Dean is uncomfortably aware that he fucked up. Damn it ! He should feel bad for touching Wilson's scarred face, but he doesn't. He would do it again in a second if she would let him, but he does feel bad for upsetting her.

After giving Wilson a few minutes to cool off, Dean knocked on the office door. He waited a second, listening for a come in or some sort of acknowledgement that he was waiting on the other side of the door. Dean tried the door knob and the door pushed open.

Wilson was sitting in the leather office chair mimicking Dean's position from earlier. Her booted feet were crossed at the ankles and propped up on the metal desk. She didn't even turn her head or look at Dean as he walked in the door.

Dean gritted his teeth and then said, "I need some things out of my car if I'm going to be here for another 24 hours."

Wilson dropped her boot clad feet to the floor and stood up cupping her hands and wiggling her fingers.

"Oh, hell no. I'm not letting you rummage through Baby! I just meant you needed to let me out of this maximum security prison you call home."

Wilson pointed at Dean, pantomimed her fingers in a walking motion out the door, and then clutched at her throat like she was choking before flopping her head to the side like she was dead. Dean was a little insulted by the tongue hanging out of the corner of her mouth in the 'Dean is dead' phase of her performance.

Dean clenched his fists before reaching into his pocket and handing over his keys.

Wilson walked to the front door and used one of her many keys to unlock the dead-bolt. She pulled open the heavy steel door and used a different key to unlock the dead-bolt on the rebar cage door. Instead of heading directly to baby, she walked along the front of the building and unlocked a large gate in the 8 foot high chain link fence. Only after the gate had been swung all the way open did she head towards the Impala.

As she approached the rear of the car like she was going to open the trunk, Dean yelled out, "No. I have a duffel bag in the back seat. That's all I need. Oh, and the bag of snacks from the passenger seat."

Wilson raised one eyebrow at him and shrugged. She unlocked the car and pulled his duffel from the back and a plastic grocery bag from the front. She brought the bags to Dean before returning to the car and sliding into the driver's seat. Dean could see her sitting perched on the front of the seat so that her feet could reach the pedals.

Dean watched anxiously as Wilson drove the car through the open gate and behind the building. He could hear the loud rumble of the Impala's engine cut off and a few minutes later Wilson walked back through the gate. She closed everything up and relocked the gate before returning to Dean at the front door.

He holds out his hand and Wilson drops his keys into them before walking past him into the building. As soon as Dean picks up his bags and drops them on the closest horizontal surface, Wilson locks the front of the building up tight again.

Dean followed Wilson into her office while trying to come up with an appropriate apology.

"Look, I'm sorry I upset you. I should have realized that you are self-conscious about your scars." Dean tried to use a soft soothing voice but failed miserably. He winced as he realized how patronizing he sounded.

Wilson whirled around on him and jabbed him in the middle of his chest with one finger. Then she plopped into the chair behind her laptop and her fingers blurred over the keys:

You think I haven't heard of you Dean Winchester? The "Righteous Man" that has fucked his way from one side of this country to the other? You think I'd just hop into bed with you and be grateful for a pity fuck? Your scars are all hidden away where no one can see them, but we both know they are there. My scars are out where anyone can see them. I've had 20 years to accept them. I'm not fucking "self-conscious" about them, you ass.

Dean flinched from the words on the screen. So, maybe he had misinterpreted her reaction to him. It wasn't touching her scar that made her angry, it was just him and his flirting. He stood up without making eye contact. "You don't know anything about me." He muttered before stomping out the door.

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Dean felt trapped. Under normal circumstances he would have hopped into the Impala and driven away. He was angry with Wilson. He was angry with himself. He was mad at this whole situation.

If Wilson was so at peace with her scars, why the hell would she assume he didn't find her genuinely attractive? Dean grabs his duffel and heads off to find the shower. He turns on the taps and waits for the water to warm up before stripping off his dirty clothes and stepping under the hot spray.

Was it really so bad what he had done? He had just touched Wilson's face. Dean remembered the smooth feel of the scar as he had traced it with his thumb. He frowned down at himself as his dick gave a twitch at the memory. Dean grabbed a bar of soap and lathered his hands. Don't think about licking the scar. Don't think about running your tongue from her mouth to her ear. Fuuuuuck. Dean was now rock hard. Dean ran his soapy hands over himself and grabbed his cock, giving it several slow strokes. All he could think about was tracing every scar on Wilson's body with his mouth. He wanted to run his hands down her body feeling soft, unmarked skin with his left hand and scarred flesh with his right. Dean came with a groan, spurting against the shower tiles. As he caught his breath, Dean realized he was one sick puppy.

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Dean dressed in clean jeans and a soft grey tee shirt before heading out to track down Wilson and try to apologize once again. He found her in a small kitchen area making sandwiches. His stomach grumbled loudly as he caught sight of the food.

Wilson turned around and held out a paper plate with a Dagwood style sandwich on it. She looked him in the eyes and whispered, "peace offering."

Dean accepted the sandwich and sat at the battered table. Wilson brought her own sandwich to the table and sat diagonally from Dean. She tapped her own chest and husked out three words, "Hungry. Cranky. Sorry."

Dean already had a mouth full of delicious sandwich, so he just nodded. As soon as he had finished chewing and swallowing, Dean said, "I was really enjoying myself, you know. With the dancing I mean. I wasn't doing it just to get you into bed." Well that was strictly the truth; Dean had not been trying to get her into bed at the time, but he was going to do his best to get her there now.

Dean gave Wilson his best 'good guy' smile. "I know I got a bit of a reputation when I was younger. That kind of thing sticks with you even after you've changed. I don't know what you heard, but…" Dean trailed off as Wilson lifted her hands into the air. She straightened her fingers and held her palms facing each other about a foot apart in the air. Dean's jaw dropped as he realized that she had heard how well he was endowed. Wilson threw her head back and barked out a laugh that sounded like someone choking on cement. Dean's face grew hot and he decided to just shut up and eat his sandwich.

When they had both finished eating, Wilson threw away the paper plates and grabbed a couple bottles of beer from the fridge. She carried them out to the workbench and pulled out the box of CDs.

Dean opened the beers and took a long pull on his. He was curious about what kind of music she would put on this time. Would it be more demonic screeching or electronica? Wilson seemed to find what she was looking for and loaded a disc in the changer.

Dean slid the case over so that he could read the name. He realized it was a mix disc when he saw the handwritten list inside the clear plastic cover.

Blue Foundation – Eyes on Fire (Zeds Dead Remix)
Kid Cudi – Pursuit of Happiness
Ratatat – Loud Pipes
MGMT – Time to Pretend

He didn't recognize any of the bands or song names, but had only read the first few lines before the music started. Wilson pressed up against his front and grabbed his hips with her hands. She began to rock her own hips into his in time to the first beats.

I won't soothe your pain. I won't ease your strain.
I'll seek you out, flay you alive. One more word and you won't survive.

It didn't matter that he had 'cleaned his pipes' less than an hour before. As soon as he heard "flay you alive" Dean had become rock hard. If this was Wilson testing his good intentions, Dean was failing miserably. He put his beer bottle down on the work counter and put his hands on Wilson's shoulders. His heart was racing as he slid his left hand around to the nape of her neck.

Wilson continued to stare steadily into Dean's eyes. He felt like she was gazing at his soul or reading his mind. He swallowed hard and leaned down to press his lips against hers.

Dean was determined to keep his right hand on Wilson's hip, but it was a losing battle. As soon as her tongue slid across his closed mouth, Dean lifted his hand to her face and once again traced her scar with the pad of his thumb. Wilson did not retreat from Dean's touch. Instead, she licked his lips once again, and Dean's mouth opened to allow her access.