Chapter 4

This is it ladies, not content with getting the poor guy's T shirt off …


Glancing around in the rapidly darkening twilight, he spied a horse trough close by and walked over to it; he looked into the trough and grimaced; but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Numb fingers shakily undid laces, and he kicked off his mud caked boots. Pulling his leather belt back through the buckle, he began to carefully work his way down his fly, clumsily undoing the stiff buttons of one by one.

His thumbs threaded through the empty belt loops and slim hips snaked their way out of the stiff, befouled denim as he worked it slowly down his muscular, clammy thighs.

The mud encrusted jeans pooled at his feet; he stepped out of them and leaned over the trough, peering into the green tinged water.

He cupped his hands in the cold water, scraping a thin layer of bindweed off the top of it. Splashing it up onto his face, and gasping at the contact of the frigid water on his skin, he grimaced and blinked stray droplets away from long lashes, spitting as some of the bitter liquid found it's way between his pursed lips.

Narrow rivulets worked their way over his chin following the muscular curve of his neck, tracing clean tracks through the ingrained dirt and pooling in the hollow of his throat.

He worked more of the water over the hard ridges of his ribs, feeling them expand under his palm as he took in a deep breath, shuddering as already misused muscles twitched and flickered under the sudden chill. He scrubbed his arms and back, working the water up under his arms and over the gentle curve of his belly down to the low-slung waistband of his boxers.

Finally, feeling a little cleaner, he straightened up. Clutching the trembling muscles in his protesting back, he shook the water from his cold limbs and was mightily relieved to see the headlights of the Impala pull up alongside the fence.

Gathering up his discarded clothing, he walked stiffly over to the car.

Sam stood at the fence and squinted through the dusk as Dean stumbled toward him.

He made a mental note to ask his brother why he was walking across a field wearing nothing but his socks and boxers; but not now. The incantation was complete, the spell was broken, the family were safe.

This was not a time for questions, but for beer and pie and a good nights sleep.



… I'm going to go and get my hormones surgically removed now *faints*