((Contains adult situations.))
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With all the stresses of the past few days, it was a relief to be out of the house, even if it was just to take a short walk down the lane and back. Nim hadn't realised that she could go almost literally stir-crazy, shut up in a house with too many hunters and not enough jobs for them all to do to keep busy. Eventually, she'd just dropped a word to Ellen and slipped out the door, armed to the teeth as discreetly as possible, needing just a little head space away from B&E Salvage and their full house.
As for Dean, he was starting to get antsy, too much time on his hands with not enough to keep himself busy. He'd already field-stripped his weapons, cleaned the Impala inside out and from top to bottom, and was currently tickering with the engine, making sure she was in top running condition, which she always was in his care. The light blue t-shirt he was wearing was grease-stained and sweaty and there were grease-stains on his jeans and a smudge on his cheek. He had the stereo turned up and was singing along with the Allman Brothers' Ramblin' Man, as he tinkered happily away.
Returning from her brief but refreshing walk down the lane and back again, Nim was drawn like a magnet to the sound of the music, knowing that Dean was in his own little world. She envied him the ability to just switch the whole world off when he was working on his car, but she couldn't blame him for needing that time right now. The hours he'd spent sharing with their family and friends exactly what had been going on during that harrowing trip from Lawrence to Sioux Falls had been difficult for everyone, but most especially for him. She made her way through the salvage yard toward the Impala, taking up a lean on the dusty hood of a clapped-out Camero to watch Dean as he worked, not wanting to disturb him.
He wasn't aware she was there right away, the music too loud and his own singing just a little off key, but hey, he was enjoying himself, so it was all good. Leaning over the engine, beneath the raised hood of the car, he was using a wrench to adjust something or other, pausing a moment to belt out the chorus. "Lord, I was born a ramblin' man, tryin' to make a livin' and doin' the best I can. When it's time for leavin', I hope you'll understand. I was born a ramblin' man."
Nim didn't mind that he wasn't immediately aware of her, smiling at the way he was so prepared to sing along with the radio and yet had folded in on himself when she so much as suggested he might want to sing along with the guitar when she played. And, of course, the view he presented bent over the engine like that was not to be sniffed at. Never let it be said that Nimue Morgan didn't enjoy what life presented her, especially when it was Dean's rear end in tight denim.
The wrench suddenly became a microphone as Dean continued to give the song his own twist, like a big kid, imagining himself on stage and singing to a live audience, unaware he already had one. "I'm on my way to New Orleans this mornin', leavin' out of Nashville, Tennessee. They're always having a good time down on the bayou, Lord, them Delta women..." He trailed off, Greg Allman taking over the lyrics as Dean turned to fetch a spark plug, dropping the wrench on the ground when he realized he wasn't alone. "Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed, clearly startled. "How long you been there?"
Tucking her thumbs into the pockets of her jeans as she leaned comfortably against the forgotten Camero, Nim's grin widened at her lover's startled reaction to seeing her there. "Hey, don't stop on my account," she teased him fondly. "You sing your heart out there, Barbara." Of course she wasn't going to tell him how long she'd been there; that would take the fun out of his embarrassment.
"Barbara?" he echoed. "Do I sound like a girl to you?" He assumed she meant Streisand, since he couldn't think of any other famous singer named Barbara. He bent over to snatch the fallen wrench off the ground, before circling around and leaning inside the car to turn the volume on the radio down. "You come out here to keep me company or make fun of my singing?" he asked, wondering if she wanted a few lessons in how to change the oil. He didn't mean to sound cranky; it was just his sunny personality.
She didn't take offence, expecting him to be on edge like the rest of them. "I've been out for about an hour," she told him, her voice quiet as she glanced up at the sunny sky. "There's nothing lurking on the lane, I can promise you that. And it wasn't for lack of looking, either." She was itching for some kind of action, eyeing up the rusting cars piled in the yard as a possible means to relieving some of that twitchy energy. "You want company, I'm here. If not, ignore me. But I'm not sitting through another one of Bill and Brian's pissing matches today."
He rolled his eyes. "Why do you think I'm out here?" It seemed they were all a little edgy since their little pow wow during which he'd recounted their latest adventure, including his trip to the future and his encounter with Future Nim, their future son, and Death. All things considered, he was in good spirits, just feeling a tad embarrassed to have been caught enjoying his music a little too much. He set the wrench aside and snagged a rag, wiping the grease from his hands as he came back around to the front of the car. "You wouldn't happen to have a beer, would you? I finished the last one an hour ago."
She laughed a little, spreading her hands to look down at herself. "Where would you like me to produce one from?" she asked, gesturing to the distinct lack of hiding places about her person. She didn't often venture out without at least a button-down shirt on over her tank or tee, but this place was a safe one. Hence, today, she had nowhere to hide anything.
"Good point," he admitted, a smile poking through despite himself, as he looked her over. Tossing the rag aside, he came up in front of her, one hand on each side, smirking mischievously. "Maybe I should search you."
Her hands came to rest against his chest as he found his place in front of her, blonde head tipped backward to let her eyes meet his with affectionate amusement. There was no protest at the grime that clung to him; she'd been dirtier herself, and in far less sanitary circumstances, in the past few years. "Maybe you should," she agreed with a teasing grin. "But do you really think you'd get very far with Ellen watching us from the porch?"
Whether Ellen was watching or not, Dean took the bait, cussing quietly and turning to look over his shoulder at the porch to see if Nimue was teasing him or telling the truth. "Damn it, is she? I swear to God, we get no privacy around here."
There was no one there, but Dean's instinctive turn to make sure resulted in Nim dissolving into giggles as she tossed her head back. "I knew it!" she crowed wickedly. "You're so whipped and you're not even sleeping with her!"
"Sleeping with her!" Dean exclaimed, as he turned back around. "That would be like sleeping with my-" He cut himself off before he finished the thought and uttered the word, which was obviously "mother". "Maybe we should lock ourselves in the basement again," he grumbled. As much as he complained, he was actually happy to be surrounded by those he considered family and wouldn't have it any other way.
With all the stresses of the past few days, it was a relief to be out of the house, even if it was just to take a short walk down the lane and back. Nim hadn't realised that she could go almost literally stir-crazy, shut up in a house with too many hunters and not enough jobs for them all to do to keep busy. Eventually, she'd just dropped a word to Ellen and slipped out the door, armed to the teeth as discreetly as possible, needing just a little head space away from B&E Salvage and their full house.
As for Dean, he was starting to get antsy, too much time on his hands with not enough to keep himself busy. He'd already field-stripped his weapons, cleaned the Impala inside out and from top to bottom, and was currently tickering with the engine, making sure she was in top running condition, which she always was in his care. The light blue t-shirt he was wearing was grease-stained and sweaty and there were grease-stains on his jeans and a smudge on his cheek. He had the stereo turned up and was singing along with the Allman Brothers' Ramblin' Man, as he tinkered happily away.
Returning from her brief but refreshing walk down the lane and back again, Nim was drawn like a magnet to the sound of the music, knowing that Dean was in his own little world. She envied him the ability to just switch the whole world off when he was working on his car, but she couldn't blame him for needing that time right now. The hours he'd spent sharing with their family and friends exactly what had been going on during that harrowing trip from Lawrence to Sioux Falls had been difficult for everyone, but most especially for him. She made her way through the salvage yard toward the Impala, taking up a lean on the dusty hood of a clapped-out Camero to watch Dean as he worked, not wanting to disturb him.
He wasn't aware she was there right away, the music too loud and his own singing just a little off key, but hey, he was enjoying himself, so it was all good. Leaning over the engine, beneath the raised hood of the car, he was using a wrench to adjust something or other, pausing a moment to belt out the chorus. "Lord, I was born a ramblin' man, tryin' to make a livin' and doin' the best I can. When it's time for leavin', I hope you'll understand. I was born a ramblin' man."
Nim didn't mind that he wasn't immediately aware of her, smiling at the way he was so prepared to sing along with the radio and yet had folded in on himself when she so much as suggested he might want to sing along with the guitar when she played. And, of course, the view he presented bent over the engine like that was not to be sniffed at. Never let it be said that Nimue Morgan didn't enjoy what life presented her, especially when it was Dean's rear end in tight denim.
The wrench suddenly became a microphone as Dean continued to give the song his own twist, like a big kid, imagining himself on stage and singing to a live audience, unaware he already had one. "I'm on my way to New Orleans this mornin', leavin' out of Nashville, Tennessee. They're always having a good time down on the bayou, Lord, them Delta women..." He trailed off, Greg Allman taking over the lyrics as Dean turned to fetch a spark plug, dropping the wrench on the ground when he realized he wasn't alone. "Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed, clearly startled. "How long you been there?"
Tucking her thumbs into the pockets of her jeans as she leaned comfortably against the forgotten Camero, Nim's grin widened at her lover's startled reaction to seeing her there. "Hey, don't stop on my account," she teased him fondly. "You sing your heart out there, Barbara." Of course she wasn't going to tell him how long she'd been there; that would take the fun out of his embarrassment.
"Barbara?" he echoed. "Do I sound like a girl to you?" He assumed she meant Streisand, since he couldn't think of any other famous singer named Barbara. He bent over to snatch the fallen wrench off the ground, before circling around and leaning inside the car to turn the volume on the radio down. "You come out here to keep me company or make fun of my singing?" he asked, wondering if she wanted a few lessons in how to change the oil. He didn't mean to sound cranky; it was just his sunny personality.
She didn't take offence, expecting him to be on edge like the rest of them. "I've been out for about an hour," she told him, her voice quiet as she glanced up at the sunny sky. "There's nothing lurking on the lane, I can promise you that. And it wasn't for lack of looking, either." She was itching for some kind of action, eyeing up the rusting cars piled in the yard as a possible means to relieving some of that twitchy energy. "You want company, I'm here. If not, ignore me. But I'm not sitting through another one of Bill and Brian's pissing matches today."
He rolled his eyes. "Why do you think I'm out here?" It seemed they were all a little edgy since their little pow wow during which he'd recounted their latest adventure, including his trip to the future and his encounter with Future Nim, their future son, and Death. All things considered, he was in good spirits, just feeling a tad embarrassed to have been caught enjoying his music a little too much. He set the wrench aside and snagged a rag, wiping the grease from his hands as he came back around to the front of the car. "You wouldn't happen to have a beer, would you? I finished the last one an hour ago."
She laughed a little, spreading her hands to look down at herself. "Where would you like me to produce one from?" she asked, gesturing to the distinct lack of hiding places about her person. She didn't often venture out without at least a button-down shirt on over her tank or tee, but this place was a safe one. Hence, today, she had nowhere to hide anything.
"Good point," he admitted, a smile poking through despite himself, as he looked her over. Tossing the rag aside, he came up in front of her, one hand on each side, smirking mischievously. "Maybe I should search you."
Her hands came to rest against his chest as he found his place in front of her, blonde head tipped backward to let her eyes meet his with affectionate amusement. There was no protest at the grime that clung to him; she'd been dirtier herself, and in far less sanitary circumstances, in the past few years. "Maybe you should," she agreed with a teasing grin. "But do you really think you'd get very far with Ellen watching us from the porch?"
Whether Ellen was watching or not, Dean took the bait, cussing quietly and turning to look over his shoulder at the porch to see if Nimue was teasing him or telling the truth. "Damn it, is she? I swear to God, we get no privacy around here."
There was no one there, but Dean's instinctive turn to make sure resulted in Nim dissolving into giggles as she tossed her head back. "I knew it!" she crowed wickedly. "You're so whipped and you're not even sleeping with her!"
"Sleeping with her!" Dean exclaimed, as he turned back around. "That would be like sleeping with my-" He cut himself off before he finished the thought and uttered the word, which was obviously "mother". "Maybe we should lock ourselves in the basement again," he grumbled. As much as he complained, he was actually happy to be surrounded by those he considered family and wouldn't have it any other way.