Work Text:
FIC TITLE: Halloween at Harvelle’s
Author- PTBvisiongrrl
Part- 1/1—absolute one shot.
Date- 8/9/16
Rating – T/M; nothing explicit, but implied; language (I like the F-bomb)
Pairings/Characters- Sam/Dean brother bond; Sam/Jo Harvelle; Dean/Ellen Harvelle
Word Count- 2,424
Genre- Family, Romance
Warnings- Spoilers- none, really.
Disclaimers- Unfortunately, I don’t own any of these characters, and make absolutely no profit from taking them out to play…so please don’t sue me. If I did own them, there would be a lot more shirtless Winchesters and Angels of the Lord getting some on the show!
Summary- Hunter Halloween party at Harvelle’s.
Hunters hate Halloween. It’s a given fact. Even most MONSTERS hate Halloween, because it is so far from its roots.
So why the fuck was Ellen Harvelle allowing a Halloween party at the Roadhouse?
And why was Sam getting a text about it from Jo?
“Hey, Dean?” Sam looked up from his phone.
Dean paused in shoving the bacon cheese-burger into his mouth and spoke around the food. “What? That a job?”
Sam met Dean’s eyes and simply held the phone for Dean to see it. Dean finished chewing and swallowed before speaking. “What the hell? A Halloween party? Does Ellen know about this?”
Sam shrugged. “You know as much as I do. But I just can’t see her as the Halloween party type, y’know?”
Dean agreed, slurping back his coke and popping the last of his fries into his mouth. “So ask Jo about it. She texted you.”
Raising an eyebrow and taking the phone back to compose a text, Sam added, “Seriously. Why me?”
“Guess she finally got over that little crush on me,” Dean smirked, leaning back in seat to get to his wallet, “and set her sights a little lower.”
Frowning, Sam spit out, “Jerk,” while texting.
“Let’s go, bitch,” Dean answered, throwing down enough for the bill and a generous tip. Normally he’d wait for the check, just to see if the waitress—who was built, and friendly—left her number on it, but he was more intrigued with this Halloween party issue.
As they exited the diner, Dean shooting his usual smoldering smile at the waitress, Sam’s phone chimed with a text. He read as he walked, Dean not slowing his pace to the Impala. “Jo said it was Ellen’s idea, sort of a ‘Fuck you’ to all the monsters we hunters have taken out, that they’re gone and we are all still here killing them. Sort of a weird Hunter’s reverse Thanksgiving? Jo’s words, not mine,” Sam quickly defended himself from Dean’s expected comments.
Instead, Sam was left with his jaw hanging open, because Dean said, “Okay. Let’s go.”
“Seriously?” Sam asked, his eyebrows now disappeared into his shaggy hair.
Dean slid into the driver’s seat and turned over Baby. “Yeah. It’d be nice to see Jo and Ellen without a supernatural reason for a change. We finished the job, nothing else is on the schedule yet, right?”
“Nah, nothing. Haven’t found a new case yet,” Sam answered. “But Halloween? Really?”
“Just ‘cause Dad never let you have fun on it doesn’t change that it’s a holiday,” Dean shrugged. “’sides, I’ve had some serious fun at Halloween costume parties. Brings out the inner slut in the nice girls for a change.” Dean chuckled lowly. “If Jo’s there, she’s gotta bring some girlfriends over for it, right?”
“So you really want to dress up for it, too?” Sam was incredulous. Dean would do a lot to get laid, but this seemed like a lot of effort for only the possibility of getting laid.
Dean laughed. “Not really. But if it means I get to see Jo dressed up? I’ll throw something together. I mean, we dress up as Feds at least once a week.”
Sam shook his head and settled into the passenger seat, texting Jo back. “Okay. I’ll tell her we’ll be there.”
S&D/S&D/S&D/S&D/S&D
Dean slicked his short hair back again in the Impala’s review mirror, and adjusted the cuffs on his jeans. A pack of smokes were rolled up in the short exposed sleeve of his T-shirt, a red jacket (last minute addition from the local Good Will) over his shoulder, and Dean was good to go.
Sam was less comfortable in his “costume,” even though he spent a great deal of time in it. He adjusted his tie and shrugged his suit jacket on as he got out. “C’mon, Rebel Without a Cause,” he called over his shoulder as he started towards the Roadhouse.
“Wait up, Mulder!” Dean directed, climbing out himself and following Sam.
Both men were surprised when the Roadhouse door was locked. “What the fuck?” Dean swore. Sam just gave him Bitchface #3 and knocked. Loudly.
They both heard the turning of the lock, and the door wedged open just enough to make out Ash’s, “Closed for Business. Whadda ya want?” Once Ash realized who was there, the door swung wipe open and Sam found himself in a huge hug. “Winchesters! Roadhouse is always open for you. C’mon and join the party!”
Dean followed Sam, studying Ash. The scrawny, retro man actually had full sleeves on—something Dean didn’t think he’d ever seen. Of course, the sleeves were on a Members Only jacket straight out of the vintage clothing section, along with white high top sneakers and a roll of duct tape around his skinny wrist like a bracelet. “What the hell are you supposed to be?” Dean laughed.
Sam turned around, and in unison with Ash, answer, “MacGyver!”
“Oh, geek shit. Got it,” Dean shrugged, turning already to look for Jo. Instead he found a plump ass and tightly cinched waist in red, white, and blue, gold rope dangling on a hip and thigh high red stiletto boots bent over to wipe a table. “Nice,” he comments, looking his fill. “Hey, Jo, your momma know you’re dressed up like that?”
Dean lost his ability to speak when Ellen turned around and tossed her long dark wig over her shoulder. “I’m flattered, Jimmy Dean. Go back to the five and dime now, why don’t you?”
Eyes dark and confused, Dean looked to Sam for help. Sam just laughed at him and made his way over to Ellen, pulling her into a hug. “How are you, Ellen?”
Ellen looked directly at Dean. “Apparently I’m doing mighty fine, if the young stallion over there thought I was Jo.”
Dean laughed at himself, even though he felt the blush creeping across his freckles and up to his ears. “I’d say so, Diana,” he said, coming over to hug Ellen himself. And he did not, no matter what Sam might have said later, use his six feet towering over Ellen to sneak a peek down her corset top.
Nothing got past Ellen, though, and Dean was sure she could tell. He made his way quickly over to the bar, and sat down. Covering his embarrassment, Dean asked, “A Halloween party? Really, Ellen?”
Ellen sidled up next to him at the bar and called for Jo from the back. “Better than being out there messing with stupid people thinking tonight’s the night to fuck with the supernatural. I got the place locked up, so no people, and warded out the ass, so no surprise visitors. Thought it might be nice to see everyone without an impending apocalypse.”
Jo came barreling out the kitchen door, long tattered skirt trailing behind her, to bee-line for Sam with a hug. “And Jo wanted to play dress-up.”
Frowning at her mother over her shoulder, JoBeth was pale, pancake white; even her hair was gray and pulled up into a bun. Dean recognized the outfit, once Jo pushed the little half-glasses hanging off her neck by a chain onto her nose and saw some card catalog cards attached all over the skirt. “Nice, Jo. Ghostbusters librarian.”
Jo smiled at Dean warmly, pressed a kiss to his cheek with a “Hi!,” and then turned her attention back to Sam, leading him to a table in the corner with a couple younger hunters (two female) already seated. Dean rapped his knuckles on the bar smartly, saying “Okay,” and turning his attention back to Ellen. “Shots?” he asked, smiling wider when she reached behind the bar for two glasses and a bottle.
S&D/S&D/S&D/S&D/S&D
The party went on far past midnight. About 20 hunters and family had stopped in and out, and the 2 AM closing time left about five people still there, including Dean and a passed-out-on-the-pool-table Ash. Sam and Jo had disappeared with the younger crowd a couple hours earlier, with Ellen’s permission, much to Dean’s surprise. He wasn’t sure where they were headed—tipping cows, or shooting things, or some such, he was sure—but he didn’t question. Sam was his brother, not his kid.
Ellen had played hostess, but somehow kept ending up next to Dean’s bar stool. Dean didn’t feel the need to move himself, except to piss. Jo had clearly staked a claim, and Dean wasn’t seeing any pretty young things that hit his buttons enough for him to bother flirting. Ellen carried on a decent conversation with him, between drinks and interruptions. And, well, dressed up like Wonder Woman. With those boots.
God, he loved those boots.
Finally, though, Ellen announced it was time to close up shop. “Give me a hand?” Ellen asked as she locked the door behind the last visitor.
“Sure,” Dean agreed. It was only fair, considering he’d drank a hell of a lot of her alcohol tonight. Grabbing a bleach bucket and rag, careful to keep it off his clothes, Dean started wiping down table tops (he’d closed enough bars himself to guess at the usual closing routine.) Ellen preceded him, gathering empty glasses and crumpled napkins and depositing them into the kitchen.
By the time Ellen returned from the kitchen with a mop and bucket, wig abandoned, Dean had already flipped chairs up on half the tables. This time, Ellen followed behind him, mopping carefully so as to clean the floor but not drench it. Dean had a shot of hunter’s helper for her and himself ready on the bar by the time she was finished, and he chivalrously took the heavy bucket from her to empty it.
Ellen’s shot was empty (he heard the thunk against the bar while he was out of the room) and refilled by the time Dean was back. Smiling at Ellen, they both threw the burning liquid back at the same time. Capping the whiskey and leaving the shot glasses, Ellen considered Dean.
Dean felt like a bug trapped under glass. Something was going on here, and he felt like he was two steps behind—or a mile, when Ellen finally spoke. “Are we going to have sex tonight or what?
Dean covered his shock pretty well, he thought, until he stuttered, “Sure?” like some teenage virgin.
Licking her lips, leaning against the bar on one elbow so that her breasts were front and center, Ellen asked throatily, “So why didn’t you just ask me? Am I too old for you, baby boy?”
Dean wished for another shot, because—he was out of his element. “Hell, no! You are still HOT!”
A short lull of silence while Ellen made Dean nervous with her golden stare, and then Ellen broke it when Dean would not. “Is it cause of your daddy and me?”
“I, uh, didn’t know about that,” Dean managed to force out and tried very hard not think about it, “but thanks for those images.”
“Then why the hell are we dancing this jig all night,” Ellen stepped up to press against Dean’s broad chest, “and you never spoke up? Aren’t you the playboy brother?”
Dean doesn’t have much of an answer. He was disconcerted for several reasons, aside from this being Ellen, who generally scared the bejesus out of him. Dean’s usual hookups were different—not hunters—and they approached him, or did with an obvious look from him. He saved himself from saying the wrong thing by smiling smally and shrugging.
Laughter, full and throaty, poured out of Ellen. “This is precious. Oh, you’ve never had to work to get laid have you?”
Dean looked more uncomfortable. “Didn’t say that, just, different dynamics here.”
“Well, I’m no college coed or dumb small town waitress. You don’t have to play me, and I know who and what you are--thought I’d made that plain. No offense if you aren’t interested.” Ellen gave him a moment to digest.
Dean took a deep breath, eyelashes fluttering as he exhaled, getting ready to jump in feet first. It’s not like Dean hadn’t been thinking along these lines tonight himself—once he acknowledged to himself that Jo was not interested, and unlikely to become interested again. So Dean met her eyes, which were crinkled and laughing at him and entirely too wise—but the words get caught in his throat.
Ellen shrugged, but her poker face held. “Too drunk, huh?”
“No,” he answered vehemently. “This is just a little new for me.”
“You are hardly a blushin’ virgin, darling’.” Ellen smiled. “Thank God.”
Rubbing a hand nervously against the back of his neck, Dean tried to explain. He really, really wanted to do this—that outfit had gotten to him, and hadn’t loosened its hold on his libido—but, “I know you a lot better than my usual hook-ups.”
Ellen pushed off the bar. “Well, since you’re a hunter and rooming here, yeah, you can’t sneak away and never see me again.”
“Well, yeah, that’s uh—“ Dean tried to finish the thought, but Ellen interrupted him.
“New,” she chuckled.
“Yeah,” Dean agreed.
For the first time ever, Dean saw uncertainty flicker across Ellen’s face. “So it’s not just that I’m old enough to be your momma?”
“Fuck, no. Seriously, that’s not it,” Dean tried again to explain, not wanting Ellen to have that look again. “You are pretty hot, but what if-“
Leaning in to whisper in Dean’s ear, having confirmation that he wanted her, Ellen whispered, “It’s just sex, Dean. You gotta think about it this much, maybe it’s just not worth it.” She let the weight of the words settle on him.
“Actually…” Dean took Ellen’s hand and pulled her toward the stairs.
“Yeah, stud?” Ellen asked cockily, two steps above Dean on the creaky wooden staircase so that she was level to him.
Dean smirked. The seductive voice and sparkling green eyes, the pink full lips, all in play. “Thinking about it is sorta why I’m having trouble talking about it. You are very distracting.”
Ellen’s matching smirk was wiped off her face by Dean’s lips against hers, gently at first and then harsher and more forceful. Ellen was breathing hard by the time Dean backed up. Turning Ellen around, and giving her a bit of a shove to get started up, Dean smacked her ass soundly. “You are leaving those boots on, right?”
Ellen’s happy laughter echoed off the walls, almost cancelling out the words that made Dean speedily follow her and stop thinking beyond tonight. “Lasso of truth, too?”
“Hell, yes,” Dean agreed.