A/N: Sooooo sorry this chapter is so late! I was sick then just as I thought I was getting better, I got hit with round 2 that was worse than round 1! This is actually only half of the chapter that I'm trying to finish but it got so long and so late that I figured I'd just break it in two.

Recap (since it's been a week and a half): Sam, on demon blood, had no problem torturing the captured vampire and found out that Diego is a witch as well as a vampire. Neither Bobby nor Dean were pleased at this new side of Sam.

A/N: When I started this story, I decided to keep it strictly Sam and Dean POV because I intended to keep the story centered on the brothers and their relationship since that's the thing I personally love the most about the show (well, that and the pure hotness of Dean Winchester - haha!). I know most readers are female and like to see the girl's POV but I was worried about taking the focus off the boys so I worked really hard instead to demonstrate who Tasha is and why Dean would fall for her through her actions and through Sam and Dean's thoughts. I think I've succeeded in that so far - I'll let you guys be the judge – but when a couple of reviewers mentioned Tasha's POV (thanks for the feedback BTW!), I realized that I really did want to give a glimpse into her mind also, especially since she's been missing and out of the story for two days now, so I have added a scene showing her time with Diego in this chapter. It's kind of ugly (another reason I was going to skip it), but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

CHAPTER 28

Tasha awoke suddenly, the swirling thoughts of Dean snatched from her mind as awareness hit her accompanied by a sharp jolt of pain. She jerked her arm in reflex and her eyes sprang open to find her left hand still shackled to the steel post near one end of the empty room. She let out a feeble groan, not looking forward to what consciousness would surely bring.

She had lost track of how long she had been here or how many times she had passed out. She had struggled and fought with every ounce of strength she could summon as it returned to her body after the blow to the head she had taken outside Roar's bar. Diego had dragged her into a brown car and drove with his left hand while his right was still fisted in her hair. When she discovered the lock on her door had been removed, she tried her best to crash the car, preferring to take her chances in a highway accident than alone with the monster that had haunted her every nightmare since she was a child. The vampire had managed to pull over without wrecking and had simply lunged across the bench seat at her, sinking his teeth into her neck, tearing at the flesh and sucking noisily until she had blacked out.

She had woken up here, shackled to the post in some small but expensive looking home dance studio. The room in front of her was empty with hardwood floors and a full wall of mirrors on the far side. The couple of bathroom breaks Diego had grudgingly granted her had been in a marble bathroom bigger than most of the motel rooms she frequented. Her boots and her jeans had been removed the first time she had passed out and during his first round of revenge, the vampire had ripped her shirt open to get better access to bare skin to bite. He had been hovering over her at the time, almost giddy with anticipation and she had thought from his lustful leering that he may have intentions other than torturing and killing her. Her empty threats not to even think about it were met with obvious disdain.

"Don't flatter yourself," he sneered. "I don't play with my food and I wouldn't foul myself with the likes of you. Your very existence offends me." He sniffed the air above her and wrinkled his nose. "The stench of your bloodline is repugnant." That was when he smiled at her, an alarmingly handsome smile for a monster. "Repugnant," he added, "But rich with the sweet taste of revenge." His eyes narrowed and his extra teeth popped out. "And soon to be extinct."

She remembered trying desperately not to cry out, not to give him the satisfaction, and managed to hold out for a while but in the end, the sound of her screams had filled the air for some time before the world had thankfully gone black again.

Diego had almost worked his way into a routine. He'd show up with a Coke and a couple of donuts and make her eat to replenish her strength, claiming he wanted to make sure she lasted long enough for him to have his fill of fun. While she ate, he'd taunt and monologue, telling her all the nasty and painful things he was about to do. Then he'd do exactly what he'd promised until she passed out again from pain and blood loss.

Much of her torture consisted of Diego gnashing his extra teeth into her skin somewhere tender and feeding on her but in between 'drinks' he got more creative. He found the irony of using her own knife against her extremely amusing and her cries of pain often rang out in harmony with his sinister laughter. He sliced and carved, all shallow cuts that she quickly realized were intended to inflict pain rather than kill. He would often choke her as he drank, releasing her throat just before she lost consciousness and cackling with glee as she sputtered and gasped to get her breath back.

She didn't know how she kept managing to wake up, how she was still alive, and couldn't help but think that had something to do with timing. She was a fighter and would have fought Diego with everything she had anyway, but her motivation to stay alive had been increased tenfold when the elder Winchester had walked into that motel room the very morning Diego had found her. She couldn't help but think if Diego had found her one day sooner her body and her will would have simply given up by now.

She pulled her head up weakly, scanning the room with unfocused eyes and almost whimpering with relief to find Diego wasn't there. It was pure agony to move but her determination eventually had her sitting up, leaning her back against the hard, silver steel of the post. She tugged fiercely at her shackled wrist, trying to force her hand through the iron opening but it was obvious it was a square peg and a very small, round hole. Without her jeans, she had no paperclip to pick the lock so … she winced in dread … she was going to have to make the square peg round.

As she pulled herself up onto her knees, her head spun with nausea and every inch of her body ached with fresh bruising and the stinging pain of a hundred oozing flesh wounds. The hardwood floor beneath her was slick and slippery with smears of her own blood.

She knew it must have been at least a couple of days since she had seen her worst nightmare appear out of the shadows outside Grime's Bar. Diego would no doubt soon tire of the sadistic pleasure he was getting out of her suffering and when he did, she was as good as dead.

She didn't want to die. She had just been given Dean back.

She had always known Diego would find her eventually. He had killed her Mom, her Dad, her Aunt – all the family she had ever known. Sure, she had dreamed of killing him first and being the one to end the family curse but deep down, it had always seemed just that – a dream. Living detached and alone and constantly looking over her shoulder was all she had really known, especially since her father had died ten years ago. She had almost accepted her inevitable fate until Dean had come along.

Dean. Just the thought of the well-muscled, green-eyed hunter gave her a boost of energy, the motivation she needed to make it to her feet. She had to get out of here. She finally had something to fight for other than simple survival.

With that thought she slammed her bare heel down as hard as she could on her cupped line of knuckles, biting her lip to stifle a scream of pain as she heard a couple of bones crack in her shackled hand.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That fucking hurt.

She focused her thoughts on Dean and away from the pain. His cocky attitude and tough-guy façade that hid the wealth of emotion and deep-feeling nature inside.

Her heel slammed down a second time, popping at least one finger out of its knuckle joint. She clenched her teeth and panted her way through the pain to keep from crying out.

Dean. Think of Dean. His crass humor and near obsession with classic rock tunes that completely contradicted his secret fixation with Dr. Sexy and the Star Trek original series.

She placed her hand against the steel post and rammed her knee into it a couple of times with every ounce of energy she had. Tears welled in her bottom lids and a muffled whimper escaped her lips.

Dean. His refusal to divulge a single feeling or sentiment then surprise her with a sudden rush of sharing as they lay together in bed or sat alone in the Impala. She remembered the honesty in his voice in those intimate moments and the vulnerability in the sentiments he shared.

Another few hits with her knee and this time she was rewarded with a series of cracks, though they were drowned out by her sharp cry of pain.

Come on, one more time. She needed to completely crush the hand as the shackle was incredibly tight around the smallest part of her slim wrist. Her legs were wobbly and she doubted her aim so she tried crushing and grinding it on the floor under her knee.

Oh God, that hurt.

Her strength finally gave out and she slumped to the floor with her back against the post, her face streaked with sweat and tears that were now trickling down and stinging the open wounds on her neck. Blackness threatened to take over.

Dean. Dean. Dean. His track record of short-term relationships and one-night stands that completely belied his astounding capacity to love.

Like the way he loved Sam. Tasha had never known what it was like to have a sibling; a few short and guarded friendships with other foster care kids couldn't compare to what she had seen between Sam and Dean. That was what family was supposed to be, not some strangers taking you in until you proved to be more trouble than the extra paycheck was worth. She had been in awe of their bond long before she found out Dean had given his soul for his brother. That love and that loyalty, most of all, was why she had fallen for Dean harder than she had ever imagined possible.

She allowed herself a weak smile. Well, that and the sex.

She began to pull and squeeze and tug at her broken hand, unable to hold in her cries and heaving sobs as the bones in her hand popped and slipped over one another but still refused to fit through the shackle opening. The skin on her wrist and knuckles was bloody and raw and she wanted nothing more than to pass out but she knew she wouldn't have much time before the hand swelled from the abuse. Once that happened, there would be no chance of escape, even if Diego handed her a hammer to turn the bones to dust.

It didn't work. She screamed and wept and tugged frantically through the agony but her hand just wouldn't contort enough to give her freedom. The pain turned to desperation when she heard footsteps approaching the door and to anguish when it flew open with a heart stopping bang. Her tormentor stood silhouetted in the doorway for a long moment in silence before he started to laugh.

Her last hope of escape was crushed and her heart skipped a beat as she braced herself for another round of his wrath.

Diego sauntered over and deftly sidestepped her defiant attempt to kick his knee-joint. He slammed his boot down on her shackled left wrist, twisting and stomping like he was grinding a cigarette butt into the dirt.

"Nice try bitch."

She struggled to stay lucid through the pain and the fear as Diego knelt down and pulled the limp hand to his lips. He smirked as he licked the blood oozing from her wrist almost gently. "Mmmmm, Senorita, you taste so sweet ..." his extra sharp teeth popped out and his eyes took on that terrifying, feral look again, "... and I'm famished."

She closed her eyes and braced herself, trying desperately to take her mind somewhere else.

Dean would find her. She had royally screwed up and made a mess of things between her and him, even made a mess of things between Sam and him, something she had never wanted to do, but despite everything, she knew Dean would be looking for her. Despite everything, she believed Dean loved her.

Yes, Dean would find her. After all, he'd been handpicked by God to pretty much save the world. If anyone could find her, Dean could.

Dean would find her. She just had to stay alive.

/\\/\\/\\-/\\/\\/\\-/\\/\\/\\-/\\/\\/\\-/\\/\\/\\

Two days exactly. Dean looked down at his watch as it clicked over to six-thirty p.m. Tasha was running out of time. In fact, according to his wrist, her time had just run out. He slammed a fist against the Impala's steering wheel, cursing Diego, the useless bikers, his own incompetence, Cas for not showing up, Sam for not being Sam anymore, and lastly and most vehemently, his brother's slut demon girlfriend for not answering Sam's calls. Yes, he would even accept help from Ruby right now. If it helped find Tasha, he'd swallow his pride and deal with the repercussions later. But the bitch was MIA; perfect demon timing as usual.

He was headed towards Grime's Bar, prepared to put the pressure on Roar and his gang but he leaned sideways to get his hand in his jeans pocket and pull out his cell phone. Sam was out searching for the elusive Crown Vic in Bobby's van while the older hunter took a short nap back at the motel. Maybe his brother could try that summoning ritual again, the one he had used on Ruby in the days before Dean's deal was due. Demand some witch intel from the friggin' demon whore.

He was just about to hit the speed dial button when Smoke On the Water sounded into his palm, Deep Purple having circled its way back to be Dean's current choice of ringtone. He looked down to see Roar's name on the display.

'Dickhead better not be trying to squirm out of his deal,' he thought, worried that the bikers would stop searching now that the mission had hit its two-day deadline. He wasn't anywhere close to giving up yet.

"You got anything?" he barked into the phone in greeting.

"Yeah," Roar spat back, sounding out of breath. "A fucking Ironhorse Legend with no fucking rider that's smashing my bar to bits!"

Dean could hear the unmistakable loud noise of a motorcycle engine revving in the background along with gunshots, glass smashing, and men shouting. "Use the salt rounds we gave you!" he shouted into the phone, pressing his foot on the gas pedal. "I'm two minutes away!"

He skidded into the bar parking lot a minute and a half later but all was quiet. The line of bikes out front was in tatters, the machines all toppled over in a mangled heap and clearly smashed and bent beyond drivability. The hunter parked at the far end of the mess and got out quickly, arming himself with a shotgun loaded with rock salt before climbing what was left of the front steps two at a time.

"Roar?" he called out as he stepped up to the threshold. The front door was hanging precariously from its top hinge and the two front windows were smashed to pieces.

Inside was worse. The tables were all flipped and smashed, pieces of chairs and broken beer bottles strewn about the room. The man Dean thought was called Two-Bit was lying sprawled in the middle of the floor, mangled and bloody with a dirty tire-print across his face. He wasn't moving.

Dean stepped over him and headed towards the room at the back. "Roar!" he called out again.

The door swung open and a banged up Roar stepped into the room warily, shotgun still held high.

"Dude, what happened?" Dean demanded, though the answer was obvious.

"We were just sitting in here, the four of us, and we heard this revving outside. Turns out it was Ol' Dirt, or at least his Legend, and next thing we knew it drove right through the front door." He nodded towards the body on the floor. "Took Two-Bit out just like that," he swished his hand quickly through the air. "The men and me, we started shootin' and it went back outside," he looked up, his face angry, "That's when I called you but next thing I know he's back inside traipsin' around the room here faster'n a five dollar hooker."

"And Paul and the other guy?" Dean asked, feeling the first twinges of guilt at putting off helping the bikers until they had found Tasha for him. He couldn't help but think she wouldn't have wanted their lives on her head.

"Shank's dead," Roar informed him, jerking his thumb towards the back room. "As for Paul, I dunno, he took off by foot," he tilted his head towards the back door. "I swung a tire iron at it a couple of times as it backed over Shank," he shrugged, "And it just sorta vanished into thin air."

Dean sighed, hoping the spirit hadn't gone after Paul, who would be on foot in the woods behind the bar. If it had, the big guy was basically screwed.

"I thought we were safe in here," Roar clenched his teeth before looking back at the hunter. "You're the expert," the biker said accusingly. "Is it coming back?"

Dean shrugged. "Vegas money says yes," he said honestly. "It probably got tired of waiting to catch you alone. Ghosts escalate in violence same as serial killers and any other wack-jobs," he admitted. "We need to get you out of here and onto hallowed ground, quick." He beckoned Roar to follow him outside to the Impala but they hadn't made it to the edge of the splintered porch before the ominous, throaty purr of a bike floated through the evening air.

"Oh shit! Move!" Dean commanded, leaping down onto the gravel with the big biker a mere step behind him. They raced around the slew of twisted metal that used to be four motorcycles and headed towards his Impala, Dean shouting to Roar behind him for directions to the closest church or graveyard as they ran.

Roar's answer was interrupted by a stream of curses from the biker, spit out in reaction to the appearance of a gleaming, rumbling, AI Legend in front of them. Despite the whole rider-less thing making it really friggin' creepy, it was an impressive looking machine, all glistening chrome and silver flames shooting up the side of the gas tank.

It appeared out of nowhere at the far end of the parking lot, roaring its way towards them only to come to a skidding halt in front of the Impala, effectively cutting off their escape. It didn't attack further but rather sat idling loudly in an almost mocking manner. Dean couldn't help but think it was toying with them as it almost seemed to be watching them, daring them to make a run for the classic car.

They weren't getting to the Impala; that much was obvious. He backed up slowly, glancing behind him to see Tasha's Fiero just twenty feet away. His hand moved to his pocket and he felt the jingle of her keys.

"The Fiero! Now!" he shouted, dashing backwards to take a sliding leap over the hood to get to the driver's door. He unlocked the passenger door from the inside and started the engine while Roar clambered in. Dean could see the ghostbike approaching fast and heading straight for Roar so he threw the stick into reverse, kicking up stones as the wheels spun in the gravel before the small car shot backwards, dodging the bike by mere inches. Dirt's bike turned quickly and was right on their tail as Dean raced out of the parking lot.

The bike was fast and, although Tasha's car had more guts than Dean had expected, it was immediately clear they weren't going to outrun the pursuing spirit. Just like ghosts in death had more strength than their human counterparts had in life, the bike seemed to have balance and power that belied the laws of physics. It rammed the back of the car repeatedly as Dean sped down the road trying desperately to keep the car on the pavement.

"We need to find hallowed ground. Where's the nearest church or graveyard?" he demanded of Roar for the second time as the car fishtailed to recover from a hard bump to its rear end.

Roar was twisted around in the small seat, staring out the back window with an angry scowl on his face as the bike surged forward for another bump. "'Bout five miles south," he shouted as the little car took another hit and Dean swerved again to straighten up. "Turn left at the stop sign!"

Dean did so but just as the car made the turn, the bike rushed forward, slamming hard into the side of the Fiero just behind the driver's door. The force of the impact propelled the small car into the air and it slammed down the hard pavement on Roar's side before landing on its roof in the middle of the intersection, skidding its way to the grassy shoulder of the road.

It all happened so fast it was over before Dean's mind had even registered they were in the air. Disoriented, the hunter tried to regain his bearings, ignoring the painful throbbing of the future bruises he could already feel pretty much all over his body. He was uncomfortably positioned upside down, his face and shoulder pressed against the Fiero's roof and his legs twisted and contorted above him. He could almost hear Sam's voice telling him he should have been wearing his seatbelt as he struggled to untangle his limbs while the car slowly stopped spinning.

"Roar?" he managed to croak as he made it to his hands and knees. He didn't look over to check on the biker, however, as his attention was drawn to the bright light heading towards him followed closely by the throaty rumbling of Dirt's bike. "Shit!" he cursed, realizing he wasn't going to make it out the door before the bike hit him head on.

"Move this way!" Roar shouted from behind him but Dean was already doing just that, shuffling clumsily backwards into the cramped space.

He glanced behind him to see Roar still wedged awkwardly and mostly upside down against the dented-in passenger door. A split second later he heard the crunch of metal as the bike struck the tiny car just three feet away from his face. He fell backwards against Roar, the awkward closeness not even registering as he braced for certain death.

But the bike didn't reach him. He saw it happen as if in slow motion. The front tire crashed through the driver's door window and the door crumpled in towards his face as the body of the bike followed. He braced for the impact but the only thing that struck him was the shattered glass of the window. A piercing shriek erupted into the night then the bike simply disintegrated into the air before the hunter as it passed into the confines of the car, leaving him breathless but alive.

It took a moment to register that he wasn't dead and the bike seemed to be gone.

"What the fuck just happened?" came a gruff voice from behind him, or maybe it was under him. "And get the hell off me!"

Dean gathered his wits and dragged himself off Roar, mumbling an apology as he did so. He squirmed his way out of the broken window below the smashed up door that was now hanging off its hinge, looking down the empty streets. There was no sign of the bike anywhere and the night was still, the only sound being the engine hum of the upside down car above him.

His relief only lasted a few seconds for the moment he got to his feet, he saw the flames dancing their way out of the engine and spreading quickly along lines of spilled fuel and engine oil. "Roar, you getting out man?" he asked urgently.

A loud, angry groan of pain and frustration was all he got for reply. He knelt quickly down on one knee to peer inside. "Car's on fire, dude," he said matter of factly. "Can you get out?"

Roar grimaced at him while trying to haul his leg around the stick shift. "My leg's broke," he choked out.

That was when Dean noticed the dark patch of blood on the biker's jean-clad thigh and the sharp piece of bone jutting out of a hole ripped in the fabric. He winced. "Eww. That's nasty."

He moved around to the passenger side of the car, stomping out one particular line of spreading flames as it headed along a stream of gas towards Roar's window. The door was upside down and dented but with a great deal of pushing and shoving, he managed to get it open and drag the cursing biker clear of the burning vehicle.

"Where'd Dirt go?" the biker asked warily, sitting in the middle of the road where Dean had dragged him.

The hunter just shrugged, heading back to the car to get some weaponry from the hood.

"Well what the Hell happened?" Roar pressed. "Is it gone for good?"

Dean struggled to open the upside down and dented hood, batting at runaway flames as he did so. "Tasha's got anti-spirit bags and symbols all around her car," he explained, thanking her silently. Her caution just saved his hide. "It protects the inside of the car. The spirit got wiped out when it came inside."

"I coulda sworn it screamed when it bit it," Roar said with a smug smile and got a chuckle in response from the hunter.

"Yep. Hurts them like a sonofabitch when spirits get in the mojo'd areas," Dean confirmed.

"So it's gone then? For good?"

Dean shook his head. "These symbols and even the repulsion bags can't actually destroy a spirit," he explained. "It'll be back."

He noticed Roar take in the flat, remote surroundings with a less-than-pleased look. The car had been their only cover and smoke and flames were now billowing out of the small passenger compartment. The Fiero's gas tank was near the center of the car, pretty much where the flames were concentrated, so getting back in it for cover was definitely not an option.

The hood finally dropped open. Dean raked through the things that fell out as well as what was left inside and grabbed another shotgun along with Tasha's weapons duffle, tossing them on the pavement next to the wounded man. He looked back at the car and realized Tasha's keys were still in the ignition. Her keychain had her parents' wedding bands on it and he knew how much they meant to her. Refusing to even consider the option of it not mattering because she was likely already dead, the stubborn hunter strode back over to the burning car and wriggled his way back in the window opening.

"Better hurry," Roar said simply from behind him. "Thing's gonna blow."

"Yeah, thanks for the update," the hunter snorted then gave a shout of triumph as his hand wrapped around the keys. He pulled them out and stuffed them into his pocket as he pushed himself clumsily back out.

"We're sitting ducks out here," Roar stated the obvious. "How long 'fore it gets back?"

"Could be five minutes, could be hours, or it could…" Dean was cut off by the deep rumble of the ghost bike in the distance.

"Or it could be now!" Roar griped, struggling to get to his feet. He had tied his bandana around his thigh just above where the bone was still protruding but the wound was still bleeding and looked incredibly painful. He also had a bloody arm and a deep cut on his forehead.

Dean dashed over to the biker, hauling him roughly up by the arm as he looked around and tried desperately to think of his next move.

"We'll never get to hallowed ground," Roar ground out through obvious intense pain. "Shit. Listen man, it ain't after you," he said to Dean, trying to free himself from the hunter's supporting arm. "Get the fuck out of here."

Dean just grinned at him, impressed and a bit surprised by the heroic gesture. "Not my style," he quipped, his cocky smile hiding the rising panic underneath. Sam was at the other end of the city and Bobby was at the motel with no vehicle. They were in this alone. How was he going to take on a giant super-powered ghost motorcycle with a shotgun and a few hunter's hand tools?

A single light appeared on the road a few hundred yards away, the chilling throbbing of the legend's engine surrounding it in a deadly cloak of noise.

Luckily, Dean was always his best when the pressure was on. He had amazed even himself at some of the ways he had managed to get him and Sam out of the worst kind of jams. An idea popped into his head and he allowed himself a curse at never having thought of it before before he sprang into action.

He pulled away from Roar, ignoring the grunt of pain the biker let out when he hit the ground hard at Dean's feet. "Stay there," the hunter ordered sharply before grabbing Tasha's duffle and hauling it open. He rummaged through for the rosary and the holy water, wishing he had a bag of salt also. He would have to make do.

He walked briskly around Roar, pouring holy water on the tarmac in a large circle about twenty feet wide, holding the rosary above it and chanting in Latin as he worked.

"What are you doing man?" Roar asked, just a hint of urgency showing in his tone.

"I'm making my own hallowed ground," Dean announced before going back to his Latin chanting.

"Don't you have to be a priest to bless something?" The biker sounded skeptical.

Dean grinned at him. "Call me Father Dean," he laughed. "Got myself ordained on line a few years back."

The bike was moving now, the rumble getting louder as the light got nearer. Dean moved faster, the Latin words tumbling over each other in his haste to get them out. He had never been very good at the Latin thing; that was Sam's gig. He finished the circle and grabbed the shotgun, planting himself between Roar and the oncoming bike in a defensive stance with the shotgun held high.

He could hear Roar trying to get to his feet behind him and barked an order to stay down without turning around. He heard the biker's disgruntled reply of "You should really get the Hell outta here, man! You don't need to be here!" but then the bike was there.

The headlight was blindingly bright as the bike reached the ring of holy water with a deafening roar of its engine. Dean stood still just three feet inside the circle, barely even flinching as the bike bore down on him. He held fast and never fired the gun but was blasted with a huge gust of wind when the dirt bike dispersed as it passed over the near invisible line of holy water. The hunter raised his arm to cover his face as the wind blast hit him but stood his ground.

And just like that the bike was gone, near silence once again filling the air. The flames engulfing the Fiero made loud spitting noises as they continued to dance around its angular lines. Dean let out a long exhale of relief, closing his eyes for a moment to compose himself before turning to check on Roar.

"Now he's dead for good," he informed the injured man casually.

"Jesus!" the biker yelled followed by a hooting laugh. "Buddy, you've got balls of steel! Friggin' balls of steel man!"

Dean allowed himself a smug grin.

"I can't believe I called you a pussy," Roar laughed cheerily.

"I think you said my car was a pussy ride," Dean corrected with mock sternness.

Roar laughed. He had somehow managed to make it to his feet again, although his leg was gruesome-looking and his head wound had streaked blood all down the side of his face. "Well, I take it back," he said sincerely, slapping Dean on the shoulder. "Your Impala's a nice fucking machine. And you definitely ain't no pussy."

"Tell me something," Dean grinned teasingly at the burly biker. "When the bike hit the circle, did I hear you scream?"

Roar took the jibe surprisingly calmly. "No," he denied without hesitation.

"I did. I think that was a scream."

"It was a shout," Roar insisted.

"Call it what you want," Dean teased. "T'was still a scream."

"Son, you repeat that and it'll be the last thing you ever do."

There was a sudden loud bang and a flash of light lit the intersection from the flames leaping into the air as the Fiero's gas tank exploded. Both men jumped but straightened up quickly, determined not to appear shaken.

Dean shook his head at the burning mess. "Tash is gonna be pissed," he said regretfully as he watched the flames completely destroy her little red sports car.

Roar snorted. "Over a Fiero?"

Dean couldn't help the heaviness that once again enveloped his heart at the mention of the brunette's name. He pulled his phone out and called Sam to ask him to come pick them up before the police showed up. Roar declined Dean's help and managed to make it to the edge of the road by himself, sinking down on his ass in the grass.

"Damnit, I wish I had thought to bring some beer," he griped.

Dean stood nearby, watching the flames destroy the car and remembering how proud she had been to have it almost-legally registered, something she had never had before. She would be disappointed if he found her. No, correction, when he found her.

It must have been obvious what he was thinking because Roar spoke up.

"We'll keep looking for your woman, man," he assured Dean. "I'm good for my word."

Dean gave him a grateful but half-hearted smile. "Yeah, thanks."

"You know, if we actually find her, I'll hook her up good for ya," Roar offered. "Two-Bit had a '70 Challenger. Black, V8, juiced up real good. Legal too. Yours if you want it man. That'll get you back in your girl's pants."

Dean didn't bother explaining that Tasha hadn't left him and that he was the reason they weren't together anymore. He couldn't help but smile at the thought of giving her a ride as sweet as the muscle car Roar was offering, though. He grinned down at the biker. "Can you paint it red?"

A look of alarm swept over the man's bloody face. "Now why in the hell would anyone want to do that?"

The hunter chuckled and shrugged. "She's a chick, man," he said. "Who knows why they do anything."

Roar rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Yeah, I'll paint it red," he conceded.

Dean's heart lifted just a little at the optimistic thought. Now all he had to do was find her.

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A/N: Again, so sorry for taking so long. It was a much longer chapter but I cut it in two so I could post something so Spelllesswonder, that bit I promised you is in the next chapter. Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear from you - I'm sure it would work better than these antibiotics the doc gave me! :-)