Hearing someone shuffling around in the room he's in, Dean stirs from his deep sleep. He comes to and without moving a muscle he can tell this wasn't going to be an easy morning. His head is pounding, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, neck sore from drooping onto his shoulder while passed out, and ass numb from being seated in a wooden kitchen chair all night. Wooden chair? Seriously? He can't remember the last time he passed out this hard.

Slowly, Dean pries opens his eyes and looks around. He's in Bobby's kitchen, no doubt in his mind. He knows that room better than most others in his life.

The hazy, cloudy feeling that has settled into his brain overnight makes the room spin slightly. The moment passes and he focuses in on the sounds of movement that woke him in the first place. He sees a cute, petite blonde with her back to him messing around at the kitchen counter. Her faded blue t-shirt is what makes Dean remember her as it's the same Red Sox one she was wearing the night before. While reaching for a coffee filter on the top shelf of the cabinets, a very high reach for her very short height, her white cotton pajama shorts ride up, allowing for a very brief ass-cheek-peek. Dean silently wishes he could wake up like this more often. A show right off the bat. His hangover almost feels better after that.

After a moment of quiet and selfish observation, Dean clears his throat to let Lou know he's awake.

She instantly turns with a start and smiles when she sees him looking back at her. "Good morning, sunshine!"

"Ugh," Dean grumbles in a wordless return.

"Sounds about right," she laughs slightly with his terrible response combined with his appearance. "You look like shit."

"Aren't you a peach," he flatly returns.

"Coffee?"

"Yeah, thanks," Dean murmurs. After shifting in the wooden chair with the hopes of regaining feeling in his ass, he puts his elbows on the table and then roughly rubs over his face with his hands. Holy crap, he can't drink like that anymore. He isn't eighteen these days….

"Hey," Sam greets as he walks in carrying some empty beer bottles. "Whoa. You look like shit."

"Seems to be the general consensus." Dean wishes he felt half as good as the two people in front of him. What the fuck happened? "What time is it?"

"Ten-thirty," Sam says while obviously looking at the wall clock that would have taken Dean a simple turn of the head to see himself. "Guess that Vicodin really put you down last night." He knowingly uses an all-too-cheerful voice on purpose.

"Yep, sure did," Lou answers on Dean's behalf, delighting in it as she leans her back into the counter's edge and crosses her arms over her chest. She observes Dean's pain with a grin. "You were out like a light, dude. Sam couldn't even get you standing so he could drag your ass into bed."

"His loss," Dean drily jokes all too quickly. "I'm gonna go lay down before I die. Lemme know when coffee's ready."

Dean stands up slowly and drags his feet to the couch, listening to Sam and Lou joke at his expense as he does. He flips them the middle finger over his shoulder as he walks away.

"Aw, we hurt his feelings," Lou jokes and Sam laughs loudly at it, too happy to have someone to help him get the advantage over his big brother for once.

"Eat shit," Dean gripes. "Both of ya."

Once in the living room he drops down on the antique couch with a grunt and some serious relief. The cushions feel far better than the ridged, hard wooden chair certainly did.

While on his back he drapes his arm over his eyes to block out the harsh daylight filtering through the dirty old windows of Bobby's place. Not even the dirt can help ease his pain now.

What happened last night? It wasn't the craziest night he's had, he knows that much. He didn't get laid he's pretty sure and he doesn't recall drinking enough to feel this absolutely craptastic. All he can remember is bits and pieces of sitting at the kitchen table after getting sewn back up by possibly the hottest chick he's ever seen before.

Flashes come through; winning some games of quarters, talking to the girls about hunt of the past and Bobby in general once he went to bed earlier then the rest, Lou sitting on his lap while 'teaching' her to play poker (she was well versed in how already and was playing dumb beforehand), and… and… going shot for shot with Lizzy when she called him out on his lack of drinking prowess.

That's what put him over the edge. So. Many. Shots. She's a machine. She was impressive. And now Dean knows he has to stop pretending he can handle drinking like that anymore. Eh, at the same time he knows that pride is one son of a bitch. He won't ever stop drinking like a fish, especially while trying to impress the girl that he'd had his eye on since he walked through the door.

"Guess I'm not the only hungover asshole this fine morning," Lizzy complains, announcing her presence to the clearly destroyed man on the couch.

Dean pulls his arm away from his face and watches Lizzy plop herself into Bobby's favorite chair and put her feet up on the ottoman in front of it. Lizzy's body language tells him she is hurting too but somehow she still looks damn good to him. She's wearing a white wife beater and some tight, very short black shorts. Her hair is up in a messy ponytail, a thin elastic headband holding back her sweeping bangs and her makeup is all washed off now. She looks fresh despite her hangover.

Now, admittedly Dean's slept with probably too many woman by traditional standards. Ok, definitely. But on the rare occasion that he's caught a woman in the morning sans makeup and true effort he's been disappointed. Lizzy is debunking his previous assumptions. She's looks honestly beautiful and if his head were clearer he might have mentioned how good she looks first thing in the morning. Right now, though, there is no way he could formulate the words properly.

Instead he settles for commenting on her morning greeting. "No you are not."

"Shot for shot was a bad idea," she laughs, then groans when the pain reminds her that laughing is a bad idea.

"So bad," Dean easily agrees. "I think my skull is gonna crack open."

"Here, take three of these." Lizzy tosses him a white bottle. "I already did."

Dean pops the top and pours three into his hand. Without thinking first, he pops them into his mouth and swallows without water. And then it hits him. "Probably should have asked before taking them but what were those?"

"Just Advil." She smiles at him reassuringly, knowing she's to blame for his total collapse the night before. Two Vicodin for an arm cut? On a hunter? That drinks like a fish? Terrible.

"Good," Dean relieves while dropping his head back onto the couch cushion. "No more serious pain killers."

Lizzy forces a small smile at him for the funny comment while observing him. He's stretched out on the couch in his clothes from the night before. His tightly toned stomach is just slightly revealed through the sliver between his black t-shirt that rode up a touch and the waist of his jeans. And his strong arms are completely visible in the short sleeves. Mm. She sighs to herself. She knew the second she saw him that he was hotter than hot and that he was something else but damn. He's exceptional and after last night and this morning's reminder of his looks she's read to hone in on him shamelessly if need be.

Diverting her eyes when Sam walks into the room with two coffee mugs, she shifts and sits up taller, trying to hide her ogling. An innocent smile gets aimed at him and Sam mirrors it right back.

"Good morning," he greets Lizzy, handing her a cup while trying not to look at her too much. She's barely wearing anything. "Looks like Dean's in some seriously good company."

"Eat me," Lizzy and Dean answer at the same time. They glance at each other, completely surprised at the coincidence.

"We have to separate you two," Lou adds as she walks into the room, eyes rolling.

Dean tries to laugh, but thinks better of it as his head pounds harder when he does.

"Anyone know where Bobby is?" Sam inquires as he takes a seat in an open upholstered chair.

"Oh, I saw him this morning. He went out to get some stuff for the house," Lou tells him as she squeezes into the chair with Lizzy. They barely fit together but they make it work. Lizzy rests her head on Lou's shoulder, her tattooed arm draped over Lou's bent up knees and cuddles in a little. Her eyes stay closed to block the daylight. "It sounded like he assumed he'd have some company around for a few days."

"Honestly, that's kinda why I wanted to stop in here in the first place," Lizzy states without lifting her lids. "No driving, no fighting, just, you know,being."

"Uh!" Lou groans with total appreciation for the sentiment. "That sounds nice right about now. We've been going, going, going for, like, two months."

"And you know it gets lonely around here," Lizzy keeps going. "We should stay and cook some meals, maybe clean up the place. You know, the usual."

Lou wraps her arm around Lizzy's shoulder before playing with her hair, knowing the girl is hurting pretty badly with her hangover. "Yeah, I like that idea. We totally should do that."

"Awesome," Lizzy smiles through the pain.

"Then we should head out, though. Shirl told me a while back that she'd kill us if she didn't see us soon."

"Shit. It's been way too long this time." Lizzy looks up at Lou knowingly. "We dropped the ball."

"I'm shocked she hasn't come looking for us in her old Buick yet," Lou laughs lightly.

"Who's Shirl?" Sam questions, his curiosity getting the best of him.

"Shirley. My grandmother," Lizzy answers. "But she's kind of adopted Lou as another grandkid over time."

"You have family?" Dean asks with surprise, turning his head to look at her.

She gives a funny expression back. "We all have family, Dean."

He doesn't respond to that. He was just taken aback that she has family around at all since most hunters didn't.

"She just worries about us a lot," Lizzy tells Sam. "Probably too much. We try to keep tabs, call her once a week, but it isn't always easy. She might kill us if we don't visit her soon." She turns to Lou. "She left me another message last night, you know."

"She did?" Lou wonders and Lizzy nods in response. "Ok then, it's a plan. We can stay until Monday, maybe? Then go see Shirley. Hopefully Bobby doesn't find us something to do before then."

"You've made the Great Shirl very happy," Lizzy comments while dropping her head back down on Lou's shoulder. She keeps her eyes open this time and looks to the two young men in the room. "How about you two? Anything pressing you have to get to?"

"Mmhmm," grumbles Dean from under his arm, once more draping it over his eyes. "I need to work on Baby.

"Baby?" Lou asks, eyebrow arching with curiosity.

"My number one girl," he says with a smile.

"He means his car," Sam lets them in on.

"She's been needing a little TLC for a while now. Bobby has everything I need, so I figured I would start today since we're here."

"What kind of car do you have?" Lou questions, Dean missing the excitement in the question while having his eyes closed.

"'67 Chevy Impala," he answers with total pride.

"Two door?" Lou pries on and it makes Dean uncover his eyes, head lifting up to look at her.

"Four," he says with an interested face.

"I'm hoping you have a 427 in that thing then," Lou says with certainty.

"No," Dean sits up a bit and looks at her with lit up eyes. "V8 327 four-barrel."

"Oh man," Lou awes, eyes rolling back. "That thing hauls, doesn't it?"

"Yes she does," Dean smiles a little. "You know a little something about cars?"

"A little something," she nods and sips her coffee. "Might have to check out this Baby of yours at some point."

"If you know what you're doing, sure," Dean invites. "I'll be working on her for a couple days.

"Um, Dean… we did have that thing to look for," Sam not so subtly reminds.

"Hell are you talking about?" Dean asks, dropping his head back and closing his eyes.

"The same thing we've been tracking for a while now," Sam says with sheer annoyance, shooting a look at Dean. "We have work to do."

The girls glance at the two men with puzzled expressions. They know something is up, it's pretty plain to see. There's tension there, and a secret.

"We do," Dean agrees as he props himself up on his elbow to look solely at Sam. "But, as you know, we are at a dead end with that thing right now. No leads, dude. Not for a while. I think we should take a minute and step away before it make us crazy, especially you. We've taken a few days off here and there ever great now and then so let's just do that. Take a few days off. Recharge the batteries. I think it'll be good for us."

Sam gives him that face, the bitch face Dean knows all too well. "Dean, don't you think we should…"

"Sam, what are we going to do, huh?" Dean asks when he gets upset at the idea of leaving Bobby's right now. "Drive around the country aimlessly hoping to accidentally bump into it? Not gonna happen. You need to take some time off, man. I know you do. You know you do. And I am not going anywhere until the Impala gets what she needs. That's all there is to it."

Sam sets his jaw and tilts his head once quickly, deep breath in and out with frustration. He hates when Dean gets this way. The authoritative bullshit gets old. Maybe they do need a break…. "Fine. But if we learn something, hear anything…."

"We leave right away. I promise, Sammy."

There is a long pause as they stare at each other. The room feels heavy. Lizzy and Lou exchange glances again, more curious than ever and clearly confused.

"Alright. A couple days." Sam finally concedes, though obviously irritated and worried.

Once he knows they're all staying for a bit Dean takes a second to observe the two girls pressed up against each other on Bobby's chair, their very small pajamas showing off their forms, and he sees how it might be nice to spend time with new people for a little while. People not named Sam. People that were hot and comfortable wearing next to nothing. People that were apparently fun to drink with, too. Sam will eventually see that they made the right decision despite his worries. How could he not?

But for now Dean turns away from everyone in the room and closes his eyes. He needs a nap desperately. He can't enjoy the fact that two hot women are in his presence until this hangover subsides.

"Well then," Lizzy announces, breaking up the moment. "I am going to pretend I don't want to throw up right now and take a shower. And put real clothes on. And brush my teeth, gross." Lizzy pries herself out of the shared chair and stands up. "Anyone need the bathroom before I go in there for a bit?"

Dean realizes now that he in fact does and raises his hand in the air as if answering a teacher.

"Ok, just hurry up. And I hope all you have to do is piss."

Dean holds up one finger, answering her question.

Lizzy chuckles and heads upstairs to grab her things. Dean pushes himself off the couch to head into the bathroom and starts to think that brushing his teeth was a good idea. Maybe he could brush away the taste of stale whiskey. He looks at Sam. "Where's our stuff?"

"In the room I always stay in."

"Why's my stuff in your room?" Dean asks.

"Because we're sharing a room," Sam answers, thinking it should be obvious. "The girls took your usual room."

"So I have to share a room with you? There's only one bed in there." Dean scrunches up his face in disgust.

"We'll manage," Sam reassures with a smile, knowing Dean's being far too reactive over it. They shared a bed as kids all the time. It'll suck but they'll survive.

The urgency to relieve himself gets the best of him, so Dean abandons the toothbrush for now and shuffles to the bathroom. Shutting the door with a loud thud that makes him massage his throbbing temples, he turns on the light, rubs a hand down his face, and takes a look in the bathroom mirror. He pauses instantly when he sees it.

"Oh, come on!"

He can hear Lou and Sam laughing through the closed door.

"Really!?" he bitches as he rubs at the permanent marker on his forehead in the outline of a penis. It doesn't even smudge. "I'm surrounded by friggin' children," Dean mumbles as he reaches for a washcloth.

"What are you doing?" Sam asks from across the kitchen table as he watches Lou finish up buttering her toast before opening the peanut butter jar.

She looks at him confused. "I'm making toast?" Lou answers hesitantly, unsure of what he's asking.

"Why did you just butter it if you're putting peanut butter on it?" he questions her actions with disgust.

She smiles a little. "Are you criticizing my toast preparations?"

"I just think that's… weird as hell," he laughs a bit.

She nods knowingly. "Yeah, people have told me that before. But… I grew up eating toast this way. It's how my mom did it."

"She eat a lot of weird things?"

"No… she just ate toast with butter first and then whatever else on top," Lou shrugs with a more sullen attitude suddenly.

And Sam picked up on it. Ate. She ate toast like that.

"I, uh… I didn't mean to, to insult you or say the wrong thing…." Sam tries to apologize.

"You're fine, Sam," Lou grins. "You didn't know. And now you do."

"I'm sorry."

The way he looks at her, full sympathy and sincere apology, she just smiles warmly back. He's sweet. "Don't be. You didn't kill my parents."

"Where your parents vampires?" he asks with a lighter tone.

"No." She furrows her brow in confusion for the question.

"Demons?"

"Just people," Lou huffs a laugh.

"Then no… it wasn't me. Promise." He holds his hand up in a vow to her.

She nods and starts to spread peanut butter on her buttered toast. "So Sam…."

"Yes?" he asks in response.

"I have to ask… do you always turn down the cute blonde girls after a night of drinking or was it just me you weren't interested in?"

Hazel eyes as wide as golf balls, Sam looks at her with total surprise.

"I mean, we could've had a little fun last night," she lets him know as she works on her breakfast. "But you just weren't having it."

Sam nods, looking down at his second cup of coffee as he's completely unsure of what to say. "Sorry."

"Oh, don't apologize," she smiles. "I just don't get turned down all that much."

"I'm sure you don't," he huffs a laugh but knows she's telling the truth. She's very cute. "I've just… it's been a rough run."

She puts the lid on the peanut butter and wrinkles her brow. "How rough?"

"Very," Sam admits. "And right now… I'm not sure I need to be doing… that."

She pauses and places her folded hands on the table, eyeing him seriously and without sexual motivation. "You wanna talk about?"

His eyebrows fly to his hairline with the question. He's very rarely been asked that in his life. He does need to talk about it… but want to? "No."

"Ok," she nods and shares a tight lipped smile. "I understand. We've certainly all been there."

Sam breathes deeply in relief.

"But it you wanna talk I'm surprisingly good at listening," she offers again.

"Thanks," Sam smiles small.

"And if you wanna work out your troubles in other ways," she smirks at him, keeping the offer on the table. "You know exactly where to find me."

Sam looks away and actually laughs at her persistence. "You don't give up."

"Not when I really, really want something… no."

Sam watches the self-assured expression settle onto her face as she takes a bite of butter and peanut butter covered toast.

"I think I can safely say I've never met anyone like you," Sam wants her to know.

"Oh, honey. They don't make 'em like me," Lou cockily responds and Sam cringes. She sounds like Dean.

"Jesus…."

He hears the quiet knock on the bedroom door but with the hangover still working its way through his body Dean ignores the sound. Instead, he buries his head under his pillow to hide from it. He's still hurting pretty bad. He's feeling sadly old right now.

Even beneath the thick layer of stuffing and sheet he makes out the creaking of the old bedroom door opening. Nope, can't hide this time. He unearths his head to see who is ruining his peaceful recovery nap.

"Hey lazy!" the now familiar female voice says to him. "I'm doing some laundry. You have anything you want done?"

After sitting up he can see Lizzy is standing in the doorway with a large white bag that's already partially full. She still running around the house in her pajamas and Dean couldn't be happier for that.

But now he's got a bit of a conundrum. It's been a couple weeks since he and Sam went to a laundromat and he has plenty in his duffle bag that could use a good washing. Even so, he's hesitant. Is it weird to have a relative stranger wash your boxers?

As if reading his mind, Lizzy huffs a laugh at him sitting in bed looking worried. She easily answers the question in Dean's mind. "Look, it already took me five minutes of convincing to get your brother to let me wash his clothes. Just give me what you have and let me avoid repeating this whole debate, okay? In our line of work, I've come across smellier, much more disgusting things than some boxers that reek of ball sweat. Or boxer-briefs in Sam's case." She grins slyly and winks at him.

"Works for me," Dean gives in easy enough. If Sam's cool with it then he's definitely cool with it. "Let me see what I have?"

"Take your time," she smiles, looking at his bed head. He had his hair sticking up in a patch at the crown of his head. He looks adorable.

Dean's headache may have started to subside now but getting up from the comfort of the bed was still enough to make him audibly groan like an octogenarian. After meandering slowly across the room, he reaches into his duffle bag and starts sorting out everything he knows is dirty. Once done he has most of the clothes he owns in the pile to be washed.

"Looks like it's been a busy time for you two lately. No pause for chores, huh?" Lizzy observes as she walks towards the newly created heap of well-worn clothing. She drops the white laundry bag on the floor and holds it open for him to put everything in.

"You know how it is," he shrugs and begins picking up the items in scoops and adding them to his brother's already collected things.

"Yeah. I do," she agrees.

"Thanks for this," he sincerely tells her while adding the last bundle to the bag. His face makes it clear he's not so used to having such nice things done for he and his brother and Lizzy picks up on it. "We really appreciate it."

"Not a problem," she assures, thinking quickly. She's nervous to extend the invite knowing his decline would hurt pretty badly but hell, life is short. She needs to go for what she wants when she wants it and these men, specifically Dean, have her intrigued. "I mean, if Louie and I are gonna head out on the town tonight with two fine young men as yourselves, said young men should be dressed in freshly cleaned, funk-free clothing. Don't you think?"

"Out on the town, huh?" Dean questions her, hands on his hips as he stands only a foot from her. She looks more awake now than he does. Her eyes are bright and happy. He wishes he remembers a time when he himself looked like that.

"If you'd want to," Lizzy keeps trying. "Lou and I love a place that does live music on Friday nights. Usually classic covers that don't sound quite right but whatever. It's fun." She laughs slightly nervously.

"Then I guess I can't argue with that."

"Then don't," she smiles wider than she should over such a small interaction but she's too happy not to. She wants to hang out with him.

And Dean himself feels a little jump in his stomach. Was that excitement? He hasn't felt that in a while. Alright, they have been looking at each other silently for a few seconds too long now. Dean clears his throat and looks away a bit. "I think I'm gonna take your lead and get productive. I have a lot to get to. Oil change, transmission work, wax job, bang out that ding in Baby's bumper…"

"You really love that car, don't you?" inquires Lizzy, the sudden calm and adoration in his expression giving him away even more.

"Of course. She's my girl."

"I think it funny that you call your car your girl."

"Well… she's all I have."

Lizzy shares a sad smile with that.

"That car was my Dad's. Had since before he married mom and he passed it down to me when I turned sixteen. He said I loved the damn thing more than even he did so I should have it. He always made sure I'd take care of her and keep her perfect… hell, he'd kill me if I wasn't."

"He put a lot of trust in you," Lizzy points out as she sees it.

And she has no idea just how right she is about that. "Yeah… he did." Dean nods and smiles while thinking it over. "And, you know, being on the road all the time, she's the closest thing to a home Sammy and I've ever had. She's all we know." Why he's sharing all this information with someone he's just barely met he isn't sure. It's surprising how comfortable he feels around this girl. She has an encompassing warmth that she infects people with and she's done a very good job of putting him at complete ease right away.

"We all have things that help tie us to our past and remember those important to us," Lizzy states, clearly understanding very well what Dean is saying. She then quickly keeps talking to avoid speaking about that idea any further. No need to talk about her own past right now. "And I'm sorry about John, by the way. Bobby told us a few weeks back on the phone that he passed."

Dean looks down at his feet immediately, the wound still just too fresh to be easy to speak about. "Yeah, well…."

"There isn't much I can say except that I know how hard it is to lose a parent… or two. It isn't easy but there are people that understand. You aren't alone, Dean."

He looks back up to her with complete and sudden understanding. She's been in his shoes, so to say. She's on her own too.

"Thank you," Dean responds quietly, truly meaning it.

"You're welcome."

They stare at each other for a moment after sharing something so deeply profound despite having met just hours ago before Lizzy leans down to pick up the now full bag resting at her feet.

"I'm going to get moving on this. Tall order!" Lizzy hoists the bag over her right shoulder and starts heading down the hall after grinning warmly at him yet again. She calls back over her shoulder once a few steps away, "Permanent marker's a real bitch, Dean. You should try using rubbing alcohol to get that leftover dick off your forehead."

Dean makes his way down the stairs after showering and redressing in some non-slept-in clothing. He has a couple t-shirts in hand and as walks through the study he finds Sam lost in a book that looks centuries old and the sound of Bobby in the kitchen vouching for someone who is posing as an FBI higher up. He stares at Sam for a second, watching the concentration written into his expression as he pours over yet another book with demonic information that won't give them the answers they need.

He's worried about his brother. This whole thing with Yellow Eyes is eating Sam up and Dean knows it. He sees it every second of every day. The idea of vengeance for Dad and Jessica is going to drive him insane. Dean wants his day of retribution too, oh is he itching to gank the son of a bitch that ruined his family, but he hasn't let it change who he is so drastically.

Sam used to hate this life, rebelling against it and eventually running away from it, but once Jessica died he fully embraced being a hunter and that wasn't the Sam Dean knew his whole life. Sam's never embraced hunting. Ever. This isn't good.

Even if Dean can't kill Yellow Eyes today and make it all better he can at least he can try to steal Sam away for a little bit and make his mind go elsewhere for once.

"Sammy."

"Yeah," Sam says, finishing up the line he was in the middle of reading before looking up from his seat on the cot to look at Dean.

"You wanna get your head outta the books and help me with the car for a little bit?"

Sam's face wrinkles in confusion. "You feeling ok?"

"Shut up. You in or what?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, it'll be fun."

"It'll be fun?" Sam laughs at him.

"It'll be good for you," Dean clarifies after Sam gives him a hard time. "Plus, it's freakin' nice out, dude. Have few beers and hang out. And I'll need a hand with the bumper."

Sam concedes after thinking it over. "Yeah. Ok." He gets up from the cot, marking his book and placing it in his former seat. "Lemme grab some clothes to do work in." Sam heads up to the second floor as Dean walks for the kitchen, Bobby nodding at him with a shocked look as he makes his way through. He knows Bobby's impressed that he got Sam to stop his constant research. Hell, Dean's pretty shocked too.

He continues through the kitchen and opens the basement door. Halfway down the steps Dean can hear a voice. Is that singing? Better yet, can that sound be considered singing? It's terrible and so off key it practically hurts. Dean pauses in mid stride and holds his breath as he waits and hopes to take in another off-key earful. Yes. Very, very terrible.

He removes his heavy boots and leaves them on his current step before continuing downward with sock-covered feet in the hopes of remaining hidden. Once at the bottom, he's glad he didn't make his presence too obvious. He'd hate to have ruined the absolutely spectacular show playing out in front of him.

The lyrics have him surprised. Being a tease? Pulling down zippers? What is this song?

Dean's eyebrows fly high as he finally takes in the display along with the words she's trying to sing. She has her back to him and apparently isn't aware of the eyes that are now glued to her, which is more than fine by him. Dean plans on keeping it that way for a little longer so he can enjoy this. While wearing only a black, thin strapped tank and hot pink cotton panties that frame her ass in the most perfect way, Lizzy is pulling out clothing from the dryer while dancing in place, her hips gyrating to the music. Her body is just as good as he'd imagined the night before. With earbuds planted firmly in place, the music must have drowned out any noise Dean had made on his way down. And thank God. Watching her movements he could swear that she was carrying on like this just for him. And she really knew how to move. Going in for a better view, he slowly advances to the wall opposite her so that he's still out of sight. This is all confirming for him that staying at Bobby's for the next few days was without a doubt the right decision.

Lizzy bends over a few times to reach into the dryer for more items and every time Dean gets an even better glimpse of her curves.

"Jesus Christ!" Lizzy spots Dean propped with his back against the wall, his arms and legs crossed casually, out of the corner of her eye. She jumps a mile when she snaps her focus onto him. She pulls the earbuds out of her ears and clutches her chest as her heart pounds.

"Holy shit, you scared me!" she yells at him.

"Sorry." He's beaming from ear to ear.

"How long have you been there?"

"Not long. I just didn't have the heart to stop you," Dean explains, the wide smile still planted on his face even though he's less than happy she stopped. "I found a couple more things I was hoping to throw in if I'm not too late."

"Yeah, no problem," she sighs as she recovers from the shock. "I just threw both of your stuff in a minute ago. Fuck, my heart is racing still."

Lizzy reaches for the shirts and Dean hands them over. She snatches the clothing out of his hands and gives him a look. "So you really do have a pervy streak, huh?"

He looks at her with amusement. "I didn't do anything. You did."

"You were watching me," she points out.

"What's the harm in that?" Dean gives her an innocent look.

"Voyeurism could be considered pervy," Lizzy lets him know lightly. "And I should say sorry to you for having to hear that. I've been told I'm tone-deaf."

"You? Nooooo…." he patronizes.

"Shut up," she laughs.

"You have the voice of an angel," Dean sarcastically tells her, joking far too easily with her. "I don't know what you were just singing but it might be my new favorite song."

"Just listening to my girl Britney."

Dean's smirk fades into a frown. "Spears?"

"The one and only."

"Then I take it back," he says with a disgusted face.

"Don't you dare hate on Britney!" she gets offended right away. "I love her."

"How!?" Dean wonders with a total loss.

"There is nothing wrong with some dancey, slutty fun every now and then."

"Ok… fair enough, I guess," he responds with disappointment before realizing something. "Wait, so you like AC/DC, Zeppelin, Doors… and Britney Spears?" She laughs at his point. "One of these things is not like the other."

"Haven't you ever been told that variety is the spice of life?" she wonders as she pulls open the washer and tosses his clothes inside. "Rock is my main choice but now and then some easy, thoughtless music is just as good. It's just easy."

Dean gives a skeptical look. "Easy will rot your eardrums."

"Well excuse me." She shoots him a look that says she's annoyed that he can't see it her way but it doesn't matter. She's having fun talking to him.

"So, L," he moves on. "You usually do housework while singing in your underwear, or is that just for me?"

Lizzy rolls her eyes at Dean's lame suggestion. "That was lame, Winchester."

"I make lame look good." He shrugs it off.

She stops and looks him over. Quietly she tells him, "Yes you do."

He didn't expect that.

"And L?" she keeps going. "Is Lizzy too long for you to pronounce?"

"I prefer one syllable," Dean jests.

"Ha, ok. Well, I do usually listen to pop music while doing chores. For me it makes them go by faster." She then looks down at herself. "The underwear, though, I don't usually do. I realized once I was down here that my jeans had some dirt from the last salt and burn on them so I threw them in the washer. It wasn't until they were in the washer that I realized I was stuck without pants for a while. I was going to hide out down here until something was ready that I could throw on but I guess it doesn't matter now, does it?"

"Well I really don't think anyone upstairs would mind. And I certainly don't." Dean's actually surprised at how comfortable she is wearing next to nothing in front of him. Then again, looking like that she should be comfortable, he thinks. She's in incredible shape, which is one of the perks of the job.

"Didn't think so," Lizzy giggles. She begins folding some of the clothes that she's pulled out of the dryer. "So Lou and I were going to head into town in about an hour. We wanted to get some cleaning supplies for the house and replace the whiskey we drank on Bobby last night before maybe checking out the vintage store on 18th. You have anything you need us to pick up?"

Once more he's surprised by her generosity. "You don't have to worry about us. You're already doing our laundry. That's more than enough."

"It isn't a problem. Not like we aren't heading that way anyways. Just let us know"

Light footsteps are heard rapidly descending down the basement steps right then.

"Lizard, any room for a couple more things?" Lou reaches the bottom of the stairs and heads for her best friend.

"Sure, just pile it on," Lizzy says exasperatedly while gesturing to the pile still waiting to be cleaned.

"Sweet," Lou responds as she pulls her sweatshirt over her head and tosses it at Lizzy. Then her arms disappear into her t-shirt and after a few seconds of maneuvering, she pulls her bra out of her sleeve before tossing that to Lizzy too.

"Impressive," Dean compliments. He's never seen that done before. He should ask for some pointers.

"Oh, hey," Lou startles as she turns around to see Dean against the wall for the first time. "What's going on, creepster?"

"Enjoying the show, I guess you could say."

"Smart," Lou says before turning to Lizzy. "I'll be ready in, like, five. Sound good?"

"Sounds good," Lizzy confirms.

"Ok, good work out there, kid," Lou jokes as she gives Lizzy a light smack on her ass before sprinting up the stairs bralessly.

Dean's day, though sickness-filled and painful, has already been awesome.

Lizzy picks up a large pile of freshly folded clothes and heads to the stairs. "I guess I better get going then. We'll be back around dinner time. Hope you Winchesters are ready to put your drinking shoes on tonight!" She heads up the stairs, still pant less and still shameless.

Even though the thought of drinking again make Dean slightly nauseous, he finds himself excited. A night out will be nice. Maybe he can even get Sam to have an honest-to-God good time for once.

He walks to the dryer to help haul some of the piles up since it's the least he can do. As he lifts a freshly folded stack of Lizzy's things he hears her feet pad across the study above him followed by the sound of Sam clearing his throat. The he hears Lizzy's flippant response.

"Afternoon, Gentlemen."

He wishes he could see Bobby and Sam's faces.