A/N: Set after CSPWDT. Dean has many ways of coping after a hunt but sometimes he needs more than a six-pack, pay-per-view or a one-night-stand can offer. And after opening up to Sam, pulling pieces of his soul out into the light and at a complete loss as to what to do with them, he scrolls through his phonebook and calls on a part of his past to help him.

Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine. Neither is Dean. (Dammit!)

Warning: Rated for sexual references and adult themes.

It was a little after midnight when Beatrice unlocked the door and stepped into the small motel room. Flicking on the light and peering around at the non-descript beige and pistachio tones, she dropped the keys onto the dresser beside the door and slipped off her jacket.

This was unfamiliar territory; on every other occasion when they had met, he had always arrived here before her. And now she was thrown. Tucking a long lock of dark hair behind her ear and frowning in thought, Beatrice contemplated her options. Deciding that perhaps she ought to emulate his usual greeting, she crossed the short distance to the double bed and perched on the edge, trying to relax.

And then she heard it; the gentle rumble of the custom mufflers that had caught her attention that hot afternoon two summers ago.

Unable to resist taking a peak outside at the sleek black new arrival, she had admired the classic car for a moment and had not realized that her attention had been noticed. Catching the smile of greeting and pride that the driver had shot her had been a pleasant surprise and had led to a brief conversation as he waited for the tank to be filled.

Something of a grease monkey herself since she had been old enough to waddle into the garage to help her father, Beatrice had been lost in admiration for the restored classic. And then his son had emerged from the mini-mart and was quickly suggesting reasons why the two of them should hang around the small garage for a while longer, his dashing confidence amusing and endearing. But his father had declined and shot her a shrug of apology before asking his son to stop moaning and then slipping the car into gear.

It was always the same. Folk would come into the gas stop to refuel both their transport and their stomachs, she would hear quick accounts of business trips or exciting vacations and then they would be gone. And for a while Beatrice would be left almost lonely in the isolated garage, dreaming of hitting the road and seeking pastures new. But there was nothing on earth that could drag her from her father's side. Not now. Not after all they had been through.

So she had chalked up the '67 Impala to another brief encounter, until she headed into town to join her friends for a drink and found the unmistakable chrome-lined headlights smiling at her from across the street.

And now she was watching those same bright twin beams rolling across the drawn curtains. She could not contain the smile that spread across her mouth and, her heart thudding against her chest, she listened to the car door creaking as it was opened and then slammed shut.

And then suddenly she was afraid. Not of him. She had never had a second's doubt about him. It was the sudden realization that six months had passed since they had last met here and she had no idea what time might have changed. Since he had called her and asked to see her again, she hoped nothing was different, but the unknown variables from weeks of no contact made her stomach turn nervously.

Standing from the bed, Beatrice heard footsteps approaching and watched the door handle turn. Her heart in her mouth, she saw the door open and he stepped inside. And she sighed out the breath she was holding, smiling in relief and delight as she took in his gentle smile of greeting.

He was just the same.

The same worn brown leather hung around his shoulders and he fiddled idly with his car keys for a moment before dropping them into the pocket of his jeans. His stance was confident and his smile broad, but something in his eyes betrayed the momentary uncertainty that he was apparently feeling. It was both reassuring and endearing and she took a step forward to let him know he could approach. They nodded in quiet greeting to each other and then an unspoken signal bid them cross the room rapidly, meeting with enthusiasm and wrapping themselves into a tight hug.

"God, Bea …" He whispered against the skin of her cheek, "It's so good to see you."

"You too, Dean." She managed to reply, resting her face into his shoulder and breathing in the warm smell of old leather and new cologne.

Stepping back from her, Dean looked down to study her face for a moment and his smile faltered, his tired eyes suddenly filled with sadness.

"What is it?"

Dean flinched a little, as if realizing his error and quickly the smile was painted back on. He shook his head and pulled her close into him again, groaning a quiet apology.

"I'm sorry." She turned her head to kiss his neck, "I know …" Leaving her mouth against his skin, she slid her hands under his worn leather coat and lifted the hem of his cotton shirt. Her fingers stroked the skin of his lower back and she felt him lean into her in response. "You don't come here to talk." She offered softly, smiling against his skin.

"Oh, Bea, I wish I could - "

"No." Beatrice looked up quickly, leaning back to smile up at him. "You don't need to explain."

Dean's smile faltered a little, for a moment the something that was bothering him seemed to almost break the surface. But then he leaned his head down to kiss her mouth and the moment was gone.

Beatrice stepped even closer into him and held her breath as his hands gently released their tight clutch around her waist and began to slide up her back. His fingers caught in folds of cotton t-shirt and then reached her bare neck. She sighed as he then stroked his hands into her hair and entangled his fists as he gently pressed her mouth harder against his.

"God - "

It was the barest of whispers but Beatrice had felt it against her cheek and she gave a gentle moan of agreement. It was almost too much. For weeks and weeks she had imagined this meeting and now being here and tasting the salt on his skin was making her head spin.

Dean stepped back a little, his head hung low and his breathing hard. Beatrice stooped to crane her neck and look up into his flushed face, frowning as she saw the small teardrops that hung on the end of his long lashes. "Hey …" Taking his chin in her hand, she lifted his head and kissed his mouth, feeling his lips trembling against hers. She wrapped her arms back around him and gasped in concern. "Oh baby … what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Dean responded quickly, taking hold of her shoulders and gently prizing her off of him. "I'm sorry, Bea, I just - " He shook his head slightly and cleared his throat. "I can't …"

"Shh …" Beatrice reached up and placed her hand on his cheek, smiling softly. "It's okay … I understand … I'm here for you, you know that." She leaned in to kiss him again and laughed gently. "For whatever you might need."

And Dean's sudden melancholy was washed away with a broad smile. He winked playfully and slipped his arms about her waist. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Beatrice grinned mischievously, leaning back in his firm hold. "But … erm … how about this time we don't break any furniture …?"

Dean chuckled merrily, sighing at the memory and watching her grinning up at him in amusement. "I'm not promising anything … but I'll try."

Beatrice nodded in gratitude and stood back up straight. She slid her hands up under the open front of his jacket and gently shoved the heavy material off of his shoulders. The leather slipped easily off of his arms and dropped to the floor. She then stroked her hands back across his chest, pausing to undo the first fastened button of his open-necked shirt.

Watching her in silence, Dean placed his hands on her hips and hooked his thumbs over the waistband to feel her warm waist beneath. He held his breath as she leaned into him and kissed the bare skin of his chest, her lips lingering as she sighed against him.

The quiet grunt that caught in Dean's throat was unmistakable and Beatrice could feel his fingers gripping her hips a little too tightly. She closed her eyes and pressed her abdomen against his, feeling him shudder at the contact. Looking up at his suddenly serious expression, she saw his tight mouth and could sense him struggling to maintain control. Appreciating what he was trying to hold back, Beatrice nevertheless needed the release that both of them had driven to the motel for. She moved back a little to allow room to slide one hand down under the belted waist of his jeans and took hold of the hard bulge within.

The sob caught behind his clenched teeth and Dean's knees buckled. For a second they both thought he might topple to the ground and he took a moment to catch his breath. He opened his eyes to catch the small smile Beatrice was offering, and it was all the permission he needed. Kissing her mouth hungrily, he opened her jeans and shoved the waist clear of her hips. He waited for Beatrice to step out of the crumpled denim around her ankles and then, with one hand pressed into the small of her back to steady her, gently guided her backwards.

Beatrice gasped as she met the wall behind her with a thump. Stunned for a moment, she grabbed at Dean's shoulders for support and was aware of the back of his hands brushing against her navel as he hurriedly unbuckled his jeans. And then one wrist flicked around, his fingers stroking down her belly and between her thighs. Hooking her lace panties aside, he parted her and slipped two fingers up inside. Beatrice let her head fall back against the monotone wallpaper and shuddered noisily as his wet fingertips found their mark.

With a grunt of effort and impatience, Dean grabbed Beatrice's hips and lifted her up from the floor. She wrapped her legs around his waist and held on to his shoulders, sighing out a loud moan as he stepped in closer and suddenly entered her.

It was rough and almost too fast. Beatrice yelped involuntarily and then felt his instant retraction. With a gasp, she tightened her hold with her legs and pulled him back against her. Dean looked up in concern and saw her quick nod of reassurance, his frown then deepening as he tried again and felt her relax against him.

Something was very wrong. The five previous encounters with him hardly gave her a complete insight into the man but sex with him had never been like this. This was angry and desperate, his hard movements full of fury. And it started to hurt. Beatrice sank her fingers into the flesh of his shoulders and clenched her teeth, seconds from telling him he had to stop. But suddenly he spat out a furious grunt and sank against her, spent and panting.

Beatrice stayed still in her entangled position tight against the wall and closed her eyes. Thinking back to past meetings with Dean and how urgent their sex had been, she still could not ever remember feeling this way. She felt bruised and dirty. And suddenly very scared. Pressing her palms firmly against his shoulders and avoiding his gaze as he lifted his head, she felt him slide free of her and grazed skin began to burn.

"I'm sorry."

Beatrice heard the whisper as he lifted her down and backed away. She leaned against the wall and chanced a brief glance to see him dragging a hand across his face. His shoulders were heavy and his deep breaths laden with emotion. She watched him for a moment and her mind was racing as she considered what he might be apologizing for. An uncomfortable silence settled between them and Beatrice closed her eyes, disappointment making her mouth taste bitter.

Dean kept his head low as he turned and made for the bed. Perching warily on the foot of the generous double, he rested his elbows on his knees and let his head fall into his hands.

At a complete loss as to how to react to this new and somewhat unpleasant experience, Beatrice remained by the wall and watched Dean in uncertainty. Part of her wanting to wish him well and run from the room and the other half of her intrigued by the sorrow in his demeanor.

"I'm sorry." Dean offered again, a little louder, lifting his head and meeting her wary eyes. "I don't know why I did that …"

For a horrible second Beatrice thought he might have meant his uncharacteristically rapid climax and she suddenly wanted to laugh.

"Did I hurt you?"

Beatrice's stomach did a double-flip as she saw the pain in his worried face. Unsure how to reply, she moved away from the wall and slowly approached him. Sitting carefully beside him, aware of him watching her every move, she slid her arm around his back and pulled him close.

Dean sank gratefully against her and rested his cheek on her shoulder, closing his eyes as he felt her gently stroking her hand up and down his back.

"Talk to me …?" Beatrice suggested quietly, well aware of the cardinal rule she was breaking by simply suggesting the notion to him.

"I can't."

Beatrice had expected this reply but it was no less of a disappointment and she found herself wondering how she could have ever thought that she could be the shallow person he expected. That she would not grow to need his random visits to her town, that she would not be delighted to see his caller id displayed on her cell, that she could be nothing more than a quick lay while he was passing through.

"I mean … god, Bea … I don't know how …"

Hearing his voice crack, Beatrice lifted one knee up onto the bed and turned to face him. She slipped her free arm around his waist and held him tight against her. His body was trembling and she hugged him closer, ignoring the little voice of warning somewhere in her mind that told her to back off before she sank any deeper.

"I mean … it's taken me all this time to open up to Sam …"

Beatrice frowned in thought, thinking back over the little detail she had about the younger brother Dean had mentioned once or twice before. The first time she met him, she had assumed that it was simply him and his father. But on the next visit there had been brief talk of a sibling he'd not seen for years and later there were tales of now spending more time with him.

"My dad died."

Air shot from Beatrice's chest with a groan of shock and she pulled him even closer. Her thoughts filled with the kind-faced man that had watched his son with proud, gentle eyes and her throat tightening as she felt the loss, she heard Dean gently weeping and swallowed back her own tears.

It wasn't crying as she would have imagined it to be. Usually so loud and extroverted, his sorrow was unnervingly quiet. Dean whimpered and his body shivered, warm tears soaking into her shirt as he suddenly let down his guard. And something told her that this was the closest she had ever been to her mysterious fleeting visitor. She may well have opened her door and her legs for him and shared things that many people would never dream of even trying, but right at that moment he was quietly bearing his soul to her.

"I'm so very sorry." Beatrice offered in a whisper, the words seeming futile and empty but nonetheless honest.

Dean nodded and suddenly sat up straight, as if remembering the facade that he had let slip by. He wiped his face and took a deep breath, hiccuping slightly on a small sob.

Beatrice watched him pasting on a front once again and it made her so sad. Okay, so there was an entire world between them and fleeting moments in almost two years of his life did not necessarily amount to much. But to her it did. And suddenly knowing and understanding this made her sure that she needed to walk away from the confusion his presence dragged with him.

"I'm sorry." Dean groaned suddenly, the mask dropping once more as he turned to her and shook his head in despair. Pain and sorrow painted lines on his flushed face and he sank backwards to flop onto the bed wearily.

Unsure quite what to do for the best but overwhelmed with the instinctive need to wrap her arms around him, she lay down beside him and gently pulled him close.

Dean rolled onto his stomach, one arm sliding over her abdomen and pulling her against him. He buried his face between her shoulder and the cotton bed covers, his cries muffled and unrestrained.

Closing her eyes and trying to ignore the ache in her chest as he sobbed beside her, Beatrice stroked her hands through his hair and let him cry. Wishing she could make it better and knowing that she was not that person, she let her own tears fall as she soothed his.


Hearing him beginning to calm, Beatrice rolled onto her side and held her breath as she turned and met his wet, tired face. "Please." She managed, "You have nothing to apologize for."

Dean smiled and reached up to stroke his fingers down the side of her face. "God, I've so needed to see you …" He sighed and moved closer to place a kiss on her cheek. "I just … these past few months have been so hard and … you've no idea how much I've wanted to escape it all …"

Beatrice frowned in concern, unsure of his meaning.

"And … when I'm with you … I can." Dean continued, studying her face and smiling softly. "I just shut out the world and all the noise goes away."

Nodding quietly, Beatrice smiled and moved closer to place a kiss on his mouth. She could taste his tears and felt the hot sigh that washed over her lips. And suddenly she could understand what she meant to him and it was all the reassurance she needed. But knowing she would gladly suffer anything if it meant being close to him, even helping ease his pain, made the alarm bells in her mind suddenly ring that little bit louder. Taking a deep breath, she cleared the warning from her thoughts and leaned in to kiss him again.

Dean responded to her closeness, groaning as she gently rolled him onto his back and lay alongside him. He watched her perch up on one elbow and rest her cheek on her hand to regard him fondly. And then her free hand was unbuttoning his shirt, her fingers stroking inside the cotton.

Slowly sliding the plaid shirt from his arms, Beatrice traced the contours of his chest and lingered for a moment on the rough scars that etched an unknown history into his skin. Climbing astride him, she pressed soft kisses into his chest and was aware of his breathing quickening. She then leaned back and took hold of his shoulders, pulling him gently upright. With him now perched on the edge of the bed, she sat across his thighs and wrapped her arms around his bare torso.

Dean sighed in contentment as Beatrice leaned her chin on his shoulder and continued her gentle exploration with her hands, tracing every inch of the skin across his back. He shuddered as she ran her fingertips up his spine and then sank her hands into his hair.

Balancing in his lap, Beatrice leaned back and pulled her t-shirt over her head and reached behind her to unclip her bra. Flinging the black lace to the floor, she pressed against Dean and smiled as he groaned softly. Gently easing him back down, she lowered her head and kissed him hungrily, searching his mouth with her tongue. Expert hands cupped her breasts, kneading and stroking. Beatrice laughed softly and leaned on one arm to swipe his hands away.

Reading the small grin that flickered down at him, Dean relaxed back against the bed and surrendered with a sigh.

His jeans were still open and she pulled the denim aside, feeling strong muscles tensing as she traced a line of kisses down his abdomen. Reaching under his hips, she grasped the waist of his jeans and he helped her pull them off, at the same time edging further up onto the bed. More scars greeted her and Beatrice frowned slightly as she pressed a kiss into still purple scars from times she may never know of.

Dean grabbed fistfuls of bed sheets and sobbed loudly as Beatrice stroked her hands down inside his thighs and her fingers encased the hardness of his erection. Carefully she stroked and squeezed the length of him and his dry groans filled the room. Watching him writhing beneath her, she slowed her movements a little and controlled his responses.

"Oh god - " Dean arched his back and his face was tight, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Beatrice smiled and clambered from the bed, quickly pulling off jeans and underwear together. Crawling back up the bed, she leaned over him and watched him settle slightly.

Dean relaxed a little and looked up at Beatrice. Reaching up, he parted her long hair to see her face and smiled warmly. "I didn't realize until now how much I live for moments like this."

Beatrice's smile grew and she nodded gently. "Good line." She chuckled softly, "You ought to write that one down."

Gasping in mock horror, Dean was then aware of Beatrice lowering her hips and he closed his eyes as they met for a brief moment. And then she was sinking onto him and he grabbed at her waist, pressing her closer.

Beatrice whined loudly and fell against him as he slid inside her and it felt so very different to before. This was how it was meant to be, rocking gently against each other in harmony and in unison. She paused momentarily to look at his face and met eyes full of understanding and desire. Smiling, she felt the first tingle begin deep within her and lifted up onto her arms to angle her hips and intensify the sensation.

Dean watched ecstasy tightening Beatrice's face and saw the small smile that then danced on her mouth. He followed her rhythm and moved beneath her, his mind racing dizzily as he looked up at her and could feel something more than fondness beginning to form deep within his chest.

Spent and panting, Beatrice collapsed against Dean and buried her face into the hollow of his neck. She rested there for a moment and sighed happily as he stroked his hands up and down her back.

Rolling onto her side and groaning in delight, Beatrice felt Dean turn towards her and he pressed his body up against her back. She snuggled back against him and smiled as he pulled the top blanket over the pair of them and then wrapped his arms around her waist.

Gasping slightly, Beatrice frowned and reached behind her, her fingers encasing his still firm erection. "Did you not - ?"

Dean managed a small, tight laugh and sighed against her shoulder. "Obviously not."

Beatrice caressed him gently and craned her neck to try and see his face. "You want me to - ?"

"No." Dean whispered, sliding the arm that hugged her down her abdomen and between her thighs.

Understanding his meaning, Beatrice rested her head down and rolled onto her back. She kissed his mouth as he slid onto her and Dean rested his weight on hands placed either side of her head. Smiling up at his suddenly somber expression, she snaked her legs up around his and lifted her hips from the bed.

It was all the permission he needed and he was quickly inside her, shuddering as she grabbed his hips and pulled him lower. Grunting softly, his head swimming, Dean closed his eyes and arched his back as he moved against her.

Beatrice stroked her hands up his back and watched his face tighten. She smiled in understanding as he gave a small sob and she reached up to touch his face. And suddenly he was looking at her, green eyes full of tension and tears. She slid her hand behind his neck and pulled his head down, arching her neck to ensure their mouths met. They kissed briefly and then he was sighing loudly against her face, his head sinking past hers and the covers muffling his gentle moaning.

And there he stayed. Beatrice relaxed her legs apart and stroked the skin of his back idly, hearing his hot breaths beginning to calm. She sighed happily and closed her eyes, aware of his heart thudding against her chest.

"Y'know …" Dean lifted his head slightly to take a deep breath and clear his mouth from the folds of blanket. "Moments like this make it all seem worth it."

Beatrice considered Dean's softly spoken words and nodded slowly, keeping her eyes closed. "And yet are so few and far between."

"Which makes them that much more precious." Came his easy reply.

And Beatrice could only agree. Wrapping her arms around him, she hugged him tightly and nodded against his shoulder.

Dean turned his head to rest his chin on her shoulder and sighed across her neck. "We're in trouble." He whispered against her ear. "Aren't we."

"We have been for some time now."

"Hmm. You felt it too, huh?" Dean continued under his breath, tilting his chin to place a kiss on her shoulder. "Well … what should we do about it?"

Beatrice was quiet for a moment and then slowly turned her head towards him. Watching him raise his head, she looked into his weary face and placed her hand on his cheek. "Nothing." She smiled fondly, a lump tightening in her throat. "Absolutely nothing."