(Author's note: this is a piece co-written and inspired by Flynn Anthony's awesome Supernatural Wincest stories, which can be found on LJ at flinchflower dot livejournal dot com. She began her own 50 Kinky Ways prompts with a story about THE LIST, and I liked it so much that asked her to write one for me. Watch for a full Donutverse/SPN crossover story soon.

Anyway, if you're confused by the sudden appearance of the Winchester boys, have no fear; the rest of the stories in this series will be Glee, set in the Donutverse. They're in a nebulous not-too-distant future time frame unless otherwise noted. Standard warnings are for multiple partners, Dom/sub and discipline.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, but Finn does own Puck and Kurt.

Enjoy! -amy)

Overheard - by flinchflower and nubianamy

Dean splashed more water over his face, looking up in the mirror to be sure he'd gotten the last of the grease off his cheeks. Sam hovered behind him, stepping out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. The older man's eyes roamed over Sam's body, skimming over the tempting cut of the muscles to focus on the scars. His brain wouldn't let him forget the contrast between the man standing placidly on the bathmat, and the younger, unblemished boy that Sam had been at sixteen. The same age as Hummel's pretty kid.

Sam's arm snaked around Dean's chest, pulling the two of them close enough that they both relaxed at the first heated sensation of the other's body. Then Sam gave a wry grin, lifted the soapy washcloth from Dean's hand to scrub firmly at the back of the older man's neck.

"That's got it," Sam offered, handing the cloth back to Dean.

"Thanks," came the gruff reply.

Sam frowned, and part of Dean flinched away from the possibility of Sam having a bitchfit, because he really wasn't up for handling that crap right now.

"You're worrying about something," Sam said quietly, unknowingly allowing Dean to relax at the lack of angst in his tone. "Is the Impala...?"

It wasn't a bitchfit, but it was worry, and the kind of worry that Dean understood, only too intimately. The Impala was home, the only real home the two of them had ever known. Standing in someone's house, in a clean bathroom that had amenities like towels that smelled of nothing worse than laundry soap, toilet paper that didn't leave you raw, and a mug of toothbrushes that screamed happy family, he understood Sam's worry.

"No, Sam," he said with the quiet confidence and understanding that would reassure the younger man. "We've checked everything, it's just the transmission. It sucks, it's gonna take time to rebuild it, but Dad and Bobby and I all knew it was coming. We were gonna dig into it on the next downtime, but she apparently didn't agree with us." He grinned wryly. "An' before you even think it, Hummel's a fuckin' genius under the hood, Bobby knew who he was as soon as I said Lima, Ohio." Dean was rewarded for his long speech by the relief of some of the tension in Sammy's face.

"Then what's buggin' you, bro?" came the soft inquiry.

Dean grunted. He dried his face and neck with a clean towel, absently directing a sniff toward his armpit to be sure he didn't need a shower as well. He gazed at Sammy, still meeting the younger hunter's gaze in the mirror, less intense than it would have been to turn and face his brother head on.

"Those kids," came Dean's gruff reply.

Sam sighed, enough of a reply to let Dean know that the same thing was preying on his older brother's mind.

"Me too," he offered quietly. "I was kinda surprised that it's a triad," he offered.

"No shit. Kinky," he said, eyes sparkling as he turned to meet Sam's gaze.

"Fuck yeah," Sam said. "Except I think that handling anything in addition to you would probably kill me off pretty quick."

Dean rolled his eyes. "No shit, Sherlock. You look like a redwinged Hell's Angel next to Hummel's kid."

Sam started, stared for a minute, then let out a laugh, relaxing. In Dean's own... special... way, that was a compliment - Dean's way of saying that Kurt was a flaming queen, but since Dean himself preferred dick to cunt, he wasn't gonna criticize. And a sort of apology, because if there was anything that irritated the older man, it was any of Sam's behavior that could possibly be tagged as girly.

Sam separated the stack of clean clothing, handing half to Dean, making a mental note that he'd have to ask Mrs. Hudson about laundry, if there was a washer and dryer they could use or where the nearest - and cleanest - laundromat was. He was a little startled when Dean set the clothing aside, and pulled him in for a kiss. The older man's hands were notably chaste, one wrapped warmly around the back of Sam's neck, the other resting lightly in the curve of Sam's back.

"What's that all about?" Sam asked softly, his own hand spreading across the identical place on Dean's spine.

"They're startin' to hint at questions, Sam. The Hudson kid, he knows about us."

"Seriously? He looks pretty clueless, usually."

"Nope. He's got it, and he's thinkin,' Sammy. We're gonna be fielding some questions, and probably sooner, rather than later."

Sam grunted. "Can't be a bad thing."

"Not unless..."

"What? Dude." There was that unspoken speech between the two of them again. Sam meant, how the fuck could it be a bad thing, letting a couple of gay kids know that what they were doing was perfectly normal so long as everyone wanted what was going down. He felt Dean smile against his lips.

"I'm gonna lay down a little law here, boy," Dean said, hands firming up on Sam's body, giving the younger man a stern look. Sam just quirked an eyebrow in reply.

"I think you're right," Dean said, then dipped a hand down to swat Sam's behind lightly and quietly. "BUT," came the caveat that the younger man had been expecting. "You answer questions, you use your head and not just your bleeding heart, Sammy - and..." he said, watching to see if Sam was paying attention, "for the love of God, don't mention the LIST to them."

Sam's head tipped back as the belly laugh escaped from him, and Dean supported the younger man, smile lines around his eyes crinkling as he watched Sam's mirth run it's course.

"Shit, no, Dean. They're still babies. No problem, dude."

Neither man was aware that there was a very quiet, very sneaky witness plastered against the wall of the hallway, consisting of one bold Noah Puckerman.

Puck stilled his breathing, listening to the two smokin' men in the bathroom together. A list, he mused to himself. And furthermore, a list that neither of the older men wanted him or the other dudes to see. A smirk spread across his face, as information converted from idea to agenda. He was able to slip back down the hallway from the bathroom without being heard, something he'd done countless times in this household, and a couple of others to boot.

A list, he thought again. His brain riffled through what he knew of the Winchesters after a week of hanging around the two of them, between helping Mr. Hummel and Dean with the omfg HOT Impala that was stranded and de-transmissioned in the garage, and sitting with Sam - Sammy - as the older man patiently explained the mysteries of trigonometry to he and Finn, raising an eyebrow any time that Finn and Puck brushed against each other up underneath the kitchen table.

Where would either of them keep a list? He attributed the list, whatever it was, to Sam, because Dean's voice had had that... recognizable scolding... in it that Finn used on him from time to time. He knew, academically, that both men had journals that they kept close to their persons. And furthermore, he'd never seen either man look at the other's journal, unless one handed it to the other.

Where the hell else would they keep something like that? His brain roved over other things. Wallets - no, he'd already lifted Sam's, and returned it before the guy had realized. He'd chuckled over the fake ID's, and had plotted out a couple more pointed questions to ask before the two skipped town. The Impala's glove box seemed to be a likely target, but as he contemplated that, he realized that he'd seen Burt open the thing at Dean's bidding to pull out the ancient owner's manual. There'd been a cigar box in there, but Kurt had been nosy enough to investigate that - which had earned the diva a couple of swats from Finn when he'd found out, and Kurt would have mentioned a list for sure.

Puck laid back on Kurt's bed, hands linked behind his head, rubbing at his mohawk absently. He'd already peeked into their duffels, once Burt had installed the pair in the guest room. Nothing there. And then it occurred to him. There'd been a leather bag in the backseat that Dean had hauled out, and popped into the trunk. He'd damn well overheard Dean tell Burt that they'd added some modifications to the trunk, requesting that Mr. Hummel ask if there was any access needed to that part of the Impala. Dean hadn't given any appearance of the bag being something that needed to be hidden, but...

A new plan coalesced for Puck. The keys to the Impala hung on the garage rack, and Puck's excellent memory provided him with the information that it wasn't just the engine key, but the door key AND the trunk key on the ring. Kurt's dad was the honest, old boy type of guy who wouldn't question what Dean had asked of him, and Puck thought Dean was the sort of guy who believed in not only gestures of faith, but covering his ass by not making a fuss. So that door key would almost certainly open the trunk of the sexy black vehicle.

Puck felt his tense muscles ease, a clear indication that he'd found the perfect plan. A quick inventory indicated that Burt was snoring softly in his room, which was free of Mrs. Hudson tonight, and that Finn was attending to Kurt downstairs, probably doling out a slow spanking, which would be followed up by intense cuddling. All of which left Puck in the clear to ease the door to the garage open, snag the Impala's keyring off the rack, and slowly open her trunk.

He'd listened in on a few conversations the older men had been involved in, and wasn't surprised to see the weapons racks, the bundles that looked like camping gear. No, he had only one focus. And that was the plump leather bag that Dean had so casually tossed into the Impala's haven.

Luck was with him, for once, he thought smugly. He reached for the bag, quietly unzipping the side pockets in turn. Lube, condoms, no big surprises. There was a tiny little change pocket on the front of the bag, and a glimpse of white as he opened it. PAYDIRT, Puck thought, and slid the worn piece of paper out.

Later, after recopying the list and telling it all to Finn and Kurt (he never could keep a secret from Finn, after that business with Quinn), with his bottom smarting and red from the spanking Finn had delivered, he had a chance to look it over in more detail. "Some of this stuff we've already done," he said, laying on his stomach between them in the big bed. "This one, and this... and, hey, we did this yesterday." He grinned. "But the rest? I don't think I even know what the fuck some of these are."

"I can't believe they had this list. Sam?" Kurt shook his head in amazement, leaning on one elbow, while he stroked a gentle hand over Puck's raw posterior. "Dean, maybe, but I'm surprised Sam would be into... this."

"Why not?" Finn asked. He leaned back on the headboard and gazed calmly at his two boys. "I bet you never figured we'd be into it, either. People can surprise you."

Puck laughed, suddenly, and Finn cocked his head. "What is it?" he asked, with a smile.

"I don't know if you want to hear it, dude," Puck smirked. "Do I get punished for bad jokes?"

"Go ahead," Finn allowed warily.

"Well... I guess this is a good opportunity for me." Puck widened his eyes. "I doubt I'll ever get another chance to make the Dean's list."

Kurt groaned, but Finn just leaned forward and placed a fond kiss on Puck's head. "Well, then... I guess you'd better get started."