This scene was written for CrazyDutchGirl (better late than never!). It follows the scene at the apartment where Dean, Sam, and Jo are sitting at the table discussing how to proceed in their search for the spirit. Could be read as Dean/Jo, but there's nothing overt here
We gotta scan the whole building; everywhere we can get to, right? Jo looks down the table to Sam for confirmation, the one she thinks of as 'the less obnoxious Winchester'. Only it's Dean that replies.
Right. So. You and me, we'll take the top two floors, the older hunter informs her with a suspect smile, rising from his chair.
Not willing to give him more of a height advantage than he already has, Jo follows suit. We'd move faster if we split up, she points out, wondering why today of all days she can't shake the man.
Dean's smile doesn't flicker. Oh, this isn't negotiable.
Jo snorts. Like hell it isn't.
Dean stares at her for a moment, his green eyes narrowing slightly. Sam, can you get my EMF meter out of the car?
Sam frowns. Your EMF meter's up here, you just
Just go down and look for it.
Oooookay, Sam drawls, shoving back in his chair and snatching the keys from the table. If he shuts the apartment door a little harder than necessary, neither Jo nor Dean see fit to comment on it.
You can't stop me, Jo says quickly, before Dean can start in on her. If I want to search the floor on my own, I will.
You don't get how this works. Dean drops back into the dinette chair, his hand snaking out to catch her wrist. He tugs her toward him, and for a brief moment Jo thinks this might be it, might be the moment he drops that stupid wall he keeps up most the time, that he's finally going to do something about whatever this is between them. She's caught off-guard when she's toppled over his lap instead, pinned with annoying ease by one of those impossibly muscled arms. Not that she's noticed or anything.
Let me up, she snaps, her cheeks flaming in the cool air.
Nuh uh. Not until we get a few things straight, Dean tells her, pulling her a little more tightly against his stomach. Because, sure, a normal girl wouldn't be able to break free, but since when has Jo been normal? That punch to the nose she gave him some weeks back is still fresh in his mind, and there's no way he's taking any more shit from Sam about getting beat up by girls. He smacks Jo's jean-clad backside. Satisfied at the indignant shriek the blow elicits, he smiles to himself and smacks her again. Sam and I have seniority here, Dean says, beginning to spank her in earnest and drawing a particularly inventive threat from the petite blonde. That means you stay close, and follow our lead. We tell you to do something, you do it.
You're not the boss of me, Jo insists, squirming against his grip.
Dean's really not spanking her that hard - not anywhere near what his dad would have dished out for insubordination but he's guessing the censure stings in more ways than one. Not just me, sweetheart Sam and me. You follow orders, you'll be just fine. We do end up back here? Your green little ass gets tossed in the car and dumped at the roadhouse. You got that?
Jo bites back a furious retort. She can't go back to the roadhouse; not now. And there's no doubt in her mind the sexist jerk will do exactly as promised if she crosses him, and she'll be back under her mother's thumb by supper. Not going to happen. Fine, she hisses.
I'm sorry, I didn't hear that, Dean says, smirking as a growl emanates from the curtain of honey-colored hair.
I said, 'Fine'! Jo shouts. Ow! Two sharp slaps singe the backs of her thighs. Tears spring to her eyes, and she fiercely blinks them back. What is your problem?
I'm not helping you lie to your mom, either, he warns her. When the job's done, you call and tell her the truth.
Like you don't lie every day? Jo demands, then yelps as Dean starts to land swat after swat on her already burning behind. Okay - okay! she shouts again, wishing she'd never set down her knife. We'll do this your way. Happy now?
Closer, Dean admits, too cheerfully for her liking.
Dean gives the blonde a few more enthusiastic smacks and then rests his hand on the swell of her backside. At first all he notices is the heat radiating from beneath the worn denim, echoing the smarting warmth of his palm. But then he realizes his hand is actually cupping Jo's ass, and it's not an unpleasant sensation. His mouth is suddenly dry as he gazes down at his fingers splayed over her jean-covered curves, and he swallows; blinks.
Are you done? Jo grits, trying to regain a modicum of dignity in the ignominious position.
Huh. Apparently he hasn't spanked the attitude out of her. Then again, he'll take attitude over tears any day. We're done.
Then do you think you could take your hand off my ass? she asks acidly.
Dean grins briefly, moves the hand. He releases his grip on her waist and guides them both to their feet. He's not surprised when Jo glares at him from damp-lashed eyes, her hands unconsciously moving to her injured rear.
You're a brute.
It's probably meant to be a sneer, but the quaver in Jo's voice takes the venom out of it. She might as well have called him a big meanie. Dean shakes his head, reaches out to gently thumb a tear from her flushed cheek. He's still annoyed as hell, but there's something else there, too; something he can't put his finger on just yet. All the more reason for you to watch your step.
Jo huffs. With you?
He drops the hand to her neck, pulls her in close. With me, he jibes softly, watching her dark eyes go wide. He can feel her pulse jump beneath his touch, and her sudden unease wakes something predatory in him. He leans closer, close enough to feel her breath warm his lips, close enough to
There no damn EMF meter in the car, Sam growls, slamming his way back into the apartment. I looked everywhere.
Dean pulls back abruptly, and so does Jo. Fortunately, Sam is still too pissy to notice. Did I say the car? It's in my duffel, Dean says, walking over to retrieve the equipment. He pretends not to notice the twin glowers from both Jo and Sam as he switches the meter on and grins widely. Ready to move out?
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