Summary: Dean has settled down with Sam in Palo Alto. But how will a macho blue-collar guy fit in with artsy academic folks in sunny California? A sequel to 'Love Etc.' and 'Love Express'. AU, unrelated Sam/Dean. (Mildly M)

A/N: At last the third and final part of the trilogy. If you haven't read 'Love Etc.' and 'Love Express' it won't kill you to read this but it IS a sequel. Sorry it's taken so long to get this posted. Real life has been getting in the way, and I've had my bathroom remodelled so I've been mega-busy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, its fandom, its characters or anything connected to them. I do not make money or profit in any way from this story.

Love Extra (Chapter 1) by frostygossamer

Sam and Dean had finally moved into their first home together in a little gated community in Palo Alto. The smart new house had been picked out for them by Sam's boss and ex, Dave Mann, but Dean couldn't really complain. It was the nicest place he had ever lived in, and he had lived in some nasty rat holes when his dad, John, was still alive.

This afternoon was the first time they had left the house since their arrival. Seriously, it took time and stamina to properly sexually christen an entire house. Eventually hunger had driven them outside, when the last of the groceries Mann had thoughtfully had Residents' Services provide had been eaten. So Dean and Sam had grudgingly put on clothes to go restock. As Dean had previously observed, rampant sex gives a guy an appetite.

They had just gotten back from the store, where they had picked up a tightly packed trunkful of groceries. Sam had gone indoors with the frozen goods, while Dean struggled to load himself up with as many paper sacks as he could possibly carry in one trip. Right then a car pulled up at the house next door and a tall, angular, 40-something woman stepped out. She glanced across at Dean, as she fumbled in her purse for her door key.

"Hi," said Dean, indulging her with a sunny smile over the top of the SUV.

Dean was way too nice of a guy to ignore any woman, even a sour-faced one. The sharp-featured female fixed him with a beady eye.

"Deliveries are supposed to come through the back," she observed, dryly.

It took Dean a second to process what she was getting at.

"Hey, I'm not... You think I'm a..." he stuttered, slightly surprised, slightly offended.

Evidently she had mistaken him for some delivery boy. Before Dean could summon up an intelligent rebuttal, Sam came back out the house. He sized up the situation and strode over, hand extended, to greet their new neighbour.

"Hi," he said. "We've just moved in. Guess we're neighbours? The name's Winchester, Sam Winchester."

"Oh," responded the woman, suddenly adopting a smarmy manner as she shook his hand. "Glad to meet you. My name is Sharp, Dr. Sharp. Political Ethnoclimatology."

"Socioeconometric Cybertechnology," countered Sam, as they shook hands. "And, uh, this is my partner," he added, indicating Dean, behind him, with an inclusive wave of his free hand.

Sharp gave Dean an insincere smile. "Oops," she said. "So sorry. Mr. uh?"

"Dean," replied Dean tersely, shaking his head and trudging indoors with his shopping, leaving the two academics to get acquainted.

~X~

A few minutes later, Sam joined Dean in the kitchen, where the disgruntled guy had started in on a box of cookies.

"Freakin' stuck-up bitch," grumbled Dean, through a mouthful of cookie crumbs.

"Seemed perfectly nice to me," commented Sam, disingenuously. "Little starchy maybe. Dude, you're way too sensitive."

"Sensitive?" growled Dean. "Damn woman talked down to me like I was the help."

"Honest mistake?" suggested Sam, not expecting Dean to agree.

"I look like a delivery guy?" Dean demanded.

Sam eyed him up carefully. "Sexy porno delivery guy maybe?" he chuckled, closing up beside him.

Dean snarled. "Being serious here, man," he snapped, trying to suppress the urge to laugh at Sam's remark.

Sam sighed. "Was afraid of that," he commented, leaning on the counter beside Dean. "Somehow I don't reckon we'll be sharing any backyard barbecues with that woman."

Dean smiled wryly. "One bitchy witch," he agreed. "Maybe we should look out for fetishes."

Sam wriggled his eyebrows. "I'm game if you are," he smirked.

They had made a joke of it, but later that night, as Dean lay curled up beside a gently snoring Sam, he thought back to the incident and sighed. Sam never made him feel out of place, but did Dean really belong in this highfaluting haven populated by college professors and academics?

Dean was a car mechanic, though a damn good one. He worked with his hands. Was he ever going to fit in? Not if they were all as sniffy as the neighbourhood ice-queen, he sure wasn't. His pride was worth more than that.

Sam shifted in his sleep and pulled Dean tighter into his arms.

"And then again," Dean thought, snuggling against Sam's broad chest. "This guy's so worth it, right?"

~X~

Sam had given Dean a week before he brought up the subject of money.

They were sitting at the breakfast bar in their nicely appointed kitchen. Sam was crunching a bowl of handmade granola sourced from a little health food place he had found, with a handful of ripe strawberries and topped with organic goat yoghurt. Yummy AND wholesome.

Dean was chowing down on a huge sausage, grilled not fried at Sam's insistence, sandwiched between two thick slices of artisan bread, a compromise on Dean's part. Although he knew Sam only wanted his guy to live a long and healthy life, Dean felt he had to grumble a little, on principle.

Sam opened the conversation casually.

"Kinda think we gotta start off the household budget on a level playing field," he suggested.

"Mmm," Dean responded absently, his mouth full of sausage.

"Sooo," Sam prevaricated, deliberately not meeting Dean's eyes. "Gonna settle your dad's debts so we can move on from there. And then I'll set up a joint-access checking account, obviously."

Sam was a wealthy man, as well as his position at the University, he was the owner of a very successful tech company, WinchesterTech. Unlike Dean, money was no problem for Sam.

Dean almost choked on his sandwich.

"Damn it, Sam," he snapped. "Not gonna let you pay off my debts. Reckon I'm some freakin gold-digger?"

Sam sighed. "Dean," he began in a calming tone. "They're not YOUR debts. Those loans you took out to pay for John's final hospital bills. It wasn't your fault he had no insurance. Baby, your dad wouldn't've wanted them hanging around your neck like some albatross."

Dean gave an exasperated gasp. "Not even gonna talk about this," he declared, abandoning his sandwich and standing up.

He went to the coffee-maker and poured himself a refill of ink-black java, his initial indignation subsiding some as he sipped the hot beverage.

"It's just..." he began awkwardly. "It's just Dad brought me up to make my own way, is all. He was a damn proud guy. He taught me to be proud too."

Sam stood up and walked over to stand beside him. He put his hand around the back of Dean's neck and rubbed it soothingly.

"Baby," he said. "Don't wanna dis you or your dad. But there's no reason to not let me do this. We're a couple now. Your debts are mine and mine are yours. That's how it's meant to work."

Dean nodded slowly. "I guess," he allowed.

Sam smiled and, giving his boyfriend a quick peck on his sausage-greasy lips, he returned to his breakfast.

"Dude, sit down," he said. "Finish your freakin' monster wiener before it gets cold."

Dean rejoined him at the table, grunting gruffly as he finished his meal.

"And I AM gonna buy you a car," Sam added.

~X~

The car Sam had ordered in no way matched up to Dean's standards. It stood where the garage guy had left it, out front of their new house, while Sam and Dean stood there staring at it, arms folded.

Dean shook his head. "This is a piece of crap," He announced.

"It's black," Sam commented, his knowledge of automobile specs being somewhat lacking.

"Then it's a BLACK piece of crap," Dean corrected himself. "And I wouldn't be seen dead in that mother."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dude, it's just a runabout," he explained. "To get you around town."

He realized now that choosing a car for a motorhead was never going to turn out well.

"It's a goddamn chick's car," Dean insisted bitterly. "Freakin' girlfriend's wheels."

And Sam had somehow managed to insult Dean's masculinity again. Not good.

"Uh-oh. Some screw-up, huh?" thought Sam, then aloud, "Sorry," he apologized. "Messed up, I guess."

"In spades," Dean growled, stomping indoors.

~X~

Dean took the car back to the garage where Sam had ordered it. He came back that afternoon with a clunker on the back of a flatbed truck. Sam came out of the house to stare at the heap in disbelief.

"The hell is that?" he demanded. "Looks like a wreck."

Dean patted a dented fender, grinning happily. "She's a classic," he announced.

"Yeah, it's a CLASSIC heap of scrap metal," Sam commented.

Dean pouted. "SHE is a Chevy," he claimed. "To be exact, a 1967 Chevy Impala."

"Was," Sam opined.

Dean sighed like he was talking to an idiot.

"A Chevy Impala," he repeated. "Same make and model as Dad's. Gonna rebuild her."

"Ah," Sam responded, getting it.

Dean had mentioned THAT car often. It was the car Dean and his dad, John, had travelled the States in, back when John was an itinerant mechanic always on the scrounge for work, back when John was Dean's world and John's ride was home.

"But I'll be freakin' impressed if you can even get the damn thing running," Sam commented.

Dean grinned. A Challenge. Dean loved a challenge.

"Then be prepared to have your socks blown right the hell off," he chuckled.

Sam could see what this was about. Of course he could. We're always looking to recapture our childhoods, and obviously Dean's dad's favourite car meant a lot to him. John had loved that car but he had had to sell it when he got sick, much to Dean's dismay. So, sure, Dean would want to replace it. Especially when he had so little to remind him of John. Nothing but a little box of photos and family documents, and a few old cassette tapes.

"OK," said Sam, turning and going back inside. "Whatever you say."

He decided to let it go. If Dean wanted to waste his time working on an old heap, then that was his business. At least it would keep him busy for a while. Give him something to do while Sam was in school teaching class.

Dean was full of excitement as they sat eating dinner that night.

"She'll be great. You wait and see," he chortled.

"My lover, the genius auto-mechanic," Sam snarked.

"Hey," Dean protested. "Might be a kept man right now, but I can at least provide my own transport."

Sam nodded. "OK, hotshot," he said. "I'll believe that when I see it."

TBC

A/N: So, everything hunky-dory chez Winchester. So far... More soon.