Chapter Text
Dean flipped the green invitation over in his hands, the gold lettering reflecting the light. It was same card stock the cheap, old bastard always used. This one, however, had a snowflake at the top and requested his presence for the annual Christmas party. The dread was already seeping in. The inevitable questions would come up.
“Do you have a special someone?” then watching their faces drop when he said ‘no’. The disappointment, the sadness, the pity. If it didn’t come from his family, it would come from the shareholders.
There had never been a real time-table on when his dad was going to retire, but John Winchester had been hinting heavily at it for the last six months. To make matters worse, Dean’s brother, Sam, had gotten engaged to his long-time girlfriend, Jess, at Thanksgiving.
Dean never understood why being married was a requirement to run the family business. He didn’t need someone distracting him, there was no time for anything more than a one-night stand. His focus had been on creating new blends and staying relevant in the brewing community. If he was going to have any shot at running the business, he needed to, at least, make it look like he was going to have or already did have a long-term relationship.
He tossed the invitation on the coffee table and got up from his couch. He had less than a week to get it figured out, but other things needed his attention. Grabbing his brown leather jacket and keys, he headed down to the garages. Baby needed a tune up and he didn’t have time to do it himself.
Business was good. It was always good, and you were confident it was because of you. You did most of the work in the garage and stayed late to help with the books and maintaining inventory. Chuck was deep in the black and you weren’t being cut in on the profits. Getting your own custom design garage going had been a dream and you were saving up for it. You were still a year, maybe two away from having your start up capital at the rate you were going. With Chuck not sharing the profits you were responsible for generating, you asked him for a meeting to talk about it.
“Damnit, Chuck, you can’t do this to me,” you pleaded. “I’m the reason you’re going on vacation every quarter. No one is going to give me the loans I need until I get my down payment secured. I was counting on you.”
“(Y|N), if I hand you everything, you won’t appreciate what you have. You’ll never get the work ethic to see something through to completion without help,” he looked so smug sitting in his desk chair. “There’s nothing wrong with this garage and working here. I don’t understand why you’d want to leave.”
The deep, throaty sounds of the muscle cars that were the bread and butter of the business were in the background noise of the rage you were feeling toward Chuck. You were vaguely aware of movement outside the door of Chuck’s office.
“This is a load of bullshit. Do you hear yourself?! Do you actually believe the crap that comes out of your mouth? You know what an asset I am and you’re screwing me over to keep me here,” you could feel the heat of your rage begin to crawl up your neck.
“I’d like to remind you that you’re under contract until the end of the month. You can either resign for another year, or you can walk.”
“So, you’ve already made up your mind? This is it?” you were numb.
“January 1st. 1 P.M. You’re not here to sign, I’ll consider your resignation immediate. No hard feelings,” Chuck’s voice was cool and controlled.
“Anything else?” you matched his tone.
“No. You can go,” he was almost glib.
You were clenching your teeth, willing yourself not to break. Quickly, you turned and left Chuck’s office. The old wood and glass door rattled as it closed behind you. Too caught up in the disaster your life had suddenly become, you didn’t notice the man on the visitor couch until he cleared his throat.
“The hell do you want?” you growled. “Oh, right, tune up.”
You saw the car outside first before you’d put the information together.
“Sorry, it’s not you. Winchester, right?” you asked.
Dean stood up, but he didn’t move from that spot. For a man as big as he is, and normally so confident, it was a little odd to see him so apprehensive.
“Yes, but that’s not all,” he said.
“Not interested,” you really hoped he wouldn’t be like the shocking majority of your customers and not hit on you. They all seemed to want to take you away, provide for you, or some crap about you being a woman mechanic. No one ever took time to get to know you.
“What? No, wait. I have a proposition for you!” he tried to stop you from walking away.
“Get the hell out of my garage,” you ordered.
“Shit! No, it’s not like that! I mean, it is, but it’s not what you think,” he tried to get you to stop and listen.
You looked at your crazy customer. Over the last year, you’d seen Dean Winchester for regular oil changes and a few other minor repairs you were sure he could have done himself. You’d gotten acquainted with him, but not much more than car talk.
“Can we talk in private somewhere?” he asked earnestly.
The ‘talk’ with Chuck was still ringing in your ears. You brushed off your hands on your coveralls and said, “Sure, what the hell.”
The short walk to the café on the corner wasn’t long enough to cool off your flared temper. This Dean guy was working your nerves, too, but at least Donna’s brought the promise of hot drinks and donuts. Reaching for the door, you puled it open letting both you and Dean in. The smell of donuts, cookies, and coffee greeted you, as well as the owner of the store.
“Hi kiddo!” she called from behind the counter. “Have a seat, be right with ya!”
“She’s … cheerful,” Dean observed.
You were feeling better already. Donna’s was the place you went to almost every day. She had the best donuts in town, a small variety of coffee, and now that the weather had turned, apple cider and hot chocolate.
“Donna is the best. She takes care of everybody,” you felt yourself smiling. You stopped near your favorite booth and turned to face Dean.
“Have a seat, I need to go wash my hands,” you held up your grease stained hands. “Donna keeps Lava for me. Be right back.”
You didn’t wait for Dean to slide into the booth. You didn’t even care if he was there when you got back, but you were curious to hear what “proposition” he had for you. In the bathroom, you barely had time to turn on the faucet and grab the soap before Donna came bursting in through the door.
“(Y|N)! Oh my gosh, who is mister cutie-pie out there?! And are you two going to…”
“Donna! Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” you warned.
“What?! He’s CUTE! If you’re not going to, send him back my way, huh?”
Donna was too much, sometimes.
“He’s a customer and we’re going to talk business,” you were using the scrubbing soap Donna hid under the sink, just for you.
“I don’t care, you better get his number, then tell me all about it!”
“Donna!”
The woman you thought of as a sister, gave you a wink before she bustled out of the bathroom. The gritty soap worked loose the grease that stuck to your skin and rinsed off your hands. The soap worked well but left your hands dry. When you put away the soap, you put half a pump of lotion in your hand and worked if into your skin. Miraculously, when you did a mirror check, no stray strands of hair had escaped your bandana headband. Calling it a win, you went back out to the booth where Dean was still waiting for you.
Dean sat at the booth, hands clasped in front of him, looking a little nervous. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen that look on his face. If that was how he looked for a business deal, you didn’t think you wanted to hear it.
Putting your hand on the bench, you slid into the booth across from Dean. The menu was on the table and you put your hand on it, walking your fingers on it to bring it closer to you.
“So, ahh,” Dean’s hands rapped out a rhythm on the table top, “you come here often?”
He couldn’t see your face behind the menu to gauge your reaction to his poor choice in words. You didn’t roll your eyes, but you did raise an eyebrow at him.
“Almost every day,” you admitted dryly.
“Donna seems nice,” he said.
You didn’t look up from your menu. You already knew what you wanted, you got the same thing every time. You were just in a bad mood and wanted to make Dean squirm a little.
“Look… Dean,” you relented and put down the menu. “I only have so much time for my break.”
“Seems like you might have a lot of free time soon,” he ventured.
“And just how long were you eavesdropping? Man, you’re really batting .1000,” your voice rose in volume and attitude.
“Your boss wasn’t being quiet when he gave you the ultimatum. Tow the line or get out, right?” he paused a moment. “You don’t seem like the conforming type.”
“Oh really, and what type do I seem like?” your volume increasing again.
“Hi kids! What can I getcha?!” Donna zoomed over to your booth and kicked your boot under the table.
You started, “I’ll have…”
Donna cut you off again, and without even looking at you, she said, looking at Dean, “I know what you want, I was talking to handsome, here.”
For the first time ever, Donna’s bubbly personality bugged the shit out of you. How dare she be nice to the smug jerk across from you.
“Any recommendations?” Dean asked, sweet as can be.
“Powdered sugar donuts are on special,” Donna answered.
“They’re on special every day, Donna,” you grumbled.
“Doesn’t make ‘em any less special, sweetie,” she said, the usual cheer in her tone, ignoring your sour one.
Dean glanced at you, his expression said he was wondering what he was missing.
“Um,” he stalled.
Donna glared at you.
“In all fairness,” your attention went to Dean, “they are pretty amazing.”
“You sold me,” he said and handed his menu to Donna, “Two and a black coffee.”
“I’ll be right back,” she said, then mouthed the words “BE NICE” to you before going back behind the counter to fill your orders. You gave Donna a noncommittal shrug. She was back in just a few short minutes.
Dean suspected that (Y|N) would be a tough sell on his plan. The whole drive to the garage he thought about what he was going to say. None of it sounded good. It all came out like garbage. After he parked his baby in the to-service area, he stepped inside the garage through the pass-through doors and to the right.
(Y|N) was hard to miss. Not only was she the only woman in the shop, she had a style all her won, even in work clothes. She was in the office talking to the owner, Chuck. She had her pulled up, a bandana wrapped around her head. Her coveralls had the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and he couldn’t see, but he knew she was wearing beat up black combat boots.
He took a seat in the waiting area. It didn’t take long before the conversation in the office became heated. He heard everything, and he finally knew how he could get her to help him. He stuck his foot in his mouth a few times, but she needed to get out of the shop and that worked to his advantage.
They’d gone to a café on the corner and he found himself in a booth staring at an untrusting, angry (Y|N), and at a loss for words. (Y|N) gave off a vibe that she had zero fucks left to give, so he pulled no punches, even though he found her attitude slightly intimidating.
“Look, I’m gonna get right to it, I need your help,” he began.
“Oh yeah?” you were wary of what he might say next, “this is gonna be good.”
“I’d like to pay you to do some…let’s call it ‘work.’ It’s out of the ordinary, but I’ll make it worth your while.”
“How out of the ordinary are we talkin’ here?” you were curious.
“I need a girlfriend for a week,” his voice was hushed
You started sliding out of the booth, “You’re just as bad as the rest of them.”
He half-stood on his side of the booth to stop you from leaving.
“Hear me out, please. I swear it’s not what you think.”
His hand was cool and firm on top of yours. When you looked at him, he was still hovering over his seat, his eyes pleading with you to stay. You couldn’t put your finger on what it was that made you change your mind, but you found yourself sitting back down in the booth to hear what he had to say.
After you checked the time, you said, “You have fifteen minutes.”
“My family owns a brewery and car dealerships where I’m from. My dad has been very controlling of it and didn’t want to try anything new or change anything about how business was done and… it was part of the reason I left.”
“And the other part?” your curiosity about this job, and man, were growing.
Dean squirmed in his seat. This was the tough part.
“My dad thought it was important for the person he hands off the business to be in a solid relationship when he retires. They even tried to set me up with a “good girl” they thought would be good for me. Almost married her…There’s me and my brother left to take it over,” he said.
“And you want it?” you guessed. You had other questions, but this was not the time.
Dean nodded.
“What’s the catch? There’s always a catch,” you asked.
“The old man can spot a lie from a mile out. We’re really going to have to sell it. You might have to become my fiancé. I even have my grandmother’s ring if it comes down to it. The old man won’t give the business over unless he believes we’re real.”
“What else are you leaving out?” you wanted to know.
“My little brother got engaged at Thanksgiving. There’s a strong chance this won’t work,” he said.
“And you’re afraid you’re not pop’s favorite?”
“There’s that and I haven’t exactly been friendly with everyone... and my track record with women has not been stellar,” he admitted.
“You see he irony here, right?” you asked, and Dean gave you a “what are you gonna do” shrug.
“Is your brother that much of a dick that he would try to snake the business from you by getting engaged?”
“All he sees is the profit margins. He doesn’t love the business like I do. Never has.”
You leaned back in the booth and polished off your donut and washed it down with the apple cider.
“So, you want me to convince your family that we’re a sickeningly in love couple, so you can snake the business from him?” you deduced.
Dean nodded again.
“If I help you do this, what do I get out of it?” you wanted to know.
“Would my unending appreciation be enough?” he asked.
You crossed your arms and stared at him, unblinking, unamused by his joke.
He leaned forward and spoke in hushed tones a though he were suddenly aware hey were in a public space.
“I can provide the capital you needed that you aren’t getting from Chuck. I wouldn’t even need to be an investor. Just call it a gift, or a payment, or whatever, for services rendered,” he said.
You definitely had not expected him to make you that kind of proposal. A lot of questions rolled through your head. How did he have that kind of money? He didn’t even know how much you needed. What was his dating history that he came to you?
Dean was relieved that you were still in the booth with him. He could see you were thinking hard on what he’d offered.
“And if you don’t get the business?”
“Then I’m still screwed, and you can kick my ass,” he snorted.
“I have the boots for that,” you said without missing a beat.
“C’mon, sweetheart. Mutually beneficial deal here. Would it be so bad to pretend to like me for a week?”
“No, not for the right price, I guess,” you said. “I’m not doing this for nothing, Winchester. And so long as we’re clear, it’s all for show. I’m not a whore to be bought, I just want my own garage. Why a week though?”
“Not a problem. I don’t have time for a girlfriend, real or fake. The week is my dad’s doing. It’s the only time each year when we are required to show up. He makes a big deal out of it. Party for the whole company. Speaking of, do you have a dress?”
You laughed, you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t believe the turn your day had taken. It was all so ridiculous. You had plenty of money saved, but you were unwilling to pony up the cash it would take to dress properly.
“I have a dress, but I have no jewelry to go with it,” you said. “When do you need an answer about this?”
You knew very little about Dean Winchester, but you’d found him to be mostly pleasant when you’d spoken to him in the past. You supposed there were worse ways to spend a week, especially with the possibility of losing your real job when you got back. But if it went well, you’d have the money to get your shop going. If it went poorly, you wouldn’t have your garage as quickly, but you might get a new friend out of it.
“Soon as possible,” he responded.
“I’ll let you know when you get your car tomorrow,” you started to slide out of the booth. “I gotta get back to work.”
Dean followed her out of the booth and was going to walk her out when Donna stopped him.
“Hey, buddy. No dine ‘n dash here,” she called out.
He jerked his head around to see the back of (Y|N)’s coveralls walking away from him.
“Nice,” he grumbled at her retreating figure. Turning back to the counter, he walked back to where Donna stood and pulled out his wallet. “My mistake.”
Donna smiled brightly at him. It was like she had no “off” switch.
“I used ta be a sheriff, didja know?” she asked.
Dean shook his head and handed her a $20. Donna’s former career hadn’t come up in conversation.
“Oh yeah. It gave me a particular set of skills acquired over a long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for guys like you. If you promise you’ll be a gentleman and not break my dear friend’s heart, I won’t look for you. I will not pursue you. But if you do, I will find you, and I will kill you.”
Dean looked at the blonde woman. He felt like she was serious, but also like she might be jerking him around.
“Did you just… Taken me?” he asked, waiting on his change.
“Yeah! It’s good right?!”
They both nodded and appreciated the reference. Donna turned serious again, her brown eyes burning through him.
She extended her index finger at him to make her point, “I mean it, buck-o. You hurt her the D-Train is comin’ for ya.”
She came around the corner, his change still in her hand.
“It’s business, not happily ever after,” he said, letting her guide him to the door.
“Well! That’s good, huh?!” she chirped. “Cuz cops know things. Thanks for the tip!” she put his change in her apron pocket.
“Okay then,” she opened the door. “Thanks for coming in… Dean Winchester.” She patted his shoulder as she pushed him out the door. “Come back real soon, okay? Bye!”
Dean walked out the door and was waiting for his ride to arrive before he realized he’d been hustled, twice.
“Sonofabitch.”