Disclaimer: As much as it pains me to admit this, I have absolutely no claim to Sam, Dean, John or anything within the Supernatural realm. All characters not familiar to the Supernatural series are my own creation. This has been a labor of love, only. No profit is being made. This is my very first fanfiction. With that said, I want to extend my sincere and heartfelt thanks to Eric Kripke, Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce, Ginger Baker, Gail Collins and Felix Pappalardi. No infringement or disrespect was intended by my use of the products of their collective genius as the inspirations behind my story. I can only hope this story has even half the quality of the bodies of work from which I drew my inspiration.
Setting: Between the Season 1 finale and the Season 2 opener. Slightly AU since my John was killed in the car crash.
A/N: I was listening to Cream's album, "Disreali Gears", when the song "Strange Brew" came on. It just seemed like a good basis for a Supernatural story and, well, the story just spun out of control from there. Also, the town of Holstein, Iowa does exist. My description of the area is purely from my imagination. I'm certain it's a lovely little town and if I offend anyone, I'm sorry. I just needed a small-town-America setting and the name gave me a teensy-bit of humor to play with.
Summary: Dean's reputation as a skirt chaser gets the boys into serious trouble when the woman turns out to be more than even Dean can handle. Bit of a slow start but I promise LOTS and LOTS of Winchester whumpage and angst.
One Jump Ahead of the Storm
Chapter 1: Hotties, Hormones and the Heimlich
The previous hunt had left both Sam and Dean tired. In fact, it wasn't just any kind of tired, but the kind of mind-numbing exhaustion that screamed through every cell of their bodies and had reduced the conversation during the drive to near-monosyllabic grunts. As it turned out, the pissed off entity that had seemed so straight-forward in theory, was nothing of the sort. It had required a good deal of creative thinking and an even more creative extermination method before finally succumbing to the experienced, young hunters. The whole ordeal had left the two boys completely drained and more than just a little scuffed up.
As the jet black, classic Impala cruised past the sign that read, "Welcome to Holstein, Iowa – Population 1449," Dean spotted a small diner and adjoining motel off to the right side of the road. The car slowed and Dean guided it toward the diner, making two full, searching, circuits of the parking lot before allowing it to purr to a stop in a spot somewhat removed from the other cars. Noticing that the chosen spot appeared to be ninety miles from the entrance to the diner, Sam shot an indignant glance towards Dean, followed quickly by a stifled snort to ensure the desired meaning struck home.
"What?" Dean questioned, irritation dripping from his voice.
"It's just that I don't get you, Dean," Sam explained. "It doesn't seem to bother you that we almost got our asses kicked by some bad-ass entity back in Fillmore, that it managed to drop-kick you around that house, not once, but three times, and I've got more scratches on me than Churchill Downs on race day. And, yet, you'll drive around a parking lot for 20 minutes and park nine million miles from the entrance just so a car doesn't get scratched."
"A car, Sammy?" Dean intoned indignantly as he gently began caressing the dark vinyl dashboard of the Impala. "This is not just a car…this is a one-hundred percent, all-American, Detroit-fabricated, classic work of art. As such, she needs to be treated tenderly…like a good woman. You can't blame a guy for watching out for his girl."
Sam shook his head and repeated, "Your girl…", another derisive snort escaping from him. As he shoved the passenger door open he muttered resolutely, "Whatever, dude." and strode off in the direction of the diner.
Despite the pleasure Dean derived from hassling his younger brother, the injuries Sam had received in their latest battle had produced a slightly stilted and awkward movement in the younger man as he lurched ahead of Dean and he made a mental note to lay off of Sam for a while…but just a little while.
The older brother caught up with his younger sibling as he reached the door to the diner and slid quietly in step behind him. Noting a small, private booth near one end of the dining area, the boys unobtrusively seated themselves. A fresh-faced, country-girl of a waitress appeared at their table, menus in hand, and swiftly deposited them in front of the two men.
"You boys get settled in and I'll be back right quick to take care of you," she drawled out in her Mid-Western accent.
Since the moment the waitress had appeared, Dean's eyes had been firmly planted on her every movement, clearly appreciating the view. As she turned and glided away, Dean cooed out, "Oh, I wish you would take care of me," as he almost tumbled from the booth in his effort to watch her retreating backside. The whole scene had not gone unnoticed by the younger sibling.
"Do you think you could give 'Little Dean' a break for once?" Sam queried. "We're supposed to be taking some time off…you know, re-grouping a bit."
"Yeah, groping…," Dean replied distractedly as his eyes scanned the diner for the return of their waitress, "…I mean…re-grouping."
"Look, Dean," Sam explained rather annoyed, "after this last gig I just feel like we need some down-time. We've been ridden pretty hard."
"Hmmm…," Dean purred as he watched the waitress working her tables across the room, "I sure wouldn't mind making good on that visual."
"You are such a pervert!"
"Bitch."
"Jerk," Sam shot back just as the waitress reappeared at their table.
"Hi. My name's Rachel and I'll be taking care of you boys today."
Sam saw Dean's eyebrow arch leeringly and quickly shot him a glance that screamed, 'would you just behave long enough that we don't get thrown out before we get a decent meal?'
Although Dean ached to follow through, just to take a swipe at Sam, he allowed the comment he was forming in his mind to trickle away unexpressed as he saw fatigue taking hold and etching a haggard look into his little brother. Oh, well, he'd get under Sam's skin some other time.
"So, what'll you boys have?" Rachel inquired.
The two hunters placed their respective orders and sank back into the relative comfort of the softly padded seats. Although greasy-spoon, country diners like the one they were seated in are infamously slow in churning out their cholesterol-laden orders, Sam and Dean were pleasantly surprised to find Rachel placing their food in front of them in short order.
"You boys look like something the cat dragged in," the pretty waitress remarked. "Figured a piping hot meal would be just what the doctor ordered, so I had Eldon put a rush on your orders. Enjoy!"
With a final wink at Dean, Rachel turned on her heel and headed across the diner to make certain her other customers weren't neglected.
Sam had seen Rachel's wink and just stared dumbfounded at Dean with a 'what the hell?' look on his face. Sam exhaled heavily and just shook his head.
"What? What did I do?" Dean protested.
"Shut up and eat," was all Sam said.
There were only a few morsels of the filling, country meal left to consume when the door to the diner pulled open and a lanky, red-headed woman breezed in. Dean couldn't ever recall seeing a woman that had so captivated him at first sight, and unconsciously gulped in air.
Although he suddenly found himself coughing roughly as the sudden intake of air caused the piece of steak he'd been chewing to ricochet around his throat, threatening to cut off his airway, he was unable to pry his eyes from the sight of the woman who was now seated at the diner's counter.
She was dressed in a short skirt, her long, shapely, tanned legs running from here to there…and back again. The electric blue camisole she wore, although not skin tight, held close to every voluptuous curve and the thin straps lightly caressed the bronzed skin of her shoulders. The plunging neckline was accentuated by a gold broad-link necklace inset with stones the same blue as her camisole.
Dean realized the way the shirt clung to her figure that he probably didn't need to work too hard to imagine what the landscape was like underneath it, but it was work he would gladly do. Boy, would he be glad to do it!
Sam had been absently staring out the diner's window, but when he heard the abrupt sounds of his older brother choking, he turned quickly toward Dean, and with panic edging into his voice, he blurted out, "Dean! Are you ok!" Before Dean could respond, Sam was out of the booth and desperately trying to position himself to perform the Heimlich. After facing down all manner of "nasties" together, supernatural or otherwise, Sam sure as hell wasn't going to lose his brother to an errant piece of steak.
"Dean!"
Dean was still unable to tear his eyes away from the crimson-haired beauty that was perched on the swiveling stool at the diner's counter.
"Huh? Wha-…I…uh…yeah…yeah, I'm alright. Just a little too much pepper, I guess."
Dean had hoped the excuse didn't sound as lame to Sam as it did to his own ears.
Sam relaxed, allowing a sigh to escape, and returned quickly to his seat, turning his head to follow Dean's gaze.
"God, Dean! I thought you were dying on me. But I suppose you'd have been able to eat right if you had actually been thinking with your upstairs brain, for once," Sam complained. "I swear if you don't knock this shit off, Dean, I'm gonna choke you myself."
The older hunter finally broke away from the site of the woman seated at the counter and returned his gaze to his little brother.
"Sammy, you said we needed a little down-time, right?" he reminded his sibling. "Why don't we do just that? You can curl up at the motel with one of your 'Oprah books'…" and motioning with his head towards the awe-inspiring red-head, Dean finished with, "and I can see if that little country girl over there would like to save a horse and…"
"Don't...," Sam interrupted. "Don't even finish that statement. It's just wrong…on so many levels."
Dean copped one of his patented innocent choirboy looks and said, "I was only going to say ride in my classic car. Really. Honest."
Sam's sarcastic, "Uh huh" was where they both allowed the conversation to end.