He supposed he was one lucky sonofabitch, because here he was, sandwiched between two of the hottest, most badass chicks in the country, fulfilling the ultimate male fantasy. They moved together, dark and light, surrounding him, encompassing him until he didn't know up from down or left from right and could really only comprehend the pleasure. When it was over, and the three of them were naked and sweaty, Dean reminded himself how lucky he was.

Black strands of hair fell into Ruby's sleepy, haunted grey eyes, the smaller woman's attention all for her partner and not the man that had just slipped from between them. But Bela's cold blue eyes tracked him as he dressed, watching him like a predator with its prey. She tilted her head and streaming moonlight hit the honey strands, making them lighter.

It threw him, and he left swiftly, mask in place, trying not to think of light blonde hair tickling his face or of skin that looked pale silver in the night to his drunken, desire-filled brain.

Sam glanced at him when he entered their motel room, not saying a word, but the raised eyebrow and slight wrinkling of his nose let Dean know what his brother was thinking. He headed straight for the bathroom and a warm shower to rid his body of the stink of sex.

The mirror in the bathroom was small and chipped, and he had to swipe a hand across it to clear the steam that fogged it. His reflection hadn't changed much, despite circumstances. There were a few more scars, faded and barely noticeable, and the sun had made his freckles more apparent. He felt a quick grin at the thought of his freckles and the affect they'd had on the cute little deputy in town, and then he sucked in his breath at the ghosting of fingertips over them.

The memory of her touch wasn't something he wanted. Because she'd touched him and tasted him as if he were the only man to ever exist for her, and he didn't think he could handle that. He, who'd handled so much and dealt with so many women, wasn't meant to be looked at like that, that look in her dark brown eyes that said he was The One.

He wasn't the fucking One, and he most certainly wasn't her One.

And he hated that he remembered far more of that night four months ago than he should. As drunk as he had been, it should have been a hazy dream that they could laugh about in the morning. But they'd screwed up. He'd screwed up when he fell into her bed and let those big brown eyes of hers draw him in.

"Dean?"

"Hold your horses, Sammy," he hissed, not turning to look at the door. He knew Sam would push it, if only because he's used the phrase 'hold your horses.' It wasn't really a Dean-thing to say. But he was lucky, he reminded himself again, as 'Wind Beneath My Wings' filled the room and leaked under the bathroom door.

"What the- DEAN!" Sammy bellowed, and he could hear his brother scrambling to find his cell from wherever Dean had hidden it after messing with the ring tone.

He grinned at his reflection once more, taking note to keep his expression light. Sam had been worrying too much recently, and a prank war had seemed necessary to distract his little brother and prompt himself to stop brooding. He had Sam had been in too close a proximity for too long, Dean was starting to pick up Sammy's bad habits of frowning with his eyes and furrowing his brows.

Eight more months before his time was up. Sometimes it seemed like an eternity away and sometimes it felt like it was happening tomorrow. It made him wonder about what would happen when it got closer. Would he fight it even though he'd sworn not to? Or would he accept it? A type of relief…sometimes he just got so tired

"Un," he grunted, running a hand through his hair and pushing his thoughts in another direction. He needed a haircut. She'd told him that, and for just a moment he let himself picture her; hands on those slim hips, a glare worthy of her mother focused on him. He'd made some smartass remark back and she'd whacked him with the rag she'd been cleaning the bar with, rolling her eyes with exasperation.

She was such a spitfire. It was something he'd admired in her from the beginning; the defiant tilt of her chin, her sassy mouth, and the way she walked so confidently in those tight jeans- No, he told himself firmly, finally leaving the bathroom to settle on his bed. The TV volume was low, and Sam was still on his phone, smiling softly at the speaker on the other end.

Dean didn't let himself have those types of thoughts about Jo Harvelle. He stubbornly refused to have those types of thoughts. The only way he let himself think of Jo was as a pain-in-the-ass little sister who didn't know when to back down.

"We'll probably be back at the Roadhouse before the end of the week." At Sammy's matter-of-fact comment, Dean whipped his attention from the monster movie to his brother. "Yeah," his brother was saying, "see you then. Bye."

"Dude," Dean threw a pillow at him, "Who was that?"

Sam shot him a confused look, "Jo."

His heart stuttered a little and he felt himself starting to glower. "Why would we go to the Roadhouse?"

If anything Sam looked more confused. "We just finished off a kiss of vampires, Bela and Ruby don't need our help with that poltergeist report, and we've got no cases lined up. Jo said she and Ellen had a couple of folders that might interest us."

"Still-"

"Dude what's your problem?" Sam exploded.

"What's my problem?" Dean exploded right back, "I don't have a problem."

"No?" Sam countered, "Then explain to me why every time I mention the Roadhouse you change the subject, start a fight, or go completely silent! Explain to me why we keep hooking up with those…those sociopaths of women for hunts we don't need help with or why you feel the need to screw every single female we cross in every single town! Go ahead Dean, explain it to me."

"Sam," he bit out, no longer looking at his brother.

"Nothing to say, Dean? Want my theory? I think this has something to do with why I got stuck covering a shift for Jo last time we were there. And I think the fact that you disappeared around the same-"

"Sam," he stressed, a warning in his eyes as he met his brother's gaze, "Drop it. I said," as Sam began to open his mouth again, "Drop. It."

The younger brother flopped onto his own bed, jaw clenching. "Jerk."

"Bitch."

He made sure to keep his tone light as he turned the volume back up on the television. After all, it wasn't Sammy's fault that Jo had called him. But he still felt a tick of anger that she hadn't called him, hadn't asked to speak with him. He'd deflowered her for fuck's sake, and she was acting like nothing had happened.

Maybe he was making it out to be too big a deal. Maybe she just needed someone she trusted for her first time, someone a little bit wild to get it out of her system so that she could move on with someone more like Sam.

His hand gripped the remote tighter. He had just been imagining that she'd looked at him like he was The One. Hell, she was probably curled up next to that mechanic kid right this very minute, something he was trying desperately not to picture because he was afraid it would turn into a fantasy of him strangling the younger man which was completely unwarranted.

Jo deserved someone like that. Someone not dangerous. Girls like her were meant for guys like that. Sweet guys, who had a respectable job, a steady income, who would see her everyday, and would protect her from the advances of the lonely hunters that gathered at the bar. She was meant to be cherished.

She wasn't meant for a guy like him.

Not for him.