Ain't No Stranger

A/N: 517 words. For [info]cee.


Jensen pockets the lumpy envelope with a soft nod. "So, eight?"

The transpo master glances nervously over his shoulder. He's a good looking guy, athletic in his mid-thirties. "Don't be late, either." He gives Jen a grudging once-over, edge of longing, but a whopping slice of exasperation. "Why you gotta be so pretty?"

Jen just smiles the trademark charm. "Just lucky, I guess."

"Yeah, right," the guy says, shaking his head. "Remember - "

"Don't worry," Jen says, just this side of a whisper. "I know the drill. I get caught, I don't know you."

The guy gives a terse nod and walks off to go glue something, and Jen grins tightly.

"What was that about?" asks Jared, coming up right behind him, and Jensen jumps.

"Dude! I'm gonna put a bell on you!"

Jared grins mischeviously. "What's the matter, Jen? I catch you with your boyfriend?"

Jen just rolls his eyes and starts heading back to set, Jared on his heels. "Shut up."

"You shut up. So, what're you doing tonight?" Jared's hands are in his pockets, the green grass smelling fresh and good as they crush it under their heels.

Jen smiles to himself, and feels the sharp press of the envelope's contents against his thigh. "Got a date."


At eight on a Sunday night, the lot is deserted. Black crates hulk in neat stacks, the usual shouting and bustle is absent. It's like a ghost town, but Jensen's here with a purpose, and he shrugs off the creep factor and sneaks past security, down to the warehouse.

He uses the keys that were in the envelope and opens the garage door on well-oiled hinges. Then he checks his watch in the light of the moon and waits until eight-fifteen, which is when the shift switches, and nobody will notice the sound.

The seconds tick down as he crouches in the darkened space, waiting with the smell of oil and wax.

When the appointed hour arrives, he puts the key into the lock, opens the door with a wide creak, and climbs in. There's a garage door opener on the passenger seat, and he points it behind him and clicks the button.

The engine roars to life like a lion at the kill, and Jen slides a cassette tape out of his pocket and smiles as he pops it into the deck, the growling guitars of Led Zeppelin sliding out of the speakers.

Jensen hits reverse and backs the Impala out of the warehouse. She purrs under his hand, and he hits the gas to take them out to the main road. The guards never notice a thing as the two of them escape, and they also don't notice when they come idling back two hours later, Jen's hair tossed by the night air and the roar of her voice still in his ears.

At home, he falls into bed grinning, still a little giddy on it. It was a stupid risk, and he didn't have to. He shouldn't have. But at least now he knows how fast she can go.