When Chuck Shurley made his rounds, he made a horrible discovery. Camp Chitaqua was running low on feminine hygiene products. A lot of the women were unhappy because their supplies of tampons and pads were running dry. There was even a domestic dispute because of this. One woman accused another of trying to steal a tampon off of her. It was times like this especially, that Chuck was so glad he wasn't a woman. The dispute had been between Jane (who allegedly was the subject of one Dean Winchester's extraneous interest) and Kally. Jane was the victim of this dispute, but Kally was the one who walked away with bloody scratches. After this conflict was resolved, the two women parted ways, and Dean approached Chuck subtly, requesting that he do a separate count on feminine hygiene products in camp. Maybe it was his scandalous connections with Jane that prompted this sort of unusual thoughtfulness, or maybe it was not wanting to have to deal with another situation like this again. Ever.

So Chuck made his rounds. He wasn't very comfortable with this at all. Asking such personal questions like this made him stutter and he even broke a sweat when Kally hounded him about the fact that Dean took Jane's side on the matter. "I– I don't play judge around here, Kally, I just do inventory," he said. Another girl was on his back, telling him not to tell anyone else that she had two whole boxes of pads and tampons. To this, he swore, "Okay, okay- hand to God- I'm not telling anyone except Dean."

—

"Cat-fighting over cotton and Kotex," Risa commented sordidly with a tiny party of fellow grunts over a glass of scotch, "It truly is the End of Days."

"It took you this long to get the memo?" one grunt named James said incredulously, "Tch, I knew the End was here when those damn undead slabs of meat starting jumping every skin they could get their claws on. You-" Risa had the foresight to see that James was about to made a sexist remark and shot him a glare. He stopped. An airy chuckle emanated in the dimness of the room.

"...What's so funny, hippie?"

Castiel–or Cas, as he more commonly went by these days–was reclined in a creaky wood chair, tipped back to rest his legs on the matching table in front of them. He didn't say anything, only looked at them with a mischievous gleam in his eyes and a grin to compliment it. Something sloshed in his shadowy corner of the room, and it took a second for them both to realize: Cas had stolen the whole bottle of scotch from right under their noses. He was tipping the bottle this way and that in his hand intentionally. Teasing them. Risa rounded the table instantly.

"Give me that-" she hissed, snatching the scotch from him.

"Aw, and I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for those meddling kids!" Cas jested as he crossed his arms like a pouty child. Neither Risa nor James were amused. James's larger frame shifted his weight. He had maybe fifty-to-seventy-five pounds on Cas. He fit the rugged mold of the archetypal soldier from a lower-budget game like Unreal Tournament. He even had a facial battle scar crossing the bridge of his nose and giving a coarse eyebrow a permanent knick-shave. It was there before The End was nigh. No one ever asked how he got it.

"Listen, you little dipstick freak-" James warned leaning over the table, "If you keep pulling that same shit you always pull, I'll break your arms myself."

"James-" said Risa.

"W–ow," Cas drawled lazily, pulling his legs off of the table, "That's a little overkill isn't it, James? Snapping my arms? Over a bottle of juice?"

"You slept with my wife-" he snarled.

"Whoa, whoa. Plausible deniability, mi amigo-" Cas said, holding up his hands.

"I KNOW YOU DID IT!"

"JAMES!" Risa shouted.

Chairs clattered and Cas was on his feet, bracing himself for an assault as James jumped forward. Cas should've known better than to sit in the same room with him. It had been two weeks since the accusation had been brought to light, and naturally he himself had been deemed the prime suspect. He was the manwhore of Chitaqua. Cas had to admit he wasn't too fond of the alias, but he could deal with it. The sex was more than enough compensation for having to bear the foul name. He wasn't the only one sleeping around of course, there were other men as pig-headed as he could be, but for some reason he was the one with the bad rep. Maybe it was his proximity to Sam and Dean Winchester as friends. Maybe they were just jealous.

In any case, Cas knew when to tuck tail and run. With Risa graciously walling herself between him and James, he was able to slide around the table and leave the little dank cabin they were holed up in. Without a word he left.

Cas stretched as he walked out onto the beaten main road, from his neck down to his fingertips. He sighed when the relief came over his taut muscles and he earned a few rewarding cracks. No, he didn't sleep with Tricia. Someone else must've gotten between her legs. Whoever it was, she obviously cared about them enough to keep them anonymous. Cas had been meaning to suss out who the perp was, conduct his own little investigation, but the need wasn't urgent. Though, now his concern was rising. James still hadn't let it go. He made a note to keep an discreet eye on Tricia.