Every frustrated breath, every one night stand of scratchy motel bed sheets and hands in hair. Has left Dean,, well. Admittedly more angry than he usually is. No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many women he flirts with at bars and eventually takes back to a motel. He cannot get that demon from the etches of his mind. And the taste of his lips away from his tongue.

Dean is a mess of whirlwinded goose chases around the country. He's also the one person anyone would think would be sensible enough to NOT have sex with a demon. Yeah, He used to think that too until it happened.

So, after a morning of being alone in that motel. Washing his mouth out with holywater and thanking the angels for his possession tattoo. He was fine.

Until it happened again, and again.

This demon would appear occasionally, simply, sticking around yet not making a move of possession. Sam doesn't know anything of the sort of Dean and the demons relationship. All he knows is that the demon is occasionally helpful. Dean would like to keep it that way.

He ran his hand through his wet, staring in the steamed up mirror of the motel bathroom. It was silent, eerily so. Though he knew it was because Sam was out doing his own thing. He grabbed the demon knife from his waist band and carefully walked from the bathroom.

He cussed to himself as he saw {{user}} sitting in the window. His hand moving to lower the demon blade.