Title: California Deamin'

Series: Supernatural Husbands

Summary: Dean, after trying and failing to see Sam for Christmas, sees on the side of the road a 1969 Cherry Red Mustang with its emergency lights on. He decides to check it - and the driver - out. Who knew he'd meet the love of his life on the side of the highway?

Timeline: Christmas 2002, Pre-Iron Man, Pre-SPN

Warnings: Slash, angst, hurt/comfort, Christmas

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Tony Stark

Author's Note: Welcome to the first installment of the "Supernatural Husbands" series, which will follow our boys through Avengers. This was originally started on lj in response to the SPN kink meme and was then moved to AO3 since they allow explicit content. My friend encouraged me to post here anyway with this story, so I am; however, the explicit content will be cut and readers referred to AO3 to read it.

Please enjoy!

Chapter One, "First Meetings"

Dean just stared at the building in silence. Sitting lazily in the Impala, he had been parked outside his brother's dorm for hours. Even though it was Christmas Eve, the nature of California weather meant that Dean did not have to leave the engine running and the heat on while he watched his brother's festivities. Yet, he still felt cold on the inside.

When Sam ran away and Dad went ballistic, Dean tried to keep the peace. All it did was cause the two think that he was on the other's side. He could not talk about one in the other's presence without being verbally punished for trying. Yet, even in all that, he never thought that Sam would completely cut off contact from him. This was the first time since the last week of August that he saw his little brother, and Sam –

Sammy looked happy.

Sammy was grinning and eating a feast of 'proper' foods and exchanging gifts and ripping the 'proper' wrapping paper off those gifts and hugging his friends like he could not imagine a better night –

Dean put his forehead into the steering wheel.

He didn't know what he was thinking, thinking he could drop by his little brother's dorm and wisp him off for Christmas. Sammy refused to answer his calls since he ran away and his Dad basically ordered him not to try and visit, but still. He had hoped. He hoped that he would not have to spend this Christmas without his brother.

Dean sighed and decided to try one last time, and he pulled out his cell phone and called speed dial #1.

As the line rang, he watched through the window as Sam reached into his jeans pocket for his cell phone. The younger Winchester took it out, looked at the caller ID, and his face went from laughing to bitchface #21. Dean's heart sank as Sam purposefully refused the call. The ringing in his ear stopped, and Dean was asked to leave a message.

"Hey Sammy – Sam. I just wanted to say – well, Merry Christmas," and before he could say anything about being outside, how the cute blonde kept making eyes at Sam, how missed him, or that his moose sweater was the stupidest thing he had ever seen, Dean hung up.

If Sammy was happier without him, fine. He would let him go. He would be better off without Dean anyway.

So, Dean turned the ignition on and drove away. It would be three years until he would return.

As he drove on the interstate, Dean listened to his old ACDC tapes and tried to put Sammy out of his mind. Then, he saw a '69 cherry red Mustang up ahead on the shoulder with its emergencies on. Needing the distraction – and wanting to check out a car like that up close – Dean decided he would be nice guy and see if the driver needed any help.

And if he got to see check out some nice eye candy as he checked out the 'stang, he wouldn't complain.

Dean parked the impala behind the Mustang and got out of the car. The driver of the car was bent under the hood with his ass in the air. Oh yeah, Dean could tell it was a man, and his cock twitched at the sight.

The eldest Winchester brother had known his was pan-sexual since he met a couple of drag queens on a solo hunt when he was nineteen. They taught him a thing or two about himself: mostly, that he was a slut for just about anyone, whether a girl, boy, ladyboy or any genderfuck in between. Sex was sex, and if it felt good for everyone, then who cared if his partner had a hole or a pole?

Dean licked his lips. A good fuck with that pole would be just what he needed to get his mind off of his otherwise shitty Christmas Eve.

He cleared his throat.

"You need any help there?" Dean called out, as he leaned against the hood of the Impala.

The other man turned his head around, and Dean could finally see the brunette's face: about mid-30s, a mustache and goatee that framed kissable lips, and brown eyes that Dean felt he could fall into. The man opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it quickly. Dean fought a smirk as the other checked him out.

"Not much you could do unless you're a mechanic," the man replied and mimicked Dean's stance as he leaned against the Mustang, making sure Dean could see all of the man's tight body in a rumpled tuxedo. It gave Dean a little thrill of hope that they were on the same page and prompted him to take a chance.

"Well, it's your lucky day then," Dean replied and rolled up his sleeves. He made his way to the car and leaned over the engine examining it.

"She refused to change gears," the man explained and placed his hand on the small of Dean's back. Oh yeah. Same book, same page. "I barely got her to the shoulder and to a stop."

Getting his hands dirty, Dean investigated the transmission. Soon he discovered the problem.

"Your transmission fluid's got the wrong thickness," Dean announced as he stood up and leant back into the hand on his back. Meeting the man's eyes, he continued. "She's been converted from an automatic to manual, so you need a different type of transmission fluid, Type F, I reckon. You'll have to have it towed and get someone to empty this fluid out and put in the right stuff." Glancing quickly at the man's lips and back to his eyes, Dean made his move. "Once the tow-truck comes, I can give you a ride."

"I'm sure you could," the man smirked. "But what kind of ride?"

"Whatever kind you want," Dean replied, wetting his lips, and the man's hand traveled from his lower back to his ass.

"That a promise?" the man said and squeezed Dean's lower cheek.

Dean's response was to raise his eyebrow and take a (clean) finger to stroke the man's beard. He lent in to where their lips were less than an inch away from one another. Their breath mingled.

"Shouldn't you be calling that tow?" Dean said and took a step back with a smirk. As he sauntered his way back to the Impala, he heard the man fumble with his cell phone.

"Pep, I need a tow truck as soon as possible – I don't care if I have to pay triple holiday rates, I need it now."

AN: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Please let me know what you think in the comments. See you next time! Love, Insie