Title: Car Wash
Rating: PG - Gen
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Dean doesn't like competition.
"Soooo, ya like fast cars?"
It was an art really.
The smile and form that he had gotten from about a lifetime of running away at full speed from potential death aside, he knew there was much more to it than that. Grins and pointed looks were like book covers. It only got a guy through the initial first phase and a foot into the proverbial door. In fact, part of the art was knowing just who to try to sell your book to. Picking out the uninterested, well, that was the best way to lose before the game even started.
But this girl, this one had been looking over in their direction ever since she'd pulled into the space next to them and put her quarters into the machine.
She returned his smile. Not a completely even smile, some sheen of wax or gloss on her lips pulled into a coy smirk. It made his own smile really settle in as he turned to really work the rag on the front fender.
Jesus. It was like trying to chip away concrete off the chrome. He'd wanted to stop and wash the car two days ago after they went through some dust storm, then a state filled with muddy roads and then woke up one morning to see that a flock of birds had used the car like a public bathroom.
But the hour of driving through the hazy black clouds of the swarms of lovebugs on the Florida highway had been the last straw. The car was coated in so much insect carcass that a passerby would be hard pressed to guess the actual color of its paint job.
"You guys in town for break?" She asked.
Dean watched the gold skin of her back under the tank top she wore, charmed by the messy ponytail of her sun bleached hair and careless way the very top edge of elastic of her underwear showed over her shorts as she squatted down to clean her tires.
"Break?" It took him a moment to figure out what that meant. Oh yeah. Spring break. Party central down in Florida. "Oh yeah, sure are."
God damn it was sweltering out.
The sun felt like it was literally pounding him down into the asphalt under his feet. Dean's T-shirt was about soaked through with sweat and his stifling jeans felt heavy and horrible. He had never been cut out for extreme hot weather. Something about it just wore him out and made him tired. The feel of being perpetually damp was just gross.
"Where you guys go to school?" The powered high pressure hose nozzle in her hand leaked a trail of water down one of her bare thighs as she stood up.
Dean cleared his throat as he noticed the little soft blond hairs on the tanned skin of her arms. "Uh, um, Penn State."
"He on the football team?" The girl laughed a little, her gaze shifting over Dean's shoulder and onto his brother who was on the other side of the car.
"Him?" With another smile, he gestured back to his brother and combined it with a look for some kind of emphasis. "Nah, more of a chess club kinda guy."
Sam was deep into the work, distracted by the heat, the water and the messy nature of the job. When Dean turned back to look at her, he saw her gaze had not wavered from the man diligently scrubbing the opposite side car doors and oblivious to their conversation. He glanced back again to see why she was so interested in looking at someone streaked in axle grease, car wash foam and smeared in questionable bug and bird remains.
Dean felt his jaw clench.
Her machine cranked to a halt and she wiped her sweaty forehead with the back of her forearm. With a small forlorn bite at his lower lip he realized he could see the color of the straps of her bra under the water splattered pale pink fabric of her shirt. The little Neon she had driven in with was about as clean as it was going to get for two dollars in change. With one more hopeful glance over Dean's shoulder she gave him a friendly nod.
Part of the art was knowing when to give right on up before you made a gigantic idiot out of yourself.
"Yeah." He forced a smile back and swallowed. "See ya."
Loud tinny girl power rock blasted out her windows when she started the car, the compact vehicle quickly pulling out into the noon day traffic and zooming away towards whatever errand she had in store for it next.
Dean swore under his breath and banged the roof of the car with the palm of his hand.
"Why'd ya have to do that!"
Sam looked up at him wearily from the other side, his face slightly sunburned and looking like he was about to keel over from heat stroke at just about any moment.
"That!" Dean growled jerking a pointed finger at him.
Without another word, Sam went back to power blasting layers of dead crap off the car.
"Damn it." Dean mumbled as his denim clad knees met the scalding gritty pavement again.
He worked the soapy rag on the rims and flung a wet disgusting wad of smashed bug out behind him. Spotting some alarming rust he hadn't known was starting on the car's undercarriage, he wrung out the filthy dripping cloth in his hand and came to a few conclusions.
Sometimes the true art of the art was more complicated than it seemed. Sometimes you just had to make sure there were only the required players on the field. And if you couldn't control your competition?
Well, you just had to make sure that they kept their goddamn shirts on.