2020.01.20 - The Naked Night

Skitch meets ALL of Dean

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Coastal Woodlands - Dense Forest

Deep shadows are cast by the focused light in the otherwise dark area.

Patches of green, spongy moss carpet the ground, and giant ferns and other shrubbery are very common during the spring and summer. There is no path through this wood, and one who is inexperienced at woodscraft could easily become a bit lost. Ferns and various shrubbery are scattered amongst the tall oaks and evergreens. Wherever the breaks, visible shafts of light shine down to show patches of light on the forest floor. The ground is covered with a layer of decaying leaves even in summer, and occasionally one can see a place where a mighty tree has fallen, overgrown with moss and slowly decomposing. The air carries the call of various birds, and an owl's hooting can often be heard.

One must be cautious not to wander too far into the woods.

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This time of night is no time for a flat tire. Especially out here, on the edge of the woods that lead to the coast. It's not ideal for a number of reasons, most them having fangs and other dangerous parts. But, here is where the Love Bus has encountered a problem, and foundered.

And so we find young Master Maxwell, Skitch to his friends, currently in the process of changing said tire, his khaki pants smudged with grease and the removed flat lying on the ground next to him. The to-be-placed spare is in position, but is yet to be installed. That's because Skitch, against all better judgment, is half under the red and white VW Bus, his ass poked out as he searches with his phone flashlight for something. In the window of the bus, a black-and-tan French bulldog hops up and down, trying vainly to see what's going on.

Somewhere in the trees, there's a howl. With any luck, it's just a wolf.

It's probably a wolf.

A wolf that becomes very surprised by the explosion that follows, distantly in the forest, and scampers away into the underbrush. A wolf that dodged a god damn bullet because it was definitely not the apex predator it might have thought it was. A wolf that is probably going to eat well, sleep well, and in general have a great life because it didn't get involved in the disaster coming to a conclusion wherever that explosion happened.

It's a very bright explosion, too. Like a flare shot off, but not into the air. It was like somebody just blew through a case of flares at ground level.

A few minutes pass, before a shadowy figure makes its way through the woods. It's a masculine figure, which becomes a lot clearer as he gets closer. All he's wearing is...well, he's not actually wearing it, but he's carrying a beaten leather coat that looks like it's much heavier than a coat of its size and make should be.

The naked man is scorched all over, a little bloody, and in general looks like the kind of guy that would probably have a lot more fun being naked if he wasn't...scorched and bloody. As he walks out onto the roadside, he coughs and it looks like he produces a puff of smoke.

The explosion causes Skitch to bang his head on the undercarriage of the Love Bus, and he yelps, emerging to rub at his head and frowning at the fading light. Scrambling to his feet, he first looks in the bus to verify the dog is still there, then stoops to grab the tire iron and hold it at the ready. It would be -way- impressive, too, if it were...really, anyone else. The bulldog yaps twice, then growls as something appears in the woods.

Skitch moves towards the sound, raising the tire iron and adopting what should be a threatening expression, if he's doing it right. But he's definitely not expecting a naked, smoking (in more ways than one) man to be what is encountered. So he's a bit flummoxed, and he probably stares a bit more than he should be, given the circumstances. Finally, he clears his throat. "Um. Hello?"

Dean looks up when he's addressed. Oh. There's a kid with a tire iron, and a dog. In a minibus. That's cool. He lifts his free hand, the one that's not carrying his jacket, to give a thumbs up to Skitch. He coughs again, a few more times, before running a hand through his hair.

Once upon a time, in the distant fantasy land of Earlier This Evening, it was a nice golden color. Now, it's lucky to give that impression from all the...is that carbon? Or just like...gross? Whatever it is, it seems like it's made some kind of crust around his hair, which just scatters as he combs it with his fingers. So it probably is some side effect of being nearly burned alive.

Dean turns back to the guy. "You got a drink or anything? 'Cause I could use one." Even water would do. He's obviously a little dry.

Skitch leans back when the guy raises a thumb, his look turning to concern when he gets a better look at the guy. "Holy crap," he says, lowering the tire iron. "Yeah, I got some water." He moves backwards, keeping Dean in his view as he opens the bus to grab a bottle of water. Immediately, the bulldog jumps down and speeds towards the burnt guy to tell him off in breathy, growly barks.

"Don't mind him," Skitch says as he comes back with a bottle of water, which he extends carefully. "Scoob, cut it out and get in the car."

The bulldog looks up at Skitch, then at the burnt guy, and snorts, trotting back to the van and clumsily climbing inside.

"Was that you that exploded, dude?" Skitch asks the guy, looking in that general direction. "You look pretty blown up."

"Scoob." Dean grins, looking after Skitch, then down at the little bulldog. "He's cute! I love dogs." He's getting back to more himself, which is good because he looked pretty rough for a while there.

There's a question to be asked, mainly of why he doesn't put the jacket on or tie it around his waist, but as he shifts it in his hands, there's some clinking and shifting, and it does look incredibly heavy. Presumably, he'd have to practically strangle himself with it to have any hope of it staying tied.

And it's not like he doesn't keep himself in fighting fit. He's not as statuesque as his brother, and he'd be the first to admit it. A steady diet of diner food doesn't help with that, but he does stay active. Clearly.

When he's offered the water, Dean reaches out to take it and gives a nod of gratitude. Then he opens the bottle and gulps it all down, all at once. Of course, he's not that neat about it, so water splatters down his chin and down his neck, over his chest, and working its way slowly down. That's to be expected. It's a dramatic situation.

Then he finishes off the bottle, twists the cap back on, and holds it out. "Thanks. Uh, no. Wendigo. Wasn't expecting that tonight. Brother's got the car. Y'know." As if this complete stranger would know how the Winchesters do things, or how it is when you're just investigating things peacefully and end up fighting a goddamn wendigo in the forest around a town largely dominated by werewolves.

Just another Saturday night!

Skitch grins as his dog is complimented, and lowers his tire iron fully, letting it hang by his leg. "Thanks. He's a handful, but he's pretty awesome." He's trying not to be too obvious about staring, trying to focus on the jacket and its clanking, and definitely -not- thinking about what it's hiding. He almost manages it. Until the water splashes over naked flesh, and teenage hormones dictate that he busy himself with other things before it becomes An Issue.

Turning back to his flat tire replacing, he doesn't actually go back to it. It's more like he's letting the other guy be naked in private. Well, semi-private (oh, god, don't say semi anything). The memtion of a Wendigo brings him up short, and he turns, forgetting that the older man is naked and hot for a moment. "Wendigo? This far south? What, was he lost?"

Well, the jacket definitely isn't hiding anything. It's too heavy to do that. So there's Dean, clothed only in scorch marks and blood, at least some of which probably isn't his. Once he's handed off the empty bottle, Dean looks down at himself and tries to brush off the water that he's spilled down his neck, which only ends up smearing it across the already sensitive skin. So he just looks dirtier, which makes him grimace. He throws his hands up, then lets them drop to his sides, though he does keep the jacket off the ground. He doesn't want to make it look worse.

But the very salient question from this kid, who Dean had thought was just some random with a dog and a car problem, brings him to pinpoint focus.

"So...you know a lot about wendigos, huh?" He wears a smirk, a knowing smirk, like somebody who's figured out a mystery before anyone else and is feeling particularly clever. Because Dean likes to figure out mysteries before everyone else, and just ask Sam -- he always is happiest when he's feeling more clever than everybody else.

Skitch groans a bit when the smearing occurs, and he shoves his hands in his pockets, balling them into fists as he walks back to the bus, and lean in to rummage around. It might be innocent, the way he's leaning way inside, presenting the swell of his backside. Probably is, when he comes up a minute later with a roll of paper towels.

The question gets a bob of his head, and he returns the smirk with a smile of his own. His gaze is curious, and he allows it to run over the entirety of the man for a brief moment before raising his eyes to the man's face. "Some," he says. "I haven't ever seen one, thankfully. But I know they're usually up where it's colder." He wrinkles his nose. "Unless there's a cannibal in town." He sighs exsaperatedly, looking back towards the lights of town. "I sure hope not."

Dean turns as soon as he hears the sound Skitch makes. The look on his face seems to ask the question "is something wrong?!" and he can see that the guy appears to be fine. Sort of. Of course, Dean takes a look at the guy sticking his butt out, it's only fair. Whoever this kid is, he's seen most of Dean Winchester. Turnabout's fair play! And that's Shakespeare. He can be the smart one that knows quotes and stuff.

Though it frustrates Dean to have no pockets to jam his hands in. He's pretty much without anywhere to put his hands, at least without being totally inappropriate. "I don't think those are gonna be able to clean all this off," he comments, with just a hint of joking in his tone. "We're gonna need a nice big shower or a really good garden hose." And he laughs at this, his own joke, as he rocks on his bare feet.

"Yeah, there ain't a cannibal in town. Or if there is, I ain't heard of it." And the wolves don't eat people, he knows that for a fact, so this whole confrontation wasn't entirely unexpected. Just not something Dean figured he'd have to do alone, tonight, when he was just paying a visit to try and get to the bottom of things. Instead, he got to the bottom of things a lot faster than he really wanted. "So what's up with your ride? You need some help? 'Cause you are lookin' at probably the best car guy ever."

Skitch looks at the paper towels, and then at the slightly-exploded man, and his mouth pulls into a tight line. "That's a fair point." He doesn't blush too badly at the suggestion of a big shower, but he doesn't dismiss the idea, either. He merely nods, looking down -- at the ground, probably.

"That's a relief," he says about there not being a cannibal. "It's hard enough to meet new people without having to worry about them eating you." He wrinkles his nose, thinking. "Well, no more than usual, anyway." He shrugs, and tosses the paper towels back into the van.

"Got a flat," is his answer for the van. "I was doing all right changing it until I kicked the hubcap and scattered the lug nuts." He motions to where his flashlight still illuminates the undercarriage. "If you want to lend your expertise to helping me, I can offer you a ride..." he trails off, not finishing the thought that has him looking very intently at that flashlight and his ears reddening. "I mean, if you want one."

"Yeah! I could use a ride. Otherwise I'm gonna be hoofin' it back into town at least." If not all the way to Port-Au-Feu. Which isn't too far, but it isn't exactly close, either. Definitely not a road Dean would look forward to walking naked. "Just changing a tire, no problem. Get that done in five minutes."

He clicks his tongue and does kind of a fingergun on one hand, strolling to the bus and tossing his jacket across the hood. It flumps onto the metal, making a really heavy sound. Yeah, that's some kind of arsenal.

As if having a kind of epiphany, he stops in place, holds up a hand, and turns back to Skitch. "I need to take a leak, you mind?" He chuckles, only a little stiffly, and leans back against the bus. "Feels like I just went!" He jokes, or tries to. Now that he thinks about it, it's probably for the best that those jeans burned. Saved him some time.

"That's a pretty fair hike, with no shoes," Skitch agrees, moving to return to replacing the tire. The thump of the jacket gets a look, but the teen otherwise seems unbothered, until the guy mentions that he has to pee. Then there's just white noise for a moment, and there's a very real chance that Skitch might need rebooting, since he's completely frozen for a second.

Then, slowly, the program restores. "Oh, uh. Yeah. Go ahead, man," he says. To his credit, his voice doesn't quite manage a -full- octave higher, but there's a definite squeak in it.

Dean raises his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for Skitch to respond. He reaches down to adjust himself, still half-forgetting he doesn't have any clothes on. It doesn't matter that much to him, doesn't change what he does, but he'd have more deniability if he still had his jeans on. And then, once Skitch gives him the go-ahead, he gives a curt upnod.

Then, just after that, there he goes. Dean sighs in relief, contentment, and pats under his stomach idly before sliding his hand down to take better aim. It's dark, it's night, and most of it's going on the road or sinking into the dirt and gravel on the roadside. It's not that easy to see, so he's even less modest than usual. Barely visible in the low light! Though his stream's strong enough to catch some light on it occasionally.

Everybody knows where it comes from, so it's not exactly hard to take notice. Dean's not trying to hide himself or cover himself. He hasn't tried at all, so far. Must be very secure in his masculinity, or maybe he's just a shameless kind of guy. He gives himself a shake, then kind of wipes his hands on his thighs, before frowning. "Ah, habit." He explains. He's more used to wearing...well, anything on his legs.

Then he's getting right at it, getting his hands dirty immediately with changing the tire. He looks over what the state of it is, then goes to grab his own flashlight from the hidden underside of his jacket. It's a powerful, bright one, and he passes it around the bus and vicinity. It's easy for him to find the nuts, so he goes around gathering them up. And yeah, he bends over a lot, but he doesn't wiggle his ass, so that's something.

Skitch is completely helpless in the face of such openness. Honest to god, he has no idea where to look, so he ends up looking at everything, which does not help anything. He stands like a deer frozen in the headlights, his breathing shallow as he watches the guy work. His hands are definitely not leaving his pockets. It's safer for all involved, that way.

It seems rude to have a naked man working on your car and not talk to him, though, and Skitch forces air through his larynx to try that. "So, what's your name?" he asks, in a voice that doesn't sound too strained or breathless. "I'm Sam, but everyone calls me Skitch."

Oh, dear lord. The bending. So much bending.

"What? Really?" Dean looks up, wiping a hand on his face. It naturally smears some grime on his cheek, but with all the rest covering him, it's kind of hard to notice. It sort of blends in. "My brother's Sam! Sammy." He chuckles, looking back to the wheel and using whatever tools he has available at the moment. Even if they're not technically the right ones or the ones he'd prefer, he can get it done. He may not have anything to prove his ultimate car guy claim, but he at the least shows that he knows his way around fixing one and making it look easy. Not that replacing a tire is too special.

Squatting beside the bus, Dean keeps talking through his work. Crank crank crank! "That's crazy. Oh, uh, I'm Dean. Dean Winchester. You got a cloth or anything? I need to..." He gestures to the tire.

It's not professional-grade equipment, but Skitch has everything necessary for swift tire replacement. It just may be a little...scattered, at the moment. Which is totally coincidence, but at least means he gets to watch the man move around a bit.

"That's weird," Skitch says of the shared name. "But cool. I guess we were destined to meet." Not that he believes in destiny. But this is a bit weird in its synergy.

The request gets him moving, and he returns to the van to retrieve a greasy-looking cloth about the size of a washcloth. "Here you go," he says, handing it over, and sneaking another healthy peek before stepping back. "Are you from Port -- wait." He blinks, and squints one eye, fanning the flame of a faded memory. "Did you say Winchester?"

"Thanks!" Dean takes the cloth and grunts quietly, leaning in to wipe off one of the tools, then cranking at it again. With that, it seems like he's done, and he gets to his feet, wiping his forehead with his hand again, and then holding out the ratchet, the wrench, any of the tools that were used. He trains his flashlight on the ground again, just to be sure he isn't going to leave any of the guy's tools behind. And hey! The light really shows off every bit of his tremendously exposed anatomy! Just in case Skitch missed anything.

The light goes out, and Dean steps to stow it back in his jacket, picking that up and groaning slightly, leaning against the bus for just a second. Then he pushes back to stand up straight, though he seems a little wobbly. "Man. I think I maybe cracked a rib or two. Yeah, uh, Winchester. Like the haunted house and the guns." Which is a remarkable summary of his life, really.

The sound that comes from Skitch in that moment of glorious illumination isn't exactly a whimper, but it's in that family. But he doesn't freeze this time. No, this time, he moves to help gather things up, ignoring the way he occasionally brushes against Dean as they work to clear the site.

He frowns a bit as he rolls the flat to the side panel and hoists the tire into the cargo area, under Scooby's careful supervision. The little bulldog even sniffs the tire to ensure it's safe.

"I wasn't thinking about the house or the guns," he admits as he closes the door, and fishes around in a front pocket. For a keyring, it turns out, and he hooks it on his finger. "I used to run with some kids back home who talked about a family named Winchester. It just clicked." He frowns at the naked man, and clears his throat. "I can check those for you," he says. "Your ribs." Which sounds terribly forward and weird, and the youth spins his keys dismissively as he explains rapidly. "I mean, if you want. I'm not a doctor or anything, but I took a lot of first aid courses."

"You too, huh?" Dean smirks, reaching a hand over his waist, to rub at his far flank. "Yeah, sure. I think I maybe cracked a couple, but right now...head ain't too clear." Must have been the adrenaline from the fight that got him this far. Most people probably wouldn't have taken a walk naked through the woods as well as Dean seems to have, but now it feels like he's noticing the little pebbles pressed into the soles of his feet more, so he lifts a foot and dusts it off, then does the same with the other one.

He turns to smile at Scooby. Like he said, the man really likes dogs. Most dogs, anyway.

Then it's back to Skitch. "Go for it. Feel me up, doc." With that, he lifts his arms and slides his fingers together at the back of his head. Like he's posing for a physical or something, close enough.

"With my friends, it was almost a requirement," Skitch says with a grin. He seems a lot more comfortable with the casual nudity, even if he can't quite look Dean in the eye, yet.

White noise again, when Dean raises his arms, and gives Skitch license to feel him up. He freezes until the man is standing with his hands on his head, then looks around for the cameras that are clearly trained on him because there's no way this is actually happening. Only it is. As Scooby reminds him with a bark from the driver's seat.

Stepping forward, he reaches for Dean in what -feels- like slow motion. "Let me know where it hurts," sounds like it comes from a million miles away, but is normal-sounding to anyone outside of his head. Gently, he splays his fingers along Dean's rib cage, trying not to think about the warmth of the man's skin, or the fact that his other hand comes to rest on the man's lower back, just north of that meaty, glorious hinder. "I'll be gentle," he promises in a croak, and begins a gentle process of probing for tender spots...and reciting baseball stats in his head.

Dean always felt like he had a good body. Even though his brother's more developed and defined, Dean likes his own shape a lot better. It feels more real to him, somehow. But he guesses the girls must really go crazy over six-pack abs and pecs you could crush a chestnut with. Plus, Sam looks more boyish, so maybe that's the thing to do. Dean, he's always been more rough-and-tumble, always prided himself on being more down to earth.

He looks like he's just pretty natural all over. Maybe he trims up and grooms every so often, but he has all the hair in all the places men do. It would drive him crazy to have to get rid of all that on a regular basis. No wonder chicks go to a professional for that, he's thought in the past. It's all he can do to keep his pubes trimmed and his armpits reined in. Though it's been a while since he's done either of those things, but he still looks neat enough. It's hard to really make it all out anyway, thanks to all the charring, but fortunately those places were largely untouched by what must have been a huge explosion that he was lucky to get away from so intact.

Maybe not fully intact, though. But his dick's intact! That's pretty important to him. And it's not totally soft, but it's not hard, just kind of an understandable reaction getting groped and prodded, however gently the kid may be doing it. "Yeah," he mumbles, leaning back against the front corner of the bus. It's all good, until suddenly it's not. "Hnnngkk!!" That is, clearly, where it hurts. He might have actually broken a rib or two. There's the faintest sound down under like there was earlier, when Dean was taking a piss, but this time it's a lot shorter.

He curses under his breath and lets one hand drop, to jostle himself a bit. "Uh, sorry. That's where it hurt." It would be funny if he felt better than he does, but it's all settling in all at once as his amped-up body calms down from the fight. He hopes he didn't end up peeing on the other guy's shoes or something. That'd be something Sam -- his Sam -- would never let him live down.

It's a good thing Skitch isn't a doctor, because he'd be a lousy one. He's completely distracted by the sheer manliness of the man in front of him. He may be relatively hairless, but he appreciates those who can grow it. And the smell...despite the cooked sort of smell, there's that male scent that speaks to some primal part of him. If his pants were off, he'd be in much the same state as Dean. Not that he's looking, but he's totally looking. And smelling, and leaning in probably a bit -too- close.

When Dean hisses, he jumps, but not before he feels the wet heat slap across his leg. Without thinking, he reaches and moves the source of that wetness away from himself, pointing it at the dirt.

"It's okay," Skitch says, his attention on the spot that evoked the reaction and not on, say, the dick that's not his in his hands. "You've got a couple of ribs here that are probably broken," he says, tracing the edges of the bruise in question. "I can take you to Urgent Care, if you want."

Dean does have that manly sort of scent to him. He uses very mild deodorant and doesn't seem to wear cologne, probably to keep himself off the radar of anything with enhanced senses. So he keeps his body clean and neat...except for times like this. It makes it easier to get a feel of his usual aroma, with his arms up like that.

He tries to maintain that pose, but it's not the easiest thing with stabbing pain shooting into his side. He just ends up leaning more heavily back against the bus. There's not even a complaint about somebody else manhandling him.

"Don't worry so much, it ain't gonna go off again," Dean finally mutters. Just a little thing, in a moment of severe pain exacerbated in just the way he didn't want. "No, uh, no doctors. Too many questions." And they'd have to get him all cleaned up anyway. "Ain't a thing they can do for broken ribs, anyway. If you could just take me back to the hotel me and Sammy're stayin' at, that'd be great. But uh..."

He narrows his eyes, licking his lips and tilting his head to one side. "You a hunter? Or like, a hunter in training? Cause I think we could help each other out, maybe."

Skitch steps in as Dean sags back, releasing his grip on the man, embarrassed, and muttering something that sounds apologetic but has no real words to it. He makes sure Dean is secure against the van before stepping back.

He nods at the request for no doctors. He's heard that before; it's why he took so many first aid courses. He's stepping to open up the van again when Dean's request stops him. He looks over the naked man thoughtfully, and licks his own lips. "I'm not a hunter," he says. "But I'm hunter-friendly. I can help you out." He wrinkles his nose, considering the intelligence of making promises to naked men in the woods. "I mean, within reason."

"Sounds good to me, Skitchy." Dean reaches out and claps the other guy on the shoulder, and immediately cringes as he feels another surge of the stabbing pain through him. "I need a handle of whiskey or a joint and some gauze, and...definitely a shower. I sure feel sorry for whoever's gonna have to clean that tub after I'm done." He tries to laugh again, and it's clearly a bit strained, but his eyes do have a brightness to them.

"Wow, so you can get down 'n dirty, good to know!" Dean once again chuckles and runs a hand through his short hair, which sends another scattering of basically ash around him. "I gotta introduce you to my Sam. He's kind of a little girl when it comes to gettin' his hands dirty, y'know? You just took charge!" The laughter still isn't very even, and it obviously hurts him, but Dean tries to keep his spirits up even as he wraps his arm around his upper body. "So, uh, you think we can get on the road? I think I'm gonna be not so great on my feet in like two minutes, buddy."

Skitch can't quite pinpoint the cause of the surge of warmth at being called 'Skitchy', but he doesn't linger on thinking about it. He grins as he's clapped on the shoulder, then frowns as Dean winces. "Yeah, we should get you someplace warm," he agrees, moving to help the older man by supporting him.

"I'm not scared of getting dirty," he says, brushing some of that ash from his shirt. "I mean, blood and stuff isn't that big a deal. It's venom and fire that are the worst." He grunts as he helps Dean to his feet. "Yeah," he says to the hunter. "Let's get moving." He frowns as he regards the closed passenger door. "Just...stay conscious for two more minutes." He wrinkles his nose, and amends the request. "And don't puke in the Love Bus."

"Love Bus." Dean grins a little more at the name, leaning on Skitch as soon as he offers support and not a second before. He uses his less painful side, the left side, to lean, placing that hand on the man's shoulder. He's quick to nod, shifting to just a steady smile rather than any laughter. That just keeps making his injuries poke at him. "Can do." He's pushed through much worse injuries. It's just not a good time. Not a good time that he expected, and he was kind of being stupid, thinking he could replace a tire after a fight like that!

Then he pushes off Skitch, as he's getting the door open, to use his good arm and pick up his coat. He doesn't seem to be in danger of falling over, but he's not as solid as he seemed to be when this all started. Once it's open, he climbs in and flops into the seat, leaning back against the comfortable cushions. "I'll help you clean all this stuff up later. 'm good for it." Being an expert in automobile maintenance and repair, he's good inside and out! And it seems like he either isn't nauseous, has a good lock on it, or doesn't particularly have anything to puke. "Just wait'll you see my Baby."

Skitch is very careful about getting Dean into the Love Bus and situated, his face bright red by the time he's shutting the door and moving around the driver's seat. "I'll hold you to that," says of Dean's promise to help clean as he cranks the engine.

Scooby decides to play nurse, taking a shotgun position in Dean's naked lap as they pull away. Dean's promise gets a smirk and a side-eye from Skitch. A side-eye aimed at Scooby's choice of seat. "I thought I was," he says wryly.