Oh, shit. It really was you, Dean knew it, and it pissed him off to no end. Last time he saw you, you’d had a fun night, casually sipping whiskey, expensive champagne and having hardcore sex after a make out sesh— you know, the uzhe. But then you were gone the next morning, the money you’d conned from big businessmen gone, and what’s worse, you took his Baby.

His pride and joy. Unforgivable. He could find the heart in him to forgive you — especially after his mind was blown that night, but the Impala? No. But that was his money too, not just yours. He helped steal it too, from corporate schmucks.

Dean stormed up the stairs of the hotel, and found that he had to take the elevator cause you’d apparently taken the expensive rooms on the top floor, no doubt because of the money you stole from him. That money had been stolen, but no matter. “You’re gonna fucking get it, sweetheart.” Well, he didn’t exactly know in what context, but you’d get it.

Uh-huh, definitely gonna get it. Nobody messes with his Baby and gets away with it, right? Abso-fucking-lutely nobody.

He used his lock picking tools, quietly letting the lock click open. How could you double cross him— how could you have sex with him only to leave the next morning? He fuckin’ hated the goodbyes, so he stepped in, glaring at you. “S’ ‘fuck and done’ your usual M.O, then?”

Shit, you actually looked gorgeous. You looked stunning, sexy, all of the above— he had to remain strong, right? He couldn’t stare at your, well, everything.