#good influence

“I’ll be fine Dean, me and Donna are big girls,” Jody laughs. “Plus, the girls might not act like it but I think they really enjoy having you two around more often. Things have smoothed out a little more since the last time you came to stay with them.”

“Uh, smoothed out?” Sam scratches at the back of his neck awkwardly, his other hand shoved deep in his jeans pocket.

“Oh, you know,” Jody rolls her eyes, “Claire isn’t as angry these days, she and Alex seem to hate each other a little less than usual. And Alex even brought home a friend from school the other week! I didn’t know she had friends.”

“That’s nice,” Sam agrees, nodding.

“I don’t know what you two did to them the last time you stayed but whatever it was, keep it up. I think you’re a good influence on them,” Jody smiles kindly, giving Dean a quick hug goodbye, and then Sam.

The Winchesters stand in the driveway, waving goodbye to Jody with forcefully cheerful smiles plastered on their faces. As soon as she’s out of sight their hands drop in unison and their smiles vanish. Dean’s is replaced with a look of abject horror, Sam’s with poorly disguised guilt.

“Dude, she’s gonna castrate us if she ever finds out,” Sam grits his teeth, looking to his brother nervously.

“Hey, she’ll go for you first. You’re the one who deflowered her precious first daughter,” Dean grins ruefully.

“Well, if Jody doesn’t manage to kill you, Cas still might,” Sam reminds him and Dean’s expression grows shadowy for a fraction of a moment before he shakes it off.

“If Cas pulls out the father act Claire’ll have his balls before he gets to mine.” Sam pulls a face that Dean understands to mean ‘good point’, and Dean slaps his little brother on the back supportively. “C’mon, Claire sure as hell ain’t gonna tell her, and I severely doubt Alex will,” Sam nods in agreement. “So, she’s not gonna find out. Now, why don’t we go back inside and show those girls just how good an influence we can be for them, huh?”

Several Weeks Earlier

Claire stomped into the living room, yanking her headphones out of her phone as she flopped back onto the couch with a grunt.

“I’m bored,” she complained to Dean, who was on the couch already watching a rerun of some shitty medical drama.

“Tough luck kiddo,” Dean’s reply was wholeheartedly unsympathetic.

“Why can’t we go hunt something?” Claire whined petulantly, her head lolling to the side and rolling towards Dean, attempting to copy that look Sam can give Dean that gets him anything he wants.

“Because I’ve already saved your ass once this week, and I’m not jumping to do it again anytime soon.”

Claire pouted but she didn’t protest, she knew Dean was right.

“Why are you watching this crap?” Claire gestured to the TV where some surgeon with hair that reminded her of Sam was giving someone mouth-to-mouth on an operating table.

“Don’t knock Dr. Sexy.” Dean didn’t look at Claire as he spoke, just took a swig of beer, eyes focused intently on the screen where Dr. Sexy was now making out with a nurse in the scrub room. Claire eyed Dean disdainfully, eyes dragging across his flannel covered shoulders, down his arm to his mostly empty beer, resting carelessly in his lap.

“Can I have some?” Claire pointed to the bottle and Dean scoffed.

“You’re only nineteen, sweetheart.”

“So you think I’ve never had a drink before?” Claire laughed brightly. “I’ve done a lot more than that.”

“Yeah, I bet you’re a real deviant,” Dean rolled his eyes humourlessly.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Not really,” Dean shrugged. “I know your type.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Claire cracked her knuckles in her fists, trying to reign in her irritation, but she can’t help glaring at Dean.

“Means I know you think being nineteen means you’re grown up now. And I know you think bummin’ smokes off some random guy in an alley behind a bar makes you tough, but none of it really means shit. End of the day you still come home to your bed with the homemade quilt and dinner on the kitchen table. You’re not the ‘bad girl’ you think you are.” Dean smirked at Claire ruthlessly, eyes hard and challenging.

“You don’t know shit about me,” Claire bit back.

“So what about what I just said isn’t true then? Huh?” Dean challenged, but Claire stayed stonily quiet. “Thought so,” he smirked again and downed the rest of his beer.

Claire’s eyes followed his hands, focused on his lips as they wrapped around the mouth of his bottle, caught a glimpse of pink wet tongue through the tip of the amber glass, lapping up the stray drops still trickling out. Her own tongue darted out to wet her lips reflexively, pink, soft and sweet. She saw Dean notice. Then she had an idea.

Dean wanted to call her a ‘good girl’? She knew exactly how to prove him wrong.

“If I wasn’t a bad girl, why would Jody ask you to stay and keep an eye on me?” Claire quirked a blonde brow and arched her back, sinking further into the couch cushions, jutting out her breasts and hips. Dean didn’t answer, but she saw his knuckles whiten against his empty beer bottle, his eyes fixed resolutely on her face. Claire smirked and dropped a hand to the button of her jeans, fiddling with the top of her zip. “Last time I was in an alley behind a bar with a strange guy, Alex didn’t find me sucking on a cigarette."

Her button was flicked through the hole in the denim that was wrapped around its base. Dean sucked in a breath, audible even over the nonsense drone of the soap opera still on in the background.

“What are you doing, Claire?” Dean grit his teeth, beer bottle dangling between his legs suggestively, and Claire couldn’t help looking, wondering if he would be as big as that glass.

“Showing you what a bad girl I am.” It was hard to restrain her grin from breaking through the sexy pout she was aiming at the older man.

“Stop it.”

“Why?” Claire blinked innocently up at Dean, sliding her zip down slowly, tooth by tooth, like she was practicing to be a stripper. Dean didn’t answer her question, so she didn’t stop.

Right there in Jody’s living room, with Dean Winchester sat stoically on the knobbly couch beside her, with Alex and Sam who knows where in the house, Claire pushed her fingers beneath her jeans and into her panties. They weren't anything fancy. Multi-pack grey cotton boy-shorts from Walmart, with a narrow border of white elastic that was stretched thin across her wrist now.

Her eyes fluttered closed briefly when the tip of her finger brushed over her clit on the way to the small opening between her legs, guarded by folds of soft, pink skin and a sprinkling of dark blonde hair. She tugged on the strands a little, moaning under her breath. Her eyes opened lazily and rolled to the side to find Dean’s. The green she was so used to seeing there had been nearly eclipsed by the dark of his pupils, wide and hungry.

“Claire,” Dean’s voice was a growl, so low in his throat it was almost his chest. There was warning behind it, danger, and her eyes flicked to the shiny brand on his forearm, the dull red skin twitching over the pump of Dean’s blood so close to the surface of his skin.

“Dean,” Claire answered in a sigh, the fingertip circling her entrance catching on the first trace of slick as her arousal coursed through her blood vessels towards the space between her legs. “You know,” Claire kept talking but slid her eyes shut, remembering, “if I met you in a bar, and you bought me a drink, I’d definitely go there.”

“Doesn’t even look like it takes a drink to get you to open your legs,” Dean grunted, his voice suddenly against Claire’s ear, and she shivered deliciously, tilting her head to display the smooth creamy stretch of her neck, where she knew an almost faded hickey would flash into Dean’s view. She moaned when Dean’s tongue darted over the bruise, and let a triumphant smile float across her lips, eyes fluttering open to look up at the older man’s face.

“Can’t help it, I’m a slut,” Claire shrugged, fingers circling faster over her entrance as she locked her gaze with Dean’s.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ are, aren’t you sweetheart.” Dean’s grin wasn’t warm, Claire would go so far to say it was almost cruel. “Maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you’re a very bad girl.” Dean’s teeth scraped over the shell of her ear.

“Told you I was,” Claire made a high strangled noise when she pushed a finger inside herself, her wrist flexing uncomfortably against the restriction of her underwear and her jeans.

“Get your fingers out of there,” Dean snarled against her neck. Claire ignored him. “Fucking slut.” Dean’s hand plunged into her panties and pulled her hand out of her pussy, a thread of slick trailing off the finger that had just been inside her.

“Thought you liked your girls easy, Dean?”

“You’re not my girl though, are you sweetheart? You’re Cas’ baby girl. What do you think he’d say if he saw you spreading your legs for his best friend?”

“Castiel is not my dad,” Claire halfheartedly struggled against Dean’s grip on her wrist.

“Too bad,” Dean tutted. “Because you need a man’s guidance, don’t you? Need a firm hand and a watchful eye?” Claire shuddered beneath Dean’s body, which was pinning her side to the couch now.

“And you think that should be you?” Claire glared up at him challengingly. “You want to be my Daddy?”

“I’d sure as hell be a better Daddy than Randy.” Dean sneered. Claire flinched when Dean mentioned Randy’s name. The man he’d murdered to protect her. “Did you try to touch yourself in front of that jag off too? That why he let you stay? You whore yourself out to him and all his friends?”

“So what if I did?” Claire arched under Dean, trying to get his hand between her legs where she was wetter than she’d ever been before.

“Well, I think any good Daddy would have to punish his baby girl for slutting around town like that, wouldn’t he?”

Claire surprised herself by nodding, a small whimper clawing its way out of her throat. “Are you a good Daddy?” she panted, bucking her hips off the couch towards his hands again. Without preamble Dean released her wrists and shoved her knees wider, the denim stretching away from her skin with the tension.

A hollow slap echoed around the wood panelled room, not much sound behind it because Dean’s hand hadn’t actually collided with any skin, just denim stretched over air. Dean clearly wasn’t happy with the result because he roughly dug his fingers beneath the waist of Claire’s panties and jeans, tearing them down her legs and leaving her glistening and bare, spread across Jody’s ugly plaid couch.

The next strike landed on Claire’s skin, slapping wetly over her pussy and sending a sting through her already sensitive nerve endings. She moaned wantonly, rubbing herself against Dean’s fingers, heavy and warm against her pussy.

“That feel good, baby girl?” Dean asked menacingly, tracing one thick finger around her entrance. Claire nodded mutely, eyes pressed tight against the pleasure. “Well, then it’s not much of a punishment yet, is it?” Dean smacked her even harder, and Claire flinched but still arched into the touch.

“Fuck, Daddy,” she whimpered, sounding much smaller than she had moments earlier. Dean delivered three more smacks in quick succession, each one more painful than the last, until Claire’s skin was burning beneath Dean’s touch, and positively sopping wet.

“Look at you, you little slut. Dripping all over the couch. You’re so desperate for it, aren’t you baby?” Dean spun a hand through her curls and tugged them back, forcing Claire to look him in the eyes. “You my bad little girl?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Claire licked her lips, breath coming in aborted little huffs that made her breasts shake, she hoped appealingly.

“Too bad,” Dean sneered. “Only girls who are good for Daddy get his cock.” Dean got up off the couch with a huff of effort and left Claire half naked behind him without a backward glance.

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