When Dean slept in the backseat of the Impala, Dean was not, generally speaking, a morning person. There was a reason for this, which usually involved stiff muscles, half a headache, and a taste in the back of his mouth like hot dog water for no good Goddamn reason.
This morning, he was even less inclined to be cheerful, because he’d spent the night with an angel on his back. And he had no idea how he got there. On the plus side, it was November, and November is a bad time of year just about anywhere in the lower 48 to be sleeping in your car alone. Dean was certainly warm. He couldn’t feel his legs and he’d been slowly suffocating over a roughly eight hour period, but he was warm. And the hot dog water thing. Yeah. That too.
A fuzzy memory surfaced of taking a faceful of orange goo from the thing he’d been chasing. Dean bucked ferociously underneath Castiel, desperate to dislodge himself, but the small space provided no place to PUT Castiel other than…well. Right where he was.
Of course, in the struggle, Dean realized he was also not wearing pants. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst part? There was somehow one more person squeezed in this fucking closet of a backseat, and it was a guy, and he was under Dean.
“Whoa, easy tiger!” Jack’s broad hand clapped to the top of Dean’s head, ruffling briskly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, because that was fantastic. But I like a little more leg room. Just the kind of guy I am.” Jack shrugged naked shoulders.
Oh, holy Jesus mother of crap.
Dean was good with exploring the wilder side of his sexuality, but, you know, not like this. And sure as hell not with Captain Jack fucking Harkness.
“This is awkward,” Castiel mumbled against Dean’s shoulderblade.
“You think?” Dean shot back, “Get off me, Cas!”
Castiel struggled again, and then lay still. “I can’t,” he replied, “Dean, all of my extremities have gone numb.”
“This is Hell. That other place? That wasn’t Hell. That was Candyland. This is Hell,” Dean groaned miserably, from the vicinity of Jack’s sternum.
“This isn’t Hell, Dean,” Jack said, amiably enough, but Dean could hear the bite in the back of his voice, “this is the threesome that just saved your life. ...Wow. I've always wanted to say that.”
“Oh, that’s a new one.”
“Look, if you don’t want to have to spend the night with a couple immortals, the next time you tangle with Big Bad Mother Siren, wear a face mask.”
“Christ,” Dean muttered in frustration, “can anybody move?”
“Help is on the way,” Castiel said with certainty, and a moment later, someone tapped on the driver’s side backseat window, above Dean’s head. Dean managed to look up, and immediately slapped a hand over his face.
River Song’s bright yellow hair stood out around her head like a halo. Her grin, however, was anything but innocent. She popped open the driver’s side door and leaned in. “Good to see you still among the living, Dean. Next time you tangle with Big Bad Mother Siren, really, you should—”
“—Mask, I got it, okay?” Dean growled, “Captain Jerkoff already gave me the lecture.”
River rolled her eyes and huffed. “Nicknames already, sweetie? That’s cute.”
“Dean, that’s uncharitable,” Castiel admonished in an undertone that washed against Dean’s ear with a gust of warm breath, “he did help save your life.”
“Why didn’t you just heal me? What, you can keep me from becoming the next Jefferson Starship zombie, but you can’t undo Siren juice?”
“Oh, you, you, you,” River withdrew and opened the passenger door behind Jack, whose head and shoulders dropped back to dangle over the edge of the seat, “You weren’t the only one to get a kiss of death.”
“I apologize,” Castiel said sheepishly, “I wasn’t aware that it would have such a powerful effect on me.”
“And how,” Jack laughed. Dean watched him grin upside down at River and, really, pissed as Dean was about how this morning was turning out, even he could see the charm turn on. “River, sweetheart, you mind giving us a minute?” Jack's voice dropped to a whisper, “Dean’s shy.”
River flashed a dry look at Jack, and then Dean. “I find that hard to believe,” she said, then sighed. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
Dean dropped his head on Jack’s chest with a deep sigh of relief as she left. But as he moved forward to struggle out of the tangle, he heard her voice floating back, light and teasing and oh God, Sam was never going to let him live this down.
“Dean?” River trilled, “Your pants are on the trunk.”