When Seth left, Dean stayed standing there for a moment, just breathing. Coming to terms with the situation. He used the tissue that he found in his pocket to wipe his mouth. One last deep breath and he was good to go. He tried to clear up his mind, start from the scratch, but soon enough he realized that wouldn't work. What happened happened. There was no point in pretending it didn't.

He walked toward Seth and Roman with pretended confidence. The important thing was he looked at them, even at Roman. Actually when he did, when he finally saw the face of the man that did him harm, he smiled. There was this bitter hatred he felt toward him but not the one that would prevent him from talking to him ever again. It was somewhat comforting. He could use being able to look him in the eye again.

As soon as guys noticed he was walking over to them, they used the time they had to come up with a clever way to break the awkward silence that would soon emerge. They did not have to, though. Dean appeared to be well enough and able to put the hatred, or mainly disgust, aside. "I need some water," he commented. The casualness with which he said it surprised both Roman and Seth

"I'm sorry," Roman apologized just as Seth did before. He was sorry, but only partly. It was Dean who pushed it to that point. Besides, he could have stopped anytime. It was not Roman's fault that Dean was so stubborn and proud. After little consideration, Roman added, "But I won."

Dean chuckled. "You won one battle. Not the war. The war barely started," he announced with great importance.

"You don't mean to continue, do you?" Roman asked, ready to be surprised if Dean said yes.

"No. Not now. I need a time-out," he said leisurely, as if it was no big deal. "Also, you should clean up the mess."

"What mess?" Seth asked, but after checking out the place he knew better. There were ropes and tape lying around, knife, gun . . . Not something that would look good if somebody happened to see it. The only thing missing was a dead body. Well, looking at Dean, one did not need to guess twice to know he was the object of the cruelties. He was covered in mud, leaves, blood, vomit, and, yeah, cum, too. He could use a shower right now. It was not only the sight of him that made you disgusted. There was smell, too.

Roman got to collecting the evidence while Dean looked to get only what belonged to him. Like the knife. And the gun. "Where are the bullets?" he asked. Leaving them in the forest was the last thing he wanted.

"Uhm," Roman thought, "they should be around."

"I need something more specific than around."

They were hard to spot. And Roman had no idea where exactly one could locate them. But he did not want to get Dean any angrier. Even though he was hiding his anger well, it existed. So Roman offered his help. "I'll look for them."

That Dean took as a sign that it was being taken care of and there was nothing for him left to do. He grasped the gun – how he missed it – but welcoming it back in his arms had to be postponed because Seth's curiosity arose.

"How come you never said you owned a gun?" Seth finally got the chance to ask.

"What would you need to know that for?"

"Well, for situations like this. I mean, do you remember you almost shot Roman?" Only partially that was sarcasm. After so many damages to Dean's body it wouldn't surprise him if he had forgotten. Particularly the blackout could have caused some memory loss.

"I had a good reason for that," Dean argued. "But hey, I only pointed my gun at him, though he fired at you."

"Twice," Seth reflected, and anger settled on his face.

"Twice?" Dean asked.

"Twice," he confirmed. "Right, you missed the second time."

"When was that?"

"Just five minutes ago," Seth answered casually, "when you were hugging your tree."

Dean let Seth know he didn't want to talk about that, that it was something he wished to forget about, or at least momentarily lock out of his consciousness.

"Still," Seth continued," there's a difference doing it with empty gun."

Dean shrugged his shoulders and looked at Roman. "Have you found them?" he asked him.

"No," he shouted back.

"Well, then keep looking!"

Meanwhile Dean kept playing with the gun.

"You know what?" Seth said, looking at him and seeing how dangerous he looked with it, "Let me take it away from you." He reached for the handgun but Dean would not let anyone other than him hold it again. He felt like they wouldn't even know how to use it properly.

"Hey, I got them," Roman said and cheered Dean up.

"Where were they?"

"In my pocket," Roman replied. All those things that happened between he placed the bullets safely in this pocket and when he realized they were there made him forget about it.

"Good. Now give them to me."

"No," Roman refused.

"They're mine. I bought them."

"Well, I wouldn't feel save knowing you're holding a loaded gun."

"What? You think I'd shoot you?"

"Is it crazy to think you might?"

"Look," Dean said calmly, "what happened happened. I'm not mad at you."

"That's a little hard to believe. Anyway, I don't want to argue over this. Let's settle it this way: you keep the gun, I keep the bullets. Alright?"

Dean was not satisfied with the proposal but trying to take the bullets from Roman by force was even before the attempt a lost fight. Especially when the odds were Seth would join Roman's side.

"Fine. Keep them. For now," Dean added.

Once the bullets were found and the dispute over them ended as well Roman got back to cleaning the rest of the mess. Seth helped. Dean stood by bossing them around. He put his hand on the top of his head to check the injured spot and see if there was any blood left but it seemed to be fine now.

"What did you hit me with?" he asked Seth.

Seth stopped cleaning to focus on Dean. "What?"

"When I pointed the gun at Roman, what did you throw at me?"

"A rock," Seth slowly admitted. He was still ashamed of it and felt guilty about that spontaneous action.

"Where is it now?"

"I don't know." There were plenty of rocks around, how could he know which was the one he used as a weapon? "You want to keep it as a souvenir or what?"

"No, dumbass. It's probably got blood on it. My blood. And where's my blood, there's my DNA," he explained to Seth.

"And you're worried that someone might find it and use it to clone you?" Seth joked.

Dean did not find it funny.

"Fine, I'll see if it's around. But if you care that much about not leaving any DNA here, you should probably get disposed of the vomit you left by the tree. And then your piss of course," Seth added to show Dean the absurdity of his demands. "But even if they found your DNA, they need to have something to match it to. So the question now is whether you have a criminal record or not," Seth turned it around.

"Do I look like a guy with a criminal record?"

"Yes," instantaneously answered Roman, without looking up.

"If I were you, I wouldn't even speak up."

Casually Dean grabbed the gun that he put in his pants before. He played with it for a moment – he had nothing better to do anyway – then a smile appeared on his face. "Who was in charge of taking out the cartridge?" he wanted to know.

"I," Roman answered, uninterested.

"You wanted to play a Russian Roulette?"

"What?" Roman started paying attention. "Why?"

"You left one bullet in."

"No. There's no way," he refused, but the bullet in Dean's palm proved he might be wrong.

"You call yourself the responsible one?" Seth shouted at him. "You could have killed me!"

"God! No! No! That can't be."

"You fired at me," Seth reminded him. "Twice!"

"I could have killed you," Roman realized. He was in shock and he was close to having a panic attack. "Seth," he begged for apology, but this was not something you could just let go. "I don't know what to say. . . ."

"Just say that –" He stopped and squinted his eyes. "Wait a minute. You can't play Russian Roulette with a pistol," he realized. "If the bullet were in the gun, as you claim," he looked at Dean, "and Roman fired, I'd be dead. It's not a fucking revolver."

Roman listened to him patiently. What Seth was saying made sense.

Seth went on, "Just admit you're lying."

"You fucking asshole!" Roman shouted at Dean. "You wanted me to think that I could have killed Seth? You think this a fucking game, Dean?"

"Liar!" Seth accused Dean. "You think you can manipulate with us just like that?"

Roman asked for confession, "Say that you had that bullet on you the whole time."

"Maybe," Dean said, then smiled and took a step back. "But now we know for sure that the bullet's in the gun." He made sure they saw him inserting it in the magazine. "And that the gun is loaded. And that, as you said," he referred to Seth, "you fire, you kill." With those words he stretched his arm and pointed the gun at Roman.

"What are you doing?" Seth asked.

Roman didn't even have guts to speak.

"You don't mean to. . . ." He was too shocked to finish the sentence. Too worried. Too scared of what Dean might do.

Roman took a deep breath and quietly said, "So you are mad at me."

Dean smiled and tilted his head. Then he fired.