Disclaimer: I don't own supernatural. But damn do I wish I did!

A/N: here's chapter two! Sorry it's taken a while...I'm on vacation. I hope you enjoy this one, written by my lovely friend, Gina!

Warnings: Smut (obviously) Verbal abuse (slightly) Lying, Cheating, I think that about covers it?


Dean POV

More than three hours into his latest conquest, Dean hits his stride again, violently thrusting. Cassandra moans loudly, "Oh...my...God! How the hell..."

"You begged and pleaded with me..." his voice drones, sending vibrations through her, "and I'm not one to disappoint." He pants as he feels himself getting close. Lowering his head to her ear he commands in a low whisper, "Now, just...ride this out with me." He changes his angle, sending her over the edge almost immediately.

She gasps, then cries out as the pressure builds. "Holy...Dean...DEAN!" As wave after wave hits her, she screams, arching her back and pressing her hips against him.

"Fuck..." he moans, biting her neck as he hits his own release. Fisting the bedsheets, he growls as they come undone together. Resting his forehead on her chest as he leans on his elbows, he catches his breath, sweat covering every square inch of their bodies.

"Whoa," Cassandra manages, limp and panting, "That was...wow."

Winded himself, Dean simply nods.

She squirms under his weight and starts giggling despite her shortness of breath.

He looks up, sweat dripping from his hair and chin. "What's so funny?" He asks breathlessly, a boyish grin on his face.

"It's nothing, really," she says, still panting. "But..." She glances upward. "Do you mind?"

"Oh...right," he breathes, smiling. Pushing off her, he sits up on his knees and leans over to one arm, then the other, untying her from the bedposts. "I'd have never guessed it, but these things are...handy," he notes. "Yeah, it's official; I've definitely acquired a silk scarf fetish." Waggling his eyebrows at her, he licks his lips. "Thanks for that, by the way." He bends down and kisses her, then collapses on his back, heaving a deep sigh. Running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair he looks at her. "Holy shit, what was that, round four? Five?"

She sits up rubbing her wrists, her hair damp and cascading down her back. "Maybe for you, but I..." she smiles as she glances over her shoulder at him. The moonlight catches her eyes, making them shimmer. "Hell, I lost count. I guess I should be thanking YOU."

He sits up and sweeps her hair over her shoulder. "My pleasure..." he brushes her skin with his mouth before giving it a bite, sending chills up her spine. Burying a hand in her hair, he turns her around and kisses her. "You're delicious," he moans, licking her lips, "but if I don't get some food, I'll be off my game...and I can't have that." He flashes a devilish grin. "Because I'm not finished with you yet. Mind if I raid your fridge?"

She chortles, "Please, knock yourself out." Kissing him again, she looks him over and says, "You've certainly earned it."

Standing up, he pulls his jeans on. "You want anything?"

As she stands, still naked and glistening with sweat, she replies, "Just bring back enough for two. I'll make up my mind then. But don't be too long, handsome..." She grabs a scarf, walks up and runs her finger slowly down his chest and stomach to his zipper, tugging. "I'm not done with you, either. And this time?" She throws the scarf around his neck and pulls him down to her for a deep, wet kiss. Pushing him back, she growls, "You're the bull."

"Yes ma'am," he says with a smirk, slapping her ass as she saunters to the bathroom. Ogling her as she closes the door behind her, he wipes his lip. "Damn," he mutters, pulling the scarf off his neck, using it to wipe sweat from his brow. He tosses it on the bed and makes his way to the kitchen, looking around in awe at the size of her house.

It's a lot for one person, but he figures that's what her kind of money affords. They hadn't gotten to know each other at all outside of first names and their mutual appreciation for hard core, two-fisted trysts, but it didn't take a genius to figure out she wasn't hurting financially. You don't sport that kind of ice for free. Actually, there wasn't anything about her that didn't scream 'well-to-do'...her clothes, what little she wore, her car, this house, her attitude...and though he found her stuffy at first, her other 'assets' were enough to make him overlook it. Besides, it wasn't her money he was after, not that he was taking advantage...she all but jumped his bones in the bar, and over the last few hours proved herself to be anything but stuffy...the things she'd done and allowed-no, begged-him to do to her...she was eagerly compliant to his every whim, and he's growing eager to respond in kind.

Thinking about it gets his motor running again, and he shakes his head. "Soon...but first, some 'left brain' fuel." He finds the fridge and opens it, revealing so much food he asks himself, "Who the hell is she feeding, China?!" Deciding it's none of his business, he starts rummaging. He opens a box of pizza, and immediately begins devouring a piece. He roots around some more and spots a bowl of fresh fruit. It's not usually his first choice, but the thoughts of it being functional as well as succulent are too tempting to pass up. He sits it out on the counter and dips his head back in to find an apple pie, then a can of whipped cream and...cinnamon syrup?

A mischievous looks spreads across his face. "For crying out loud, it's like she does her grocery shopping with sin in mind." He grabs for the golden crusted goodness when he suddenly feels the cool metal of a gun barrel pressing against the back of his neck. Closing his eyes, he freezes. "Shit."

"Don't move," a shaky voice commands.

Dropping everything, Dean raises his hands.

"Turn around. Slow."

Standing up straight, Dean slowly turns to face a visibly panicked man that currently has a revolver pointed at Dean's head. He almost mirrors Dean's height and build, but he's obviously not used to handling a gun. Dean attempts to keep him calm. He certainly doesn't want his brains blown out. "I don't want any trouble, okay? Let's talk about-"

"SHUT UP!" the man yells, his hand shaking with his finger on the trigger. Dean observes him a moment. His breathing is rapid...he's scared, which, needless to say, is...odd for an intruder. "Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?"

Dean's brow furrows. "What am I-you're the one pointing the gun, pal! What the hell are YOU doing here?!" Looking him up and down, he notices the man's attire. "And...why are you wearing a suit and tie?" Suddenly remembering Cassandra is just down the hall, he changes tactics.

"Look," slowly reaching around, he pulls his wallet out of his back pocket as he continues to hold his other hand up. "I don't know what you want, but I don't live here, okay? I'm just...visiting." He shakes his wallet. "But there's a few hundred in here, just...take it, alright? Here, catch." He tosses it, distracting the man as he instinctively catches it. Dean seizes the opportunity to wrench the gun away before he hammers the guy with the stock, knocking him to the floor. Bending down, Dean snatches the wallet and grouses, "This is mine," before shoving it back in his pocket. Shooting an impatient glare, he motions with the gun. "Come on, get up," he orders. Standing to his feet, the man puts a hand to the gash on his left eye from Dean's blow. He hadn't hit the guy hard enough to do too much damage, just a little dent and a little blood. "All right, asshat," Dean growls, "I'm gonna give you three seconds to explain why the fuck you're here." He checks the cylinder before locking it back into place. "Then I waste you."

Dean almost felt sorry for the dude as his voice trembles. "Just...just, hold on a minute..."

Dean raises the gun, pressing it to his forehead. "One."

Unable to think straight, he stammers, "Look, I...I don't, please...let me try to..."

"Two." Dean narrows his eyes as he pulls the hammer back.

"Alright, ALRIGHT!" he pleads, holding his hands in front of him. "I-I live here, okay?! Just...just take whatever you want and go, but don't hurt my wife!"

Dean's puzzled as he looks around the gun. "Your...? Oh, hell..." Dean rubs his forehead as he realizes what a massive pile he's stepped in. "That's just...you have GOTTA be shitting me!"

Cassandra runs in, wearing a tank top and shorts, obviously to check out the commotion. The color leaves her face as her breathing hitches. "Trey." She blinks a few times. "What happened to you?!" He doesn't answer, just points at Dean. She turns to him in shock. "You HIT him?! And...why the hell do you have a gun?! PUT IT DOWN!"

"HE brought the gun, not me!" He eyes Trey cautiously. "Sorry, but I'm gonna hold on to this for now." He tucks the gun in the back of his jeans as he turns back to Cassandra, squaring his shoulders. "Well, aren't you just the manipulative little bitch?"

Still shell-shocked, she furrows her brow. "Huh?"

Dean glares. "No big deal, really...I was just grabbing a late night snack when your HUSBAND," he thunders, pointing out Trey, "puts a gun to my fucking head! Really? You're MARRIED?!" Folding his arms his brow quirks. "You wanna explain that?!"

"Oh, no..." Cassandra covers her face with her hands, as if finally absorbing the fact her one-night stand and husband are in the same room with her. She rakes her hands through her hair and whispers to herself, "What a cluster-fuck."

"Honey, are you alright? What's-what's going on?" Trey asks softly, obviously not caught up. Pointing his thumb at Dean he questions, "Who the hell IS he?!" Leering at him, barefoot with no shirt and jeans unbuttoned, he finally puts two and two together.

Dean watches Trey's expression morph from confused to anger. And boy does he look pissed off. He follows the man's eyes as they look him over, traveling from one set of teeth marks to the next. He walks over to Cassandra, lifting her head with his finger as he peruses one side of her neck, then the other, silently taking an inventory of the bruises and bites marks littering her skin. He gasps as he lifts her arms, inspecting the fresh welts circling both her wrists.

"Trey," Cassandra whispers, holding his face in her hands.

He grips her arms and forces them to her sides. As he turns around, Dean notices his eyes, brimming with tears and lit with anger. He isn't just pissed anymore...he's bloodthirsty.

Dean attempts to get a handle on the situation. He speaks calmly, "Look, I get it...you're upset, and you should be, but you gotta believe me, I didn't know..."

Trey snorts. "Upset?! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" He lunges at Dean, ramming him into the refrigerator, landing three rocklike blows before he wraps his hand around Dean's throat.

"Trey, STOP!" Cassandra screams, trying to pull him off.

"Back off!" he yells, shoving her away. He glowers at Dean. "Who the hell do you think you are?" he grills, his tone low and dangerous. "You bring your sorry ass into MY house, have sex with MY wife?!" Something else abruptly occurs to him. He tightens his grip around Dean's throat as he rages. "In...in OUR bed?!" His jaw ticks, "Talk about a mountain of stupid...you're all kinds of screwed, Buddy, and none of the fun ways this time."

"I...I didn't know," Dean manages to choke out as he realizes he grossly underestimated Trey's strength. Dude obviously works out. A lot. He grips Trey's wrist, twisting. "You...need...to calm down." He eventually twists hard enough to loosen Trey's grip and turns him, pushing down on his shoulder as he hyperextends his arm. Trying to break his hold, Trey pushes his weight back, slamming Dean against the counter. "Fucking hell, Trey!" Dean yells, fed up and applying more pressure, "Calm down, or so help me, I'll break it!"

"NO! Dean, please!" Cassandra begs, "Don't hurt him, okay? He normally doesn't act like this..."

"Don't hurt him?!" Dean echoes, offended. "Why the hell WOULD I? All this poor bastard did was come home to find his marriage in the toilet! And if you ask me, his reaction was perfectly normal! Hurt him? You've done a bang-up job of that yourself, sweetheart!"

"Please, I just need time to-"

"Time to what?" He cuts in. "Come up with a cover story? Sorry, honey, that ship's sailed!"

"I'm not talking to you!" Cassandra snaps, furrowing her brow. "I don't explain myself to one-night heavies with an ego complex and an uncontrollable need to overcompensate. I'm talking to the man I'm MARRIED to." She takes a step forward and glares at Dean, her eyes like daggers. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but last I checked, you aren't him. So, how about you shut your pretty mouth, alright?"

He huffs. "You know what? Just stop talking."

"Why don't BOTH of you shut the fuck up?!" Trey hollers.

Dean blinks, suddenly remembering he still has his one-and-done's spouse hemmed up. "Uh, sorry. Look, you need to give me five minutes to explain myself then I'll be on my way and you two can hash this out, alright?"

"Fine," Trey grounds out through clenched teeth.

"Fine." Dean lets him go as he wipes blood from his eye and warns both of them, pointing at his back, "FYI, I still have this gun tucked away if I need it."

"Trey," Cassandra implores, "I...I'm so..."

"I swear to God, if you say 'sorry', I'm choking you next." He holds his hands behind his head, giving a self-deprecating laugh. "Seriously? I'm out of town, what, a DAY?! One day, and I come home early to find..." he motions at Dean, "some asshole in our kitchen, eating MY food after working up an appetite by screwing YOU?! 'Sorry' doesn't BEGIN to cover it!"

"It wasn't like that...I didn't mean for it to happen-"

"WHAT?!" Dean asks incredulously. "Right," he nods, "because sex happens on accident. Sure, it happens to me all the time...actually, tonight, I fucking tripped and FELL into your-"

"My God," Cassandra interjects, "do you EVER get tired of the sound of your own voice?"

Dean's mouth drops open. Snapping it shut, he pops an eyebrow. "You sure as hell don't."

She doesn't respond, just rolls her eyes. "As I was saying, Trey, I didn't plan this out. It just...happened."

Running his hands through his hair, Dean blinks in disbelief. "You shady little-that is EXACTLY what you meant to happen!"

Trey holds his arms out in exasperation. "Will SOMEONE please just explain this to me?!"

Cassandra sighs. "The truth is..." she points at Dean. "He approached me at the bar and started buying me drinks. I know I shouldn't have, but...we started drinking together and I got a little tipsy. Looking back, I suppose that was his intention all along." She pretends to will away tears as she shakes her head. "Anyway, I was in no condition to drive home, so he asked if he could drive me. I didn't have money for a cab so I agreed, and when we got here, he started..." she starts crying, "he started kissing me. I...I was drunk, I didn't know what I was doing, I swear!"

Her act is so convincing, Dean's not sure whether to be insulted or impressed, but decides to lean toward insulted. "Wow, that is...such a LOAD OF SHIT!" he roars, ready to put his hands on this spoiled little bitch himself. "You played BOTH of us, now you're trying to turn us on each other so YOU don't look responsible?! It's his fault for going out of town, my fault for being in the bar...where exactly does your fault lie in all of this?"

Cassandra immediately loses the crocodile tears. "MY fault?!" She points at herself, then at Dean. Looking up, she pretends to think as she adds on her fingers. She nods, "Yeah, just like I thought...it definitely takes TWO people to do what we just did, so save that self-righteous attitude for someone you didn't just hit the sheets with! Besides, YOU hit on ME, remember?!"

Dean guffaws. "You are GUANO, lady! If memory serves, the flirting went BOTH ways, and I remember you practically DRAGGED my ass here!"

She puts a finger to her chin. "You know, what I DON'T remember are complaints or protests!" she screams.

"Same goes, sister!" Dean fires back. "Truth is, not only were you NOT complaining, you were BEGGING, itching to be strung up and exploited six ways from Sunday, and I DON'T mean that figuratively!"

"Really? And who was at the business end of the strings? Oh, that's right, it was YOU!"

"HELLO!" Trey bellows. "I'm standing! Right! Here! I can literally hear every word!"

"Dean, please," Cassandra pleads, softening her tone, "don't you think you've caused enough trouble?"

"I'VE caused trouble?!" Dean's emotional state goes from anger to outrage like flipping a switch. "I have NO problem taking my part of the responsibility in this, but I will be DAMNED if you're gonna paint me as some kind of fucking creep who forced you into something you didn't want, and I'm sure as hell no home wrecker, Cassandra! YOU'RE the one who walked into that bar with the full knowledge that you belonged to another man...had I known?" He looks at Trey sincerely. "Had I known, I swear to God, I would have sent her packing."

"Just...go. I need to talk to my husband and your being here isn't helping." Cassandra says, attempting at being anything but a cold she-devil.

"No, YOU being here is the problem!" He sucks in a breath. "Do you realize what happened here before you walked in?" Trying to make her understand the gravity of the situation, he explains. "He had a gun on me, trying to protect you. I took it away and pointed it at HIM, trying to protect you. We nearly KILLED each other, trying to protect YOU, when the truth is, if it weren't for YOU, none of us would even BE here!" Shaking his head, still resisting the urge to choke her to death, he turns to Trey. "I know we don't know each other and this isn't the ideal way to make intros..."

"No shit," Trey growls.

Dean shrugs. "I sure as hell don't expect you to believe a word that comes out of my mouth. I wouldn't in your shoes. But if you want the truth, the REAL truth..." He motions toward Cassandra, "Trust me, you ain't gonna get it from her."

"Trey?" Cassandra asks, holding her hands out to him.

Sighing, he looks at Dean. "Talk."

"WHAT?!" Cassandra shrieks. "You're gonna believe some stranger over your own WIFE?!"

"What do you expect me to do?!" Trey yells. "I came home, expecting to find my wife, but instead I find my wife, AND her current piece of ass! Now, regardless who picked up who, he sure as shit didn't get in here without a key! And you still slept with him, so no matter what, at the very LEAST, you've proven to be a..." Looking to Dean for help he asks, "What'd you call her?"

"A manipulative bitch?" Dean offered.

"Right, a manipulative bitch! So if you don't mind, I'd like to hear from the one person in this room who has nothing to lose by telling the truth!"

"Thanks..." Dean rubs his hands together, trying to find the right words. "Alright. I, uh...shit, I need a beer." Looking at Trey, he points at the fridge. "Do you mind?"

Trey scrubs his hands over his face. "Go ahead." He walks to the table and grabs a couple of chairs, bringing them over by the island. "Grab me one?" he asks, taking off his jacket. He opens the top button of his shirt and loosens his tie, pulling it over his head. He tosses it on the counter and rolls up his sleeves as he sits down.

"Sure." Dean snags a couple of beers, tossing one to Trey. Twisting the top off his, he throws it in the sink as he seats himself across from him. Buying himself some time, he turns it up, nearly downing the whole thing. Finally pulling the bottle from his mouth he breathes out, "I should probably preface all of this by saying that tact and subtlety? Not my thing, so I apologize in advance for sounding...harsh."

Trey takes a long drink himself. He wipes his mouth before replying, "I was present for the screaming match just now, remember?" Dean winces. "The PSA would've been a little more helpful prior to THAT. Now?" He shakes his head as he presses his beer to the cut on his eye. "Not so much, but noted." Leaning an elbow on his thigh he shrugs. "Well?"

"Okay, so..."

"Press pause," Trey says, holding a hand up, slamming his beer down on the counter. Spotting Cassandra trying to make an exit, he walks over and grabs her by the wrist, then gets another chair. Hurling it down next to his, he pushes her onto it. "Don't. Move," he warns. Looking at Dean as he takes his seat again he says, "Continue."

Dean blinks. "Okay. You wanna know if I picked her up at the bar? Yeah, I did..."

"See?! I TOLD you!" Cassandra exclaims.

"BUT..." Dean says, pointing a finger at her, "she's the one who walked over to me, dressed like sex on heels and coming on like some drunken prom date."

"Hey!" she yells, "You sure as hell didn't have a problem with it, buying me drinks, telling me on the one-to-ten scale I was a 'holy shit'!"

As Trey looks back at Dean, he rubs the back of his neck nervously. "Shit...sorry," is all he can offer with a shrug. Then he counters, "First of all, she hasn't denied ANYTHING I just said. Second, she said I came to the bar hitting on HER?! I don't wanna call her a liar, but...she's a fucking liar. I was already there, had been for a couple of hours, feel free to check with the bartender. In my opinion, though, the question you should be asking is this; regardless of who hit on the other, why was she there AT ALL?!"

Trey glares at Cassandra now. "Well? Do you have ANYTHING to say?"

"Trey, come on, don't tell me you actually BELIEVE him! He's-"

"Why don't you hold that thought, sweetheart?" Dean stands up and says, "just...give me a second." He disappears to the bedroom, reappearing moments later with Cassandra's clothes. Dropping them in front of Trey he says, "By all means, you don't wanna believe me? Fine." Directing his attention to her clothes he says, "This is what she was wearing. Wanna know what she WASN'T wearing?" He reaches out and grabs her left wrist, holding it up and pointing. "Her wedding ring. She was wearing bling all over...earrings, necklace, bracelet, but I never saw a damn ring on EITHER hand. Trust me, I'm no amateur, it's the first thing I look for. And in case you didn't notice, she STILL hasn't bothered to put it on." Cassandra growls as she jerks her hand away.

Trey reaches down, sorting through her clothes. Looking at her he whispers, "Why have I never seen any of this?" Cassandra doesn't respond, just turns her head, staring a hole in the wall.

"Okay," Trey contemplates, "you didn't know at the bar. But how in the hell did you miss it when you got HERE?!"

Dean sits again, pondering the question. He scrubs a hand over his mouth, trying to recall something, anything. Then it hits him why he can't. "Come with me," he says, walking to the front door, Trey following behind. Turning around at the door Dean says, "Look...what do you see? There isn't anything here...not a picture, a magazine, a pair of shoes, NOTHING to suggest she might be married, much less that a man has ever LIVED here." They go through the rest of the house, room by room, and it's all the same.

Trey leans back against the wall, fisting his hair. "What the hell?! It's...it's like I don't even KNOW her!"

"Honestly?" Dean winces. "I'd bet money she's no amateur either. I mean, this..." he looks around, "this is downright methodical. She's been playing you, man...for a long time."

Staring off in thought, Trey questions Dean again. "How..." he swallows hard, "how long have you been here?"

Dean shakes his head and grimaces. "Come on, don't do this..."

Trey steps in Dean's face, shoving him. "I'm her husband, dammit, I've got a right to know..."

"Why does it matter? It won't change any-"

"HOW LONG?!"

Dean looks at his watch. "Before you got here?" He looks at him apologetically and responds, "At least half the night."

Trey scrubs a hand over his mouth. "And you've been...with her? The whole time?"

Dean hangs his head.

"ANSWER. ME."

Dean nods, looking him in the eye. "Yeah. Till you found me in the kitchen."

"That damned lying..." He punches a hole in the wall, making Dean jump.

"Whoa, man! Calm down-"

He punches another hole, then storms back to the kitchen clenching his teeth.

"Shit," Dean mutters, following after him. He doesn't want to involve himself any more than he already is, but he can't let Trey so something stupid either.

Just as he breaches the door he sees Trey take Cassandra by the arm. Jerking her from the chair, he growls, "Get out," then slings her toward the door.

"What?! Trey, where am I supposed to go?"

"I don't know, why don't you head back to the bar? I'm sure someone there will be more than happy to take you! Either way, I'm not troubling myself over it. We're done."

"Trey, please don't do this...think about what you're saying!"

"Oh," he pauses, "wait." Turning around he grabs her clothes and shoes off the floor. "I thought about it...here," he says, flinging them at her, "don't forget to dress for the job!"

"Baby..." she starts crying. "Please. I'm so sorry. Forgive me, PLEASE."

He doesn't even attempt to argue, just points at the door. "Go."

Seeing she's past the point of getting back on his good side, she turns off the water works. "Fine," she seethes, "but I'm not leaving here without my things."

"Really?" He gets in her face, backing her against the wall. "Cause I'm betting you will. Tell me, what in the hell is here that belongs to you? I bought and paid for EVERYTHING! Just like I've always done, like I would've continued to do! Since I met you, all I've done is bend over backwards to make you happy! And what do I get for my trouble?!" He's almost trembling as he roars, "A GODDAMNED reach-around!" Cassandra jumps at his tone. "All you had to do was enjoy and NOT be a fork-tongued whore!" He clenches his fists, then sucks a breath through his nose. "Since I'm a nice guy though, I'll see to it you get your things, but not right now. Right now, it's time to go."

"You can't just toss me out on the street!"

"Why not? Isn't that your stomping ground?! Get. Out. NOW!"

She doesn't say another word, just heads to the door, slamming it behind her so hard it shatters the glass in the window.

Dean's been hanging back, awkwardly watching things play out. Deciding he's done enough he clears his throat and says, "So, I guess I'm just gonna..."

"Yeah," Trey replies tiredly. "That's probably a good idea."

Dean heads to the bedroom and finishes getting dressed. Passing Trey as he heads out he stops. He takes a breath. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. For everything."

Trey groans. "It's okay."

Dean's eyebrows shoot up. "Seriously. Just like that?"

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. "I mean, what can you do, right? Though, I gotta admit...getting to crack you in the face a few times?" A self-satisfied smile spreads across his face. "That was pretty damned sweet."

Dean manages a chuckle. "Glad I could help. He shrugs and adds, "Same goes, I guess."

Trey shakes his head. "She screwed us both, no pun intended...or would it be every pun in this case?" He snorts, "Anyway, I figure, if it hadn't been you, it would've been some other guy, but he wouldn't have cared." He steps forward and holds out his hand, looking him in the eye. "You're alright, Dean."

There are few times in Dean's life that complete strangers just blow him away. This is one of them. He grips Trey's hand and shakes it as he says, "Thanks, Trey...really. You too." Holding up a finger he says, "Oh, I almost forgot..." reaching behind him, he pulls out the revolver. "This is yours. If she comes back, you might need it." As Trey takes it he looks at him a minute. "This might sound crazy, but.." he points his thumb at the door, "wanna grab a drink?"

Trey chuckles flatly as he tosses the gun on the sofa. "Yeah, I could definitely use a few of those, but only if you're buying."

"It's the least I can do after everything that's happened." As he turns to the door Trey stops him. "Wait, I've got an idea. C'mon." Dean follows him back to the kitchen. He reaches into a cabinet, grabbing a bottle of scotch and a couple glasses. "How about," he says as he pours, "we stay here," he hands Dean a glass, "and you help me pack her shit?"

Dean holds his glass, thinking. He points over the top of it. "By 'pack her shit', you mean..."

"Get drunk, take her stuff and use it to litter the back forty."

Dean tosses back the scotch. "Wow, this is good..."

"I don't bust my ass for the cheap stuff," Trey remarks. "Ready for another?"

Dean hands his glass over. "Absolutely." It only takes him a second to decide the idea of getting revenge on Cassandra is almost as good as the scotch. Both are even better. Nodding, he responds, "Hell, I'm game, let's do it. Where is this 'back forty'?"

"The in-laws' country club." Dean shoots Trey a look. Shrugging he says, "Maybe you're right, that's not be the best idea." After taking a shot he says, "Let's just make a pile out back, strike a fucking match and call it a day."

"Sounds like a plan," Dean says. He looks off in thought. "You got any salt?"

"Yeah," Trey answers, confused. "Why?"

"Just...trust me, you can't be too careful."


The sun is rising when Dean finally walks into his and Sammy's motel room.

"Hey, I was about to put out an APB on your ass," Sam chuckles as he rubs the towel over his wet hair. From the looks of him, he'd just come from the shower after his morning run. "Where you been?"

Dean just looks at his brother. "Sammy, after the night I've had, trust me when I say, you don't want to know."

Sam's nose curls. "Please. Do not give me any sex details."

Dean just shakes his head as he thinks about the night he's just had. "You wouldn't believe me if I did tell ya."

Sam's brows furrow as he sees the bruises forming on Dean's face. "You okay, man?"

Dean just smiles. "Never better. Now, I need a hot shower. Did ya use it all up jacking off in there to thoughts of Britney Spears or some shit?"

"Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean snarls, but he's smiling as he says it.