SPN FIC - After the Fade to Black
feliciakw -- I've been promising you that birthday fic since ... well, since your birthday. You laid out your specs, and the Muse finally gave in. So here you go, late but heartfelt. And a little silly. Because it's DEAN.
CHARACTERS: Dean/Jamie
GENRE: Het
RATING: R? Strong PG? Language and sex.
SPOILERS: Monster Movie
LENGTH: 2281 words
She makes him a sandwich. It's tuna fish, and there's not much on the planet he hates worse than tuna fish. Okay, there is, but you generally don't make a sandwich out of it. But he's hungry enough to gnaw on his own arm so he eats the tuna fish and it's not all that bad. By the time he finishes, it's like two o'clock in the morning and his eyes are starting to cross. Jamie's looking a little heavy-lidded herself. So maybe she won't mind if he just curls up on the couch and sleeps for a while.
AFTER THE FADE TO BLACK
By Carol Davis
"Look," Dean says, and she does, she's definitely looking, but not in the way he means, and that's a problem.
See - he never should have come here, to her place, with her. With Jamie. Shouldn't have come inside. He should have left her at the door, or at the most should have just done a quick sweep to make sure everything was okay, that there was nothing lurking inside to mess with her. There wouldn't have been, because the shapeshifter was working on his own, and that sonofabitch is definitely stone cold dead. Dean made sure of that. If the shifter's gonna mess with anybody from now on, it's not gonna be on this plane of existence.
So Jamie's gonna be fine. She's a tough chick. After all, she was the one who ganked the shifter. Which is kind of embarrassing, when you come down to it, because he, him, Dean Winchester - he's the one who's supposed to come riding into town to save the day, right?
Well, him and Sam, but…whatever.
It's not supposed to be the chick who saves his ass.
That's kind of embarrassing.
"Are you okay?" Jamie asks.
And that's even more embarrassing. He's supposed to be the hero here. He's supposed to be the one making the chicks swoon because he saved them from some kind of scary shit or other. Instead, he's standing here in…in this, this whole shorts getup, like something out of fuckin' Heidi. Even worse, it was the damn shifter who dressed him like this, like he's some life-size Ken doll. The freakin' shifter took his clothes off - and he better have his underwear on under this crap, he better, because if his underwear's gone he is definitely going to flip his shit.
Which wouldn't be humiliating at all.
Nossir.
In a way, though - it's a good thing. What happened. The damn shifter doing that. Because now he totally gets how chicks feel when some guy gets a little carried away with the hands. Or worse. That date rape stuff. The shifter didn't do that - because he'd know, wouldn't he? Yeah, for sure he'd know, he'd have to know - but still, the idea of that thing getting all…
"Maybe you should sit down," Jamie says.
Maybe he should.
He sits on the couch. She looks at him for a second, then she brings him a glass of cold water, and that's absolutely the right choice. He was thinking beer, but his head is matching beer up with mickey, with roofied, and fuck that freakin' shapeshifter anyway for ruining beer for him.
For ruining everything.
Ruining this.
But it doesn't matter, does it? Because he doesn't do this. Doesn't go back home with chicks after he's saved 'em from the big bad thing. Dad taught him a long time ago: We do what we do, and we get out. Yeah, there's been some chicks now and then who were totally on board with the gratitude thing, and cash is always good but payment in kind, well, people have been doing that forever, right?
But he's not like that. He doesn't do that.
Because it's wrong.
There was a chick one time who was all warmed up and ready to go, but Dad got a glimpse of it and that was the end of that. Dad didn't say anything except We have to go now, but he had that look, the one that said Forget about it. You hear me? Forget about it, or I'll kick your ass. The lecture came later. Well, not so much a lecture as one of those John Winchester sound bites.
"We don't do that," Dad said.
"But -"
Raised eyebrow. And silence.
A few months later, there was another one. Girl. Maybe it was adrenaline that got her going. Dad wasn't around, and she was all over Dean, all fingers and hands and lips and there was no way that was going anywhere other than where it went. Except that in the middle of it, right in the middle, she cried. Just fell all apart and cried and curled up in a ball and cried some more and you can bet your ass that that was one of the ten worst things that's ever happened to him.
So yeah. He doesn't do that.
Doesn't do that gratitude shit.
He sits there sipping his water, trying to think of a good exit line, which is a problem because what he'd really like to do is just kind of tip sideways and stretch out on Jamie's couch and sleep for a while. It's been a long night. Long couple of days. The sunshine's been nice, and the big pretzels and the beer and working with Sammy on an old-school kind of a case, but there's some serious shit hanging over his head that he kind of wishes he could talk about to somebody other than Sam or Bobby. Kind of wishes he could say to somebody, Jeez, honey, lemme tell you about my day.
When he looks up, Jamie's not wearing that dress any more, that gown thing she said the shifter made her wear. She's got on a pink robe, one of those fluffy ones that looks really soft. Okay, they are soft. He knows that for sure because he touched one in the Wal-mart one time. Touched it for a while. Until Sam came up behind him and said, "What are you doing?" and he thought he'd shit right there in the middle of Ladies' Sleepwear.
It looks soft.
He wants to hug her. Hug Jamie. Like she's a big pink teddy bear.
He grins at her, and it probably makes him look like a complete ass.
He already looks like a complete ass.
Because of the shorts.
Maybe I should fuckin' yodel, he thinks.
"Are you hungry?" Jamie asks. "I can make you a sandwich. Or some soup or something. I think I've got some soup in the cupboard."
"I'm good."
God, this chick rocks.
She makes him a sandwich. It's tuna fish, and there's not much on the planet he hates worse than tuna fish. Okay, there is, but you generally don't make a sandwich out of it. But he's hungry enough to gnaw on his own arm so he eats the tuna fish and it's not all that bad. By the time he finishes, it's like two o'clock in the morning and his eyes are starting to cross. Jamie's looking a little heavy-lidded herself. So maybe she won't mind if he just curls up on the couch and sleeps for a while.
She probably won't mind. She's cool.
So maybe he'll do that.
Except she reaches down and takes him by the hand.
That robe is really soft. He finds that out when they're standing alongside Jamie's bed and they've got their arms around each other.
She's a good kisser.
A really good kisser.
And the worst thing about these frickin' goddamn shorts is that there's no room. They're freakin' leather, and leather is just plain not known for its expandable stretchable properties. To a point, yeah, but it's a small point, and if there's anything Dean Michael Winchester is, it is not "small." His hands are busy, one of them stroking the back of Jamie's neck and the other one cruising gently up and down the back of that teddy bear robe, and he tries not to interrupt that as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking for a distribution of assets that will make him feel a little less crushed to freakin' death.
God bless Jamie, she's a mind reader.
Her hands inch up between them and she unfastens the clasps of the - what do you call these? Suspenders? Which…Jesus. Suspenders?
There's two zippers.
When Jamie's got everything all undone, there's some breathing room. "Better?" she asks and she's smiling and he sighs.
This is a seriously take-charge chick.
Which is good. Yes, ma'am, that's all very, very good.
She's got a fistful of leather in each hand and starts working the shorts down over his hips and his butt. It takes a little maneuvering, because again, leather? Not known for its flexibility in situations like this. He has to reach down inside and cup a hand over his dick because it's getting kind of carried away with the sudden prospect of freedom and it's getting jammed up in the godforsaken leather, which, seriously, shit, ow.
He's wearing knee socks.
Yeah, okay, he goes the tube sock route now and then if that's all that's available, but he doesn't wear 'em with shorts.
"Sshhhh," Jamie says.
She dances him backward and sits him down on the bed so she can unlace his boots. Gotta do that, because the godforsaken shorts won't come off over the boots, and those shorts need to come off. They also need to be burned or run through a wood chipper or something, but later's good for that. Acid, too, maybe. Those shorts need to be not of this earth, and soon.
Later.
Soon, but later.
The boots are gone, and Jamie hooks a finger in each of the socks and tweaks them off his legs, off his feet. Then, thank you thank you thank you the shorts are gone and she flips them away. She's got a good tossing arm. He can't even see where they land.
An acid bath would be good.
And YES. He's wearing underwear.
Briefly.
That makes him snort, and his snort makes Jamie snort.
He shimmies the underwear off all on his own, flips it somewhere, then grabs the fruity white Hansel shirt in his fists and yanks. The buttons explode off the thing, all but one, and that remaining one makes him scowl like a little kid, like he's blown out all the birthday candles but one. Grinning, Jamie grabs hold and eliminates that last one, then scoots the shirt back off his shoulders and drops it on the floor. She starts to undo the sash on the pink robe but he stops her and snuggles up against her, which, yeah, he couldn't do in the Wal-mart because he would have ended up in freaking jail and Sam would never have let him hear the end of that.
"Soft," he murmurs.
"Okay," Jamie murmurs back, and lets him snuggle. She so rocks. She does.
After a minute the kissing starts up again, and Jamie lets him undo the sash. He snuggles up against her, and she's almost as soft and nice and warm as the robe.
He likes soft. He likes soft very, very much.
Warm is good too.
The robe is around both of them for a minute - Jamie's doing that, wrapping it around him - and that might be good, just staying like that, all warm together.
Except…well.
There's some stuff, and then the robe drops down into a puddle on the floor and they're doing that little dance, the one where it doesn't matter who's leading, over to the bed. Jamie's been pretty much handling things, and that's okay, completely okay, so when she nudges him down onto his back and prompts him into scooting up so there's a pillow under his head, then straddles him and takes him up inside her, that's fine, that's very, very, extremely very fine. And warm.
Very warm.
And good.
Good, good, good.
Gooooooooooood.
View's good. And there are things to hold in his hands. Things to stroke with his hands. She leans down to kiss him and that's good too but the best good is the moving, the…fuck, YES, the squeezing, and the warm, and…
YEAH.
She so rocks.
He would never tell anybody - never has told anybody - but he likes the part that comes after. The snuggling. It's totally a chick thing, the cuddling, and he would never tell anybody that he's into it but he is. It makes him kind of feel like he's a little kid again, in his bed in his favorite warm jammies, and everybody's safe and he's safe and he can sleep and nothing will go wrong. Of course, he didn't have anybody in the bed with him then and he does now, but that's a small consideration. He loves the quiet of this, the peace of it.
"That was nice," Jamie says after they've been lying there a while.
He nods.
She turns her head a little and looks at him. "Will you stay?"
Stay. That's always the sticking point. That's part of why he never does this with them. The girls. Women. The damsels in distress. They think he might stay, and he can't. That's not what he does. That's not what Dad taught him.
That's not what he can do.
Maybe he shouldn't have come here.
Jamie rests a hand on his cheek. It's mostly dark in here, in her room, but there's enough light for him to see her face so she can probably see his. See that he looks disappointed.
"For the night," she clarifies.
There's not much left of the night. A couple hours, is all.
But maybe they can stretch it. Sleep in. It's not like he really needs to go anywhere right away. Sam's got a room. Maybe Sam'll sleep in too. Sam used to sleep in like it was a freaking Olympic event and he was going for the gold.
"The sunlight comes in through that window, in the morning," Jamie says. "It's kind of like…a spotlight."
She's smirking.
"Yeah?" he says.
"Yeah."
She so rocks.
"Okay," he says, and turns his nose into the hollow underneath her ear. She smells good, right there.
"Yeah," he says. "I'll stay."
* * * * *
CHARACTERS: Dean/Jamie
GENRE: Het
RATING: R? Strong PG? Language and sex.
SPOILERS: Monster Movie
LENGTH: 2281 words
She makes him a sandwich. It's tuna fish, and there's not much on the planet he hates worse than tuna fish. Okay, there is, but you generally don't make a sandwich out of it. But he's hungry enough to gnaw on his own arm so he eats the tuna fish and it's not all that bad. By the time he finishes, it's like two o'clock in the morning and his eyes are starting to cross. Jamie's looking a little heavy-lidded herself. So maybe she won't mind if he just curls up on the couch and sleeps for a while.
AFTER THE FADE TO BLACK
By Carol Davis
"Look," Dean says, and she does, she's definitely looking, but not in the way he means, and that's a problem.
See - he never should have come here, to her place, with her. With Jamie. Shouldn't have come inside. He should have left her at the door, or at the most should have just done a quick sweep to make sure everything was okay, that there was nothing lurking inside to mess with her. There wouldn't have been, because the shapeshifter was working on his own, and that sonofabitch is definitely stone cold dead. Dean made sure of that. If the shifter's gonna mess with anybody from now on, it's not gonna be on this plane of existence.
So Jamie's gonna be fine. She's a tough chick. After all, she was the one who ganked the shifter. Which is kind of embarrassing, when you come down to it, because he, him, Dean Winchester - he's the one who's supposed to come riding into town to save the day, right?
Well, him and Sam, but…whatever.
It's not supposed to be the chick who saves his ass.
That's kind of embarrassing.
"Are you okay?" Jamie asks.
And that's even more embarrassing. He's supposed to be the hero here. He's supposed to be the one making the chicks swoon because he saved them from some kind of scary shit or other. Instead, he's standing here in…in this, this whole shorts getup, like something out of fuckin' Heidi. Even worse, it was the damn shifter who dressed him like this, like he's some life-size Ken doll. The freakin' shifter took his clothes off - and he better have his underwear on under this crap, he better, because if his underwear's gone he is definitely going to flip his shit.
Which wouldn't be humiliating at all.
Nossir.
In a way, though - it's a good thing. What happened. The damn shifter doing that. Because now he totally gets how chicks feel when some guy gets a little carried away with the hands. Or worse. That date rape stuff. The shifter didn't do that - because he'd know, wouldn't he? Yeah, for sure he'd know, he'd have to know - but still, the idea of that thing getting all…
"Maybe you should sit down," Jamie says.
Maybe he should.
He sits on the couch. She looks at him for a second, then she brings him a glass of cold water, and that's absolutely the right choice. He was thinking beer, but his head is matching beer up with mickey, with roofied, and fuck that freakin' shapeshifter anyway for ruining beer for him.
For ruining everything.
Ruining this.
But it doesn't matter, does it? Because he doesn't do this. Doesn't go back home with chicks after he's saved 'em from the big bad thing. Dad taught him a long time ago: We do what we do, and we get out. Yeah, there's been some chicks now and then who were totally on board with the gratitude thing, and cash is always good but payment in kind, well, people have been doing that forever, right?
But he's not like that. He doesn't do that.
Because it's wrong.
There was a chick one time who was all warmed up and ready to go, but Dad got a glimpse of it and that was the end of that. Dad didn't say anything except We have to go now, but he had that look, the one that said Forget about it. You hear me? Forget about it, or I'll kick your ass. The lecture came later. Well, not so much a lecture as one of those John Winchester sound bites.
"We don't do that," Dad said.
"But -"
Raised eyebrow. And silence.
A few months later, there was another one. Girl. Maybe it was adrenaline that got her going. Dad wasn't around, and she was all over Dean, all fingers and hands and lips and there was no way that was going anywhere other than where it went. Except that in the middle of it, right in the middle, she cried. Just fell all apart and cried and curled up in a ball and cried some more and you can bet your ass that that was one of the ten worst things that's ever happened to him.
So yeah. He doesn't do that.
Doesn't do that gratitude shit.
He sits there sipping his water, trying to think of a good exit line, which is a problem because what he'd really like to do is just kind of tip sideways and stretch out on Jamie's couch and sleep for a while. It's been a long night. Long couple of days. The sunshine's been nice, and the big pretzels and the beer and working with Sammy on an old-school kind of a case, but there's some serious shit hanging over his head that he kind of wishes he could talk about to somebody other than Sam or Bobby. Kind of wishes he could say to somebody, Jeez, honey, lemme tell you about my day.
When he looks up, Jamie's not wearing that dress any more, that gown thing she said the shifter made her wear. She's got on a pink robe, one of those fluffy ones that looks really soft. Okay, they are soft. He knows that for sure because he touched one in the Wal-mart one time. Touched it for a while. Until Sam came up behind him and said, "What are you doing?" and he thought he'd shit right there in the middle of Ladies' Sleepwear.
It looks soft.
He wants to hug her. Hug Jamie. Like she's a big pink teddy bear.
He grins at her, and it probably makes him look like a complete ass.
He already looks like a complete ass.
Because of the shorts.
Maybe I should fuckin' yodel, he thinks.
"Are you hungry?" Jamie asks. "I can make you a sandwich. Or some soup or something. I think I've got some soup in the cupboard."
"I'm good."
God, this chick rocks.
She makes him a sandwich. It's tuna fish, and there's not much on the planet he hates worse than tuna fish. Okay, there is, but you generally don't make a sandwich out of it. But he's hungry enough to gnaw on his own arm so he eats the tuna fish and it's not all that bad. By the time he finishes, it's like two o'clock in the morning and his eyes are starting to cross. Jamie's looking a little heavy-lidded herself. So maybe she won't mind if he just curls up on the couch and sleeps for a while.
She probably won't mind. She's cool.
So maybe he'll do that.
Except she reaches down and takes him by the hand.
That robe is really soft. He finds that out when they're standing alongside Jamie's bed and they've got their arms around each other.
She's a good kisser.
A really good kisser.
And the worst thing about these frickin' goddamn shorts is that there's no room. They're freakin' leather, and leather is just plain not known for its expandable stretchable properties. To a point, yeah, but it's a small point, and if there's anything Dean Michael Winchester is, it is not "small." His hands are busy, one of them stroking the back of Jamie's neck and the other one cruising gently up and down the back of that teddy bear robe, and he tries not to interrupt that as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking for a distribution of assets that will make him feel a little less crushed to freakin' death.
God bless Jamie, she's a mind reader.
Her hands inch up between them and she unfastens the clasps of the - what do you call these? Suspenders? Which…Jesus. Suspenders?
There's two zippers.
When Jamie's got everything all undone, there's some breathing room. "Better?" she asks and she's smiling and he sighs.
This is a seriously take-charge chick.
Which is good. Yes, ma'am, that's all very, very good.
She's got a fistful of leather in each hand and starts working the shorts down over his hips and his butt. It takes a little maneuvering, because again, leather? Not known for its flexibility in situations like this. He has to reach down inside and cup a hand over his dick because it's getting kind of carried away with the sudden prospect of freedom and it's getting jammed up in the godforsaken leather, which, seriously, shit, ow.
He's wearing knee socks.
Yeah, okay, he goes the tube sock route now and then if that's all that's available, but he doesn't wear 'em with shorts.
"Sshhhh," Jamie says.
She dances him backward and sits him down on the bed so she can unlace his boots. Gotta do that, because the godforsaken shorts won't come off over the boots, and those shorts need to come off. They also need to be burned or run through a wood chipper or something, but later's good for that. Acid, too, maybe. Those shorts need to be not of this earth, and soon.
Later.
Soon, but later.
The boots are gone, and Jamie hooks a finger in each of the socks and tweaks them off his legs, off his feet. Then, thank you thank you thank you the shorts are gone and she flips them away. She's got a good tossing arm. He can't even see where they land.
An acid bath would be good.
And YES. He's wearing underwear.
Briefly.
That makes him snort, and his snort makes Jamie snort.
He shimmies the underwear off all on his own, flips it somewhere, then grabs the fruity white Hansel shirt in his fists and yanks. The buttons explode off the thing, all but one, and that remaining one makes him scowl like a little kid, like he's blown out all the birthday candles but one. Grinning, Jamie grabs hold and eliminates that last one, then scoots the shirt back off his shoulders and drops it on the floor. She starts to undo the sash on the pink robe but he stops her and snuggles up against her, which, yeah, he couldn't do in the Wal-mart because he would have ended up in freaking jail and Sam would never have let him hear the end of that.
"Soft," he murmurs.
"Okay," Jamie murmurs back, and lets him snuggle. She so rocks. She does.
After a minute the kissing starts up again, and Jamie lets him undo the sash. He snuggles up against her, and she's almost as soft and nice and warm as the robe.
He likes soft. He likes soft very, very much.
Warm is good too.
The robe is around both of them for a minute - Jamie's doing that, wrapping it around him - and that might be good, just staying like that, all warm together.
Except…well.
There's some stuff, and then the robe drops down into a puddle on the floor and they're doing that little dance, the one where it doesn't matter who's leading, over to the bed. Jamie's been pretty much handling things, and that's okay, completely okay, so when she nudges him down onto his back and prompts him into scooting up so there's a pillow under his head, then straddles him and takes him up inside her, that's fine, that's very, very, extremely very fine. And warm.
Very warm.
And good.
Good, good, good.
Gooooooooooood.
View's good. And there are things to hold in his hands. Things to stroke with his hands. She leans down to kiss him and that's good too but the best good is the moving, the…fuck, YES, the squeezing, and the warm, and…
YEAH.
She so rocks.
He would never tell anybody - never has told anybody - but he likes the part that comes after. The snuggling. It's totally a chick thing, the cuddling, and he would never tell anybody that he's into it but he is. It makes him kind of feel like he's a little kid again, in his bed in his favorite warm jammies, and everybody's safe and he's safe and he can sleep and nothing will go wrong. Of course, he didn't have anybody in the bed with him then and he does now, but that's a small consideration. He loves the quiet of this, the peace of it.
"That was nice," Jamie says after they've been lying there a while.
He nods.
She turns her head a little and looks at him. "Will you stay?"
Stay. That's always the sticking point. That's part of why he never does this with them. The girls. Women. The damsels in distress. They think he might stay, and he can't. That's not what he does. That's not what Dad taught him.
That's not what he can do.
Maybe he shouldn't have come here.
Jamie rests a hand on his cheek. It's mostly dark in here, in her room, but there's enough light for him to see her face so she can probably see his. See that he looks disappointed.
"For the night," she clarifies.
There's not much left of the night. A couple hours, is all.
But maybe they can stretch it. Sleep in. It's not like he really needs to go anywhere right away. Sam's got a room. Maybe Sam'll sleep in too. Sam used to sleep in like it was a freaking Olympic event and he was going for the gold.
"The sunlight comes in through that window, in the morning," Jamie says. "It's kind of like…a spotlight."
She's smirking.
"Yeah?" he says.
"Yeah."
She so rocks.
"Okay," he says, and turns his nose into the hollow underneath her ear. She smells good, right there.
"Yeah," he says. "I'll stay."
* * * * *