The numb, tingling sensation in Dean's left leg finally penetrated his sleeping mind and caused him to wake with a grunt. He tried to shift positions but found that he was pinned to the bed in his awkward seated position. His eyes snapped open and were met with the sight of Emily who still lay against his muscled chest. Her head rested in the crook between his neck and shoulder and she had a firm hold on his gray T-shirt.
He was slightly amazed at how automatic his reaction had been the night before, how he'd rushed to comfort the girl. Man, I'm getting too soft in my old age he thought to himself, shaking his head marginally.
He glanced down again. She looked so peaceful, so out of place in his hellish world of monster hunting and he regretted allowing her to come. He should have insisted that she stay in Georgia with her family. But he was reminded grimly of the fact that he wasn't too good at convincing people to stay with their loved ones, Sammy was proof of that. Hell, so was Dad.
Emily stirred against him, pulling him from his thoughts. She wasn't actually awake; it had just been one of those unconscious shifts in her sleep. Dean hated to wake her, but knew that his leg couldn't re-join the world of the living until Emily did.
"Emily, wake up sweetheart," he said quietly and patted her head softly.
"Ems, come on, wake up," he brought a hand around to shake her shoulder gently.
"Hmmm…what?" she croaked, releasing her death grip on his shirt to wipe at her eyes.
"Can't sleep the day away, sunshine," he said lightly and propped her upright in front of him.
As his hands pulled away from her arms, the fog of sleep seemed to lift and Emily's head snapped up. She clapped a hand to her cheek and her eyes doubled in size as she looked at Dean. "Oh my god," she breathed. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean…you didn't have to…did you?…Did we?…"
She was babbling, face becoming paler with every incoherent word and Dean couldn't help but grin cockily. "Don't worry sweetheart, you were wonderful."
She gasped and both hands moved to cover her mouth. Her eyes were sparking with a hundred questions/accusations as she stumbled backward from the bed.
He could have sat there all day, thinking about how cute she looked when she was upset and how she still managed to look feminine in Sam's ridiculous boxers, but that would have been cruel. "Chill out," he held up his hands and just barely managed to hide his grin. "Nothing happened, you're still a virgin, honey." He realized too late that that had been the exact wrong thing to say.
"What?" she demanded, hands slamming down to her sides and curling into fists. She stalked towards him; this time quaking with anger instead nerves. "Where. Did. You. Hear. That?" she bit off each word in staccato rhythm and Dean actually squirmed against the headboard.
"Look…I didn't mean," he felt helpless as he looked up at her face and her rampaging eyes. "It was just…that Catherine girl, your roommate. She…may…have mentioned something about you…being…"
"Arrrgh!" she growled in frustration and spun away from him. "I can't believe her!" she muttered and stormed across the small room.
"Emily, I didn't mean," he tried, but she silenced him with a wave of her hand.
"Forget it." She was gathering fresh clothes from her bag and a travel size bottle of shampoo.
Dean sighed inwardly and hopped up from the bed, wishing like hell women weren't so temperamental. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to upset you."
She didn't respond, but continued to dig through her beg with vehemence, lips pressed in a thin line.
"Do you want to talk about what happened last night?"
She let out her breath in a whoosh that sent her long hair flapping. Pulling the brown locks over one shoulder, she looked up at Dean, all traces of anger gone. "Nothing happened, alright?" it wasn't really a request, but more like a plea for him to drop the subject.
Dean folded his arms stubbornly. "It was a nightmare, Sam's had a million of 'em. You can't just keep 'em inside, it'll kill you, just like it's killing him."
She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. "What about you, tough guy? Is it okay for you to hold everything in, or are you just the resident Dr. Phil?" She rose and made her way to the bathroom, closing the door on the flabbergasted Dean.
By the time Sam returned to the motel room, Dean was dressed and packing their meager belongings.
"Gee, thanks for the help," Sam commented as he struggled to latch the door with his arms laden with coffee.
"You're welcome," Dean plucked one of the Styrofoam cups from his brother's grasp and took an appreciative sip.
Sam rolled his eyes and set the other two cups on the room's one, tiny table. "Where's Emily?" he asked, noticing her absence.
"Bathroom," Dean grunted with a nod of his head towards the closed door.
Now that Sam took the time to listen, he could hear the sounds of the hairdryer. He glanced at Dean, who's face resembled that of a man about to vomit. "What's up with you, man?"
Dean grimaced and took another sip of his coffee, breathing in the steam from the hot liquid as if it was a cure for all of his ails. "Women," he finally snorted distastefully.
Sam chuckled, but quickly covered his mouth when he noticed Dean's jaw twitch. "She really gets to you, huh?"
Dean muttered something inaudible under his breath and continued to nurse his coffee, making it even harder for Sam to control his laughter. "I wish you two would quit this little bitch banter you've got going on and just admit that you like each other," he barely finished before a pillow collided with the side of his head.
"Shut it," Dean barked. "Or I'll shut it for you."
"I'm shaking," Sam muttered as he settled the pillow back on the bed.
Both boys heard the hairdryer click off and Emily emerged from the bathroom soon after. She had taken time to apply light touches of make-up and her hair fell in silky sheets in front of her shoulders. "So," she tried to sound chipper as she straightened the hemline of her turtleneck. "What's first on the list for today?"
"Well," Sam leaned his tall frame up against the wall so he could address both Dean and Emily. "I ran into some girls at the diner who said that a kid they go to school with was arrested last night for the attacks. Curtis Mayfield apparently has a pack of hunting dogs that he allegedly sicced on the victims."
"What about your werewolf theory?" Emily asked.
"I still think there is one. I think this poor kid's been falsely accused."
"Did you talk to anyone else?" Dean asked, checking the full clip of his .45.
"Nah, just the diner's owner and she wasn't too helpful," Sam wrinkled his nose at the memory of Carrie.
"Maybe you didn't ask the right questions," Dean pressed.
"Dean, she called me 'baby cakes'."
For the first time that morning Dean and Emily agreed upon something and they both had a good snicker at Sam's expense.
The younger Winchester scowled at them both. "Come on, I got Mayfield's address at the phone booth. Let's go check it out."