Angel slipped her key into the lock and, not thinking, simply opened the door and stepped inside. She smelled him before she saw him, barely visible in the darkened room, backlit only by the streetlight shining in through a window. The late McMenace brothers hadn't let him bathe and, when she switched on the light, she saw that they'd also beaten the crap out of him...and that he held her HK45C in his quivering, dirt and blood encrusted hand.

Amazed that he was still on his feet, the grim set of his mouth and the clenched jaw affirming his strength of will, he jerked the gun and she came closer. "I cooked and cleaned all day," he hissed, "You could have at least called."

She was so surprised that she never saw or even felt the butt of the gun as it smacked her in the temple, knocking her out cold. A short while later Angel did feel freezing cold water on her naked skin as it revived her and, propped up in the corner of the large dual-headed shower stall, Dean hauled her to her feet roughly and looped her cuffed hands over the shower's knob.

"I need a shower and I'm not letting you out of my sight," he told her and stepped back out of the stall, "And I figure you're not going anywhere buck naked." Dean gingerly pulled his shredded tee shirt over his head to reveal his battered and bruised torso. He loosened the fly of his jeans and pulled them off, then stepped into the shower closing the two glass doors behind him. He turned the knobs on the second showerhead and set it to just a tad under scalding. "And in the morning you're gonna take me to my brother or I'm gonna kill you," he then told her nonchalantly.

Angel snorted a laugh and adjusted her side of the shower from ice cold to toasty warm and enjoyed the sensation. She also enjoyed the thought of being 'buck naked' in the shower with Dean Winchester and even thought the handcuffs a kinky touch. She remained where he had put her, itching to get to one of the guns just out of reach on the other side of the wall.

Dean didn't move for the soap or shampoo. He just let the hot water run over his head and down his battered body and stared at Angel's back. He'd only caught a glimpse of the tattoo in the motel but now it shown wetly in the shower's light, the wings, slick and shiny black, undulating every time she took an angry breath. His eyes moved to the writing on the small of her back and it was then that he noticed the other scars. Along with the scratches he'd seen the scars on her face from the repair of a broken jaw and the myriad of smaller scars, along with the scarring of the needles, on both arms but had just now noticed three small round scars on her back that definitely looked like healed over bullet wounds. This woman was unquestionably lucky to be alive and as he looked down her legs and again saw the long gashes and the puncture wounds, the scars of a hellhound, he knew she shouldn't be alive at all.

Dean asked her, "Is this what the hunters did to you?" as he reached out to touch one of the rounded scars, still a dull pink.

Showering with a gorgeous man, even a resourceful prick of a gorgeous man who had obviously found her stashed files, was usually a prelude to sex but Angel wasn't surprised when he focused on her scars instead. They were quite off putting. She sighed and tried to move away from him and if he could have seen her face he would have seen her eyes ice up.

"No, don't," he said softly and moved his finger to gently touch the second then the third scar, "I'm just curious."

Angel sucked in her breath, shivering at his touch and he pulled his finger back as if he'd been burned. He started to apologize, "I'm sorry I didn't mean..."

"It's Okay," she said coldly and slipped her hands off the knob. To avoid what she knew would be his piteous gaze, she turned and didn't look him in the face but dropped her eyes past his own tattoo and gasped out loud.

Dean, thinking she was impressed with the size of his dick, smiled cockily until she asked, "Do they hurt?"

Still on a totally different wavelength Dean opened his eyes wide and pulled his head back in shock amused by her bawdy suggestion. By the grace of God the brothers hadn't kicked him in the gnads and he shook his head and smiled cheekily.

"The scars, you pig" she snapped when she realized he'd completely misunderstood.

"Oh, the scars," he said and laughed. He finally understood her question and looked down at the two inconsequential scars, one on his peck, the other on his abdomen. He shook his head and thought that maybe she liked the 'comparing scars' scene in Lethal Weapon 3, though she was clearly the winner. "These little things?" he asked, "This one's from a collision with a tombstone and this is an old appendectomy scar."

"Right," she replied sarcastically and wondered exactly what his deal was, why he was downplaying his own scars when he seemed so interested in hers but when she looked hard into his eyes, she knew he wasn't playing head games and she wondered what in the hell was going on. His body was covered with claw marks, starting at his shins and stopping just under his chin, the most concentrated damage directly over his heart. They were the scars of a hellhound, the same as hers.

Still woozy from the alcohol and the rap on the head, Angel turned her back to him once more and closed her eyes. She leaned in letting her forehead rest on the cool tiles.

Dean took pity on her and asked, "If I un-cuff you are you gonna try and kill me?"

The absurdity of it all hit her and she laughed weakly. No, she wasn't going to try and kill him. She was going to make nice and slip a ring through his nose and lead him to Mammon, just like a bull to slaughter. Mammon was going to kill him. She turned around and held up her shackled hands and Dean slipped the key into the locks and tossed the hardware out onto the bathmat.

"Tell me you didn't have that key up…"

"In my hand the whole time," he assured her with a smile and placed his hands on either side of her face.

She didn't recoil and he stared long and hard at her. He saw no contact lenses nor blonde roots at the base of her dark hair and wondered how she'd pull it off. He was met with silence and concluded she didn't want to talk about it.

Angel wanted to talk about it but couldn't begin to explain what had happened. One day she was a multi tasking wife and soccer mom and, before the end of the month, she had committed filicide and her hair and eyes had turned as dark as her heart.