapped.

That always worked.

Sam glanced at Dean quickly and Dean sent him a swift look back. A swift look that looked sort of – reassuring.

Then he was looking at her and Jess found herself looking back. Her glare faltered a bit at the intensity of that gaze – she almost felt like he could see right through her.

Dean offered her a small smile. "Oh, come on, Jessy . . ." he murmured. "Give us a hint and we'll fix it."

She looked to Sam and he was looking at her so earnestly and again – she almost caved.

Instead she made herself scowl. "You can't fix it."

In the bat of an eyelash Dean's look became serious somehow. "If you tell me what's wrong, I'll fix it."

This time when Jess looked to Sam he was nodding earnestly, almost vigorously, and Dean was looking at her with that almost startling seriousness, his gaze as steady as his words.

She couldn't help it.

A smile broke across her face. That's what they'd been like, she thought suddenly, and was sure of it. Dean prepared to fix anything that was wrong and Sam utterly confident that Dean could; and it was just . . . so . . . adorable.

How was she supposed to be pissed with that?

"Sometimes I swear the two of you together are gonna give me a cavity," Jess murmured, abandoning her plan.

They blinked at her. Then frowned. Then looked at each other, then looked back at her.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, suspiciously now.

Oh yeah, her boy was sharp as a tack.

"Are you pissed or not?" Dean asked.

Jess laughed; she couldn't help it. "We were supposed to go to that spa today," she reminded Sam.

Sam's eyes widened. "Oh, right," he drawled, turning to Dean. "THANK YOU, from the depths of my SOUL, for showing up this weekend."

Dean laughed.

Jess scowled – for real this time. "You were looking forward to it!" she accused.

"Yeah, like a root canal -"

"Sam!"

"A mud wrap! You said they were gonna wrap us in MUD and I couldn't even be in the room when they wrap you in mud, because its guys go one place and girls go another . . ."

Dean laughed again. "Hey, maybe I should get going and that way you two can catch up to the others."

"No WAY!"

"You were coming too!"

They'd spoken at the same time and Dean laughed again, looking at Jess, then at Sam, and finally back to her. "In your dreams, babe. No way would I go to a spa."

Jess rolled her eyes. "Well since the two of you were doing coma-patient impressions this morning it's a moot point. There IS another point though!" she told them.

"Uh-oh," Sam stated. "I'm guessing the other point has to with the act -"

"I want to go to the beach."

They stared, as though she'd just told them she wanted The Car repainted in a shade of bubblegum pink

Sam glanced at Dean, then back to her, "The beach?"

She nodded, chuckling, "Yeah, you know. Water, sandy . . ."

"Yeeeeaaah . . . so you have fun with that," Dean drawled.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Uh, I thought Lacey and Kerrie were at the spa too? Who're you goin' with?"

She blinked at him.

Oh yeah, sharp as a tack, her boy.

"YOU," she stated, then looked at Dean. "You too. All three of us."

Again, that blank stare. Then they looked at each other and as usual she got the feeling that she was watching a telepathic conversation take place.

"I don't think so, Jess," Sam stated.

"Why not?"

"Because . . . the beach . . . it's not . . ."

"It'll be fun! We'll go swimming and pack food and just spend the day there. You guys can take the football or something and I'll take a book and we'll just chill in the sun!" she offered. She'd been thinking about it all morning; this would be fun.

And it would give her a chance to hang out with them – just them. She'd yet to do that.

They shared another look. Then Dean shook his head, and stood from the sofa. "I don't do the beach, Jessy," he murmured.

She stood too. "What d'you mean you don't do the beach? Everybody does the beach! It's the BEACH!" Jess turned to Sam. "What does he mean?"

Sam stood too. "Uh . . . it means he doesn't like the beach . . ."

"Why not?" she asked. Then Jess realized she was still looking at Sam, so she transferred her gaze to Dean. "Why not? Sam likes the beach, we go to the beach sometimes . . . Sam'll come, won't you?" she asked, shifting towards Sam again.

Sam shrugged, he looked a bit uncomfortable.

As if she'd placed him in a really difficult situation – which it wasn't, it was just a little trip to the beach.

It was a totally normal thing to do.

Sam swallowed hard. "Uh, well . . . I guess . . . If Dean wants, yeah, sure," he murmured.

She nodded and whirled back to Dean. "See?".

Dean shrugged, "Not my kinda thing."

Jess narrowed her eyes; there was totally something going on here. "Not your kinda thing? There's gonna be barely clad women walking around. How is that not your kinda thing?"

She heard Sam chuckle behind her.

"Too much . . ." Dean paused, and she knew he was grasping at straws. "Sun."

"You could use a tan."

"Sun is bad. Skin cancer."

"Dean."

"I don't do the beach, Jess."

"That's what you said about the Film Festival -"

"Yeah, okay, but -"

"And the Music Festival -"

"I know, but that -"

"And the Art show -"

"Ah! Ah!" he cried loudly, cutting her off and raising both hands to stop her from interrupting him. "That WASN'T my thing! I nearly died of boredom!"

Jess smiled at that. The image of Dean in his leather jacket and biker boots scowling at a bowl and asking if that was supposed to be art was one of her favorite memories.

"Two outta three isn't bad," Sam offered, coming up behind her.

"It'll be fuuunnn . . ." she drawled.

"I don't have beach kinda clothes," Dean grumbled, shifting slightly from foot to foot.

"Sam can lend you some shorts."

Instead of looking a bit more convinced, Dean's scowl intensified. " Sweetheart, I don't do shorts."

"You can't go to the beach in jeans, Dean."

"Which means I can't go to the beach!" he cried triumphantly.

"Dean . . ." she drawled, preparing to pull out the big guns. She'd seen Sam do this about a hundred thousand times already and it always worked. She blinked wide eyes up at him. "I really want to go . . . and I want you to come with me . . . you and Sam . . . it'll be a family day . . ." blink the wide eyes again, "Puh-lease..." she murmured.

He frowned at her, but she could see him wavering already. It had worked.

Dean was a sucker for puppy-dog eyes and an earnest, drawn-out please. He would never admit it, of course; he'd deny it to his dying day, but it was true. And it would come in SO handy for the woman he fell in love with.

"There'll be women in bikinis . . ." Sam prodded, sensing his brother's shift.

Dean's frown intensified, but Jess knew they'd won.

He was starting to look like a pouting five year old. He and Sam had that in common; once you'd convinced them to do something they didn't really want to do, they all of a sudden looked about five years old.

"But I HATE wearing shorts!" he griped. Jess almost expected him to stamp his foot.

"Yeah, his legs aren't as great lookin' as mine," Sam commented seriously. "Kinda scrawny, actually, so it's understandable that he doesn't like to -"

"There is NOTHING wrong with my legs!" Dean interrupted, outraged. "I have GREAT legs! Have you even SEEN my legs, women fawn over my legs, they -"

"Prove it."

Sam made no attempt to hide the smug tone in his voice and Dean's glare could have melted silver. Jess laughed. "I'll go start packing the food. You two go pack," she said as she headed towards the kitchen.

Behind her Dean continued to defend his legs and Sam laughed at him.