#make it filthy

The spirit is officially gone and you are in the shower, washing off a week of blood, sweat, and tears. Of course, the Winchesters are a little worse for the wear than you, seeing as how they did all of the work-- but they had politely declined your offer of a shower. However, they didn't decline your offer of beer and pizza as a "thank you", so they were currently in your kitchen chowing down.

You had offered them a place to stay in the house you had shared with your roomie (just to be nice, you told yourself) but they had opted to stay in the motel down the street. You hadn't understood, then, knowing that the motel was just a giant roach fest, but now you did. 

You still had an uneasy feeling, being back in the house where your friend had died, but the Winchesters assured you everything was fine. You trusted them.

You rinse yourself off and exit the shower, toweling dry and putting on a robe. You feel that the Winchesters won't care at all if you're not dressed to the nines.

You pad down the the kitchen, where father and son are polishing off their beers. Dean's eyes sweep over your form, your satin robe clinging tightly to your still-damp body. He gives you a rakish grin.

"Feeling better?" he asks with a wink.

"Much," you answer politely, avoiding any sign of returned interest. Dean has been flirting with you all week, and despite being outstandingly gorgeous, you're not into him. 

"How was the pizza?" you ask, directing your question to the elder Winchester. John gestures to the empty box on the counter. 

"We hated it," he replied, and you laugh. He smiles at you, and you realize exactly why you aren't into Dean.

"We're gonna take one more trip around the house with the EMF meter just to make sure you're all set before we head on out," John says. You nod, and he puts a hand on your shoulder. It's large and warm, and you miss it when he pulls it away to gesture to Dean.

"Let's go, kiddo," he says, and Dean seems to take offense to the nickname. You grin behind your hand as Dean huffs and joins his father in the living room.

You follow them around the house, watching as they work. They're thorough, and you're glad, because the longer they stay, the less of a loss you feel knowing that John will have to head out soon. He's been a strong, calm presence throughout the week, and you've felt safe. 

It's been awhile since you've felt that pull of attraction towards anyone. You chalk some of it up to knight-in-shining-armor syndrome, but more of it to six feet of thick, strong limbs, a dark thicket of chest hair, and a worn but handsome face. 

You realize you've begun to daydream when your eyes refocus and Dean is staring at you expectantly.

"What?" you say, the world sounding jumbled in your dry mouth. Your eyes flick to John against your will and you quickly avert your gaze, blushing.

"We've gone through the whole house. Everything checks out except for one corner of your roommate's bedroom-- still more activity than we would expect. It could just be residue from the spirit, or..." Dean stops and sighs.

"Or what?" you ask, fully paying attention now.

"There's another spirit. Or cursed object," Dean replies, looking sympathetic.

"What?!" you cry. "I thought this was over! I can't leave again...the friends I was staying with are gone now...and I just..."

Your eyes start to tear up. Even with the bad memories, this is your home, where all of your stuff is, where your heart is. You can't leave again.

"We know," Dean says softly, looking sympathetic. "But the good news is that residue will usually clear out within 24 hours. If we're still getting activity in that corner or anywhere else in the house after that, then we'll have to keep working. If not, you're good."

You nod. You open your mouth to speak, but close it again, embarrassed at your fear.

John picks up on your dilemma. "We won't leave you alone tonight," he reassures you. You smile at him gratefully.

"In the meantime, I saw a bar down the street. How about some beer and darts?" Dean asks, looking directly at you. 

"I...I think I'd rather stay in," you answer, pulling your robe closer around yourself. Dean looks disappointed.

"You go on out, Dean. I've got things under control here. I'll call you if I need you," John says, and you can see a silent conversation between the two men following his words.

"Alright," Dean sighs, after the long pause. "Don't wait up." 

Dean pulls on his leather jacket and salutes you before slamming the door behind himself.

John turns to you. "Dean's used to blowing off a little steam after a hunt," he explains. "Better to let him have his fun."

"I just feel bad about making you stay," you reply, although deep down you really don't.

"There's more beer in the fridge-- I'll be fine," John says. "Even with a vengeful spirit this house is a hell of a lot better than the motel."

"I knew that motel was bad, but I didn't know it was THAT bad," you say with a grin.

"You have no idea, sweetheart," he replies, and your stomach flips like a stupid teenager's.

He settles down on the couch. "I don't want to screw up the EMF by putting the TV on. It'd be better if you avoided using your cell too."

He takes a worn leather journal out of a bag of stuff on the coffee table and soon he is scribbling away. You're not sure what to do with yourself, but you ARE sure that a glass of wine is called for.

You pour yourself a glass and grab John another beer, and turn to the living room before thinking "fuck it" and just grabbing the whole bottle of white.

He accepts your offering with a nod and you settle into the chair next to the couch with your wine and a book.

After an hour you're feeling buzzed and content, letting your book fall into your lap and stretching. The satin feels great against your naked skin and you run a hand through your finally-dry hair.