WOW: Friend. Dean thinks that finding a hunt in New Orleans a few days before Mardi Gras was an awesome idea.

Disclaimer: I don't own them, although I wish I did more than ever now.

A/N: Firstly, I'd like to apologise for the complete absence of Sam in this story, however my muse and me have been completely and utterly 'Jensenated' at Jus in Bello con this weekend, having met the man for the very first time. This just needed to be written, otherwise I might have exploded …


Clad in an epilepsy-inducing hawaiian shirt and surrounded by laughing strangers who felt like friends, not to mention more near-naked nubiles than he could shake a stick at, Dean felt the samba beat wash over him like a rhythmic tide.

In complete defiance of his mind, his body began to move of its own accord; starting with his tapping feet. Working up past bouncing knees, his butt swayed perkily from side to side, and within moments, his chest and shoulders joined the party until his whole body was gyrating energetically along to the music.

And he didn't even spill his beer.