I was a taller girl too, once. (regala_electra) wrote,
I was a taller girl too, once.
regala_electra

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Fic: Swimming in Suwannee (SPN, Dean/OFC, NC-17)

Swimming in Suwannee
Author: Regala Electra
Fandom: SPN
Pairing: Dean/OFC
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sexual Content, Language
Summary: Dean's seventeen years old and finds himself falling for a swimmer who gives as good as he dishes out.
Word Count: 11,160
Author's Notes: Written for zelost_mind for the spn_summerlove challenge. Major thanks to my beta ignited for dealing with my usual madness. Much love to vinylroad for her wonderful words of support. Feedback is always appreciated.


*



It's only the second week at Suwannee High and Dean’s ready to bolt. “Go Bulldogs” is being chanted in the halls this morning, the sickening team spirit rah-rah-rah united we stand mob mentality that freaks him out. All the screaming and cheering’s fucking his head up even more because his hangover’s showing no signs of ending today.

But there’s no way he’s taking off, mostly ‘cause he’s toughed out crappier schools and Dad’ll have his hide if he starts blowing off classes now. The Dean Winchester reputation is best to start up around week three at the earliest. He’s gotta suck it up and head off to his first period class, English, where he knows he’ll be able to catch some sleep but today he’s got to do it on the fly.

Gotta play student but there’s no way he has to be an awake student. So long as he doesn’t get caught sleeping in the back of the class, there’s a shot of him getting to go out hunting with Dad.

There’s a hell of a hunt happening in the Suwannee River.

Dad and Caleb have been working on figuring out what’s taking out campers over the past few months. Rumors of some nasty gator dude chowing down have been circulating up as far as South Carolina, where Dad had gone after a nasty poltergeist that didn’t know when to quit.

Best thing about South Carolina in the summer—and there’s not much to praise—the sticky heat slows life down to a mind-numbingly boring crawl, was a girl who let Dean lick peach ice cream off her belly. She’d always spend the humid afternoon sipping spiked lemonade on the porch of her great aunt’s house. Took Dean around to the back of the yard where there was a hammock hidden between two thick trees and a promise of good times. A promise that was delivered repeatedly and Dean often left damn near wanting to whistle. But he didn’t. Well, at least not all the time.

But the summer doesn’t last forever, despite how fucking hot a Floridian September is and it’s Dean’s last year of school so he’s pulled back into the bullshit of this daily Monday through Friday grind. Working his way around the cliques.

Then there’s the crapshoot of getting laid. Sure, there might be chicks everywhere he can look—pretty girls who wanna fuck him but are worried about putting out too quick and girls who might give it up but they’ve got no fucking clue what to do with their bodies. That leaves him hot and bothered enough for him to skip out and find a woman who knows he’s good for a good lay and doesn’t expect anything more.

Oh, and somehow Dean needs to remember to do some homework so he doesn’t piss off his teachers enough that they do something stupid like call Dad.

Dean can’t freakin’ wait until he’s old enough that he doesn’t have to deal with this school bullshit. So that he can be there on the front line, working the angles and figuring out how to get rid of the creepy crawly terrorizing the RV crowd.

But because he’s seventeen, he’s not “old enough” to do that. Which is why he spent most of last night out because Dad wasn’t home and Sam was out cold. Sammy fell asleep at half past freakin’ nine, trying to catch up on all the reading he should have done over the summer since Dad enrolled them in school a week after the fall semester started. They’re both kind of fucking lost at the moment. Getting into the groove, where it’s sink or swim, and finding out how much they need to play at fitting in so no one gets too suspicious.

Not like Dean cares about being behind in class. The moment he slides into the back row, he knows he’s going to skate the line as far as it’ll take him because reading books ain’t exactly what’ll save his ass from getting killed when he’s out hunting.

He’s sitting in a neat corner pocket of the classroom where it’s real easy to avoid detection from his English teacher who has a weird ass believer fetish. Lots of Follow Your Dreams! motivation crap is pasted all over the room, bubbly words and cheery colors that’s freaky as hell and looks worse with the pounding hangover scrambling up his brain.

Avoiding his teacher by not flunking out is probably Dean's best bet or she’ll start hassling him about wasted potential and that’s a conversation Dean refuses to ever deal with.

He’s got his head propped up against the nice cool wall, curling his shoulder forward to make it look like he’s got a nasty crick in his neck that’s killing him. Hey, headache, neck ache, it’s all a bitch, and worse when time does the bitchass thing of slowing the fuck down when he’d love to breeze right past. Playing it off like he’s suffering totally makes it look like he ain’t leaning up against the wall because he’s thinking about dozing off right then and there. Even though that’s exactly what’s running through his mind.

There’s a flash of sun-bleached blondish hair in his field of vision, swish of a ponytail before the hair’s let loose, snapping noise of an elastic band. He blinks and takes in the sight in front of him: bare shoulders, sunburn starting to turn into a tan. Thin spaghetti straps, one of them slipping down her arm. She isn’t wearing a bra.

Hey, looking’s always for free, and Dean’s never seen her before so he has to take a nice long look. Has to size her up; never know she might be a succubus or something, though they’ve never run into one yet. One day they will and Dean knows he’s gonna need to be prepared. Sam sure as hell won’t be the vulnerable one with the way he nearly runs screaming away from girls. ‘Cause no, being thirteen and awkward ain’t an excuse.

Dean noticed girls when he was eleven for fuck’s sake.

Dean would've noticed this chick if this was her usual spot so she must sit somewhere higher up in the front rows, land of the nerds. Usually a sad sack quasi-Goth takes the seat in front of Dean, probably writing angsty poetry or some shit, ‘cause the kid sure as fuck doesn’t seem to pay any attention to whatever the hell the teacher rambles on about.

Nah, he’s got a real teacher’s pet in front of him. Once the teacher walks in a couple of minutes later, the girl grabs a paperback out of her bag. It’s all dog-eared and beaten half to death. It looks like it got dropped in water too, way the pages curl and crackle.

Her fingernails are trimmed really fucking short and there’s a nasty bruise purpling on the back of her left hand. She inclines and angles her head a little like she’s trying to sneak a peek at him but doesn’t want him to know. Dean grins at that but she doesn’t seem to notice, stiffening her back and cracking the book open.

Last book Dean bothered to read for English was Johnny Tremaine. All he needed to hear was that the kid got himself a silver hand and he was sold.

“Okay everyone, I’m so happy you were so enthusiastic in our discussions about the summer reading,” the teacher says, beaming so widely that Dean has no fucking clue if she’s being sarcastic. She’s fiddling with the name plate she has on her desk, Mrs. Braun. Next to that is—fuck—a stack of papers.

There are faint groans in the classroom, and none of them coming from Dean, so at least some of ‘em are also blindsided.

“Please pass these to the person sitting behind you,” she trills, her voice distinctly missing that Southern accent Dean didn’t realized he missed until he left South Carolina and everyone started speaking so much quicker and clearer. What he’d give for a little dirty sweet talk whispered slow and thick, time sliding by syrupy and rich.

The girl in front of him twists from the waist to pass the last quiz to Dean, little scowl on her face when Dean doesn’t instantly grab it from her, making her drop the paper on his desk. Unlike Dean, she’s not faking whatever’s going on with her body, fingers rubbing her left bicep. Huh. Must work out a hell of lot, but hey, it looks good on her.

She doesn’t have huge tits but they’re perky enough so that she doesn’t need a bra. Sucks that there’s no air-conditioning, only a crappy fan, since he’d love to see just how perky she’d look under the right circumstances.

“Okay everyone, you have twenty minutes for this quiz before you put your pencils, and pens,” Mrs. Braun says, nearly giggling as though she’s making some sorta joke, “down. “Good luck!”

Maybe this English teacher’s actually evil.

This is shaping up to be an awesome day. He’s still nursing a nasty headache and there’s an actual pop quiz on his desk. He should be writing down something real thoughtful only he didn’t do the damn summer reading so the only inspiration he’s going to get is from his neighbors.

Specifically anyone hunched over who doesn’t have the same glazed look on his face ‘cause they also spend the night hustling people at pool.

Mystery Blonde, it is. Damn, she’s alert as fuck, thoughtfully taking her time answering questions, tilting her head back and forth like she’s got a bad crick in her neck and can’t get the sweet pop of relief. But what makes this awesome is that she’s a lefty and keeps her quiz tilted to the edge of the desk, right where he can see it.

She’s got neat handwriting too, damn near perfect block-print, no messy script to worry about deciphering. The kind of handwriting that’s begging to be copied and Dean really needs to keep his head above water in this damn class for the time being.

Damn, Dean cannot wait until he’s out of school.

When time’s called, Dean think he’s done a good enough job of copying without it looking obvious and five minutes after the teacher goes around the class, picking up the quizzes, he’s dozing off, last thing he hears a kid muttering, “Hey Clemmy, what the hell was up with question four?”

Heh, Dean’s damn sure he rocked a solid B since he skipped that damn question since Blonde Girl wrote a damn essay in response.


*



Dean’s headache breaks around third period, which is science, a class where he got stuck in since he was enrolled so late in the semester. He has no idea what’s going on in that class but the projector screen means it’s dark in the classroom so he gets some decent sleep before his next period, gym.

He does some running around track, cackles when he passes by one of those track bitches who probably have never run on cement in steel-toed boots. The kid looks amazed as fuck that Dean, New Kid, as he knows they’re calling him, blows past them.

Awesomely, right after gym, there’s lunch. He’s standing in line with two plates of food, not ‘cause he’s starving but since he had nothing but some coffee this morning, a whole lotta food is looking like a good idea. He’s got a plate piled high with hot French fries, and today is hamburger and hot dog day so he’s buying two burgers, ‘cause they’re small enough that two put together is almost as large as a Big Mac.

Once he devours his feast of meat and fried food, he’s got an hour to blow. Because somebody up there likes him, he’s got a study hall period right after lunch which means he can duck out and find out if Dad’s gotten those police reports he was trying to wrangle out of the bumblefuck PD in this town.

As he forks over cash to the lunch lady—he swears they must all be bred to do this job, way they all look nearly identical, right down to the permanent frown—he hears a girl loudly curse when the cafeteria worker says that they’re out of burgers for now and if she’d just wait—

“No,” the girl says, impatient, “Couple of hot dogs are fine. I’m starving.”

Most chicks are plenty weird about eating but it’s not interesting enough to make Dean turn his head and see who the fuck is freaking over the lack of ready-made burgers.

There’s one wonky table that looks like it’s always about to collapse that everyone avoids and Dean loves it ‘cause that means no one’ll fucking bother him.

He sets his tray down and turns a chair around, sitting on his chair backwards, propping the back of the chair to keep the table from wobbling. Dean dives into the fries first, hot and greasy in the best way, ketchup just sweet enough to make the salty taste good enough that he damn near groans.

As he’s licking ketchup off his fingers, Blonde Girl from his English class makes a beeline towards his table. Damn near looks scary, intense look on her face, hair pulled back from her face in a high ponytail. The tray she’s carrying, piled high with enough food for two, fries and hot dogs and a bag of chips, one of those fruit cups, like who the hell is she kidding, only she’s got a pretty fucking sweet body, nothing hidden under that blue tied-dyed sundress.

Well, there’s something hidden, lots of naked skin, which Dean would love to dwell on only he has to prepare to get himself bitched out. Only she doesn’t, she just rolls her eyes and grabs a seat, sitting across from him.

“So you figured out how to keep the table from falling apart,” she says, and then, as if she’s not changing the subject, she adds, “You cheated off me today.”

“Now why’d I do something like that? Maybe you’re just so hot I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

Dean knows how to push. How to flirt with a woman until he’s sure he’s going to have exactly what he wants—sex or close enough to it that it’s almost like (but in no way as awesome as) sex. He’s also damn good at pushing too hard if he needs to and in this case, he needs to. Doesn’t want some do-gooder reporting him as cheater and getting into trouble. Too soon. So he keeps pushing.

“Got a thing for blondes,” he says, biting into his burger, chewing loudly and openly. “Natural dirty blondes.”

Her face is frozen a moment too long like at first she’s so fucking pissed she doesn’t know whether to chuck her drink at him or throw a punch but when the moment passes, she breaks out in honest (and loud laughter), clutching her side. “Oh my God, you are that guy. Sleazy James Dean, that’s what people call you, you know.”

“James Dean, huh?” It’s not as awful as a nickname as he’s earned before. And since she doesn’t look pissed, actually she’s cracking open her bag of sour cream and onion chips as she tries to stop giggling, he pushes forward, “I’m Dean. You?”

“Beth. Clemons. And I know your name, you’re the New Kid,” she says, forcing capitalization on the first two letters of the words New and Kid. “Hey New Kid. You cheated off me and got the last two cooked burgers in the batch.”

“So?”

She’s holding up a hot dog. “Wanna trade?”

“Hell no,” he says but she must have siblings or something cause she uses some kind of ninja move and has his burger over in her no-man’s land of junk food wonders on her tray before he knows it.

“Good,” Beth says, taking an enormous bite of her burger that she probably doesn’t realize how much of a fucking turn-on that is. Damn, she can fit a lot in her mouth. When she’s done chewing and swallowing, she’s opening up her can of Coke with a loud pop, taking a damn near lady-like sip. “I’m behind on my calorie intake.”

“Yeah, well, I’m behind too.”

“What, are you planning on showing up Brad at his meet after school?” Dean’s stolen burger is now just a memory as she tackles the fruit cup, putting aside really sad looking grapes. “You’re already a legend for blowing past our best runner. You keep it up and Mr. McHale might ask you to join track. How are you at hurdles?”

Oh shit. Toned arms and a rocking body and all that food. Fuck, he’s got a jock trying to suss out if they’ve got a new member to their cult. “Awesome. Like if someone throws a hot girl at me, I know when to say thanks but I don’t do sports.”

Beth rolls her eyes. “Of course. You’re Mr. Rebel Without a Cause. Look, I’m not recruiting you, Danny Zuko. I’m getting my fair share. You cheated off me I take your burger, okay? Don’t do it again. Since you’re new, you don’t know this, but at Suwannee, if you get caught cheating, I’ll get in trouble too. Which means I have to sit out a meet and that is not happening.”

“That sounds like a threat, sweetheart.”

“More like an offer.” Beth leans in, which is awesome since her dress slides down a little and she’s got a bit of cleavage, though not too much. It’s still a damn nice view. Unfortunately he lingers a little too long. “Oh my God. Eyes up.”

He does and he hasn’t spent a lot of time up close to a woman that he hasn’t been trying to get into her pants. Or dress, as the case might be. She’s pretty in a high school pretty way, baby fat still on her cheeks. Blunt nose with a faint spray of freckles hidden under the red tinge of her tan. Eyes could be blue or grey, he has no clue, they’re just kind of light and she has dark eyelashes and brownish blonde eyebrows.

She’s been talking for a bit when she suddenly stops and says, “Wow how did you manage to cheat off me? You have the attention span of a gnat.”

“Well you weren’t insulting me then. I tend to concentrate better when I’m not being yanked around.”

Her mouth twists a little oddly and Dean realizes she took that in a totally dirty way. Beth might be kind of fun and Dean never thought he’d think that about a jock since they’re so rah-rah about whatever-the-fuck they’re doing.

“Look, I’m not gonna be here forever,” Dean says and he’s never realized what a relief it is to say that. “My dad travels.”

Beth nods. “I’m a Navy brat. At least, I used to be until my parents split,” she adds with a shrug and a half-hearted pause like she’s expecting Dean to say something. He doesn’t and it almost seems to cheer her up, like most people find divorce something to be real damn sad over.

“Look, you don’t have to worry about me fucking up your chances at jumping over shit or whatever you do.”

She’s cutting up her hot dogs like a freak, dragging them through ketchup, when he says this so it doesn’t register until she’s done getting them slathered red. Beth purses her lips when she’s trying not to laugh, she’d be a shit poker player, what she has all these obvious tells in her face when she’s not rocking the frozen bitchface. “I’m not into track,” she says with heavy disgust. “I’m a swimmer.”

Dean doesn’t see much of a difference, it’s all high school sports bullshit, but he decides not to tell her that.

“So what I was saying before is that I could help you study for Mrs. Braun’s class. She hasn’t changed her quizzes in the five years she’s been here.”

“Yeah? And how do you know that?”

“Because I’m that good,” Beth says, stealing one of Dean’s fries. “Or from my older cousin. Take your pick. But I like the seat in front of you because I don’t have to worry about getting called on if I need to take a nap—”

“Wait a minute. Why the hell would you need to sleep?”

“I train every morning. After school and as many evenings as I can fit in. That’s hours of training. I get tired.”

“Yeah, well I think the teacher’ll notice if we start up a sleeping club in her class. You snore?”

“Don’t worry about me. I need to study same as you and Mrs. Braun never picks on people who hold steady B’s. Call it a gift.”

“I don’t do gifts,” Dean says. “Especially with no strings.”

Beth wipes her hands clean with paper napkins, studying the bruise on her hand. “There are strings. I expect you have a car, right? And don’t mind breaking into school property during off hours?”

“Now these kind of questions? I like where this is going.”

“Great,” Beth says. She takes out a pen and scribbles on a piece of loose-leaf paper. “That’s my address. See you at ten tomorrow night.”


*



Next day in class, that Goth kid tries to take back his desk but Dean stares him down and Goth kid wisely sulks off to another seat.

Beth doesn’t thank him or even look at him until she pulls out her notebook and the new paperback they’re reading. Even then, it’s just a quick look and perfectly blank.

It throws Dean off enough that he doesn’t even notice when Mrs. Braun hands him back his quiz and there’s a fucking smiley face on it until after class ends. Honestly. A smiley face.

What the hell did he do to deserve that?


*



Technically the Impala isn’t Dean’s yet and Dad’s always free to take it over but he’s got a SUV to roll around the camp grounds for now. Happy hunting season that it is, an SUV fits in better than the ’67 Chevy.

After Dean feeds Sam and teases him about the A+ he brought home (and hid in his backpack), he makes sure Sam’s all set for bed and heads out. It’s a little after ten but it’s not like he’s running that late, so he’s kind of surprised that he sees Beth waiting outside her house. It's a decent house, screened porch a little battered looking but that could be damage left over from a hurricane.

She’s got on a pair of faded grey sweatpants and a zip-up jacket on, duffel bag next to her. She doesn’t wait for him to come to a full stop before she heads towards him, opening the car door and smoothly sliding in.

“You’re late, New Kid.”

“Got a brother. Can’t let him go to bed if he doesn’t eat his lima beans.”

Actually he and Dean killed off a gallon of ice cream, which Sam bitched about since he prefers cookie dough and all they had was Neapolitan ice cream, but whatever. Nothing chases down steak better than beer and if there’s no beer, then ice cream can do the trick just as well. Especially if you eat enough to get a sugar rush going although Dean’s already burning through the high.

“Yeah you look like a big health freak,” she says, voice so even-measured it takes Dean a moment to realize she’s fucking with him. “You don’t swim, right?”

“Not wearing clothes,” he answers, grinning wickedly.

“If you spend as many hours in the pool as I do, you’d know how not sexy that is.”

“So is that what we’re doing? Breaking in so you can get some extra hours swimming? What, you don’t have a pool or something?”

“I have a meet tomorrow,” Beth not-answers.

“Um, good for you?”

“I need to not think about the meet. So I’m going to get you into the pool.”

Dean knows it hurts his baby to slam on his brakes but it’s a necessary evil. “Hold up. I know how to swim. Trust me. It’s not that fucking hard.”

“Good,” Beth says. “So you think you can beat me? I won’t put everything I have into it. I have to save something for tomorrow but there’s nothing like competing against someone who hates losing.”

“You’re kinda out there, Bethy.”

“Oh God, go with my nickname Clemmy if you’re going to be like that. How hard is it to say Beth?”

“I figure since you love calling me all kinds of things, I’ll stick to Beth if you call me Dean.”

“Deal,” she says like they’ve moved on and she’s going to get Dean into the pool.

Which ain’t happening.

“Look, can’t you get some guy who wants to see you naked or something to do this?”

She’s awful at pretending to be wounded. “You don’t want to see me naked?”

It throws him off, how she’s holding onto the zipper of her jacket, and yeah sure he wants to see her naked but it’s not like he’s going to jump through fucking hoops just to get a peek.

“Uh—”

“Wait, don’t answer that. It’s not like a bathing suit hides that much. And most guys freak out if a girl’s stronger than them and I do not date jocks.”

“So you planning on seducing me by trying to out-swim me?”

“You want to make a bet?”

“What kind of bet?”

“My cousin graduated with a 4.0 and she never throws away anything. There’s a box of her old quizzes and tests and I might have access to them. Now if you wanted to really be prepared for a surprise quiz from Mrs. Braun, I could really hook you up. So. If you beat me, I’ll hand over the box and let you skate by doing the broody James Dean thing.”

“And if you win?”

“We do it all over again.”

Dean considers it. “That sounds kinda naughty.”

“One rule. You do not try to feel me up.”

“Scout’s honor,” Dean says, raising his hand in an attempt at the salute.

“Yeah you look like a Boy Scout. I hear they’re adding leather jackets to the uniform.”

“You’ll give me all the quizzes and shit?”

“Girl Scout’s honor,” she says, pulling her hair into a bun. “And I used to be a Girl Scout.”

“’Course you did.” He eases off the brake and continues driving.

She’s rustling through her bag, pushing aside a thin white towel before she pulls out a pair of swim trunks. At least they aren’t fucking Speedos.

“I’m decent at picking a lock if you want to change in the boy’s locker room.”

“Sweetheart, you think I can’t pick a lock?”

“Ooh, the rebel rep gets even more dangerous. How fast can you hotwire a car?”

“We can change the bet right now. I’ll even give you a five second start. First car you see, you try to open it up and get it running. Then you give me a crack at it.”

“If I was competing in the grand theft auto meet tomorrow, I would but I think I’ll pass.”

“Damn shame.”

Dammit. They’re at the school. No going back now. The pool’s outdoors and there aren’t any lights on but that doesn’t seem to bother Beth as she hauls out a couple of flashlights out of her duffel.

“Is that how we’re gonna see where we’re going?”

“There are lights we could turn on,” she says. “But someone might notice. Besides real swimming? You have to rely on your other senses.”

“That so?”

“Dean,” Beth says, sweet as anything, “unless you have some more flashlights, stop complaining.”

“I got some in the trunk.”

“Fine then. “You can get changed out here if you want and I’ll get in, start warming up.”

“Man, you’re gonna kick my ass, aren’t you?”

She shrugs. “You never know. Maybe you’ve been hustling me and used to be a champion swimmer.”

He catches the swim trunks when she tosses them to him.

“Don’t take forever, okay? I do have a curfew.”

Dean has to resist asking her what her parents think of her coming home dripping wet. He almost bites down on his tongue.


*



“It wasn’t that bad. I mean, you did a good lap at the end. If I belly-flopped when diving into the pool, I’d be shocked too.”

“You really suck at making me feel better.”

“I might be rubbing it in a little,” Beth admits. “I smoked your ass.”

Dean scowls for the rest of the drive back to Beth’s house and Beth seems to take that as her cue to clam up, turning on the radio to keep the silence from making it completely uncomfortable. It’s not that Dean was awful in the pool—he was but that’s not the point—it’s that she’s that good. She even let him call the start and offered a quick rundown of different strokes and she still killed. Hell she had enough time to shout out advice on how he could pick up steam.

He’d love to claim that he had a full stomach so of course he sucked ass but no, he just sucked ass on a fundamental level. It’s not like he doesn’t know how to swim but to do the swimming she does, it’s something else entirely. Something waking up inside of him that he puts to other areas, the drive to hunt, maybe, the competitive spirit she must’ve spotted in him and it’s hungry for more.

Even though he knows she’ll kick his ass all over again, he wants to try again.

Man, he is so messed up in the head.

He turns the car off in the ignition, trying to figure out how he can tell her some of that and make it sound not-weird but before he even gets out a word, she slides over the bench seat towards him. Her skin smells of chlorine and maybe a little sweat and her hair is damp and sticks to her cheeks. She pecks the side of his face with a quick and very careful kiss. Like it’s practice.

Beth doesn’t give him a moment to bring her closer to him, to turn it into a real kiss. She’s out of the car with a half-wave and a slightly embarrassed smile.


*



Apparently Beth does extremely well at her meet, what with the way she’s strutting around the hallways, talking to the people Dean figures must be her regular friends, getting a lot of pats on her back.

He sure as hell isn’t a friend although she continues to sit at his lunch table, where they try to disgust each other with the amount of food they’ll eat in one sitting. She almost seems amazed that anyone’s thought of making cheesy nacho hot dogs by mashing up Nacho Cheese Doritos and sprinkling it over hot dogs.

“So what? It’s delicious. It’s all about the crunch,” Dean says, punctuating that with a big noisy bite. “Come here and have a taste of heaven.”

Wrinkling her nose at Dean’s offer, Beth points at her own creation, smashed Snickers stuck between Oreo cookies. “I’m on my dessert course now.”

Stealing one of her Snicker-Oreos, Dean says, “Who says you can’t mix it all together?”

She looks down as though contemplating Dean’s wise wisdom so the kick to his shin is a surprise. It’s not a hard kick by any means and he’s seen her swim, she probably could kick like a donkey if she wanted to.

“You telling me not to steal your cookies?”

“I’m telling you not to violate my cookies with your unholy hot dog.” The sentence is more than halfway out of her mouth before she realizes there’s a wrong way to take it if you’re twisted enough. And Dean so is, that she starts laughing and hell, Dean figures if you can’t beat ‘em, may as well join ‘em.

“When’s your next meet?”

“Aww, look at you pretending to care. Your defeat at the hands of a girl will be next Thursday. And? Mrs. Braun plans on giving us a test on Friday, so we’ll need to study too. Bring some paper and this thing, it’s um, like a bunch of paper bound up between covers. They call it a book.”

“A book, huh?”

“Yeah, I know you were sleeping at the time, but I did pass back the latest book we’re reading. It might be your first time,” she says, pausing long enough that Dean finishes off his hot dog in the time it takes for her to start up again, “but I think you have to pop your book cherry. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

Choking by hot dog is not the way to go.


*



“Where are you going, Dean?”

“Where do you think I’m going at this hour, Sam? When a dude likes a chick and wants to see her naked but doesn’t want his brother cockblocking him, he’s gotta go out so that he can get laid.”

“Ew, Dean.”

“Jesus little bro, when the hell are you gonna understand how awesome chicks are?”


*



There is nothing sexy about Beth’s bathing suit.

Absolutely nothing. Only this is the third time they’ve done this pre-meet race, and once again Dean’s left panting for breath and Beth is riding off adrenaline. She swims over towards him and patting him on the chest. Tells him he’s getting so much better, especially now that he’s picking up on all the different strokes and getting used to the lingo.

Her bathing suit is a boring one piece that covers enough to make it damn near modest. The swim cap she wears shows that her ears stick out a little and it makes her look so cutesy and girly it’s kind of ridiculous. He does not want to have sex with Beth any more than he wants to have sex with any relatively attractive woman. (In that yes of course he wants to have sex but he doesn’t have to have sex with them. It’s not a lost opportunity, is what he means.)

Dean does know that she shaves most of the body hair off of her the night before her meet and her skin is silky-smooth when he catches her arm and brings her closer.

“What are you doing?”

“I can pick you up, easy,” Dean murmurs, expecting her to push away. “If, you know, I wanted to dunk you.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh. You would not.”

“It’s a victory dunk,” Dean says, and she’s so close, not slippery at all when he wraps his arms around her. He’s not applying too much pressure—he’ll let her go if she pushes him. Then she does, pushing against him, her leg trying to wrap behind his knee to get him off balance and she slides against him and fuck. Popping a boner can be hidden in swim trunks but it’ll be real damn obvious if she feels it so he lets go, swimming away.

Only fucking Beth takes that as her cue to chase after him, catching him around the shoulders, trying to take him down. Stupidly, because Dean is a total freakin’ idiot, he rolls around, pulling her with him as they go. He feels her stomach rubbing against his, her hand grabbing at the waist of his swim trunks for some weird reason. Oh wait, she’s trying to make sure he comes up the same time she does. And then her thigh rubs up right between his legs.

When they surface, her face is flushed and she’s doing everything in her power not to look him in the eyes.

“Sorry, uh, we both got a little carried away.”

“Yeah. I better take you home now.”

“Dean…?” Beth’s pulling off her swim cap, slowly taking her hair out of the bun. He doesn’t say anything and she bravely pushes on, “Um, if you need a little time, I mean, I could always get changed, so it’s… you know. Cool.”

“It doesn’t mean that I—”

“No, no, I get it,” Beth cuts in. She’s making quick time to the ladder, hauling herself out of the pool. Looking down at him, dripping wet, motherfucker, not a helpful sight at all. “I’ll wait by the car.”

There is no fucking way Dean is jacking off in or by the pool or finding a bush to really up the creepy. He ignores his half-hard dick and pulls on his jeans, no boxers, and finishes getting dressed before he collects all the flashlights.

Beth’s wearing her sweatpants and flip-flops, her jacket halfway zipped up. And she’s holding her bathing suit.

Dean really hopes she keeps underwear in her duffel because thinking of Beth wearing nothing else under that is really going to fuck with him.

When he stops in front of her house this time, she gives him this sad look. “This is weird for you.”

“What?” Dean fakes a laugh. “You’re gonna have to narrow it down, since we break into school so you can kick my ass by out-swimming me.”

“You’ve never done this before, have you? I mean, I have guy friends. And I like you even though you’re gross and you always check out every girl within your radar and you keep on staring at my boobs when you think I’m not looking.”

“I’m not… I don’t always stare at your boobs,” Dean huffs. Then he decides fuck it, it’s time to push his luck. “You have a great ass, too.”

Beth stares at him, a little wide-eyed but there’s an obvious blush, even in the darkness Dean can see it easy. “Okay. So we’re not friends.”

“You want to define us?” Oh God, he is not playing fucking boyfriend.

He’ll make up an excuse, try to set the school on fire or something, something big enough that Dad’ll pull him out of school before he, Dean Fucking Winchester, plays high school boyfriend and yes, this hard-on is fucking killing him and he needs to drive off so he can take care of it. Especially now that he knows Beth’s not wearing anything under her jacket—at the very least—and he has naked thoughts that he needs to dwell on so that he doesn’t die of blue balls.

Once he starts thinking about how she probably ain’t wearing panties, he’ll be totally fucked.

“Yeah, okay a definition,” Beth says and Dean had no idea that a panic attack felt like this. His whole body seizes up as Beth stares at the flickering light on her porch, deciding. “People who don’t have sex in the pool I swim in. That’s a good definition, right?”

He stares at her. “Seriously?”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“Um-ooph,” is his answer since Beth kind of dives in, kissing him fast. But she doesn’t back away quick enough and he keeps her there for a long while. They only break apart when he starts tugging down her zipper.

“Not in front of my house, Dean. I’ll… I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, parting her lips so he can suck on her bottom lip. She still has the faint taste of some kinda sweet balm in her mouth. “‘Course you will.”

She shuts the car door harder then expected, flashing an embarrassed grin. “See you, uh, later then.”

Jesus. Dean is so not going to last until he gets home. Better find someplace where he won’t get busted beating off between here and there.


*



“So there’s this cabin.”

“Is it a log cabin? Because according to my little brother, apparently Abraham Lincoln killed a grizzly bear in it. Or something, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Lunch with Beth has been kind of awkward, as awkward as it can be since Dean’s been whacking off a lot to the thought of Beth but doesn’t want to fuck things up and hasn’t made a damn move since she keeps walking around with her damn friends around. It would probably look weird if he pulled her aside and found some private area where they could fool around.

Only thing he’s been looking forward to and dreading is that since it’s Wednesday she probably has another damn meet tomorrow or on Friday.

This is the longest that Dean’s waited and it’s completely throwing him off his usual game.

“It’s a cabin made out of wood and it’s in the park by the river. I’d worry more about gators than grizzlies. We could go there on Friday.”

“Friday,” Dean echoes. “You swimming in the river? This your next big meet?”

“I love how you don’t follow at all what the swimming schedule is. It is posted, you know. On the big bulletin board. You can’t miss it. You must pass by because I know you don’t always skip gym. Anyway, I’m free this week.”

“To go swim in a river.”

“No. To go to a cabin. But I don’t have a car.”

“And I do.”

“Oh yeah,” Beth says, thoughtfully. “You do have a car. The Charger, right?”

“What? You know my baby’s an Impala. I don’t drive a Dodge.”

Beth giggles. “Relax, Dean. I’m not a gearhead but some of my friends are. I think a few of them have fantasies about your car. It’s kind of twisted.”

“I like twisted.” Dean also likes it if these are Beth’s female friends who have lusty thoughts about his car because while a dude can covet from afar, he really doesn’t want to know if some guy is fantasizing about his baby.

“I do too,” she says, ducking her head down, fingers making a grab for his fried chicken which he deftly stop by grabbing her wrist. “Careful, Dean.”

“I think you better be careful who you try stealing from.”

“No. You keep doing that and it looks like we’re holding hands.” She straightens up a little when he lets go. “You don’t want to screw up your reputation like that.”

Dean studies her, watching her once again picking the grapes out of her fruit cup. “What do people think about you and me?”

“No one says anything to my face,” she lies. She always scratches her earlobe when she’s lying. Has he told her to never play poker? Because he really should tell her. “None of my friends are in this lunch period and this is the only time we talk, so. I could just be scamming more food off you.”

“Okay,” Dean says, deciding to go back to the more interesting subject of the cabin. “So you know of a cabin.”

“A cabin that will definitely be empty this weekend. You pack provisions. I’ll bring more provisions.”

“You’re secretly some kind of evil mastermind, aren’t you?” As Dean says this, he casually rubs his ankle against her, ignoring a small inner voice telling him how lame it is to play footsie in a school cafeteria.

“Yeah. Clearly I’m evil. It’s why I hang out with you. Stop it.”

Dean focuses his attention on his fried chicken and stows away the fact that he is going to get so fucking laid in two days.


*



Beth’s provisions, besides many, many snacks and some clothes, includes a board game. Which forces Dean to deal with a subject he hasn’t dealt with since he was fifteen.

Holy shit, I’m gonna be fucking a virgin.

It’s not that he didn’t have obvious signs that Beth didn’t have much previous action. It’s that now with the fact that they’re in a cabin together, Dean putting a clean sheet over the slightly musty mattress in the cabin, stocked with some supplies but not bedding, it hits him that he is going to have to be real damn patient. Sure he’s kind of been patient before but that was circumstances cockblocking him.

Now he has to cockblock himself.

The universe, she is a harsh fucking bitch.

“So no swimming,” Beth says, taking a tentative seat on the bed, bouncing to test out the springs, Jesus Fucking Christ, kill him right now. “The water’s disgusting. We could do nature walks.”

“I don’t do nature walks.”

“Or we could fool around?”

It’s said like a question. Kill him. Kill him right now or let him skip to the future when she’s not a virgin. “Beth.”

“Yeah?”

“I need to kill the mood and ask you, um, if—” This is a bad question, a very, very bad question and he shouldn’t say it, no fucking way but he’s already this far into it, he can’t just pussy out, “This isn’t your first—”

“It’s not my first cabin,” Beth answers, softly, tugging Dean off-balance so he has to sit next to her. “I mean, I’ve never done it in a cabin before. If you were wondering.”

“Jesus Christ.” Dean breathes a sigh of relief, lying back on the mattress. “You brought a board game, Beth.”

“So? I like board games.”

“Unless it’s strip Monopoly, I’m not interested.”

Beth has ridiculous perfect posture when she sits so when she makes her move, settling herself to sit on top of Dean, it’s all smooth and perfect as though she was sitting on him the whole time. “Strip Monopoly could be arranged. If I brought Monopoly. I brought Clue.”

“Strip Clue?” Dean has his fingers along the waistband of Beth’s jeans, one of the rare times she’s wearing jeans and it has to be when she’s on top of him. Figures.

“Is that a clue for me to start stripping?”

“More a hint.”

Apparently the hint isn’t enough. She dives down for a kiss and Dean holds her back, has her squirming in his lap, trying to reach him.

“Dean,” she says, a very faint whine and she almost looks embarrassed for it.

“You’re an awesome swimmer,” Dean says, freeing a hand to run down her chest, stomach, unbuttoning the top button of her jeans. As he pulls down her zipper, he promises, “I’m really good at this. Trust me.”

“That’s, um, ooh,” Beth moans as he gets two fingers underneath the elastic of her panties, touching smooth skin and the faint edge of pubic hair, “okay yeah. Yes.”

“Yeah? You gonna let me eat you out?”

Beth’s eyes snap open and she holds Dean’s wrist, stilling him. “Jesus, Dean. Are you serious? You want to do that?”

This is the exact opposite of freaking out over the possibility of Beth being a virgin. He’s completely sure. Dean swallows hard before he says, “Want to? Hell yeah.”

She licks her lips and finally, nods as though it’s an insane idea but she’s way past caring. “How, how do you want me?”

See this kind of question is best posed to Dean. Not the shit teachers ask him on tests. How does he want her? Naked. Begging him not to stop. That’s in his top two, generally. He has some twisted additions but for now, he wants to see her open herself up for him lying back, watching him, and if she could tell him how it feels and guide him around? Yeah that would be awesome too.

“Clothes gotta go, Beth.”

It’s sort of mutually agreed to start stripping in front of each other—no board game required—and Dean finds out he’s so right about her perky tits, nipples hard and dusky pink dark. She’s got a beautiful body and Dean’s gotten to see most of it, long, strong muscles but he’s never seen her stomach, with the cute half innie-outie bellybutton and how she’s got a little birthmark above her ass. He does known that swimmers do wax or shave damn near everywhere, but there’s still some blondish brown hair over her cunt, which she tries to cover up, a hand dropping down.

Dean’s still wearing his boxers, not ‘cause he’s shy or something, more that he’d love to not embarrass himself and cream himself humping the bed or some shit and wearing boxers reminds him not to jack off when he’s eating someone out. Hell, he’s only being polite.

“You’re so fucking hot.”

He expects Beth to come back with something snappy, hell it’s normal only she bites her lip and look away before muttering, “Really naked right now.”

“And really hot.” He kisses her then, hungry and long, keeping her close by holding onto that sweet ass and not just because she has an amazing ass and he’s been wanting to grab a hold of it for a damn long time, no way. It’s a bonus, yeah, because Beth’s a damn nice kisser, a little hesitant but he push her and she’s so fucking competitive that she pushes back. By the time she’s trying to get her hand between them to touch his dick, that’s time he stops her, and says, “Beth. Bed. Now.”

He should think about speaking in sentences but fuck it. It’s direct enough that Beth gets what he wants.

“I feel like an idiot,” Beth says as she lies back, keeping her strong long legs together, feet pointed like she’s gonna dive off the bed.

Oh, so it’s gonna be a slow tease to get her to open up. Dean doesn’t mind it, not really, even though his cock would beg to differ. He’s leaking a little pre-come already, raring to go but he has to fucking wait. Shoves his hand in his boxers and grips the base, focuses on a part of Beth’s neck and fuck it, even that’s getting him hot, which is kinda messed up.

Crisis averted, he kneels next to her and holds her hand, brings it carefully to the center of her chest. “You can stop me. I might die and you’d be responsible for killing me. But you give me the word and I’ll stop. Got it?”

She nods and he ducks his head down, tongue barely skimming across her nipple. “Say it.”

“Yeah.”

“Stop?”

“No. I, oh God,” she says, fingers curving gently around the back of Dean’s head. “What… what do you want me to say?”

“Say ‘please.’” Dean watches her legs open up, slowly, right knee pulling up, thighs parting. “And whatever the fuck else you can think of. Gonna lick you first. You want that?”

He looks up at her, sees the answer on her face.

Please.”

He should go slow. Should drive her crazy first, bite and lick his way down and sure he does some of it. But it’s quick and only gets surprised gasps out of her as he pulls her left leg over his shoulder, mumbling that she needs to stay like that, that he’ll make it good. “So fucking good, God, you’re wet already, fucking warm, gonna lick you now.”

And he does and she shoves her pussy right in his face, trying to buck him off the bed but he’s got her left leg over his shoulder and there’s not a damn way he’s stopping now. He keeps her hot cunt open with his right hand, using two fingers as he eats her out, stalling on really playing with her clit, getting her used to it as she keeps wriggling around him.

Beth isn’t holding his head still. It’s like she’s got no idea what to do with her hands, clutching the sheet and sometimes grabbing at her hair like she’s trying not to be rude or some shit.

Fuck. That.

He leaves a sucking bruise on her inner thigh before he speaks, voice ragged. “Beth. You wanna tell me something?”

“I’m just. Fuck. I’m so close.”

“You want me to lick your clit?”

Dean loves naked Beth. When she trembles all over, she really trembles all over and there’s no need to study her obvious tells, this right here is the tell, so he says, “I’ll do it, Beth. But only if you tell me.”

“You,” she pants, a little unsteady as he angles his mouth a tongue-flick away from her clit, “are so evil.”

That’s not what he wants to hear so he starts working a finger inside of her, has to bury his face against her thigh to keep his moan from sounding so fucking needy. She clenches tight against him and he will not be able to hold out if she doesn’t let him get her off the way he’d like to.

He’s got two fingers inside of her and she’s rocking her hips before she says it, so quietly he misses it at first and then finally, she’s shoving him right where he’s wanted to go. He’s swirling his tongue just up and around before he really sucks her little clit in his mouth. When she comes, it’s fucking everything he’s wanted to feel right up close, the slick heat of her clenching around his fingers.

Since he’s known Beth, she’s always held herself a little stiffly when not in water and here she’s liquid still and fucking beautiful, gesturing for him to come up to her, crooking her long blunt-nailed fingers in invitation.

Dean sucks her nipples in his mouth before kissing her, partly ‘cause he barely took the time to do so before and also since some chicks get weird about tasting themselves. Hell some are weirded out that Dean doesn’t mind kissing after he gets a blowjob.

But when he does kiss her, after a curious little hum in the back of her throat, as though she’s appreciating the different way Dean tastes now, she seems to be cool about it.

Dean has no idea how long they’ve been making out. He’s been trying to be real good about how much he needs to get off when Beth says as he’s probably (most definitely) giving her a hickey, “Um, condoms?”

In theory, condoms are awesome. They suck if you’re going to fucking turn into a pathetic jerk who can’t hold it off long enough to put on the damn condom. Dean known he’s pretty close to that line.

“Hey, this cabin is locked up for the weekend, right?”

Post-orgasm, Beth is awesome. She gives him this dreamy look and bites her bottom lip all sexily like she has no idea how fucking hot that is. “Yeah. You haven’t let me. Touch you,” she finishes, lamely.

“You are free to touch me. A lot.”

And that is how to spin it. No whining or begging about a blowjob. Nope, make it seem like it’s her idea and it looks good not to last too long when getting sucked off.

Beth has no interest in getting his boxers off all the way. Pulling them low enough to get his dick out and balls, she nods, which almost wants Dean to ask what the fuck she’s nodding about. But stopping her at any point is not gonna happen, not when he’s leaking at the tip like this and it’s been too, too fucking long. He fucking beat off before he got here and he’s hard as fuck so any distraction is not happening on his end.

At least she strokes him like she’s done it before although she hesitates just a little before her tongue flicks out over the head but she gets real confident, almost gets the head in her mouth the first time before she backs off.

“Oh God, you gonna tease?”

“You have to say something, Dean,” she says, evil glint in her eyes as she leans over him, body lithe and ferocious and Dean wishes for the life of him he knew what the fuck she wanted him to say.

Then, lightning bolt, wish granted, whatever the fuck it is, he gets it.

Please.”

Twist of her wrist, cock halfway in mouth, and Dean’s fucking gone, shooting off with a mangled warning.

There’s some come dripping down her chin when he looks at her as she kneels over him. “Wow.”

Dean’s not so much with words right now so he nods in agreement.

“Why weren’t we doing this before?”

She nestles against him, warm and a little sweaty, not like he’s complaining. She’s wiping her mouth off with a napkin.

Mumbling something doesn’t seem to clear up the why.

Beth doesn’t seem to notice much as she breathlessly laughs. “Wow. Uh, again.”

Now that Dean’s gotten better with speaking he decides to answer her question. “Reason why we weren’t doing this before? ‘Cause I listened to your damn rule. Next time, you better set a ground rule that I get to feel you up all the time.”

“Okay. Fair’s fair. You can feel me up all the time.” Beth lies very still next to him, like she’s trying to listen to his heartbeat. Tapping idly on his chest, she says, “But no sex before meets.”

“Wait, remember how you set up a crazy rule and I followed it? You gonna do it again, Beth?”

She rolls on top of him, heat of her cunt dangerously close to his dick, sparking some interest. “Sex after. Lots of sex.”

“You’re using me.”

“Yes.”

Dean can’t even pretend to look wounded. Instead he raises an eyebrow. “I think I can work with that.”

“Good. Please tell me your jeans are close.”

“You aren’t gonna look as hot in them as I do.”

“Condoms. Remember?”

“Oh. Hell yeah.”


*



Beth likes to sleep sprawled out and has no issue with sprawling out on top of Dean, so he wakes up to her leg over his hips, her hand pining down his forearm like they’re engaging in wrestling match as she sleeps. The little birthmark on her ass almost looks like a long freckly rainbow, only as long as the width of two of Dean’s fingertips when he touches her skin.

When she wakes up, sleepy-eyed, face a little puffy and her lips pursed to hide her morning breath, Dean reaches out to the nightstand, where the remaining condom in the three-pack is left. He tears it open, his bleary morning thoughts jittering around his head.

One of these weird thoughts is it’s kind of fucking bizarre that he has longer nails than Beth and it’s easier for him to open it up with his fingers although Beth can rip the packet with her teeth pretty damn quick. It lead to him calling her Shark Teeth, a nickname that does not amuse her.

Dean guides her into a spooning position, whispering in her ear, “Morning breath,” and she nods, sighing happily when his fingers skim down to her pussy, where he’s already discovering how fucking responsive she is when he really takes the time to play with her clit. He waits until she’s really wet before he pushes in behind her but she’s so damn good at flexing that he’s able to get pretty deep without much effort.

He likes telling her how it feels. How if she does this then he’s not gonna be able to last ‘cause it gets her to up the ante and her endurance is fucking ridiculous.

Why the fuck do swimmers not advertise how fucking hot they are in the sack, because this is supposed to be slow and drowsy. He’s not even had a jolt of caffeine and he’s wired awake.

She forces him to pull out, begs him to and before he asks what the fuck, she climbs on top of him. Her hand is carefully gripping the base of him as she sinks down, muscles in her thighs tense until she’s seat just right, ass rubbing against his balls. The pace is all her and it is good.

He comes before she does, so he pulls out and works fingers inside of her, rubbing her clit until she’s crying out his name since oh fuck, yes, she is damn noisy.

They reek of sex.

Dean has absolutely no fucking complaints.

Beth lies down on him again, sticky and mumbles as an afterthought, “Good morning.”


*


The cabin isn’t tiny and there is a functioning bathroom. Dean might not be a hippie tree hugger but he does argue about water conservation. When that fails, he tells her he’s gotten used to be in the water with her and Beth finally relents. Showering together is awesome.

Sure they probably waste a lot more water than if they had showered separately but Dean sees no reason it wasn’t absolutely necessary to eat out Beth with the noise distortion guaranteed as the shower pounded water overhead.

He watches Beth do some working out which again reminds him how fucking stupid he was to wait all this time and almost gets tricked into going on a run with her. (The trick? A blowjob.) Instead he gets her to skip it with one of his very awesome tricks that involves what he calls sleight of hand.

“That is not sleight of hand,” she tells him but she’s panting when she says it, pulling his hand out of her panties.

They’re sitting on the porch and Dean tries not to think of another porch in Savannah and fails pretty miserably to the point where she asks him about it. He lies point-blank, feeling shitty about it but the damage is done.

She nods and goes back inside, changing out of her soaked panties. When she walks back onto the porch, she’s wearing a bikini and holding a white t-shirt.

“Come on.”

“Thought you can’t swim here.”

“We can wade. I like wading. I used to be scared of the ocean when I was really little so my mom made me wade in the water to get used to it.”

“You’re kidding me,” he says as he follows after her.

“Yeah. The water made my dad go away, so I guess it was irrational. That and my mom let me see Jaws when I was five.”

She’s a good guide, taking the quickest path to the river.

“I don’t remember when I saw Jaws. But when I did, I couldn’t wait to show it to my little brother.”

“What’s his name?” Beth stops quick and he nearly collides into her. “Any time you bring him up you don’t ever say his name.”

“Sam.”

“I have two brothers. One’s gonna be a Marine. They live with my dad and stepmom. Anthony and Greg.”

“You tell ‘em about me?” Dean grins. “I can hold my own.”

“Ah, but now I know your weaknesses.”

“Yeah? Well I know where you’re ticklish.” She might be quick in the water, but she’s wearing flip-flops. Advantage to Dean and yeah, totally takes it, even trudging in the water in his boots as he runs after her, Beth overcome with laughter.

That has to the moment where it ends. With Beth in his arms as he tries tickling her under her arms and she deadlocks her arms shut. The moment his cell phone rings, he knows what’s going to happen.

“I have to take this.”

“Yeah, okay,” Beth says, pushing back her hair, as she always seems to be doing when she doesn’t have it in a ponytail, like she’s more used to slicked back than not.

Turning his phone on, he says, “Yeah?”

“Dean,” Dad says and that’s all it takes for Dean to know. “We’ve tracked it. I need you here before nightfall.”

“I’ll be there.”

Dean turns around to the sight of Beth, sunlight hitting her in the right way, skin golden and her smile so wide and fucking perfect that he wishes he didn’t like her so damn much.

“Family emergency.”

“Oh. Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah. Will be, I guess. But we gotta cut this short. I’ll take you home.”

He considers doing a terrible thing, a goodbye fuck without letting her realize it. But he can’t do it, not when she hugs him tight and he realizes that she’s put on a little bit of perfume, musky and outdoorsy, just for him. One last kiss in the car then, halting and sweet, like he should have kissed her that first night when he’d stuck away with her.

“See you on Monday, Dean,” Beth says, lazy beautiful smile that one day will wind up killing some luckier bastard. “If you look under your seat, someone, maybe that girl you commit petty crimes with, might have left you Monday’s quiz with all the answers filled in.”

Dean doesn’t want some fucking joke to be the last thing he says to her, so all he says is, “You’re fucking amazing.”

Beth pushes a lock of hair of her face. Dean knows that tell. Embarrassment. “You’re not bad either.”


*



Sunday night and they’re packing up.

There’s been cattle dying mysteriously in Texas and it’s weird enough to get Dad’s interest, so they’re heading off there soon as they’re packed, which means by nightfall. Dad’s SUV got a hearty chunk bitten out by the nasty Swamp Thing so it’s been junked, meaning the Impala belongs to Dad again.

Whatever, if they’re hunting zombie cattle or whatever, Dad’ll need a monster truck, so it won’t be forever that Dean’s without a ride.

He should call her but in all this time, he’s never gotten her phone number. Never needed it and he isn’t gonna roll by her place to drop the news that he’s leaving. Hasn’t ever had to do that before.

It’s Sam who makes Dean do something.

They have to drive into town because Sam left a book on hauntings Dad had borrowed from Pastor Jim at his school, so it’s not much for Dean to pretend he left some protection charms in his locker.

Only he doesn’t go to his locker once he’s walking around the dark and empty halls of the school.

Beth’s locker is covered up in some Homecoming messages, people sticking congratulations all over. The slots in her locker aren’t blocked which is good, a place where someone can drop a message for Beth’s eyes only.

Dean leaves a note, with his cell phone number on it, in Beth’s locker and tries not to feel like the stupidest fucking coward in the world.

When they’re back on the road, Dad tells him that since he didn’t cause any trouble in this school, if he wants, Dean can go for his GED and start hunting full-time with him.

Dean says that’s an awesome idea.

By the time they’re in Texas, little stopover in Louisiana to knock off a nasty spirit that didn’t know when to say when, his cell phone gets destroyed and if anyone tried making a call to him, it’s been lost for good.

There’s a swimming pool at Sam’s new school and after hours, Dean takes him there to drill him on everything Dean picked up. He remembers how ecstatic Beth always looked in the water and calls out for Sam to keep up the pace, that he’s seen girls who can swim better than him.


end
Tags: dean/ofc, fic, spn fic
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