[h3] Dean Winchester [/h3]

As Dean and Mika arrived back at the motel, Dean put the Impala in park and glanced around the parking lot, to check for Nat’s car, before pulling his phone from his pocket.  He scrolled through his numbers, until he found Sam’s number and he opened a text, to let him know they were back and to meet them in his and Mika’s room.

“All we can do now is wait.”, he grumbled, opening the drivers door and stepping out of the car.  As he stepped out, he heard footsteps walking toward him and glanced up, pulling his pistol instantly to point at the person approaching, only for Cason to hold his hands up in defense.  Cason was completely healed from his injuries, at this point and his hand rested on what seemed to be an invisible head, as he petted Sarah and smirked.

“Don’t shoot me.  I don’t think she’d like that very much.”, Cason muttered simply, smirking down at Sarah.  He shifted his weight to one foot as Dean lowered his pistol and shoved it into the back of his pants.

“What the hell are you doing back here?  I thought you ran for the hills.”, Dean spat at Cason, glancing down at the hand that now scratched under Sarah’s ear.  Cason shook his head and he scoffed.

“I’m here to help.  Esme’s predisposed, but I brought her a present…and I want to help you guys.”

“I don’t think we need your kind of help.  I’m not quite over you almost killing me yesterday, you know.  So, no thanks.”, Dean grumbled once again, walking around to Mika’s door.  He opened her door for her, and stood between her and Cason as he stared him down but Cason rolled his eyes.

“So you know there’s a witch, right?  You know that there’s a hoard of demons guarding this place and…you know that the big shindig is about to go down at the cemetery tonight…right?  You know all of those things just from talking to some sad and lonely widow?  My, Dean!  I never took you for the intuitive type.  Hi Mika.”, Cason chimed, making it clear that he had inside information they couldn’t get, while prodding at that knife in Dean’s side.

[h3] Duke[/h3]

Duke laughed softly, holding onto Esme tightly as she lifted her foot and joked about how slippery the bottom of the tub was.  He stepped forward a bit further, to make up for the slippery surface, glad that this particular motel had a bath rug.  As he worried about, Esme’s foot slipped from behind her, just before her other foot hit the bath rug, and he gasped along with her, tightening his grip on her waist.  He bent at the knees and caught her, before she could fall completely to the floor, pulling her tight against his chest and then drug her the rest of the way out of the tub.

He barely let her feet touch the floor as he pulled her up against him with a wide smile, and his eyebrows raised, “You’re really makin’ me work for my time with you, there sweetheart!”

He laughed loudly, steadying Esme and leaning her onto her good leg, before stepping back from her a bit.  He unfolded the towel in his hand and wrapped it around her chest, neatly tucking it into itself, to keep her modesty the best he could.

“Are you done tryin’ to kill yourself?”, he asked her with his eyebrows still raised, kneeling to one knee to run a hand up her bad leg.  He brushed the towel up a bit, and traced his fingertips around the stitches in her thigh, with a relieved sigh.  He stood to his feet carefully, tilting her head up with his fingers under her chin and smirked, “Somehow, you didn’t tear anything.  Do you um…want me to carry you to the bedroom, or are we walkin’?”