Work Text:
“Fuck!”
The word rang out repeatedly as the beat-up jetta started to sputter and spit and Dean was forced to steer it off the highway and onto what looked like the beginning of some poor rancher's driveway. Wisps of smoke were already rising up from under the hood of the car by the time he got it to a stop. Dean wouldn’t even have to raise up the hood to know that something was fucked. Not that he'd know much else other than that if he did.
Cars weren't his thing, had never been his thing, and would likely continue to never be his thing. Seth was the car guy, surprising enough. And Seth had warned him that he needed to get the car checked months ago and Dean had just put it off, figuring he could make it just one more mile.
Now here he was, stranded in the middle of bumfuck nowhere in rural Texas. His phone was dead. He’d forgotten that he’d let Roman borrow his car charger. There was no other traffic on the road. He hadn’t even seen another car on this stretch of road and the likelihood that one would just happen along and be generous enough to give him a ride was probably statistically low.
Hell the only hint of civilization was the ranch at the far end of the lane he was parked on. Speaking of, his eyes squinted, there seemed to be movement at the ranch. Something red was rolling out of what looked like a barn and was slowly making its way towards the lane.
Hopefully the rancher was one of those overly nice ones and not one that was going to go throwing out threats of him trespassing on private property. Dean really hoped it was the former as he popped open the door and climbed out.
By the time the tractor chugged its way up the lane, Dean had gotten the hood up and was making some attempt to at least pretend to know what the hell he was looking at under the hood. He looked up when the rumble of the tractor abruptly stopped and - holy fucking shit!
Dean stared in disbelief, eyes taking in the large set of shoulders covered in a plaid cut off shifted and muscular sun tanned and tattoo covered arms rippling as Brock fucking Lesnar climbed out down off the tractor. His mouth hung open, gaping like a fish out of water.
“Brock?!”
At the sound of his bewildered voice, Brock’s eyes found his and realization dawned on the larger man’s face. Dean was even more shocked when a friendly smile stretched across Brock’s face as he reached up to tip the brim of the black cowboy hat that sat on top of his head.
“Well howdy there Deano!”
“What the fuck?” Was hissed out in a low breath as Dean’s brain seized in shock, both at the sight of the Beast dressed like… this and the overly welcoming atmosphere that surrounded him. He was staring, couldn’t stop.
The smile became a lazy smirk and he felt himself tensing automatically when Brock leaned toward him slowly. “You know if you keep your mouth open like that, you’re liable to swallow a fly.”
Brock’s words, playful and teasing, broke Dean out of his bewildered stupor. He blinked before he snapped his mouth shut and glared. Bristling. Defensive.
Brock chuckled, the sound low and pleased. Dean tried to ignore the heat that shot through him at the sound. He was not, under any circumstances, affected in any way by Brock Lesnar.
He was lying to himself, just as he had all those years ago, but Dean had gotten exceptionally better at it. He startled just slightly when Brock stepped even closer to him, close enough to brush against his shoulder. Sucking in a quick breath, Dean attempted to steady himself, hoping that his hands weren’t twitching, clenched them just in case.
If Brock noticed any of it, he didn’t acknowledge it, instead he seemed focused as he bent down under the hood of the jetta. Dean stood there watching uselessly while Brock eyed a couple of things, listening as the larger man let out a thoughtful hum that turned into a noise of affirmation. Blue eyes tracked every movement when Brock straightened back up, made sure they were on Brock’s face when he half turned to look down at him.
“Top radiator hose is busted.” Brock said, pointing down toward the black rubber hose sprouting from the top of the covered radiator.
Curiously, Dean leaned forward. Sure enough, there was a large split in the hose and green droplets of antifreeze were still dripping down it. He frowned.
Well wasn’t his luck just great. He huffed out in frustration. “Fucking perfect.”
He grumbled under his breath, shifting on his feet and unintentionally brushing more against Brock’s shoulder. He paused, noting that Brock was still standing right beside him and hadn’t yet moved. So Dean tipped his head up finding the larger man staring down at him, his sharp gaze intense under the brim of that cowboy hat. The embers of his arousal sparked.
“The damage doesn’t look all that bad,” Brock nodded his head toward the jetta though his gaze didn’t leave Dean. He did step back though and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, a relaxed look that Dean had never seen with the other before. “Where you headed?”
“Got a show in Northern Texas the day after tomorrow.” Dean answered, waving his hand in a vague up northerly direction “Couple hours drive left when this piece o’ shit started sputtering and smoking.”
“Alright,” Brock mused, reaching up to lower the hood. The soft sand mixed gravel crunched under his work boots as he stepped to the back of the tractor and started pulling a chain from where it had been rigged to stay on. He brought the chain over, extending one end of it toward Dean. “Here, hook it up under the front of the car while I back the tractor up.”
“Going to pull me into town?” Dean joked half heartedly as he took the chain and dropped down to a knee to look for somewhere to hook it.
“I was actually going to take you up to my barn so I could patch it.” Brock stated, causing Dean to look up at him in surprise. A quiet “Why?” falling from his lips before he could stop it.
He half hoped Brock hadn’t heard him but he had no such luck.
Brock heard him, snorted before retorting with, “Easier to patch it if it’s up where the tools are. Nice to see you haven’t changed one bit Ambrose.” That easy smile was back.
It was throwing Dean for a loop, this whole situation. Brock smiling so freely. Brock offering to help him just like that? Now that he was thinking of it, there was something noticeably different about Brock. There was something akin to some sort of softness to him now that Dean doesn’t remember being there years back when they’d had their thing. The other man didn’t seem like he had a stick up his ass anymore, was more laid back and at ease. It almost made Dean jealous.
Dean glared at Brock’s retreating back when he turned away to haul himself up into the seat of the tractor.
It takes roughly twenty minutes once they got everything hooked up and Brock double checking that nothing would come loose, to pull the car up the long ass lane and up to a rough looking barn. It wasn’t much, sort of run down and rugged. Weathered, Dean supposed the term would be for it. It wasn’t the red and shiny thing that appeared in movies.
Silence stretched between the two of them as Dean unhooked the chain from the front of the car and watched Brock re-secure it to the back of the tractor, looping it between two bolts. Then, at Brock’s directions, the two of them then pushed the car further into the opened barn door, close to where a dark blue, rusted tool box was sitting next to a few metal work tables with all kinds of junk piled on top of them.
Dean eyed everything while Brock pushed the hood back up and started to retrieve the tools he would need. Then Brock got to work and it wasn’t long before Dean was fidgeting. He had never much liked the silence, still didn’t. He didn’t - couldn’t - let it stretch on much longer before he found himself breaking it.
“So… a ranch huh?” He muttered, leaning a hip against a rusted metal table crossing his arms. He smirked when Brock flashed him a quick glance, “Just didn’t figure you for the type. What happened to that mansion you had up North?”
Brock huffed, amused, before he was answering, “I still have it. Bought this place a few years back. Wanted somewhere I could get away from all that.”
Dean raised a brow at that piece of information. He let out a low whistle, “Get away? I imagine Heyman near about had an aneurysm when you told him that.”
A snort and the sound of tools clinking together. Something being moved aside, then, “Heyman isn’t my advocate anymore.”
Dean’s brows shot up, eyes widening in surprise. “Fuck really? Damn I’m surprised, seeing how far up your ass he was.”
Brock laughed, not a bad sound - low and scratchy - before he tipped his head back from where he’d refocused under the hood. Amusement danced in his gaze. “Well he found a new ass to crawl up. Quite frankly, I’m surprised you aren’t gloating considering his new client is your boy Reigns.”
Dean’s smirk fell and he ducked his head, averting his eyes. “Oh.” He muttered. This was news to him.
He hadn’t spoken to Roman in almost the same length of time since he’d last seen Brock. Everything that happened, Roman being given the push above all else. The distance between the two of them grew with Dean refusing to reach out to close it and eventually Roman quit trying to. Dean had no clue what his once brother and best friend had gotten up to. From the information just provided, apparently he had been quite successful. Dean ignores the twist in his gut at that.
“You didn’t know?” Brock’s question pulled his attention. The man was looking at him, a growing look in his eyes like he could see something that Dean was projecting - hell he probably could because Dean was still shit as hiding his emotions.
Dean shook his head, fought the urge to grow defensive. “Had no idea. I haven’t talked to Roman in a long time.” Years.
Brock hummed before he was teasing. “Finally listened to Wyatt about the brute eh?”
Oh fuck him. Dean couldn’t help but flinch just the slightest at the mention of Bray. Yet another sore spot that Brock was unaware of and just inadvertently jabbed. Dean hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Bray or any of the family in over two years now. There’d been no communication. Bray had grown distant after Luke’s sudden death and Dean had known he was grieving, had given him the space to do so because he knew how hard Bray’d been hit with the news. All of them had, even Dean. Then, one day not too long after, Bray just up and left.
Dean had been hurt, stung, and felt abandoned even with her voice whispering in his ear that their paths would cross once more as it was their destiny, blah blah blah, but Dean hadn’t seen or heard from any of them since. And Dean had been just hurt and bitter enough that he hadn’t gone looking for them. He still felt her presence from time to time, especially on nights when his sleep was restless and he found himself upright with the covers clutched tightly in his fists, so he knew it wasn’t all done and over. But he couldn’t help but think it probably was.
“‘M not with Bray.” He revealed quietly when he realized that he’d been silent too long and Brock was now looking at him with a hint of concern. He rolled his shoulder and gazed off to the side. “Haven’t been for a while… not since Luke…”
“Ah” Brock said, understanding flashing through his eyes, and Dean just nodded, hoping the other man would drop it.
Luckily Brock did and another silence blanketed them. Dean didn’t try to break it this time.
Eventually he turned his gaze back to where Brock was bent under the hood and simply watched his muscles move as he worked. It may have just been because he hadn’t seen the other man in so long but Brock somehow looked bigger than he did before. Dean decided that the sleeveless plaid vest and the obvious tan had something to do with it. Maybe the rugged, unkempt look with the beard helped as well. Perhaps it was the cowboy hat, making the other look like some mix between a cowboy and a lumberjack.
He certainly wasn’t going to argue against the fact that the man seemed more lax and less like he had a stick up his ass. He definitely smiled more. It was a good look and it was doing something to Dean, igniting the ember of his attraction and slowly stoking it into a small flame. While he was ogling, he failed to notice Brock glance at him. Failed to notice the smirk the larger man gave before he turned back around.
“Ambrose,” Dean startled at the sound of his own name, a small “Huh?” fell from his lips. “If you’re done looking at my ass, grab that can of rubber plaster sitting on top of the toolbox and bring it here.”
Blushing furiously, Dean did as instructed. He grabbed the can and walked back over to the jetta and where Brock was waiting. “I wasn’t staring at your ass,” Dean tossed the can, Brock catching it easily in a big hand.
“Sure.” Brock chuckled, not looking up as he screwed the lid off and dipped two fingers inside.
“What is that?” Dean changed the subject, curiously watched Brock hold up the split hose that he had taken off.
“Rubber plaster. It’ll harden and solidify once it dries and should hold until you get it to the shop. I would recommend getting it fixed before you try any long term road trips.” Brock explained as he painted the hose in the plaster, covering the split in a generous coating.
“How long does it take to solidify?” Dean muttered, glancing out the door of the dark. It was later afternoon by the extended shadows he could see. He had wanted to be booked into his motel before nightfall.
“Overnight will give the best results.” Brock said, screwing the cap back onto the can.
Dean looked shocked as Brock turned away from the jetta, heading over to the toolbox. He had the can of plaster and the radiator hose in hand. “Wait, what do you mean overnight?” Dean demanded, “I can’t stay overnight!”
Brock turned back to look at him, a playful smile on his face that made Dean’s stomach clench not unpleasantly. Or it was going to happen because Brock’s tone held a finality to it as he picked up an old grease rag and start cleaning his hand of any residual plaster
“Well tough luck Ambrose. I’m not going to let you leave here so you can break down a couple miles up the road. Besides,” the rag was dropped and slowly Brock stalked his way over to where Dean was still leaning. He stopped just in front of the dirty blond, leaned right in his space like he had every right to be there.
Dean felt his throat go dry as he tipped his head up, meeting Brock’s intense gaze. He kept himself still even as the larger man dipped his head a few inches to put them at eye level. Refusing to back down or even giving Brock the satisfaction of seeing him uncomfortable.
“We still need to discuss payment.”
“Payment?” Dean echoed, outraged.
Brock cocked a brow at him, grin turning insufferable, “I still don’t do shit for free Ambrose.”
A spew of curses left Dean and his eyes narrowed with a nasty glare. His outrage sputtered out when Brock barked out another laugh. It was a nice sound, like smoke and whiskey.
“Come on Ambrose,” Brock said, reaching out to thump Dean’s shoulder before he stepped back and started for the door of the barn. He jerked his head for Dean to follow. “It’s getting late, I’ll treat you to a drink and we’ll discuss payment.”
There was that little voice - that sounded oddly like her - that told him that this was probably a bad idea. Dean probably knew it but this time felt so different and the man before him acted so different. So, just like he had done all those years ago, Dean pushed that voice to the back of his mind and ignored it. He followed Brock out of the barn and across the yard to where a small ranch cabin stood.
The cabin, much like the barn, had a weathered look on the outside but was completely modernized on the inside. An entryway bled into a living room with an open kitchen extending to the left. On the right there was a doorway that led to a hallway and another room beyond. The bedroom, most likely singular, and the bath, Dean mused silently, as he followed Brock further in.
“Take a seat,” Brock waved a hand toward the living room as he stepped into the small kitchenette.
Dean took a seat on the couch, more of a loveseat. It was one of the two pieces of sitting furniture in the space, the other being a reclining chair that looked well used. There was a coffee table sat in the space between the recliner and the loveseat. A large tv hanging the expanse of the wall opposite of the furniture. Few pictures on the wall. Simple. Nothing fancy about it.
A series of clinks sounded before Brock was joining him. He sat in the reclining chair with a deep sigh and in his hands were two glasses and a bottle of expensive wine. It was a brand that Dean remembered being one of Brock’s favorites and on that he himself also hadn’t minded either. He watched Brock set the two empty glasses on the small coffee table before pulling the cork from the wine and pouring it. He accepted the glass with a mutter of thanks.
He takes a tentative sip of his wine, watching Brock out the corner of his eye. The larger man was leant back in the recliner and was drinking from his own glass. He was relaxed, more than Dean had ever remembered the man being. Not for the first time since he’s been in Brock’s presence Dean finds himself surprised at just how different the man is from before.
His staring has apparently not gone unnoticed.
“You stare a lot more than you used to,” Brock commented before throwing back the rest of his wine and setting the now empty glass on the side table. He’s smirking when he levels Dean with an even stare, “Also more docile than the feral lunatic I remember.”
“Fuck off,” Dean bites, baring his teeth just for show. He quickly averts his gaze, downs the glass held tightly in his hand. He lifts it, throwing it back like Brock had. He slammed the glass down when he was finished just because he could.
Brock just chuckled, looking absolutely unbothered by the action. He shook his head, reaching a hand up to scratch through his beard. Dean’s eyes followed the movement before he realized what he was doing and quickly averted his gaze.
“So… payment,” He blurted out with a small cough. He reminded himself why he was here right now and not on his way to the motel room he’d yet to find. “I’m assuming ya want money. Don’t have any on me at the moment. Was going to find an ATM as soon as I hit town to get enough for a motel. I can get it for you, call my bank in the morning. So how much I owe you?” At his question, he forced his eyes back to Brock.
The other man was looking at him with something in his eyes that Dean couldn’t quite name. Silence stretches as Brock seems to think it over - probably trying to figure out how much his time was worth, Dean thinks. Brock eventually shifts, sitting up more. It looked like he’d come to his price. Dean braced himself but he wasn’t expecting what came out of Brock’s mouth.
“I don’t want money Ambrose. I want a kiss.”
A kiss? Dean started to laugh, doubling over where he sat. His arms came around his own stomach as he let loose at the jest. Because it had to be right? Brock had just done it to be an asshole. He wasn’t serious. Couldn’t be.
Dean laughed until he was having to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes and when he did, he looked over to Brock, expecting to see the other man wearing a smug look. His mirth quickly sobered when Brock still wore a serious, albeit slightly more concerned now, expression.
He’d not been joking.
“Why the fuck do you want a kiss?” Dean asked outright in his bewilderment.
“Why not?” Brock countered with a small shrug of his shoulder, leaning back.
Dean’s shoulder twitched and his hands were white knuckled where they were balled on the top of his thighs. He found himself nervous and he tried to stomp that feeling out, unsuccessfully. It wasn’t like this was going to be his and Brock’s first kiss. It would, however, be Dean’s first kiss in quite some time.
“Dean.”
Dean startled at the sound of his name. Brock’s expression was deeply concerned now. Dean realized that more than he wanted must’ve been showing on his face. He shook his head, schooling himself. It could be worse, he thought to himself, best to get it over with now.
He pushed himself up and stepped closer to Brock. “A kiss. That’s all you want right?” He questioned.
“That’s it,” Brock answered, letting his legs fall open to give Dean room to shuffle closer.
Dean suppressed a shudder when Brock’s hands settled on his hips, helping to steady him. His own hands settled on Brock’s shoulders, fingers just slightly curling in the plaid vest. From this position, Dean towered over Brock just by a couple inches.
He stared down, watching as Brock tilted his head up. His eyes were soft, open.
God Dean wanted.
And he would have it, it was right here literally at his fingertips.
The distance closed between them and they came together. Those large warm palms slowly spread up and around until an arm was wrapped around his waist and fingers were tangled in his hair.
Dean moaned, melting into Brock as they made out.
He ended up sitting in Brock’s lap, arms wrapped around Brock’s neck. When they broke apart, both heaving desperately for breath. Brock brought their foreheads together and Dean let him.
He closed his eyes and just sank into the moment and its comforting presence. Gods how he had missed this, didn’t know how much he had.
It almost made him not want to leave.
And as if Brock was reading his mind, the larger man rumbles, voice warm and deep, “After your show, come back here and spend some time with me.”
It was a request and Dean found himself nodding before the words were fully out.
He’d get with Tony. He’d take some time off. He’d let himself have this.