8.

"Richie, man, where are you? Call me." Dean hung up his cellphone and tucked it back in his pocket.

"We'll find him, maybe he stayed at Casey's. Its still early." Sam said, pulling on a clean shirt.

"Yeah, maybe. That guy, he's an idiot but he's a good guy, Sammy." Dean double checked his pockets, gun, wallet, keys, everything in order he followed his younger brother out of the room. "I can't get a read on this place. Something just feels off." Dean said, locking their motel room.

The brothers spent the morning getting breakfast and then canvassing Trotter's office. Sam would have an easy entrance and exit as long as Trotter stayed out. "Where are you going?" Sam asked his brother as they got ready to split up.

"I'm gonna go check out the bar, see if Casey's shift started." Dean still hadn't heard from Richie and a sense of dread was growing.

"Alright, let me know if you need anything." Sam climbed out of the Impala and went to take a seat in the buildings lobby, waiting for Trotter to leave.

Dean went to the bar but Casey's shift didn't start until 7pm. That small morsel of info cost him $50 to the bartender on duty. "Son of bitch." Dean muttered angrily, leaving the bar. He'd left a dozen messages for Richie with not so much as a text back. Sam was busy and he didn't feel like driving back to the motel knowing Richie wouldn't be there anyways. He pulled his phone back out of his pocket and called River.

"Hey hot stuff. What are you up to?" River answered, Dean heard muffled talking and banging in the background.

"Have you heard from Richie?" Dean asked her.

"No, maybe he's still with his booty call…or he's been brutally murdered and laying in ditch somewhere. God damn it. Did you try tracking his phone?"

"No.. I uh, um Sam's usually the one who does that stuff. He's waiting for Trotter to leave his office." Dean answered, mentally cursing himself. He should have had Sam do that hours ago.

"Hey, sparky, I already warned you once. You touch that washer again and I will throat punch you." River suddenly yelled into the phone.

"Where the hell are you?" Dean asked.

"I'm at the laundromat. I think there's a hellgate behind the change machine. Look, I can try tracking his phone for you. Come meet me, I'm not leaving my laundry unattended around these sharks." Dean hung up his phone and climbed back into Baby. The laundromat was across the street from the motel they were staying at. The street was a strange mix of fresh boutique stores, a coffee shop, pawn shop and two sex stores. Dean walked into the laundromat and noticed River near the back sitting on a washing machine reading a book.

"Slaughterhouse-five, I love that book, 'And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep'." Dean said walking up to her.

"Fuck me, Winchester." The words were out of her mouth before she could catch them. She blushed scarlet, biting her lower lip and replacing her bookmark to hold her place. "That's not fair. You can't waltz in here looking like that and quoting Vonnegut, you're gonna make panties drop," she looked up into his green eyes, he still had a few inches on her even sitting on the washing machine.

"Yeah? I got Baby right around the corner. Her back seats a lot roomier than it looks. I bet we could have a lot of fun," Dean smiled seductively at her and moved between her dangling legs, "I'll quote all the Vonnegut you want, if it'll get you outta that Misfits shirt."

"You must be desperate Winchester. Having a difficult time getting laid in this shit hole town; you'd settle on a snarky, potty mouthed ginger thats one donut away from wearing stretch pants full time," she said gently pushing him away.

"I love donuts," Dean leaned in close and whispered in her ear, "Do you still have that little purple vibrator?"

River's breath hitched in her chest and it took her a moment to form a coherent sentence, "I…um…I lost it somewhere, fell out of my bag." she could feel the warmth blooming from her chest and back into her cheeks.

"We could pick out a new one." He planted his hands on her hips, pulling her towards him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, forgetting for a moment they were in a crowded laundry mat. Her heart pounded in her chest, they were so close she could see the lite freckles across his nose. River ran her fingers through his hair, something she'd been dying to do for weeks. Dean closed his eyes and made a noise between a purr and a growl from somewhere deep in his chest.

"Contrary to how I may present myself and the things that sometimes pop out of my mouth unchecked, I do have an ounce of self respect left and no desire to become one of Dean Winchester's sexual conquests. You have a reputation, " she said pulling her laptop of out her messenger bag.

"What sort of reputation? It's not true...actually it probably is."

She smirked, "Gimme a few minutes to trace Richie's number."

Dean backed off and took a drink out of River's coffee cup, black just the way he liked it, "Yes, Dean you can have some of my coffee." River told him, glancing sideways away from the laptop, "Richie's phone last pinged at 3569 Vineyard, its been stationary for the last nine hours."

"And so it goes," Dean quoted another Vonnegut line, "I'll go check it out." He turned to leave and River grabbed his arm.

"Let me grab my stuff, Winchester. I'm coming with you."

"I can handle it." He told her.

"Yeah, I know you can. But you don't need too, I'm really not the world's biggest bitch. He's a hunter and he's your friend." She grabbed her laptop and bag, laundry forgotten and followed Dean to his car.

She climbed in on the passenger side and Dean saw her take a furtive glance at the backseat, she met his eyes briefly and blushed again. "Fucking red heads," he thought to himself.

River patted the vinyl seat, admiring the car and the obvious care the Dean treated it with. "She's an orgasm on wheels," she said half to herself. Dean smiled again and gunned the car down Main street. They drove mostly in silence, punctuated in short spurts by one or both of them singing along to an Iron Maiden chorus. River checked online records for the owner of the house they were driving to, "Of course it belongs to Casey, the bar tender with the 'ass that could fit on a nickel'. That was the term wasn't it? If we were going by size comparison would you say my ass would fit on a silver dollar?"

Dean threw his back and laughed, "You're an asshole."

The Impala pulled up to an older, hacienda style house on the outskirts of town fifteen minutes later. The house was surrounded by a vineyard that hadn't been properly tended to in several years. Dean popped the trunk of Baby and handed River an automatic handgun taking a shotgun for himself. "You know, if we live through this mess we could go get a cup of coffee, or a glass of wine and discuss literature." River said, tucking an extra magazine into her back pocket.

Dean double checked that his shotgun was locked and loaded, "Wine?"

"It's what grown ups drink while talking about grown up things, like books." River smiled at him as they walked up to the house.

"Wait, did you just ask me out on a date?" Dean asked her pausing at the door.

"No, I suggested we go get drinks." The front door was locked but Dean made quick work of it. He took point, silently entering the house, shotgun expertly training left and right checking for anyone or anything hiding. River entered a second later turning to the other hallway, the house seemed empty, furniture draped in dust covers. "Here," Dean heard River whisper from down the hall. She stood in front of an ornate door, it was unlocked and a stairway led down into a basement.

Dean and River exchanged a look before heading down the stairs. The stairs emptied into a large basement, dusty wine racks lined the walls and in the middle of floor laid Richie. "Shit, Richie." Dean muttered, kneeling beside his friend. Richie's neck had been snapped, his face now pointing towards his back. Dried blood was caked at his nose and ears, his eyes still open.

River gently closed his eyes and turned his head back to the correct position, "I'm sorry, Dean. Does he have any family we should contact before we…"

"I'll call Bobby. He'll know who to contact…we should burn him," Dean told River his voice stoic, eyes unreadable. She nodded silently and watched as Dean picked up the smaller man, holding him gently. They took the body of the fallen hunter to an open field behind the house and gave him a proper but quick hunters burial. They stood silently, watching the flames devour Richie's body. River took Dean's hand, he pulled her into his chest , wrapping both arms around her. "I'm so tired of this, I just want it to end." His voice cracked slightly and River's heart broke, knowing he was talking about his ever approaching death.

"You feel like playing bait?" River asked as the flames died out, leaving Richie as nothing but a pile of ashes. "We still got a few hours before Casey's shift starts," River led Dean back into the wine cellar. "You think you can sweet talk your way back here after her shift," she tugged at the large oriental rug covering the middle of the room, revealing the bare cement floor underneath.

Dean flipped through his dad's journal until he found the page he was looking for, the layout of a proper Devil's Trap, "I'll get her here. Trap her, see if we can get any useful info then we exorcise the bitch."

They finished painting the Devil's trap on the floor and hid it under the Oriental rug. "I'll find Sam, come back here and we'll wait for you and Casey," she repeated the plan back to Dean before climbing out of Baby. Dean watched in the rearview mirror as she walked back to the laundromat instead of the motel, checking to see if her clothes were still there no doubt.