The sun was warm, the beer was cold, and Jo's bikini was barely decent. Dean squinted up into a perfect blue sky, the corners of his green eyes crinkling. He thought he should have brought a pair of sunglasses just as his hand brushed against the plastic frames sticking out of the sand next to his beach chair.
"Put your tongue back in your mouth, boy, or I'm sure I've still got a salt rifle around here somewhere I can use." Ellen pivoted her head along the back of her chair to look at him, tipped her own sunglasses down to make sure he could see that her eyes meant business, before winking and angling her head back toward the cloudless sky.
"Yes, ma'am." His response was automatic, but he couldn't take his eyes off Jo who chuckled and adjusted the straw in her fruity drink. He slipped his sunglasses on, but realized from the way Ellen continued to stare at him that he wasn't fooling anybody. On his other side, Sam laughed and shook his head from behind a Clive Cussler novel that was as thick as his fist, before hunkering down into what promised to be a long and undisturbed read.
Dean closed his eyes, rested his head back and sipped his beer. When he finished each one, Ellen handed him another and he snapped the bottle caps into the cooler, bouncing them off the lid and into the ice until Jo slammed it shut and rested her own drink on top of it like a side table.
Above him gulls called to each other, and occasionally he would open his eyes to watch azure waves chase long billed birds further inland and away from the wet sand. Once or twice, he caught Jo watching him and he smiled.
"So, this is it then," he said.
"Mmhmm." Jo untied the strings of her bikini top and rolled onto her stomach. Dean wondered if he could get kicked off their beach for staring at her ass like that. He just couldn't stop marveling at how the dimple of her spine flared out to her hips and around into the most perfect heart shaped ass he had ever seen.
"Whose, uh," Dean swiveled his head around, trying to look anywhere but at Jo. "Whose Heaven is this, anyway?" Dead or not, he had no doubt Ellen could kill him twice.
"It's mine," the voice came from behind him, the only voice he'd ever known to pull off irritated and affectionate in just two words. Dean rotated his whole body to see Bobby lounging in a hammock strung up between two palm trees, his trucker cap shading his eyes and a shirt nowhere to be seen. A stack of books rested on the sand next to him, acting like a bar for the coconut with a colorful umbrella sticking jauntily askew from it's top.
"Whoa, dude! Put some clothes on!" Dean snapped his head back around to see Jo, her chin propped on her fist, smiling at him again.
"My heaven...I can wear what I want. Don't like it? Get your own damn slice of the pie!" He adjusted his cap, licked a finger and turned a page. "By the way, I might add those aren't exactly Levi's you're wearing, son, and if you and the young lady would like some privacy I'd be happy to think you up a cabana just over that dune." He nodded towards the rise of sand at the end of the beach.
Startled, Dean looked down and realized he was wearing nothing but blue swim trunks, the fabric of which did nothing to hide his interest in Jo.
Ellen held out another cold beer, her face still turned to the sky and her lips tugging against the firm, thin line she was trying to maintain. "You get used to it."
Dean blinked at her. Heaven meant a perpetual hard on? He didn't remember that from his last tour of duty here.
Ellen turned to face him, noted his blank look and jerked her head in Bobby's direction. "Him. You get used to him." She slanted her head back to the sky, and to Dean's surprise she sighed with something like contentment.
He looked at his beer, then back at Bobby, whose shirtless body resembled some kind of tropical walrus. "I dunno. I think I might need-"
Still not turning her attention from the reeling gulls and the brilliant blue of the Caribbean sky, Ellen handed him a bottle of whiskey.
"-something stronger. Uh, thanks."
"Don't mention it."
Dean looked at Sam, his bare feet buried happily in the sand, his nose buried in a book. He wore cargo shorts, his tattoo still a sharp contrast to the tan of his broad chest. Despite his gargantuan proportions, Sam looked liked the little kid Dean remembered hunkered in a corner of the back seat of the Impala, his face eternally lost behind a book as they sped from point A to point B, their childhood a long line of blacktop and neon hotel signs. Today, he looked...happy.
It was the best Dean could have hoped for, really. Who knew Heaven was more than just peace, rest, stillness. If he had ever actually wanted stillness, he might have done himself in years ago. But this, this was just good times with good friends, and he didn't know who his travel agent was, but he made a mental note to thank him for booking all their tickets together.
Jo watched him, her pale shoulders gleaming in the sun and a glint in her eye. Another five minutes of that, and he was going to take Bobby up on that cabana, Ellen be damned.
He uncorked the whiskey bottle and tipped it to everyone, kind of waving it over his head in Bobby's general direction so he wouldn't have to actually turn and look at him.
"Well then, to permanent vacations." Dean smiled at the chorus of voices, but couldn't help himself as he turned to Bobby.
"For the love of god, man, we're guests in your heaven and you can't put a shirt on? Seriously?"
"Idjit," Bobby said begrudgingly, but suddenly the most god awful fuschia and mustard yellow Hawaiin shirt appeared over his frame. "There, happy?"
Dean nodded, the smile frozen on his lips when Bobby muttered "You're just lucky my heaven isn't a nudist resort...just sayin'."
And for the first time since he was four years old, Dean felt the coil in chest loosen, and he was free.