Chapter Thirteen
Sam had returned to their room from his own breakfast and was brushing his teeth when Jimi's happy whuffs indicated that Dean was on his way back; a minute later he heard a car stop outside their cruddy motel, honk twice then take off again. A moment later, Dean let himself in.
"Hey, J-Man," he heard Dean greet the dog, who greeted his Alpha enthusiastically.
"I'm done in here, if you want to use the bathroom," announced Sam as he finished up. "And frankly I'd rather you bathed than slouch around reeking of sex, because I've just had brea-" He broke off when he saw his brother's face.
It reminded him of the expression that Jimi wore when he thought he was being offered a treat, but it turned out to be a worming tablet.
"Jesus, Dean, what's wrong?"
Dean dropped heavily onto the sagging sofa. "Oh, God, where do I even start?"
"Did you get your face slapped again?" asked Sam.
"Oh, no, nothin' like that," Dean smiled ruefully. "Your approach worked perfectly."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. She's an adjunct professor in Earth Sciences. I bought her a drink, I told her she had a lovely smile, I told her I liked the sound of her laugh, she made a comment about her weight and I told her that there aint nothin' wrong with a woman who's not anorexic if it means there's more of 'em to love, I told her that her curves were a turn-on, I told her that intelligent is the new skinny, and honestly, close up, she was kind of attractive, it's like she had that whole Earth Mother fertility vibe happening..."
"So, what happened? You left with her, did she change her mind about taking you home?"
"No, not at all, we went back to her place."
"So, what, did she change her mind about having sex?"
"Oh, no, she was all for it."
"So, why the long face? Did she throw you out afterwards?"
"No, no, she was happy for me to stay the night, made me breakfast this morning, pancakes, shut up, bitch, they were really good, and dropped me off just now, with an invitation to look her up anytime I was passing through town again."
"So, why do you look like a kicked puppy?" asked Sam, exasperated. "For fuck's sake, Dean, you've been going on and on about getting laid, you finally get laid, and now you're..." he paused. "Uh, you did have sex, didn't you?"
"Course we had sex!" Dean scoffed disdainfully. "I may not be my usually devastatingly hot self right now, shut up, false modesty sucks, dude, but I'm still the Living Sex God on the inside, I'm the chassis of a Honda Civic with a V8 of American iron under the hood, so we got back to her place, and we talked some more, and we had a drink, and then I, uh, commenced ignition sequence, so to speak, and we set off for a long, scenic drive..."
"Oh, not the car thing again."
"...And I showed her the sights, the long way round, and took her to a couple of destinations..."
"Actually, as Chicks I Have Banged stories go, this whole metaphor thing might not be so bad."
"...And she said she really liked the route we took, and she'd never had a driver who paid so much attention to the local geography..."
"In fact if you could frame all future reports of your beautiful natural acts in euphemism, I'd be grateful, because..." Sam paused, taking in the mournful look on Dean's face. "So, you found a willing woman, you had sex, why do you look like Bobby's just told you there's no more bacon in the house?"
There was a long pause. "Well, there was, uh, a, uh, problem."
"What sort of problem?" pressed Sam. "Oh no, she didn't have a flatmate who came home unexpectedly, did she? God, that happened to me once, I was mortified when the lights came on..."
"No."
"Jesus, it wasn't a boyfriend she was two-timing, was it? I swear, if I wasn't the size I am, I probably would've gotten my face punched in, that one time."
"No, no, nothing like that."
"Cat suddenly jumped on the bed and interrupted proceedings? Man, I know how that can put you off your game in an instant."
"No."
"No?" Sam was concerned; if Dean didn't immediately demand the prurient details of the occasions when Sam had actually been engaging in intimate congress with a like-minded lady and was interrupted by an unexpected roomie, a betrayed boyfriend, or a pesky pet, something was really wrong. "Dean, why are you so unhappy?"
"It was a great road trip, Sam," Dean sighed, "She enjoyed it a lot. And so did I. But..."
"But?" Sam prompted his brother.
"Well, you know that Honda Civic? The memory of the GPS worked just fine, but," Dean swallowed. "There was a... mechanical problem."
"A mechanical problem?"
Dean looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. "A problem with the, uh... hydraulics."
Sam stared at him for a moment before the penny dropped.
"Oh. Oh." He gawped for a moment, then looked confused. "But didn't you just say you took her on a long and, er, scenic trip...?"
"Course I did," Dean gathered the tattered shreds of his manly dignity about himself. "I'm still Dean Winchester, bro."
"But are you saying that you... and you didn't... and it didn't...and you didn't..."
A guy needs more than a just a dick to have good sex, Sam," Dean snapped angrily. "I thought I taught you better than that, and if I didn't, then you are dead to me."
"Okay! Okay! I'm sorry!" Sam held up his hands in a placatory fashion. "I didn't mean to imply that you, uh... okay. Really?"
"It's never happened to me before," Dean's voice was a forlorn whisper, "Okay, since that once time when I was fifteen and that was nerves, but apart from that, this has never happened before."
Sam's mouth opened and shut a few times. "Well, it's, uh, kinda normal for it to happen sometimes." Dean turned tortured eyes to Sam. "No, really, it's not at all unusual for a guy to have, uh, you know," he waved a hand vaguely, "For all sorts of perfectly normal, ordinary reasons. It happens to most guys at some time."
"Has it ever happened to you?" asked Dean wistfully.
Sam did his goldfish impression again. "Well, uh," he began, not sure that earnest and serious adult discussion of intimate matters with his big brother was any better than the usual Chicks I Have Banged stories. "I don't, uh, I don't immediately recall, but, uh, don't forget, I don't get around as much as you do, so, so, I don't uh, I don't, um." He paused. "There was one time when I was stressed out about an exam and an assignment due the next day, and Jess suggested a bit of 'stress relief', and I was really too wound up to, uh, to, yeah."
Dean gazed at him levelly. "You just made that up now, didn't you? To try to make me feel better."
Sam's face pinked. "Yes," he answered, caught out in a blatant lie. "But seriously, the average guy will have occasions where things don't go entirely according to plan in the bedroom, it happens occasionally, and..."
"It doesn't happen to me!" Dean wailed.
Sam sighed. "Dean, I'm afraid that right now, you are Mr Average," he pointed out as gently as he could. "And that means, you might be the Living Sex God between the ears, but the chassis is all Honda Civic. And given the health problems that often accompany being overweight or pre-diabetic, and that body is having cardiac problems already, it could well have circulatory pathology compromising the, er, performance of the, uh, yeah, the performance. Um."
Dean let out a groan, and dropped his head into his hands. "And she was so nice about it," he moaned, "She was so understanding, and she tried to help, she offered to..."
"It's probably better if you try not to dwell on it," Sam cut in hurriedly, not sure that he wanted to hear any details even if his brother stuck with his car metaphor and started talking about bump-starts or bleeding the line. "So, er, am I to understand that, while you both enjoyed the drive, you didn't, er, that is, she did, but you didn't..."
Dean let out a sad whine, and fell sideways onto the sofa. "I want to die," he droned unhappily. "She was so nice, and so understanding, and then she wanted to cuddle, because she said I was such a sweetie, it was so humiliatiiiiiing."
Sam was torn between wanting to comfort his brother, and wanting to slap him upside the head for being a total drama queen. "Look, this is a temporary problem," he told Dean briskly. "This is a temporary problem, because we are gonna get you out of that Honda Civic and back into your Ferrari as soon as we can, but we have to concentrate on the job at hand. All you have to do is keep it running as well as you can until the swap, then you'll be back to your old self, and this will all be a fading memory, and, and, you can go and park in as many hot garages as you like, and I don't believe I just said that."
Dean sat up and offered his brother a wobbly smile, apparently soothed by the pep talk. "Thanks, Sam," he said, "You're right. I just gotta re-assess, and re-prioritise, then figure out the right course of action to complete the mission."
"Exactly," Sam told him firmly. "That's exactly it. Hold that thought. So, you wanna hit the head, then take the J-Man for his whiskey-alpha-lima-kilo?"
"Maybe let breakfast go down a bit," Dean replied, "Get in some research, then we'll go."
"Sounds good." Sam handed over a paper cup. "So, I got you coffee while I was out. Now, I think I've tracked down the reports on some of those guys who died..."
He looked over the top of the laptop: Dean was already logged on, and tapping furiously at the keys, concentrating on the screen. Sam smiled, and left his brother to it – ultimately, he reminded himself, Dean Winchester was a Hunter, a great Hunter, no matter what car he was driving.
There is no excuse for this chapter. The only reasons I can suggest are that:
a) Beau-Ponty the plot bunny was feeling faint from lack of reviews to nibble on
b) I'm just a horrible person.
c) I've been channelling The Puerile Thirteen-Year-Old Within since two days ago, when Australia found out that it's Air Force has taken delivery of a squadron of an aircraft called the EA-18G, otherwise known as... the Growler.
O_o
(Not sure what it means Up There in the YouSay, but Down Here, it's a slang term for... uh, in the context of this chapter, a lady's garage. You know. Where POTUS likes to grab women.)
So you can imagine my surprise as I was driving home when the radio news announced that 'Today, the RAAF used the Avalon Air Show to show off their Growlers...' Seriously, that station nearly caused a major traffic incident...
Yeah, that's it. This chapter is entirely the fault of the Royal Australian Air Force, and Radio National.
Please feed little Beau-Ponty tasty reviews so we can see what happens next, because Reviews Are The Garages... Reviews Are The Long Scenic Drives... Reviews Are The Shiny New Warplanes...
No, look, in light of this chapter, let me just say 'Please send reviews because they inspire further writing'. Thank you.
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Growlers.
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*snigger snigger*