Dean wakes early the next morning as he always does, looking around drowsily as he deftly untangles his limbs from Elizabeth's. Sam is sitting at the table, already dressed for the day and scrolling through websites. "Hey," Dean greets, his voice rough from sleep. "What's up with the, uh, Archer situation?"

"Busted lip and a bruised ego, so I doubt he'll be starting shit for a while," Sam answers, shutting the laptop and turning to face his older brother. "He thinks all women should kneel at his feet and beg for the chance to kiss his boots." Dean scoffs at that, running a hand over his face. "He obviously doesn't know our Liza as well as he thinks he does."

"Yeah, she'll have him for breakfast if he keeps it up, and I'll let her do it, too." He stands, pulling off the shirt he fell asleep in last night and missing the frustrated look Sam sends his way.

"When are you two going to admit you have feelings for each other?" The question catches Dean off guard, the older man's mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally settles on a simple what do you mean answer. "I mean…." Sam trails off for a second before getting a smug little half-smile. "What's her favorite color?"

"Purple," Dean answers automatically, not needing time to think about it. "But it has to be lilac or she won't have anything to do with it."

"And who's the one that came up with Liza as a nickname for her?"

"I did when I was younger and couldn't say Elizabeth." He sees no point to the questions so far, continuing to dress while Sam thinks up another one.

"Favorite dessert?"

"It's a tie between cherry cheesecake and hot fudge sundae."

"Favorite flower?"

"Azalea."

"What's her perfume?"

"She doesn't like perfume, but she has that Warm Vanilla Sugar body wash that smells amazing. Are these questions supposed to mean something, Sammy?"

"Yeah, the fact that you don't have to think about any of those before you answer is what a serious boyfriend would be able to do."

"A guy that's known her since she was six months old could do it too."

"Apparently not, because I didn't know about the perfume thing or her favorite flower." Dean scowls, shaking his head and disappearing into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. Sam seems to be purposefully annoying him this morning, and Dean's already fed up with it. So what if he knows things about Elizabeth that Sam doesn't? If she wants to date, then she can ask him herself, but he knows she isn't the settle down type just like him.

"Stupid," Dean mutters under his breath, holding his toothbrush under the water for a few seconds before squeezing some toothpaste out on it.

"Archer and I are going to get breakfast."

"Alright." Not long after he hears the door to the room shut, the bathroom door opens and Elizabeth shuffles inside with a fresh change of clothes and her body wash. She sets everything down on the back of the toilet, seeming not to notice Dean is even there as she begins to undress. "Uh…. Liza?" She looks at him, her hazel eyes still foggy with sleep.

"What," she asks, starting the water so it has time to warm up while she peels off her dress and underwear. Dean watches her with widened eyes, taking in the curves she usually hides under baggy clothing. She's on the heavy side, but he thinks it suits her better than if she had been stick-thin. It's Elizabeth, she can't be model thin just like she can't have blue eyes or a calm demeanor, it wouldn't be right if she did.

He shakes those thoughts away, looking back in the mirror to brush his teeth with his eyes at a good enough angle that he won't be able to see Elizabeth's silhouette through the shower curtain. Averting his eyes isn't as effective as he had hoped it would be, the scent of her favorite body wash almost enough to make his mouth water. She always smells like freshly baked cookies; that pleasant scent that fills a kitchen just as the cookies reach the best point where they're perfectly baked and you want to pull them out and devour them all at once.

He hisses in slight discomfort, readjusting his pants and trying to think of anything except the woman showering not three feet away from him. Puppies, Dean thinks rapidly, puppies and kittens and that stupid painting Bobby has hanging up in his guest bedroom with a bowl of fruit and that weird random monkey.

Just as he's beginning to calm down, the water shuts off and he has to scramble out of the bathroom to keep from seeing her without any clothes on again. Why hasn't Sam come back yet? Logically, he knows that it would impossible for Sam to have gotten the food so quickly, but it keeps Dean's mind occupied until Elizabeth steps out of the bathroom again.

"You okay," Elizabeth asks, pulling her hair back in a ponytail. There's an easy smile on her lips that lights up her face. The truth is, Dean isn't sure he is okay, not when she's standing in front of him with that concerned smile that would've made the fucking birds sing if they were in a Disney movie. It's seriously unfair that one woman can be so adorably cute in a pair of shorts and a Batman sweater.

"I, uh…." He trails off with a shrug, taking in the smooth curve of her calves and the toned muscles of the thighs that her shorts emphasize. Elizabeth laughs, a soft and breathy sound like the wind sighing through the trees. He could listen to it for hours and never grow bored. Dean shakes his head abruptly, trying to force the thoughts out of his mind so that he can focus on something other than the growing urge to throw her on the bed and not leave the room for the rest of the day, Sam be damned. "F-Fine," he finally manages when her laughter abates, scratching the back of his neck.

"If you say so." He keeps his gaze focused on her shoes instead of following the soft curve of her neck like he wants to, noting the small flecks of blood that have darkened the pink of her Converse.

"Uh, Sammy went to get us some food."

"I figured." Her shoes move as she walks over to the table to grab her purse, Dean's eyes slowly trailing up her legs and to her ass. It's relatively small and matches her hips, and Dean remembers how Bobby used to joke that she was all bones when she sat on his lap as a kid. Dean smiles at the memory, remembering her lop-sided pigtails and the Strawberry Shortcake overalls that she only took off for a bath or bedtime.

"Hey, what happened to those overalls you used to love?" His gaze flicks up to her face in time to catch the tail end of a wry smile.

"Uncle Bobby cut out the front of them and framed it when I outgrew them. It kept me from losing the last present my dad gave me." And now that Dean's thinking about it, he remembers seeing that very same picture frame hanging over her bed at Bobby's house when he was a teenager, glass protecting the bright pink fabric that Elizabeth had fought tooth and nail to keep.

"You don't talk about your dad very much."

"I didn't know him." She shrugs like it's no big deal that she never really got to know her father, and maybe it isn't for her. Christopher Mayson wasn't absent like John, but he had trouble bonding with his daughters even before his wife died.

"He was a pretty cool guy." Dean only has vague memories of the blond man—an obsession with all things Egyptian, the high school chemistry teacher in Lawrence, and a John Wayne impersonation that always made Dean laugh. After the fire, when his father was trying to pull the pieces back together, Dean would curl up between Christopher and Dana as old westerns played on the TV and the babies napped.

"Are you feeling okay?" It takes him a moment to realize that while he had been thinking about Elizabeth, she had moved from the table and is now standing in front of him. "I know this case has to be hard on you, harder than it is on Sam since you're the only one old enough to remember it."

"Uh, it's hard, yeah, but I'll work through it like I do everything else." He shrugs, wondering if it's too early for him to have a beer while they wait on the others to get back. "What about you? Are you still shaken up about last night?" He'd seen red when he walked in last night and saw the way that Archer was man-handling her, he'd wanted to tear the man's lungs out with his bare hands.

"I'm fine, I can handle Archer." She shrugs, eyes straying to the mini-fridge with longing and restraint. "He's just another dick and he'll get what's coming to him eventually."

Sam and Archer show up a few minutes later with a grease-soaked breakfast, the talk turning to the case at hand and who they need to go talk to. Dean notices with a smirk that Archer's eyes never stray from Elizabeth's face when he looks at her and his lips are bruised and swollen. Elizabeth did a number on him last night and Dean couldn't be prouder of her if he tried.

While the others talk, Dean holds his cup of coffee in both hands, letting the warmth spread from the very tips of his fingers throughout the rest of his body as his thoughts turn to memories, faded and worn like an old photograph. They're memories he hasn't thought about in a long time, memories of long days spent with his mom, comforting her as she cried, but he didn't know why.

The memory that stands out the most is from that night, the night where everything went to hell, but was so perfect for a brief moment. His dad had come home, had been happy to see him again, and his mom had seemed to be on the path to forgive John for whatever it was he had done. It was the last night that John treated Dean as a child instead of a soldier, the last night John looked at Dean without alcohol-fueled grief in his eyes.

"Dean?" He comes back to reality with a start, Elizabeth waving a hand in front of his face with worry in her eyes.

"Yeah," he asks, voice breaking slightly. He clears his throat, taking a drink of his coffee before speaking again. "What is it?"

"We were about to leave for John's old job," Archer supplies, throwing their breakfast leftovers in the trash.

"Great, let's get goin'." He stands, throwing the full, but now cold, cup of coffee in the trash and leading the way out to the Impala. Sam doesn't hesitate to get in the back with Elizabeth, forcing Archer to occupy the front seat next to Dean as a way all of them can keep a close eye on him.

It isn't until he looks in the rearview mirror in order to back out that he realizes Elizabeth is wearing makeup, something she rarely bothers with. Is she trying to impress someone or is she going through one of those girly phases? He doesn't know, he doesn't want to know, but he sticks by his opinion that she's beautiful with or without that stuff on her face. It makes her feel good about herself, so who is he to tell her otherwise?

Forcing the thoughts away and focusing on the task at hand, Dean slips into the role of big brother and protector as he drives away from the motel and further into town.