[h2] Dean Winchester [/h2]

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam telling him he was fine, “Well with you, of course it means you’re mad.  C’mon Sammy…”

After he gathered Esme’s clothes and rejoined Sam, he heard his question, and shrugged his shoulders, “She seems good, honestly.  She just seems like she might stay.  I don’t know if you think that’s a good thing, or a bad thing, right now.”

Dean watched her, as she came into the room, just standing back with his arms folded as she searched for her socks.  He smirked, knowing they were near the foot of the bed, where she had peeled them off in the middle of the night.  He did his best to cover the proud smirk on his face, as he was still hung up on the drunken fun that he could remember…

Clearing his throat, he stepped forward and ran a hand across her shoulder blades, stepping around the room to try and find his shirt.  He found his jacket lying behind the chair nearest to the door, and snatched it off the floor, tossing it at Sam playfully.  

“Where are my shirts?”, he asked himself out loud, scanning the room.  Suddenly, his mind began flashing small images of the night before.  

The car pulling up.  
Dean waiting in the lobby while Esme did the checking in. 
Trying to rob the vending machine.  
Kissing Esme, ending up at some point with her holding him against the hood of her car.
His jacket, and both shirts ending up on the hood at some point, until he got cold trying to open the door, and put his jacket over his bare shoulders.
The underwear bet loss…where he lost a game of pool, after having a few drinks, and what did she bet him?  If he lost, he had to do a little dance for her…in her panties.

He whipped around at the memories, and squinted at Esme, “I think we um…need to talk about your aggression.”

He spoke the words and his eyebrows raised as he opened the door, and stepped out, snatching his shirts off the hood of her car that was just outside.  He came back inside, holding the shirts up in one hand, “On the car?  Really?  And panties?!”

He barely paid attention to Sam in the room, as he questioned her, and then chuckled, straightening out his t-shirt.  He pulled the shirt over his head, slipping his arms into it.  He gave her another look, and shook his head, laughing as he picked up his flannel and started shoving his arms through it.

“Next time…I’m staying sober…”, he muttered, pointing at her with his knife as he pulled it from under the pillow.  He laid the knife on the table, and shoved his feet into his boots.