Title: Stick Shifts and Safety Belts
Spoilers: Up through season two, episode two "Everybody Loves A Clown"
Summary: One of the most important things is Dean's world goes through a startling transformation.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. That right belongs to the CW and Eric Kripke.
Author's note: Cookies to my beta Christie. This is what happens when I'm allowed near a keyboard while under the thralls of a fever. Comments and criticisms will be invited to afternoon tea. Flames will be left out in the cold.
Extra note: The lovely WindStar has created an amazing YouTube video based on this. Take a look! (I had to spell out the colon and dots.) http(colon)//youtube(dot)com/watch?vo3aoEbxojdE
Dean likes women; all of them. Waitresses, young mothers, lawyers, doctors, firefighters, students, barmaids, authors, mechanics, secretaries; if they're in the possession of the right God given equipment Dean Winchester is a foam finger waving, body painting, crying if the home team loses kind of fan. He doesn't have a type, or a favorite, doesn't prefer brunettes over blonds or bottled red heads over pink haired girls who rave, but he has to say that at the present moment the kind the hop right into your lap without so much as an eyelash bat are currently vying for first place and doing a damn good job of keeping it.
They pull up to the roadhouse with two hours left until the sun is scheduled to pop her head out of the horizon. Ash is sprawled out on the pool table, snoring, and his roll to the side is punctured by a fart that drowns out the slam of the door. Neither Jo or Ellen are in sight, and with the exception of a Chinese woman that looks old enough to be collecting social security checks, the bar is empty.
She's not a pixie shaped girl. Not the kind of girl whose ribs Dean could count while his thumb slid up her torso or one of those girls who disappears the moment they turn sideways in a crowd. She's broad shouldered and tall with hips that are wide and curvy and sway as she walks across the room. The smell of her black leather jacket over her black tank top fills Dean's nose, and she claims space and air and sky and Dean's breath. She's not heavy exactly, but there is actual weight resting against Dean's thighs and actual ass in the black jeans Dean's fingers fan over as he welcomes the heat on his lap and the tongue in his mouth.
"You put me back together," she growls into his ear.
The Chinese woman keeps her eyes on her cards as Dean settles onto the nearest bar stool. Sam heads for the bathroom looking to wash the last of the blood off his knuckles, and Dean prays that whatever beds Ellen once offered them aren't occupied by hunters who are sleeping off that last unneeded shot of Jose Cuervo. He's just about ready to risk the wrath of the Harvelle women, climb over the bar and get his own drink when the Chinese woman slaps a red queen on top of a black king and speaks.
"You cannot have sex on my bar."
Ellen's annoyed voice takes a firm hold of Dean's ear, and the eldest Winchester feels the tongue in his mouth retreat. The woman in his lap smiles warmly at him as she wipes her mouth and pushes chin length black hair away from her face. Sam stands behind her rolling his eyes and shaking his head.
"She started it," Dean defends weakly.
"Dude," Sam responds.
At the sound of Sam's voice, the woman's dark eyes light up and she's off of Dean's lap and pulling Sam into a bear hug.
"You want your fortune told?" The Chinese woman pauses to take a swig from her beer, and meets Dean's eyes as the bottle arches up. "I've got a bit of a talent for it. I can tell you plenty of things, a few things that might help you out in a rough patch, and a few things that must just be interesting to know."
Sam pats the girl's back awkwardly, looking from Dean to Ellen to Jo, who had appeared from the back with a bowl full of pretzels in her hand, for help.
Pushing Sam back, the woman looks Sam over, her thumbs rubbing lightly over the pulse points in his wrists as she beams.
"You were born in my backseat. I forgive you for scratching my paint job when you were nine."
Sam opens his mouth, but she's half way to the jukebox before he can come up with a reply.
The queen of hearts, bent in the middle, and staring silently up Dean's nose hairs is the first card the Chinese woman slaps down.
"I see a woman in your future."
"Wow, just one?"
"This woman is one of your great loves. You have been with her many times."
"You're not picking up the words, 'You might want to get tested' right"?
"As has your father."
"Say what now?"
"Your car isn't in the lot," Jo repeats for the third time. "At least it wasn't when I was dumping the trash."
Dean is pretty sure he leaves a little Dean shaped smoke outline in his haste to get outside. When he marches back to the bar a moment later he gladly accepts the beer Ellen smacks into his outstretched hand, and swallows the cold amber liquid inside with a fast gulps. Behind them the woman with the black motorcycle boots and silver jewelry grabs Jo by the hand, and raises her voice to be heard over ACDC's "Highway to Hell."
"You were in me once, weren't you? I remember you had very clean shoes."
Jo blinks, and as the tips of her ears turn pink her eyes fall to the KAZ 2Y5 tattoo inked over the girl's breast bone.
There are koalas on the back of each of the playing cards. Cute little critters with green eucalyptus plants grasped in their paws and bright black button eyes. The Chinese woman fans them out, across the bar before pulling them into one tight pile. An old rubber band snaps around the stack, and she deposits them into her pocket before heading for the parking lot.
The door swings wide open, giving Dean a view of the lot, and the dark night sky behind it. The sky's blue black color has hints of dusky rose, and dull orange flickering across the sides, and Dean pulls out his cell phone to check the time. The door doesn't shut properly, and when it's pushed open again it's from the effort of a woman with bright button black eyes that don't scream 'possessed' just mischief. Happiness molds her face into a place of smiles and warmth the moment she finds Dean among the cigarette butts and glasses of flat beer.
"She's sure fond of you," Ellen says as the Impala nuzzles Dean's ear and nips at his neck.
"She is my baby." Dean's answer is one part freaked out, one part turned on, and eight and a half parts gob smacked.
"Who the hell would want to turn the car into a person," Sam asks, a look of shock still nestled in his eyes. Every few moments or so the Impala would break away from Dean and ruffle Sam's hair or touch his face and smile at him while murmuring about how he was just so tall, and hadn't she missed him when he'd gone to school, and she was proud he always buckled his seat belt, and even if Dean didn't like Sam's taste in music she didn't mind if he wanted to play Iggy Pop every once and a while, and hey remember that time she got a flat on the way back from the Hawk Hallow Homecoming Dance, and it helped Sam get to second base with the nice Irish girl?
Dean squirms in his seat as the Impala starts toying with the buttons of his shirt. She smells like leather and metal, and Dean even gets a whiff of something that must have been residue from the pine scented air freshener as her hands disappear inside his shirt.
"Someone who loves me a whole lot?"