I know I must have gone back up to the room before Tink did, and I know I must have kicked off my boots and sat my ass down, but I don't remember doing any of it. I also know it was probably a good hour of staring at a TV screen before she got back, though I don't remember any of that either. Hell, I don't even remember what was going on in my own head, just how I felt at the time. Am I going to tell you? Hell no, it's not your business. I will tell you that I probably would have sat there all damn day if nothing else had come along to get my attention, but something always does.

This time it was a knock at the door, which I figured was Tink, but I've been known to be wrong sometimes. (I think the word he was looking for here is 'frequently'. -Tink) Throwing off the chain lock, I opened it to find an old guy that, I kid you not, looked just like Michael Gough. For a second I wondered if he was going to tell me the Joker was running amok in Gotham. Seriously, though, how awesome would that be?

"I'm Charles, the manager here at The Arcadia. I'm sorry to bother you, but I was hoping to speak with Miss Bleu. Is she in?"

"No, she's-" And with her usual great timing (okay sometimes it's just creepy, really), that's about when 'Miss Bleu' stepped out into the hall. "Nevermind, there she is."

"So I see." Alfred—I don't care if his name was Charles, I'm calling him Alfred—turned to smile at her. "Miss Bleu, there you are. May I have a minute of your time?"

"Charles, of course you can, and I could've sworn I asked you to call me Skye." Dark hair damp with sweat and her skin flushed, Tink wrinkled her nose at the old man, smiling impishly up at him. Really, she seemed more relaxed and happy than I'd yet seen her, and that alone was almost enough to distract me from the tank-top and leggings. ...who am I kidding, no it wasn't. Turning that smile my way, she nodded in my direction. "I see you've met Dean."

"It's nice to meet you, Dean." Clasping his hands behind his back, Alfred kind of half-bowed. You know, like only an English butler that's not actually an English butler can do. "Actually, I'm so glad I caught you both. Now, I know you said you and your brothers-" Brothers? Oh, fuck that. Not a category that ever shows up in my Pornhub search history, thanks. "-most likely wouldn't be taking advantage of the dining room, but I was hoping to change your mind. You see, the hotel will be closing its doors soon. In fact, you're likely to be our last guests, and-Well, not to impose, but it would be my pleasure if you'd let me prepare a meal for you. Give the place a decent send off."

Well that explained why we seemed to be the only people around. More or less.

Meeting Tink's eyes, it wasn't hard to see how much she wanted to say yes. Not so much in her mannerisms or anything, but in the way that she lit up at the suggestion and then went dark again when she glanced at me. And I didn't like that. At all. (Because he is, in fact, the Stay Puft marshmallow man. Have I mentioned? Goo. Gooooo. -Tink)

"Well, I mean, that's so sweet of you, but Sam-"

"You know, I think Sam would be fine for an hour or two." A chance for a home-cooked meal alone with Skyler in what was bound to be one of the fanciest rooms I'd ever seen? Can't blame a guy for jumping on an offer like that and I've never regretted it for a second. (...Goo. -Tink)

And there they went again, those brown eyes lighting up like the star on a Christmas tree. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, why not?" A viking horde couldn't have stopped me and I was pretty sure Sam would be fine. And probably unconscious. "We won't be far. It's just downstairs, right?"

"Indeed it is, just across from the ballroom." Alfred clapped his hands together, thrilled that we'd accepted his invitation. "Excellent. Shall we say seven?"

"Sounds good to me."

"So, where'd you go?" Sitting down on the bed, I tried to look as if I hadn't a clue. And contrary to what you may hear elsewhere, I'm a very good liar. (Okay, so I give him a hard time about it once in awhile, but he's right. He's very good. Not his fault I can read him like a dime-store novel. At least, I can now. -Tink) "And when did you meet Alfred?"

"I've been in the Batcave, or damn near." Kicking the door shut behind her, Tink glanced at me as she slid the chain lock back into place, grinning from ear-to-ear, tickled pink that I'd seen the resemblance too. "You know, when I met him earlier, I almost asked him for an autograph. I'm glad it's not just me."

"Definitely not just you." Hands behind my head, I leaned back against the headboard, doing my damndest to keep my eyes on her face as she walked over to sit down on the other bed. Not the easiest thing ever at the time. Hell, not the easiest thing now. (Smooth, Winchester. Very smooth. -Tink) "So did you get to drive the Batmobile?"

"Even better, I got to dance in the ballroom. You should see it, Dean. It's huge!" Pulling her feet up to sit cross-legged on her bed, she beamed at me, bouncing absently. I wouldn't have figured her for bubbly before then but she can definitely effervesce on occasion. Fancy word, I know, but I married a walking, talking dictionary. It rubs off.

"And the sound system! They have a stack of CDs as tall as I am, I kid you not." You know how some people just kind of light up when they're talking about something they're really passionate about? They get all animated and dorky and it's just the cutest thing ever and you could listen to it for hours without needing to understand a goddamn thing? Yeah, she does that. (To be fair, so does he. -Tink) "You know, I used to imagine myself dancin' somewhere just like it when I was a kid and- You know what? Nevermind. Sorry, it's not important. How's Sam?"

...and you know how some people have been dismissed or told to shut the fuck up so often that they eventually just stop trying to share the things that are important to them? The people that cut themselves off as soon as they get a little excited because they don't want to annoy anyone or think nobody cares? Yeah, she does that, too. Or at least, she used to. It took me awhile to catch on to that, though, and even longer for her to break the habit.

—Oh, and one more thing, just before I forget. If you're one of the people that does that—that brushes someone off or tells them to fuck off or looks down on and mocks them and you end up dimming that light in their eyes—Well, then from the very bottom of my heart, fuck you.—

"Sam's fine-" At least I was pretty sure. The occasional snore or whimper from the open door seemed to confirm. "-just sleepin' it off in the other room." I winced when my stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since I couldn't actually remember when. Wait, no. It was the burger Skyler had brought me back in Jericho almost two days ago and that had been ice cold by the time I'd remembered it existed.

Glancing at my watch, I was more than a little surprised to see that it wasn't even noon yet. It felt so much later. "Okay, no way I'm gonna make it to dinner. You hungry? I could grab us some lunch if you wanna sit and keep an eye on Sammy for me."

"Sure, I can do that." Tossing her hair out of her eyes, she nodded ready agreement and I swear I could hear her own stomach grumbling like it was answering mine.

Looking thoughtful, she glanced down at herself, those loose strands falling right back into her eyes again. Letting out a breath, she smiled shyly at me from under her lashes (I am not shy. -Tink), one hand going up to twist itself in knots around the end of a rapidly fraying braid.

It took her a good second and I'd swear she just about gnawed a hole in her lip first, but she finally managed to open her mouth and speak. ""But um-I was wondering if-Do you think you could maybe do me a favor first?" Man she's cute when she's nervous and she's never been real great at asking for help. (Pot, meet kettle. I just know you'll be the best of friends. -Tink) "Or maybe when you get back. You know, whenever."

"No, probably not." It's probably a good thing I'm cute or I think Tink would have murdered me about a million times by now and I really don't need help dying, thanks. Been there, done that, bought multiple t-shirts. Still, she's pretty smart and it didn't take her too long to figure out I was just teasing. "Yeah, probably. What do you need, Tinkerbell?"

Pursing her lips at the use of her new nickname—which did stick, though you've probably figured that out already—she shook her head and chose to ignore it. "I just-I was just wondering about how long do you think it might take you to maybe break into every room on this floor to see if any of 'em have a shower?"

Let's ignore the fact that the answer to that question was probably just a quick phone call to Tink's new BFF Alfred down in his Batcave and go with it for a second, because why the fuck… "Something wrong with the bathtub?"

"No, there's nothin' wrong with the tub." Shaking her head and going right back to gnawing on her lip and pulling her hair out by the roots, she plastered a smile on her lips and forced herself to meet my eyes like it was just about the last thing on Earth she wanted to do. "Or at least, I don't think there is."

I could practically see her anxiety spiking out through the top of her head. And here I'd thought she was hard to read—and she fucking is, let me tell you—but she's much less so when she's relaxed and comfortable. Or rather, as I'd come to figure out, when she felt safe. Though why the hell anyone that barely knew me would feel safe around me, I have no fucking clue, you'd have to ask her. (Seriously? Because he's a goddamn cream puff, which I think I've mentioned, and in another life he'dve been a fucking Eagle Scout. -Tink) "I just-I don't like baths."

"You want me to pick the locks on how many doors because... you don't like baths?" Raising a brow, I couldn't help giving her a once-over for that one. Probably not the most flattering once-over either, but I didn't mean it, I was just confused and sometimes 'confusion' and 'asshole' look the same on me. "And this seems reasonable to you?" I realize I could have worded that better but I have a long history of foot-in-mouth disease and there were a lot of flare-ups in those early days. "I didn't mean-That didn't come out-"

"No, that's-that's alright." With a self-deprecating laugh, she shook her head, brushing it off like it wasn't a big deal. Take note here and learn from my own dumbass mistakes, when women do this, (or guys too for that matter), it usually means it is a very big deal. "Look, Winchester, you've figured out I've got issues by now, yeah?"

That's an understatement, the girl has more issues than National Geographic. The issues are just a little different now than they were then. Or maybe there are just a lot more of them. "Yeah, I figured that out."

Pulling her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs and flashed me a grin, a little less stressed now that she'd resigned herself to the conversation. "Well, you can add aquaphobia to the list."

Not a word I'd heard before, but it didn't take Sherlock to figure out, and I'm not quite as dumb as my brother would like to think. "You're aqu...you're afraid of the water?"

"Yeah, and I already told you I'm claustrophobic." And there was that wry laugh again, edged with a bitter note that I'm not real fond of. "And just to get it out of the way, I'm also scared of porcelain dolls." Shrugging a shoulder, her smile turned a little more genuine and not at all bitter. "No real reason, they're just creepy. Oh, and I'm also scared of the dark. ...and I think that's about it, but I could be forgetting something." Hey, to be fair, there's some scary shit that lives in the dark and I'm not a huge fan either. I prefer to be able to see what's trying to eat me, thanks. "I can deal with showers and sinks and all that no problem, but anything bigger than a mud puddle could cause problems."

"So, what, you've never had a bath?" Now that was hard to imagine because who didn't love a nice hot bath? Maybe a little music, some bubbles… Shut up.

"No, I have." Apparently the hair thing was the only tell she had when she was on her guard because when she wasn't, she had them in spades. Seriously, she gave a whole new meaning to 'fidget spinner'. ...No, do not go look up what a spinner is if you don't already know. I just have a dirty mind is all (and I don't regret it for a second). "Like, when I'd stay over at Anthony's, he didn't have a shower, but he'd sit out in the hall with the door open and talk to me the whole time so I wouldn't freak out like a lunatic and think I'm about to die."

—I have to say, it's hard not to like someone who's open about their insanity in a cute and mostly harmless kind of way. Everyone's crazy, you just have to find the kind of crazy you can live with.—

"...who's Anthony?"

Okay, I admit, that probably came out sharper than I wanted it to and I don't think I really need to spell out why, do I? She didn't comment on it though, only raising a brow at me before answering, "He's-it's kind of complicated."

"Cousin? Classmate? Friend? Prom date? Boyfriend?" Ok, so that came out without any input from my brain whatsoever. Breathe, dumbass. Yeah, no way she didn't notice that. Side note, I don't like blushing, it's embarrassing and it kind of pisses me off. (It's real fucking cute, though. Brings out his freckles. 12/10 -Tink)

"That's um-Okay. Andrew is my dance instructor, has been since I was like three." She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, giving the question some thought and pretending not to notice the fact that I was suddenly weird and awkward, like an unpleasant flashback to the teen years I thought I'd outgrown. Haha, nope. "He's kind of an asshole, but seriously a phenomenal dancer."

...wait, I thought we'd been talking about Anthony and now it was Andrew?

—It probably would have helped some if I could have kept my full attention on the actual conversation and not the way it looked when she took a deep breath in that tank-top and for the sake of my dignity we're going to pretend that's exactly how it happened. Thank you for your cooperation, it's appreciated.—

"Now, Andrew was with the American Ballet Theatre before he blew out his knee-" Pretty sure I was supposed to be impressed by that because she obviously was but mostly I was just trying to get my brain to function. (It's okay, we can blame hormones. -Tink) "-and Anthony is Andrew's husband-" Oh. Well, that answers that. Okay, it didn't really, but it took care of my major concern at that point.

"-and they own Solo and Taps. Solo is the dance studio and Taps is a bar." I think it was at about that point she realized that still hadn't actually explained much."-and they kinda helped raise me? Like, they'd let me sleep on the couch sometimes and fed me and my first real job was tending bar at Solo-"

And that's about when she noticed she was starting to ramble again and winced, cutting herself off and smiling cheerfully over at me like she hadn't just started to tell me her entire life story. "Like I said, it's complicated."

"I'm startin' to get that." Complicated. Yeah. We wouldn't find out for quite some time exactly how complicated. "You know, I could do that."

Blinking blankly up at me, she couldn't seem to connect the dots. You want another fancy word? Non-sequitur. Now that's a five-dollar word right there. "...you could do what?"

"I can sit outside the door and talk to you so you can take a bath." Not exactly a hardship. The most difficult part would be not giving in to the urge to take a peek. I mean, I may be a lot of things, but I'm not a creep. At least, not that much of one. "I mean, if it'd help. When you're done, I can run out and get us lunch."

Eyes narrowing, she looked at me like I'd offered to run a 10K to raise money for starving orphans in Uganda and she couldn't figure out why. "You'd do that?"

"On one condition." So I'm not opposed to taking advantage of a situation. Sue me.

Besides, once I'd named a price, she actually relaxed a little. How fucked up is that, though? I mean really, think about that for a second. "What's the condition?"

"When we go to dinner, you tell me why."

"Why what?"

"Why you are the way you are." I know, I'm a nosy little shit—hard not to be in our line of work—but I'm fairly sure you could actually die of curiosity if you tried hard enough. "I have my theories but-"

"Why do you wanna know?" And there was that suspicion again, like she just couldn't possibly understand why someone would want to know more about her. Or like maybe she was afraid any information might be used as a weapon against her. Or maybe both. Both is always good.

"I don't-It's not-" Aggravating little... "I just figure, we're stuck together,right? Probably for awhile, or at least until we find my Dad." Which, much as I wanted to make sure he was okay, was starting to be a little less pressing than it had been a few days before. Talk about some internal conflict. "We might as well kiss and make up, right?"

"You wish." Sitting cross-legged with an elbow on her know and her chin in the palm of her hand, she bit back a giggle. And she is adorable when she giggles. Just saying. (I do not giggle and it is not adorable. -Tink) "So, what, you wanna be friends now?" Yeah. Friends. Or something like that. "Well, this should be interesting."

"Now why do you say that?"

"Just never really had a friend before."

Somehow I didn't really get the feeling she was exaggerating. At least, not by much. "You do now."