Dean sighed as the mattress he was lying on stopped vibrating. His quarter had run out. Again. He was about to fish another quarter out of his pocket when he caught sight of Sam peering subtly over his laptop.

"Sam, would you just tell me what's goin' on with you?"

Sam jumped so badly that he almost overturned the table he was sitting at. "I'm sorry? Nothing's going on, what are you talking about?"

Dean fought the urge to roll his eyes and sat up. "You been starin' at me like I'm a big greasy cheeseburger for the past three hours."

Sam bit his lip and looked pointedly back at his laptop screen. "Have not."

This time, Dean let his eyes roll as much as they wanted to. "Yes. You have. And I let it slide the first four times you told me it was nothing because asking more questions seemed a little awkward but you are officially creepin' me out now Sam. So I'm going to ask you one more time, what's going on?"

"Nothing." Sam stared determinedly at his laptop screen as his face heated up.

Dean huffed in annoyance and flopped back down onto the bed, putting in another quarter for another fifteen minutes of vibrating bliss.

Four hours earlier…

"Sam?!" Dean shouted, banging on the door to the witch's cellar. Sam had tripped down them minutes before and the door had ominously slammed shut before Dean could rush down after him.

"I'm fine," Sam called back. There was a beat of silence before wind began to pick up and the sound of a woman chanting filled the air.

"Sam?!" Dean shouted again, kicking at the door furiously. "Shoot her!"

"I'm working on it, I dropped my gun when I fell," Sam snapped as the chanting began to get louder.

"Well find it before she finishes working whatever curse she's chanting out!"

Sam replied but the chanting rose in pitch and volume and Dean couldn't make out what he said.

"I swear to god you evil son of a bitch, if you touch my brother you are going to be sorry!"

The scent of roses, leather, and motor oil drifted through the air and the chanting wound down into silence. The witch had enough time to get five good cackles out before three gun shots pierced the air and the door flung itself open.

Sam stumbled back out of the cellar looking ruffled but relatively alright for having just fallen down a flight of stairs and killed a witch.

"You okay?" Dean asked, patting Sam down quickly in a frantic search for broken bones. "You feel cursed?"

Sam gave him a strange look then slowly shook his head. "N-no, I guess not. Do you?"

Dean frowned. "No, I feel fine. If I'm fine and you're fine then what the hell was that curse supposed to do?"

"I dunno," Sam said, shrugging and shooting Dean a stumped frown. "Maybe it didn't work?"

Dean shrugged back after a moment and turned to walk back out to the Impala. "Guess we got lucky."

"Yeah," Sam replied with an uneasy laugh, eyeing the hole in the seat of Dean's jeans as he followed him out. He could see Dean's Buffy boxers through it. "I guess so."


The bed stopped vibrating again. Dean cracked one eye open just enough to sneak a glance at Sam. He was still watching him. Dean squeezed his eyes shut again and groaned loudly.

"Dude. Go get me some pie. And quit starin' at me."

"I'm not your slave Dean, and I'm not staring at you." Sam was staring intently at his laptop again.

Dean popped one eye open and glowered at Sam. "You're my little brother, that's practically the same thing. And yeah you are."

"I am not!" Sam snapped, standing and snatching his coat off the table. "Fine, I'll go get you some stupid pie. But you have to stop insisting I'm staring at you. It's a little too narcissistic, even for you."

"I'm not a narcissist!" Dean yelled after Sam as he stomped out of the room.

"I just know exactly how devastatingly attractive I am," he grumbled under his breath after the door slammed shut.

Two quarters later, Sam stormed back into the room, scowl still firmly in place, and threw a plastic container and a can of whipped cream at him.

"What kind are you?" Dean crooned at the plastic container, cradling it gently as he searched for the label. "Aw baby, you're cherry? You're my favorite! You know I'm gonna treat you right."

Sam had frozen halfway to the table and was staring at him in a mix of fascination and horror. "You do realize how creepy it is when you talk to your food, right?"

"Don't listen to him baby," Dean whispered to his pie comfortingly. "You'll never just be food to me, I promise."

Sam shook his head in disbelief and walked the rest of the way to the table.

Dean finally turned his attention to the can of whipped cream and his eyes lit up.

"Whipped cream?" he said with the same level of excitement he usually reserved for gorgeous women, new guns, and zombies. "Aw man, you shouldn't have."

Sam rolled his eyes and muttered, "I really shouldn't."

Dean ignored him and popped the plastic top off the container, spraying a ridiculous amount of whipped cream onto his pie.

"Everything's better with whipped cream," Dean said reverently. "Everything."

Sam tried valiantly to concentrate on his laptop. Dean moaned around a mouthful of pie and whipped cream and Sam's gaze inched up over the top of his laptop for a full minute before he realized what he was doing and forced it back down again.

"This," Dean said through another forkful of heaven. "Mmmm Sammy, this is like orgasm on a plate."

Sam's gaze snapped back up to Dean and his mouth fell open a little. "Dude."

Dean wasn't paying attention, he was frowning down at his pie. "Or… orgasm in a little plastic thingy?"

Sam was at a loss for words.

Dean's face lit up. "Orgasm with whipped cream on top!"

Sam's mouth opened and closed a few times in disbelief.

Dean frowned again. "No, that bartender in Memphis was orgasm with whipped cream on top."

A little smirk edged onto his face. "What was her name again? Cheri? Mary? Terry! Ah man, she was a good time."

Sam swallowed hard and forced his attention back to his laptop as Dean went back to his pie.

Dean peered over at Sam out of the corner of his eye and noted happily that he wasn't staring at him anymore. He picked up the can of whipped cream and sprayed it into his mouth. He'd forgotten to take into account that when he shut his mouth not all of it would fit anymore, and ended up with whipped cream all over his lower lip and chin.

He snorted and poked his tongue out to lick up the cream. Whipped cream was amazing, you couldn't go around wasting perfectly good whipped cream just because it didn't end up in your mouth.

Dean glanced over at Sam to make sure he hadn't seen him make a complete idiot of himself with the whipped cream and froze, pulling his tongue back into his mouth. Sam was staring at him again with a slightly dazed expression.

Dean slowly poked his tongue back out and ran it across his bottom lip. Sam's eyes tracked its progress with an intensity Dean usually only saw him direct at google and musty old library books.

"Dude, are you watching my tongue?!" Dean asked incredulously.

Sam jumped and toppled right out of his chair, staring guiltily up at Dean and rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the floor. "No?"

"Oh my God, why are you watching my tongue?!"

Sam flushed bright red as he stood up stiffly and sat back in his chair. "I wasn't."

Dean poked his tongue out again and slid it around full circle, top and bottom lip. Sam's eyes tracked the movement and he swallowed hard before wrenching his eyes back to Dean's defiantly.

"Dude, the hell is going on with you?" Dean asked, eyes wide as he tried to contain his urge to move to the bed furthest from the table. "First you're staring at me, now you're watching my tongue. And if you say nothing so help me God, Sam, I will shoot you."

Sam sighed and leaned his head forward into his hands in mortification. "I don't know."

Dean stared at him for a second. "I'm not messing around Sam, you tell me what's going on or I'm gonna call Bobby and tell him you were watching my tongue and ask him if he has any advice on what my next move should be."

"I'm serious, Dean," Sam snapped, raised his head to glare mutinously at him. "I don't know, okay?"

"No, not okay!" Dean growled. "How long have you been… been… whatever the hell you're doing?"

"I'm not doing anything!" Sam exclaimed, eyebrows scrunching together.

Dean waited silently, giving Sam his best 'I am your older brother and you will tell me what I want to know right now or I will beat you up' glower.

Sam blew out a long defeated sigh. "Since we ganked that witch."

"And what exactly have you been doing?" Dean prodded, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Nothing," Sam began then hesitated when Dean's glare intensified. "Just noticing things, that's all."

Dean quirked an eyebrow as he thought that over. "Like what?"

Sam groaned and let his head fall back into his hands. "You have a hole in your jeans, by the back seam. You're wearing your Buffy boxers."

Dean stared at him then stood up and felt around the back of his jeans until he found the hole. He hummed thoughtfully and sat back down. "What else?"



"Your lips!" Sam blurted, looking harassed. "You have… nice… lips."

Dean didn't say anything.

"Dean?" Sam said cautiously.

Dean glanced up at him. "Huh?"

"Say something."

"I'm thinking," Dean snapped, brow furrowed in thought.

"Think out loud, you're making me uncomfortable."

Dean let out a short bark of laughter. "I'm making you uncomfortable?"

"You think it was the curse?" Sam asked, looking worried and ignoring Dean. "Did you notice anything weird?"

"No, just the usual chanting and screaming and cackling," Dean mused, thinking back. His jaw fell open into a silent 'oh'.

"What is it?" Sam asked nervously. "You remember something?"

"Did you smell anything weird when she was chanting that last bit?"

Sam's nose scrunched up in thought. "I think I smelled roses, motor oil, and leather but I was too focused on finding my gun to pay much attention. Why?"

Dean groaned and closed his eyes, biting into his lower lip. "What does leather and motor oil make you think of?"

When he got no response, he cracked his eyes back open to find Sam staring at his lips again.

"Dammit Sammy, focus!"

Sam flinched and forced his eyes shut. "What was the question?"

Dean clenched his jaw in irritation and growled, "What does leather and motor oil make you think of?"

"You, why?" Sam's eyes snapped open and he stared at Dean as comprehension dawned over his features. "Oh God, you."

Dean paled abruptly. "Fuck."

Sam nodded in agreement. "Yeah."

Dean shook his head shortly, looking horrified. "No, fuck!"

Sam stared at him like he'd lost his mind. "Dean?"

"This is my fault!"

"What do you mean this is your fault?!"

Two Days Ago…

"Hey there Sugar, what can I get ya?"

The low intimate purr was accompanied by the loud smack of a gum bubble popping. Dean gave her a quick once over. Big fake boobs, fake tan, fake fur vest, fake hair. Probably a fake nose too. Not that attractive, kind of scary. Sort of looked like she wanted to eat him for dinner.

Dean smiled sweetly at her across the counter. "Two queens."

He gestured vaguely over his shoulder towards where Sam had parked the car and was now probably leaning against the side and he leaned in conspiratorially. "My Sammy likes to have two beds in the room, he's makin' me work for it."

The woman reeled back like she'd been smacked and her eyes flicked between Sam and him in surprise. "So you're… with him?"

Dean leveled a thousand watt smile at her and replied, "Yeah, we just got back together a while ago so we're taking a road trip across the country."

"Room twelve," the woman said, looking disappointed as she passed him the key.

Four hours later, Bobby had shown up at their room looking confused. Sam had been out getting pizza.

"Why did the woman at the front desk look so horrified when I asked what room you guys were in?" Bobby asked, raising an eyebrow at Dean suspiciously.

Dean winced. "Did you mention that we were brothers?"

Bobby stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

"I may have…" Dean coughed awkwardly. "Sort of told her we were gay, so she'd stop hitting on me."

Bobby shook his head slowly. "Ya idjit."

How was Dean supposed to know that the woman he'd pissed off would turn out to be the witch they were hunting?


Sam was staring at Dean, slackjawed. "Great, Dean. You tell the woman we're gay, so she figures it would be hilarious if she curses the one who wasn't a lying asshole."

"Maybe?" Dean said, holding his hands up and smiling innocently.

Sam shook his head and let out a short laugh. "You know what she said to me yesterday, before we knew it was her? She said to tell you to be careful what you tell people because the things you say have the strangest ways of coming back to bite you in the ass."

Dean bit his lip and frowned. "Well shit."

Sam groaned and covered his face. "I hate you. And stop biting your lip."

Dean winced and released his lip. "Sorry."

A/N: Hey there my lovely readers :] It's wonderful to see all of you after such a long hiatus. I hope you like my new story, reviews are food for authors and I am absolutely ravenous! If you like it, toss me a comment, let me know what your favorite parts are so I know which directions the next few chapters should head. Story alerts and author alerts make me dance with glee like that little kid on aol news who ate fried butter but they also make me diiiiie of curiousity, so if you alert me let me know why you liked it? Pretty please? With Sam and Dean Winchester on top? ;]