A/N: Three months. I suck. I know. Sorry! Hit a major block with all my writing. Again, I apologize. Enjoy!

Chapter Ten

Dean followed John and Elizabeth to the bus. He tried his best not to snort over the fact that it was positioned as close to the building as possible. He tried not to roll his eyes upon seeing not even a speck of road dust on the gleaming metal. Did some flunky rush out with rags and polish the moment the bus was parked?

The inside smelled of lemon furniture polish. The wooden surfaces glowed, the metal accents - was that real fucking gold? – glittered. The carpeting looked as though it had just been installed; the linoleum flooring in the kitchen area showed not even the smallest scuff. Aside from a few papers and a slim laptop on the table, it looked brand new and unused. It was sleek and modern and screamed the fact that Cena had money and was the golden boy.

With another glance around, though, Dean wrinkled his nose. It looked like shit. Literally, thanks to all the shades of brown.

His gaze landed on the plush couch, where Elizabeth was sitting. John sat near her and cold blue eyes directed him to sit elsewhere. Opting to stand, Dean folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the closed door leading to the driver's area.

Elizabeth looked nervous. She was fidgeting, just as she had in that dingy motel room whenever she talked or thought about John. First plucking at the sleeve of her sweater, then tapping her fingers on her thighs, then crossing her legs. Uncrossing them. Crossing them again. Dean tucked his hands firmly beneath his arms and forced his eyes to the floor, but not before seeing John's hand rest on her knee.

Her fidgeting stopped immediately.

"I think I have a pretty good idea of what's going on," John began. Dean glanced up to see he was settled back. Relaxed. As though this was a normal, everyday occurrence.

"Do you?" he challenged, huffing out a breath when John sent him a quick glare.

"Let me finish. I get that you're jealous, Elizabeth. And I get that you felt the need for revenge." He actually laughed. "But come on, babe. You could do so much better than him."

Even though he'd thought that himself, Dean felt a surge of anger. He curled his fingers into his sides to keep from lashing out. He'd let the asshole speak.

"We'll ignore the fact that he's a nobody. And that he's got a bad history with a lot of shit." John sounded like he wanted to laugh. "Let's focus on the fact that fooling around with him will do nothing for you. Aside from what you could catch—"

"John—"

"Do you really want to be another notch in his bedpost? Because trust me, babe, that's all you'll be to him. I gotta say I'm surprised though. I didn't think you had it in you to cheat."

"I didn't think you did, either." Elizabeth's voice wavered. "And it's not revenge."

"Pity fucks then?" John asked. "I guess she told you she has trouble coming. So she's a challenge to you." He chuckled. "Good luck with that."

He took a breath, trying his best to keep from shouting out that he had no problem getting her to scream his name. That over the weekend he had learned how to make her cum in almost no time at all. Eyes trained on the floor, he kept his face impassive as he recalled how she'd writhed and panted on the airplane earlier. Both hands holding onto his wrist, she'd managed to stay quiet while he'd fingered her under the thin blanket provided by the flight attendant. That tiny little sigh she'd released when her body relaxed had turned him on more than he thought it should have.

He'd had a taste. She made him high and drunk. And he craved her, much like he craved a cigarette first thing in the morning. More so, considering his morning cigarette had been delayed in favor of her for two mornings straight.

He tightened his arms over his chest and waited.

"So here's the thing. You want her… To fuck, at least. Man, I don't blame you. She's a hot little piece, right?"

How was she able to sit there and look unfazed by what the asshole was saying? It was all Dean could do to keep from swinging a fist. Staring at her, he tried to silently communicate that he would be glad to hold the bastard down so she could destroy him. But she merely looked down. At the hand that was caressing her knee.

Before he could interject that she was so much more, John's hand slipped up to clutch Elizabeth's thigh. He caught Dean looking and smirked.

"Do you know what I went through to make her mine?"

Mine. Like she was a dog he'd adopted or a pair of shoes he'd bought. Dean pressed his lips together, not bothering to answer the question. Not that his reply would sway or dissuade the asshole. Cena was holding court. And if he wanted to list the trials he had gone through to make Elizabeth his, he would.

And he did.

Dean listened, managing to keep his calm. John painted a picture of a haughty assistant to some journalist. Holier-than-thou. He'd asked her out - "Could you blame me? Even back then her ass was outta this world." - she'd accepted. Then she'd become a challenge. John had expected a good fuck or two before leaving for the next town, but she'd had the gall to turn him down. She didn't put out on the first date.

Or the second. Or the third. After a month of dates squeezed into his schedule, she hadn't given him anything more than a kiss. She wasn't old enough to drink, so he couldn't pump wine into her to get her to give out. Well, he could have, but for reasons he no longer remembered he hadn't.

A year. He kept after her for a whole year. As soon as she turned twenty-one he took her out. Wined her. Dined her. Talked her into trying tequila. Got her so sloppy drunk that she was begging him for more by the time he got her back home.

Dean's gaze swept to Elizabeth. John's voice became nothing more than an irritating drone as he looked at her. Face pale, trembling lips pressed together, she had her eyes closed. She, obviously, knew what had happened. Or at least what John said had happened. He liked to think he knew her well enough to know she wouldn't throw herself on a man and beg for it. No matter how drunk. In fact, he doubted she had been able to do much more than lie there. Despite John's posturing that she'd been all for it, Dean knew.

He ignored the rest of the story. He kept looking at her, wishing she would look to him. He didn't know why, exactly. Maybe a small reassurance that John's tale was filled with more fiction than truth. But she never glanced his way. She never opened her eyes. And when John finished, she wrenched to her feet and hurried to the back of the bus, disappearing into what Dean assumed was the bedroom.

"I'll give it to you straight, man."

Ugh, the asshole was still there. Dean realized he'd been about to go after her. In fact, one foot was already lifted and moving forward, which unnerved him. He never went after women. And he had no right to. What was he to her, anyway? Just the lucky sonofabitch that had shown her that she didn't have a sexual handicap. Well, okay, he'd shown her how good a decent fuck could be. Alright, how good several decent fucks could be.

With a heavy sigh he turned to look at John. "What?"

"You can have your fun with Elizabeth. I'm not worried, 'cause either she'll get over it quick or you'll get tired of her bullshit." He shrugged, brushing a piece of lint of his chest. "Anyway, do your thing. Just keep it quiet."

"Quiet," Dean repeated in a deadpan. He snorted, unclenching his fingers and letting his arms uncross. "You mean like you've kept all your shit quiet?"

"People are already starting to talk because you two were stuck in the snow. Nobody's come right out and said in front of me, but I know that some don't believe you had separate rooms." John stood. "So what happened there? Did y'all fuck?"

Dean released a humorless chuckle. The situation was maddening, crazy, and ridiculous at the same time. He was pretty sure that he'd wake up at any time and find it had all been a weird dream. Still, John had asked if they'd fucked while stranded. And he was able to answer truthfully. "No. We didn't fuck."

"Good to know. I don't think she'd cheat, but… Is it really cheating if she has my permission?" The man shrugged, clapped Dean on the shoulder. "Like I said. Keep it quiet and I won't be mad."

Eyes moving to the hand on his shoulder, Dean wrinkled his nose and shook it off. "Yeah," he grunted. "Am I supposed to thank you now or what?"

A derogatory breath came from John, hissing through his teeth. "Hardly." He pulled out his phone and studied the screen. "I gotta head back in to do some work. See you around."

He watched him leave, stared at the closed door for several moments. What the hell was going on? Running a hand through his hair, he headed towards the back. The door was closed, but he didn't bother knocking. It took him a few tries to figure out how to open the damn thing, finally jerking it aside so it slid into the wall.

Again with the shit brown colors. Again gleaming wood and shining metal that looked like real gold. There was a large bed, low shelves, a built-in TV, lights, a closet, even a window seat. Drawers and cupboards for storage. An open door showed off a bathroom. He caught sight of a large shower and more fucking gold accents, but his attention quickly moved to Elizabeth.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, back to him, head in her hands. There were no outward visible signs that she was crying. Her shoulders weren't shaking. She made no sounds; no sobs or sniffles. Just the same, he knew that tears were falling. Walking sideways so he could round the bed, he drew in a breath, steps faltering when he caught the lingering aroma of her perfume.

Well of course. She was right there. Naturally he'd smell her. Even as he had the thought, though, it dwindled. It wasn't coming from her. It was coming from the room.

The goddamn room on the fucking expensive bus. The room she'd slept in, dressed in, talked in, laughed in, since Cena had taken ownership. He looked to the bed, not really seeing her, and a heavy weight settled in the pit of his stomach.

The bed she'd slept in, read in, talked in. The bed, goddamn his brain for reminding him, she'd had sex in. Repulsed at the mental image of her having sex with Cena, he made sure he didn't touch the bed, huffing with annoyance when his knee banged the corner. He sat on the cushioned bench in front of the window, praying that she hadn't been bent over it at some point.

"What did he say to you?" she asked. Her voice was barely above a whisper, thick with tears.

"You don't want to know," he muttered, looking around for a tissue. There were none, at least not where he could see, and he finally gave up his brief search. "Lizzie…"

"You were right, y'know." Finally she sniffled, and he saw her hands moving to clear away tears.

"I was?" he asked in surprise.

"He kept me strung along until I was old enough to drink. Two weeks after he popped my cherry he popped the question."

Had he said that? "Fuck, Lizzie—"

"I hated you for throwing the truth in my face."

"It was a dick move," he admitted. Standing, he pushed his hands into his pockets. He was surprised to find a crumpled napkin in one and pulled it out, giving it a once-over to make sure it was clean. Then, disgust over the bed be damned, he sat next to her and shoved it into her hand.

"You're good at those." She sniffled again, then blew her nose.

"I'm… Sorry," he mumbled. Sighing, he put his arm around her, wondering if she had any idea how damn hard it was for him to be comforting. It wasn't in his nature. But he muddled through somehow. For her. Holding his breath when she leaned against him, he awkwardly patted her arm. There was no way he could segue her tears into a discussion about what John had said to him. It would only lead to more tears. "…Y'know what? I've said that damn word more in the past couple weeks than I have in my entire life."

"What? Sorry?"

"Yeah. So either I'm fucking up left and right with you, or…" Her hand slipped to his chest and his breath caught. "…Or you make me realize what a fuck up I am."

"I don't think you're a fuck up." It was a whisper again, but her fingers clutched the front of his shirt.

And that was enough.

For now.