Rating: PG-13ish (cursing and sexual situations/day dreams)
Word Count: ~ 6,500
Summary: The dancing started at eight, and at ten, he fell in love.
Author's Notes: Thanks to my buddies for the beta work. I really appreciate it, and left over mistakes are all mine because I'm a poker. Title from AC/DC.
"All right, Sammy," Dean grinned, blinking to clear the spots out from in front of his eyes. The interior of the building was dim, lit by widely spaced colored and black lights. "You know I'm not the kinda guy to pass up a strip bar, but what are we doing here?"
Beside him, Sam fidgeted, keeping his head down and his shoulders hunched as he tried to avoid looking at anything but his own shoes. Dean rolled his eyes; sometimes he could swear that Sam was adopted. He flashed a couple of fingers at the bartender before he scoped out the place for an empty table. Luckily for him, there was a table just in front of one of the two catwalk stages at the front.
"Bobby called, said he had a friend named Skyler who needed a hand. We were close, so I told him we'd take care of it," Sam answered, mumbling a little as he winded his way behind Dean through the maze of mostly empty tables and chairs. "Apparently, something set up shop around here, preying on young women."
"Well, we can't have that," Dean said absently, licking his lips and squinting at the wall. Quickly he counted forward, decided it was probably Thursday, and turned grinning, "Dude, look! It's amateur night!"
Sam, Mr. I-wouldn't-know-fun-if-it-creamed-on-my-f
"I can do both."
The waitress brought Dean the beers he'd signaled for, and Sam scowled even harder. It was too early for much to be happening yet. Sam spread his notebooks and research over the table and Dean went to play a game of pool with a guy already sloshing every time he moved. Easy money.
The dancing started at eight, and at ten, he fell in love.
The other girls had been obviously preppy, no doubt sorority girls from the nearby college, but she was different. Her hair was dark, not box blonde and pulled away from her face in two messy pigtails. She was the first girl to come out with enough meat on her bones so Dean couldn't count every single rib bone. Unlike the others, there was a slight hesitation before she came down the catwalk closest to their table.
The theme for the night seemed to be costumes that included headgear. There'd already been a cowgirl, construction worker, two firechicks, a sailor, and a nurse. The girl headed straight for Dean had on a black skirt so short that he could see the white of her panties any time she moved her hips, a blue top, and a police officer's hat.
She got to the end of the platform, made eye contact with him, but threw her hat at a guy who was definitely too old to be leering at girls half his age. For once, the music wasn't obnoxiously techo, and the girl hooked her hand around the pole in the middle of the stage and did a slow turn. Her ass was perfect, wide enough to hold on to, and small enough to fit against his crotch. When she turned, he caught a glimpse of a lacy white bra holding breasts that had to be real, bouncy and just enough for a handful.
"So, four women have gone missing, and two have been found dead in the last four weeks," Sam said, finally finishing his research and straightening all the newspapers and notes so he could shove them in his bag.
"Okay," Dean said, not taking his eyes off the girl in front of him. Her makeup was barely there, but her eyes were smoky and always found his when she turned to face the audience. She grabbed the pole and tossed her head back, baring the long column of her throat as she swayed with the music.
"The ones the police found were like mummies, dehydrated until they started to crumble. Of course, they didn't say that outright, instead …"
Dean grunted, watching as the girl danced, swinging her hips wide and bending at the waist. He'd been half-hard for the last hour, but when she looked at him through her eyelashes and bit her bottom lip, all his blood rushed south. The knot holding her shirt closed over her chest came loose under her fingers, and then she was sliding her hands up her breasts.
"… and that's why I think it's a demon called Adramaleck."
"Bless you," Dean answered, leaning forward in his chair as the girl went down to her knees in front of him. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and run his hands down her chest and between her legs. She leaned back and he imagined climbing on top of her right there, with everyone watching and Sammy still droning on.
"Sam!" Dean tore his eyes away from the girl to glare at his little brother. Really, the man had no sense of propriety. Or timing. Or whatever. "Do you mind? I'm kinda in the middle of something."
The girl was standing again, dragged her hands up her thighs, barely missed fingering over her cunt, and trailed upwards. She swung down the pole, one leg on either side and ended up with her finger in her mouth, hollowing her cheeks as she pushed it in and out.
"Christ," Dean muttered, shifting in his seat and reaching down to adjust himself in his jeans. Colored lights crawled over her body, shadowing the dips on her hips and the hollow between her breasts. The girl on the other stage was topless already - Dean could tell by the hoots of the men surrounding it - but he wouldn't look.
It was definitely love, and as soon as he buried himself between the thighs of the angel in front of him, he was going to die and go to heaven.
She looked over his shoulder and it was like a bucket of ice water sluicing down his back when she smiled a slow and seductive smile at someone else. The girl tugged one bra strap down her arm and turned to look back over her shoulder. She bent down, making her skirt flip and flashing her panties.
"Looks like you've got some competition," Sam said, smug written all over his annoyingly squashed face.
He nodded at a guy to Dean's right dressed like a banker and clearly making eyes at Dean's girl. She was wiggling at him, and seriously, who wore slacks and a button down dress shirt to a strip club? He smiled up at her, and she sauntered to his side of the catwalk to accept a bill into the top of her skirt.
"Yeah," Dean narrowed his eyes. He pulled a ten from his pocket, wadded it up and tossed it at Sam's head, "Hey, why don't you go get another round so I can drown my sorrows?"
Sam smirked and got up, heading toward the bar. As soon as he was halfway across the room, Dean leaned over and fished Sam's wallet out of his coat. He took two twenties and folded them to make sure the presidents showed. Scooting his chair closer to the stage, he waved the bills until he caught the girl's attention again.
She sank gently to her knees, then to her hands and knees, and crawled toward him. Each time her shoulders dipped, Dean got a tantalizing glimpse of firm, pale breast. She stopped at the edge of the stage and lowered her head down, pushing her ass in the air. Her hair curled across her chest, and Dean leaned forward thinking he'd get his money's worth at least.
Her eyes were the clearest green that he'd ever seen.
She licked her lips and reached up to hold the cup of her bra away from her skin. It took a couple of tries to swallow the lump in his throat. His hand was nearly steady as he reached out and slipped the money against the soft press of her skin. He started to pull back when she grabbed his hand.
His eyes widened as she brought their joined hands up to her mouth, her breath ghosting over his knuckles. She looked up and locked eyes with him, her mouth moved, but he couldn't hear what she was saying over the pounding music. He squinted, trying to read her lips.
"Gold?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows as her fingers drifted over his palm. She nodded and let go of his hand.
The music switched tracks, and the announcer cut in asking for applause while the girls retreated backstage. Just before she disappeared, the girl glanced back at him over her shoulder.
"Here," Sam said a few minutes later when he shoved a beer in his face and slumped back into his seat. "This looks like a bust. The bartender's new this week and doesn't know anything about the missing girls or a guy named Skyler."
Dean grabbed the bottle on reflex, snapping out of an elaborate daydream where he and his mystery girl played house together. She sucked like a vacuum cleaner and bent over anytime he raised his eyebrow. "I dunno, maybe we should hang around for awhile," he said, craning his neck to try to find the door from backstage. He wasn't leaving until he found out what her name was. And then fucked her hard and fast against the back of the building.
"Uh, Dean?" Sam poked him back to reality again and gestured to the far wall. "It looks like your friend might be in trouble."
Dean turned, almost giving himself whiplash as he looked. There she was, dressed in a skirt only slightly longer than the one she wore on stage, talking to the skeezy banker. Her hair piled on her head, held with one of those long chopstick looking things that went shiny anytime the light hit it. The halter-top she was wearing didn't leave much to the imagination, and Dean was momentarily distracted by the strong line of her bare back.
Skeezy Banker put his hand on her back and led her down the bar toward the door. She got in front of him and didn't see when he got a little too close to a black light and changed. It was just a heartbeat, but Dean saw the guy's skin change into scales with a red glow peeking through the edges.
"Let's go," Dean said, up and moving in a second. It was always good to save people, but this was personal. That was his girl that demonic bastard had his hands on.
It took too long to get through the crowd, and by the time they hit the sidewalk in front of the club there was no sign of the girl or the demon. Without a word, Sam went left and he went right, trotting and scanning each alley. A tiny bit of movement caught his attention and he jerked to a stop.
Down the alley two bodies were pressed together just outside the glow of the streetlamp. Dean narrowed his eyes trying to figure out if they were his marks or just a couple out for a good time. The guy hiked the girl up, holding her against the wall.
"No," the girl said, her voice spiraling into fear and pain. "Stop it, stop now."
That was enough for Dean. He pulled his gun from the back of his pants and ran down the alley. Closer to them, he could see in the soft glow of the security light that it was them. She was fighting against his hold, but he held her easily, sucking on her jaw. The skin on his face and arms started to crack, red fire peeking through.
He skidded to a stop through a puddle that soaked him up to his knees. He aimed, and shouted, "Hey!"
The demon pulled away, glaring at Dean and flashing his empty black eyes. He squeezed the trigger and the bullet smashed right through the demon's forehead staggering it. Too bad Sammy had the Colt, but he had to have heard the shot so Dean just had to distract the demon for a while.
The girl slid to the ground hard enough to make Dean wince, she'd have gravel under her skin for sure. Dean moved to stand between her and the demon already struggling to its feet. He could hear her coughing behind him and spared a moment to hope that he'd gotten there in time.
"You think you can stop me, boy?" the demon asked, pushing up from the ground. He cracked his fingers and power arced between his palms. He gestured at the girl, "She's mine, and no one gets between me and what's mine. Who the hell do you think you are?"
"Wow," Dean cocked his head to the side and smirked. "It's been awhile since I met one of you who didn't know who I am. It's kinda refreshing."
"I'm going to kill you, and then I'm going to take the girl. Maybe I'll even fuck her before I suck her dry," the demon said and spat on the ground. He gestured and Dean slammed back against the brick wall held immobile. "Your arrogance won't save you."
"No, but I will," Sam said, his voice echoing down the narrow space.
Dean smiled, but the demon howled and flicked out a band of power in an instant that made Dean gasp in pain. Down the alley, he heard Sam grunt and then a loud bang that was probably his body slamming into something large and heavy. Anger boiled through Dean's gut at Sam's low groan.
The demon turned back and matched Dean's earlier smile, "And now, I think, it's time to die."
The demon's mouth fell open and he glanced down to see a slim golden stick poking through his chest. He fell to his knees and released his hold on Dean at the same time. Dean stumbled but once he looked up, he was caught again in the girl's eyes. She glanced back down at the demon, and Dean saw that he was beginning to shrink and crumble into dust and ash.
Sam limped over and stood on the other side of the girl, watching over her shoulder as the pile of decomposing demon started to blow away. He whistled and looked back up at Dean. "Nice," he said.
"Yeah, good thing you two were here to save me," the girl said, sarcasm rich in her voice. She bent down and poked through the dirt until she found the golden hair stick she'd pushed through the bastard's heart. "If Bobby wanted me dead, there were probably easier ways."
"Bobby?" Dean asked, struggling to wrap his mind around the girl going all Buffy on the demon and saving his ass. It just made him hotter; made him want to haul her close and let her scratch her fingernails down his back.
"Um, oops," Sam said and reached up to palm the back of his neck.
"'Oops?" Dean repeated, shoving his gun into the back of his waistband and glared at Sam.
Sam grimaced and shrugged. "Maybe I wasn't really listening to everything Bobby said," he explained and turned to the girl, "So, you're Skyler?"
"In the flesh," she answered, standing up and wiping the golden stick on her skirt. "And you're the legendary Winchester brothers."
"Right," Dean clapped his hands together and stepped through the pile of former demon. Now that the introductions were over, he was pretty sure that he and Skyler had unfinished business to attend to. "Sam, don't you have that thing to do?"
"What?" Sam asked, clueless as ever when Dean was trying to score.
Dean jerked his head back to the street and lowered his voice. "You know, Sam," he said, emphasizing his words. "That thing. That you have to do. Somewhere else."
"Oh, right," Sam flushed and back away. "I'll just, um. Going now."
Skyler had turned away, looking through the shadows for something. She bent over, her skirt stretching across her ass like an invitation. Dean cleared his throat and leaned against the wall behind her, "Hey, how about you and me go back to my place and we can celebrate the pleasures of being alive?"
She looked up at him and her mouth twitched "Seriously? Has that line ever worked for you?" she asked and then pushed past him following the path out of the alley that Sam had taken. "I've got to get out of this getup before I break an ankle on these stupid things."
Dean watched her walk away, and felt a tug in his chest and groin. Yeah, he was definitely in love.
A few months later, they ran into her again. Actually, they ran into the barrel of her shotgun.
Money was tight, so they were checking outside of town for a place they could camp in while working the job. Apparently, they weren't the only ones with the idea. Although there'd been no sign from outside that the place was occupied, inside, Skyler had her gear stacked neatly and research spread out over the floor.
Dean looked her up and down. She was wearing torn jeans and a fleece pull over zipped up under her chin. The laces on her boots were untied and trailed down dragging through the dirt of the abandoned barn. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail with her bangs tucked up behind her ears. She was even more beautiful than the last time he'd seen her.
"Oh, good," she said, lowering the shotgun and leaning it against the wall. "Just in time to help me dig up a couple of graves."
"Jackson and his mistress, right?" Sam asked, letting his duffle fall to the floor as he walked over to look at the newspapers she had spread out in the corner.
Skyler kept Dean in her line of sight even as she turned to talk to Sam. "Mostly," she said and leaned over to point at a particular piece of paper. "It's Mrs. Jackson and her mistress."
"Nice," Dean said, and whistled, "Gotta love lesbian poltergeists."
The twin looks of irritation of their faces were so worth the silent treatment they gave him for the next half hour. It was good to work with another hunter again, watch her and Sammy geek out over Latin and trade stories. Sky, she'd smiled when he first used the nickname, was smart and funny. She was good; obviously she was good, bad hunters didn't last long.
At the graveyard, they split up, Sam to Jackson's grave, and Skyler and him to the mistress'. He was about four feet down, digging toward the coffin when the silence finally got to him. "So," he asked, grunting a little as he heaved another shovel full of dirt on the pile, "been hunting long?"
"About six years," she answered, looking up from one of Sammy's exorcism texts she'd been studying. "My grandma's Irish, and she followed the old ways. I'm not a witch or anything, but it doesn't take much power to salt and burn a ghost."
"So, you do the job just to do it?" Dean asked, pausing so he could look at her while he gasped for breath. He didn't remember meeting a hunter who started without a need for revenge, but it must be nice not to have so much baggage.
She shrugged, stood up and jumped down in the hole with him, taking the shovel from his hands. "It's a job that needs doing; people need help," she said and stuck the shovel in the ground, digging and throwing the dirt up over the side. "Besides, I never really fit in well with other people."
"A girl after my own heart," he said, wiping his sleeve over his forehead to get rid of the built up sweat. She was making good headway, throwing her whole body into digging up the grave. "Here, I'll finish."
"No, just get out of my way," she said, continuing to fling the dirt out of the hole. "I manage fine when I don't have a big strong man breathing down my neck. It's my turn, I'll finish it."
Dean grinned and hauled himself out to sit on the side where the dirt wouldn't cave in. "Yes, Ma'am," he said, itching to smear the dirt into her skin and lick the sweat off her neck. "So how did you meet Bobby?"
"Through a rare book dealer," Skyler answered, concentrating on the front of the grave where they'd open the casket. "I needed a book that he'd just traded for. That was a couple of years ago."
"It feels like I've known Bobby forever," Dean said, arching his back to pop his spine. He settled slumped back over, and watched her work. Things weren't exactly quiet, but hell hadn't specifically been gunning for him or Sam for the past couple of years. "I wonder why he never introduced us before."
She hit wood, the shovel skidded across the smooth surface, and she handed it up grinning. "Gotta be careful when it comes to you and Sam," she said and kneeled down to pry up the coffin lid. "You never know if you'll run across another whackjob Gordon Walker acolyte."
"You have trouble with some of them?" he asked, leaning over to snag the matches and lighter fluid. It was obvious that Sky could take care of herself, but the idea of some lunatic with his hands on her made his gut twist.
"Nothing I couldn't handle," she answered, hauling back the lid and climbing out the other end of the grave as Dean doused the mistress' bones.
The coffin went up like kindling when he dropped a handful of lit matches down into the pine box. Sky watched as the orange glow of the fire spread up her face as she dusted her hands off on her jeans. She licked her lips, and Dean's cock sat up and took notice.
Shifting closer, he let his arm brush across her shoulder, hoping maybe she'd be in the mood to fool around. Fire always made him horny. "Hey, do you want to-" he started to ask.
A hoarse yell echoed from across the cemetery and cut Dean off. He jerked his head to the side and saw the wind pick up and mist rise from the ground. "Sammy," he whispered, and took off running.
Sam was struggling against Mrs. Jackson's ghost and losing to her rage. The wind picked him up and slammed him through the lattice wall of a gazebo. It was only half finished and the construction materials wobbled like mad. Sam didn't get up.
"Sammy!" Dean yelled, trying to put on an extra burst of speed. It was a mistake, drew the ghost's attention to him, and it tossed him away from the pavilion. He stumbled and ended up falling into the grave Sam had dug.
He got his head up to see Skyler race in from the side and fling herself over Sam's limp body, protecting his head and chest. She was just in time to take the brunt from a stack of lumber and bricks that fell on them. Mrs. Jackson's ghost growled in anger, and Dean realized he was still holding the matches and lighter fluid.
"Say goodbye, bitch," he said, wrenching open the coffin and setting her bones on fire. He could feel the heat of the blaze as he scrambled out of the grave.
The wind and mist settled as he crawled across the grass until he managed to get his feet underneath him. "Sam! Sky!" he yelled, stepping over the rubble into the gazebo. He started pulling broken two-by-fours and bricks off their bodies while they wiggled out of the debris. "Are you guys okay?"
"Just peachy," Sky grunted, holding her lower back as she crawled backward. "Sam?"
"'M okay," Sam answered, grimacing slightly and holding the shoulder he'd used to make the Sam-sized hole in the gazebo's lattice wall. "It's not too bad."
Dean let go a sigh of relief when he saw them both moving under their own power. "All right," he said, scrubbing his hand down his face. "You guys just laze around here, I'll go fill in the graves."
They were all limping when they made it back to the barn with their gear, but he thought that Sky had it the worst. Sam had been able to stretch through his soreness, but she could hardly bend over. When she climbed out of the impala, her shirt rose up and he saw bruises already forming over her back. She got as far as her mat and sleeping bag and then collapsed on top with a groan.
Dean watched her curl up and couldn't help feeling bad for her. She was tough, independent, and kicked ass, but she was so small compared to him and Sam. The job was tough for them working together, and she'd been doing it by herself. Respect didn't go far enough in what he felt for her; she was amazing. He lowered himself to the ground and slid in behind her. She stiffened and tried to pull away but he stopped her with a hand on her hip.
"If you get cold while you sleep, you'll be so stiff in the morning that you won't be able to move," he said, trying to sound both gentle and nonchalant when he thought he might burst if she made him move away. "I just want to keep you warm."
She snorted, but didn't try to pull away and said, "You're such a manslut."
"Dude," Sam laughed, shaking out a couple of blankets they'd stolen from a motel or two. He flung one in their direction and settled down into the other with a sigh. "It's like she knows you."
He locked his jaw, ready to pull away; he didn't need to take that shit from both of them. Sam did laugh more often, and Dean enjoyed it, but he still preferred when it wasn't at his expense. Sky put her hand on his and held it there on his hip.
"Gee, Sam," Sky said, her voice light and teasing. "We're awfully comfortable here. You mind getting up to turn the lantern off?"
Sam grumbled, but hauled himself off the floor and across the room to get the light. On his way back, he picked up the spare blanket and shook it out on top of them. "Good night," he said sinking back on top of his own pallet made of a sleeping bag and blanket.
"Night Sammy," Dean murmured quietly, settling in closer to Sky's back.
He woke up once in the middle of the night on his back while Sky curled up against his chest. She was shivering, and moving restlessly while her face scrunched in pain. He reached over with his hand and softly massaged her back and hips until she sighed and rolled back over to her side. He followed her, breathing the sweet smell of her hair until he fell asleep again.
She was awake when he woke up the next morning with the early morning sunlight slanting through the decrepit barn walls. Sometime during the night, their shirts had rucked up leaving his bare belly pressed against the skin of her back. They lay quietly listening to Sam's even breathing.
"Yeah?" he asked, shifting to rub his chest against her, and at the same time he pulled his hips away so she wouldn't feel his morning wood. As much as he'd like to just roll on top of her, he knew that all he'd get was a knee to the balls, and he was really getting too old for that.
Sky moved her head, rubbing her cheek against his arm and reached up to hold his wrist, brushing her thumb over his pulse point. "I just wanted to … I," she trailed off, still talking quietly so they wouldn't wake Sam up. "Just thanks. That's all. It's been a while since anyone touched me. Since I let anyone."
"It's not really an imposition," he answered and dared to stroke his fingers against her hip. She yawned and he felt his chest constrict when he watched her nose scrunch up and her throat work as she swallowed. "Go back to sleep for a few hours. Sam's impossible to get up without an air horn, a clown mask, and slinky anyway."
When they split up that afternoon, they swapped cell numbers before Dean watched while Sky's jeep disappeared over the horizon.
"Well, you're in a good mood," Sam said when he came out of the bathroom.
Dean looked up from where he was cleaning their weapons and realized that he'd been whistling. He felt like dancing. He wouldn't of course, some lines weren't meant to be crossed, but he could barely keep his feet still. "Sky called while you were in the shower," he said, and finished reassembling his gun. "She wanted to know if we could swing by Arches and give her a hand."
Sam grinned back at him and dipped his head. "We'd better get going then," he said, and walked over to his bed to pull on a clean t-shirt. As soon as his head popped back up, he continued, "Don't want your girlfriend to kick your ass 'cause we're late."
"She's not my girlfriend!"
They glared at each other for a full minute before Sam cracked up and Dean followed, laughing until he had tears in his eyes. Sam bounced on the bed, going breathless as he wheezed too hard.
"Wow," Sam gasped, holding his side as if he had stitches from running too fast. "I never thought I'd be on this side of the teasing."
"Yeah, me neither," Dean answered, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands. Then his mind wandered back to Sky. "You really think she likes me?"
Sam sat up and the look on his face was so serious that Dean held his breath and leaned forward. "I don't know Dean," he said, putting on the expression he used with grieving families or the girls too good for Dean. "Do you want me to pass her a note for you?"
Dean threw the bottle of gun oil at Sam's chest as hard as he could and then launched himself too. He got his hands around Sam's neck, "You're such an asshole."
"'Dear Sky'," Sam laughed, twisting to the side and holding Dean off with his longer reach. "'Do you like like Dean? Check yes or no.'"
"I hate you," Dean said, gritting his teeth. He finally got his legs around Sam's waist and turned them until he was on top.
Sam was crying with laughter again, struggling wildly, and holding Dean off with luck more than skill. "Hey, maybe Missouri can set you up with a love potion," he said.
Dean growled and Sam surged up, and they rolled until they hit the wall and sank between the bed and the wall. They wiggled for a few more minutes before both of them went slack realizing that neither one could move much more than a couple of inches. The bed frame pinched painfully into Dean's arm, but at least he wasn't on the bottom.
Sam should have known better than to tease him about Sky. He was out of his depth and he knew it. It wasn't like he could just flash her a grin, turn of the charm, and ask her to bend over. The last time he'd tried something more, it hadn't turned out so well, but she wasn't Cassie. Sky knew exactly what the life was like, and maybe she'd be willing to cut him some slack.
Dean planted his elbow on Sam's chest and leaned up. "Seriously," he said, "do you think she likes me?"
"I gotta pee," Sam whined.
That summer was hot, and a drought spread across nearly the entire Midwest. Tempers flared, and he and Sam were constantly busy putting ghosts to rest, exorcising demons, and killing black dogs. They went from one job to the next without a break or a chance for Dean to call Sky until he woke up one morning and realized it was September.
A front from Canada and hurricane season finally broke open the sky and rain fell. Normally, Dean wouldn't think that eighty degrees was that awesome, but it definitely beat the triple digit temperature they'd been dealing with. It was dusk, he knew this part of Oklahoma like the back of his hand, and his favorite mixtape was just finishing side a. He and Sammy were doing okay, and life didn't get much better. He idled at a four-way stop so he could switch tapes when he heard music outside his window.
He grinned and turned left, following the signs he spotted beside the road and his spotty memory. "Hear that, Sam?" he asked, reaching over to close the laptop Sam was staring at. He glanced over and raised his eyebrows with a manic smile plastered across his face.
"What?" Sam looked up, startled. He cocked his head, and then widened his eyes. "No, Dean."
"C'mon," Dean said, watching for the turn off; he should have realized where they were earlier. The music and crowd noise got louder as he drove slowly down the twisting path. "If anyone deserves a break for some beer, it's us."
"Last time you got in a fight with a guy twice my size who was wearing lederhosen. You couldn't chew solid food for three days!" Sam griped, but followed Dean out of the car when he parked at the end of a long line.
They started walking toward the giant tents lit with hundreds of strings of white lights. His mouth watered when they finally got close enough to smell all the meat roasting on the grills. It took an eternity to wait in line to get one of the paper bracelets proving his was old enough to drink. "That was years ago, Sammy," he said, "I'd like to think I'm a little older and wiser now."
Sam just snorted but held out his own wrist for the woman to slap a bracelet on.
"Seriously," Dean said as he circled a crowd waiting for funnel cakes. "As long as I avoid the Jagermeister Girls, I'll be fine. I just wanna eat a ham hock bigger than my head and drink enough beer to drown in."
"Are you sure that's all you want?" Sam asked with a wide smile and nodded off to his right.
Dean followed Sam's gestured and saw Sky standing in the shadows between the face-painting tent and the pretzel stand. She was holding a glass of dark brown beer and had her hair down, cascading over her shoulders. He could have stayed there watching her all night if Sam hadn't nudged him.
He walked over to her, shoving his hands down in his hip pockets as he got to within speaking distance. "Well, this is a coincidence," he said, and then gestured around. "Is this Oktoberfest haunted, and we just didn't realize?"
She smiled and shook her head. Her tank top fit her like a second skin, hugging all her curves and dipping low in the front. "Actually, Sam called me a couple of days ago and gave me the address," she answered and offered him a drink from her glass. "He said you had a thing for polka and schnitzel."
Laughing, he took a drink, swallowing the bitter taste and handed the glass back to her. He looked over his shoulder, but Sam was already gone. "You know, sometimes I think he's still psychic and just likes to mess with me," he said, shaking his head at his little brother's meddling.
"I'm sure it's out of love," Sky grinned and tugged on his arm. "I'm starving; let's go get something to eat."
With their food firmly in hand, they retreated away from the noise and heat of so many drunk people flailing their way through the chicken dance. Sky led them up to a small rise where they could sit back against a tree and watch the wind make the strings of light wobble and shiver. The sun was all the way down, and it actually felt a little bit cool.
Sky finished her chicken before him and sighed, patting her belly and resting a little more of her weight against his shoulder. Dean decided it was now or never and lifted his arm to curl it around her shoulder. He wanted to crow out loud when she let him keep it there.
"Can I ask you a question?" he asked when he set his plate well off to the side. He thought about her all the time, but one thing had bothered him. "The first night I met you-"
She cut him off with a groan, hiding her face in her hands and shaking her head.
"See, that's it right there," he teased, shaking her a little until she'd look back up at him. She obviously had never been that kind of girl, but he couldn't get the image of her stripping for him out of his mind. He'd given his right hand a work out to the memory for the last several months. "But you were good. Real good."
Biting her lip, she twisted so she could look up at him and asked, "Promise not to laugh?"
"I went to the library and stole a pole dancing for fitness dvd."
Dean was laughing before he could help himself, and she shoved him over sideways, slapping at him like a girl who hadn't spent years killing the supernatural would have. It felt good to have someone besides Sam to be himself with.
"You're such a jerk," she squealed, leaning over him and hitting him on the chest. Her hair fell over his face, and she was laughing too. "I hate you."
"Don't," he sobered up immediately and rolled them over, the grass cool beneath his arms. She was still smiling up at him, her hair fanned out around her head. He rested a little of his weight against her, pressing their bodies together. "Don't hate me."
She reached up and traced his eyebrows with her fingers. "I won't," she said, and then took a deep breath. As she exhaled, she let all her muscle relax and her thighs fell open so he could slot his hips in between.
When he kissed her, he didn't die, but his world exploded all the same.