God help her, the boys were at odds once again.

And things had been going so well, too—it was the middle of July, everyone was healed and healthy again, they were on the road once more, and the boys had even got into a competitive prank war during the last case they'd had that had ended in a truce after they both pranked the reality ghost show wannabies.

Those two airheads were a pain in their side during the entire case.

Everything had been smooth, their routine coming back as easily as water over river rocks...and then John had texted them with coordinates for a new case.

It was like he'd relit the fires of contention with that single, simple text, and Sam and Dean were at odds once again about the same old thing.

Sam didn't like following John's orders while John was M.I.A. and Dean was determined to carry out those same orders to a T.

Which left Deja as the awkward in between, able to see both sides but feeling like they were both being unfair to each other and not taking each other's points of view into consideration.

They just couldn't learn, could they?

Thankfully, she had her own vehicle, so she didn't have to worry about the awkward road trip and at least that part of the arguments. Even now, she could see Sam and Dean arguing animatedly in the car in front of her, and she subconsciously turned her own stereo up in her car, as if they were in the Corvette with her instead of in their own car ahead of her.

Hopefully there wouldn't be any fallout she had to deal with whenever they finally arrived in town. She was okay with being a mediator between them on occasion, but constantly being a mediator for the same issue? Nope, she did not sign up for that.

If they didn't take her advice and learn from previous incidents, that was their fault, not hers.

Sighing, Deja rested one arm on her rolled down window, relaxing in the seat and simply singing along to the modern music playing through her stereo right now. She always listened to modern on the road trips because then she didn't have to worry about judgmental comments from Dean. If it wasn't classical, that man didn't seem to want to hear it.

Or at least he wouldn't admit to liking any of it—it would damage his reputation too much.

Crazy Winchesters...

*****************************

"Another day, another case, right?"

Sam hummed in acknowledgement as Deja leaned against the Impala beside him, the two of them looking at the ghost-town park in front of them. Dean was inside grabbing everyone coffee and chatting up some of the locals to see if anything noticeably strange was going on. Deja rolled her shoulder, getting a satisfying popping noise from the action.

"I will say, it's nice to be back on the road. The break was nice but I think we were all getting a little stir crazy being in one place too long."

Sam snorted softly. "We've been on the road again for some time now, Deja."

"Meh, technicalities. Right now, I'm just impressed you two didn't kill each other in the car."

Sam gave her an odd look. "What are you talking about?"

"I could see you two fighting from where I was driving behind you—couldn't hear over my stereo, the wind, and your stereo, but I could definitely see it."

"We weren't fighting," Sam said with a roll of his eyes, looking away again. "That was just...a slight disagreement."

"Dear God, if that was slight disagreement, I never want to see you two get into a real fight!"

Sam didn't answer, gaze trained on the park that now had at least one kid playing on it, brows furrowed in thought. She let him stew for a moment, dropping the topic. Glancing behind her, she straightened, thwacking Sam lightly on the arm. "Older brother, seven o'clock."

"What, you two doing something you're not supposed to?" Dean asked with a smirk as he reached them, handing them each a coffee. He didn't wait for a witty response to come to her. "The waitress thinks that the local freemasons are up to something sneaky, but, uh...other than that, nobody's heard of anything weird going on."

"Dean, you got the time?" Sam asked, still gazing at the park.

Dean gave him an odd look, pulling back his favorite leather jacket's sleeve to glance at his watch. "Ten after four. Why?"

Now Deja frowned as well, looking at the ghost town of a park she and Sam had been half-heartedly watching while Dean was inside.

"What's wrong with this picture?" Sam asked, nodding towards said park.

"School's out, isn't it?" Dean asked after a few moments studying the vacant playground.

"Almost for an hour by now, I'd wager," Deja replied, an uneasy feeling settling in her gut.

"So where is everybody?" Sam asked, though the question was obviously rhetorical, since none of them had the answer—they were the ones asking. "This place should be crawling with kids right now."

"Well, someone should figure out what's going on," Deja said casually, giving the two Winchesters a pointed look. Dean turned around, making his way towards the lone mother who sat on a bench while her daughter played. He got halfway there when Deja suddenly rushed up to him, threading her arm through his. Dean stuttered in his walk, giving her an incredulous look.

"Just act like a new couple, and people will think you're less...creepy for lingering around a children's playground when you don't have any kids," Deja said casually, letting him figure out where she was going with that as she leaned slightly against him, nudging him slightly to get him going again.

"Thanks, I guess," he replied in a low voice before they reached the mother, Dean being the one to easily break the ice as Deja watched the girl playing on the monkey bars—she looked understandably lonely and only half-hearted in her playtime. "It sure is quiet out here."

"Yeah, it's a shame," the mom said, drawing Deja's attention back to her.

"Why is it so quiet? I'd've thought there'd be kids swarming this place after school," Deja added, stepping a little closer to Dean for both show and warmth. It was a little nippy out, but not enough to keep kids from wanting to play.

"Kids keep getting sick—it's a terrible thing."

"How many?" Dean asked, glancing at the lone girl now sitting on the monkey bars, not climbing them anymore.

"Just five or six, but serious—hospital serious."

"That's awful," Deja said softly.

The mom nodded. "A lot of parents are getting pretty anxious. They think it's catching."

Dean hummed in response, still watching the girl as she climbed down the monkey bars, a somber, pensive look on his face. Deja decided to take the reigns, since he seemed to be in his own little world at the moment.

"Sorry for bothering you—we should get going," Deja said with a friendly smile, tugging gently on Dean's arm.

"It's no problem," the mom reassured her before Dean and Deja had turned away, headed back to where Sam was watching them cautiously by the car.

"All right Sam...you caught something. To the hospital we go," Deja announced, unwinding her arm from Dean's as she pulled away.

And now she was cold...

******************************

"Dude...Dude! I am not using this I.D.!" Sam said furiously as they walked into the local hospital, all three of them dressed in nice suits. Dean gave Sam an odd look, still leading their small group of three.

"Why not?"

"Because it says bikini inspector on it!" Sam whispered angrily. Deja's head whipped around to face Dean.

"Oh my God, Dean, why?"

Dean only laughed, his signature devil-may-care grin in place. "Don't worry, she won't look that close, all right? Hell, she won't even ask to see it. It's all about confidence, Sammy," Dean told him, reaching over and in one fluid motion turning Sam around and shoving him in the direction of the front desk, bringing him face to face with the nurse there. Deja rolled her eyes as she stayed even with Dean, coming to a stop when he did.

"You can be so cruel sometimes..." she muttered.

"Shut up, I'm amazing," Dean murmured back as Sam started to talk to the nurse, managing to keep his nerves out of his voice but not his expression.

"Uh...hi, I'm Dr. Jerry Kaplan, Center for Disease Control."

"Can I see some I.D.?" the nurse asked.

Dean snorted, turning away to hide his laughter when Sam glared at him as Deja lightly hit him on the arm.

"You're a jackass!" she hissed, though she couldn't help but laugh a little, too, and he heard it, looking at her with green eyes sparkling with his amusement. She just shook her head, fighting her smile and refusing to give in.

Not that she was having much success in that department.

"Yeah, of course," Sam said over by the service desk, forcing his smile and fishing out the offending fake I.D. to very briefly flash it to the nurse. "Now, could you direct me to the pediatrics' ward, please?"

"Okay, just go down that hall, turn left, up the stairs."

"Right. Thank you."

As soon as Sam was facing Dean and Deja, Dean with a grin that said he had no regrets, Sam was glaring at them.

"See, told you it'd work!" Dean said cheerfully.

Sam's glare only intensified, but he didn't get into any kind of spat with Dean, refusing to feed his brother's amusement. "Follow me, it's upstairs," he nearly growled, taking the lead while Dean chuckled.

These two are going to be the death of me.

****************************

"Well, thanks for seeing us, Dr. Hydeker."

Despite the laughing fest that had taken place downstairs, everyone had their game faces on as they made their way through the pediatrics ward with the head doctor leading the way. Then again, seeing a bunch of children—not even the ones they were investigating, just children in general—in the hospital was a sobering thing.

Deja was rather positive that the entire experience would only get more sobering as the case unfolded. When children were the victims, the case was always weight filled, somber, depressing, even.

"Oh, I'm glad you guys are here. I was just about to call the CDC myself. How did you find out, anyway?" Hydeker asked, checking his pager when it beeped shrilly at him. Dean easily tackled that question, the lie coming out as easily as breathing.

"Oh, some G.P.—I forget his name. He called Atlanta and must have beat you to the punch."

"So you say you've got six cases so far?" Sam asked as they came even with the large room the sick children were being kept in, six beds within with six sleeping, sickly children inside. Deja stood in front of the glass, looking in with a frown, heart panging at the sight.

"Yeah, yeah, in five weeks. At first we thought it was garden variety bacterial pneumonia, not that newsworthy, but now..." the doctor said, trailing off.

"Now, what?" Sam asked.

"The kids aren't responding to antibiotics. Their white cell count keeps going down. Their immune systems just aren't doing their job. It's like their bodies are wearing out."

"Excuse me, Dr. Hydeker," a nurse said, interrupting as she handed the head doctor a clipboard with a decent stack of documents on it.

"You ever see anything like this before?" Sam asked.

"Never this severe," the doctor said with a shake of his head, looking down at the documents. The nurse pitched in this time.

"The way it spreads. That's a new one for me."

Deja looked at the nurse from where she stood in front of the kids' room, coming to stand even with Dean.

"What do you mean?" Again, it was Sam who asked the question.

"It works its way through families, but only children, one sibling after another," the nurse informed them.

That's too precise, too systematically routine to be a disease, Deja thought with a frown, glancing back into the room.

"You mind if we interview a few of the kids?" This time it was Dean asking the question.

"They're not conscious," the nurse said solemnly.

"None of them?" Sam asked incredulously.

"No."

"Can we, uh, can we talk to the parents?" Dean asked instead.

Dr. Hydeker shrugged. "If you think it'll help."

"Yeah, yeah. Who was your most recent admission?"

*****************************

"I should get back to my girls."

Deja sat beside the clearly distraught father they were interviewing while Sam and Dean stood in front, gazes sympathetic but determined. With kids dropping like flies, they had to find out what was going on.

"I know the last thing you want to do right now is answer more questions, some repetitive, but we need to know everything we can so we can help all of the kids get better, your daughters included," Deja said gently, holding the man's gaze. When the man gave a slight nod, Sam spoke next.

"We really appreciate you talking to us. Now, you say Mary's the oldest?"

"Thirteen," the man told them.

"Okay, and she came down with it first, right? And then..."

"Bethany the next night."

"Within 24 hours?"

"I guess."

Seeing the man's discomfort, Dean cut in. "Just a few more questions, if you don't mind. Um...how do you think they caught pneumonia? Were they out in the cold, anything like that?"

"No, we think it was an open window."

"Both times?"

"The first time, I don't-I don't...I don't really remember, but the second time, for sure, and, uh...I know I closed it before I put Bethany to bed."

"So you think she opened it?" Sam asked curiously.

"It's a second story window, no ledge. No one else could have."

No one else normal.

Sam nodded, and Deja studied their contemplative faces before she turned to the man with a gentle smile. "That's all for now, thank you for your time. Go be with your family, now."

Deja watched him go, rising from her seat to make her way out of the pediatrics ward with Sam and Dean. They waited until they were in a hall with no one around to hear them to start talking.

"You know, this might not be anything supernatural. It might just be pneumonia," Sam suggested, apparently sticking to his guns that they shouldn't be running wherever their father wanted to go.

At least Deja suspected that was an ulterior motive with him, because all she had to say to that was one thing. "Bullshit."

"What, you're picking up on something?" Dean asked, brows furrowed in concern as he glanced back at her.

"No, but this is all too unexplained for it not to be—we just don't know what we're looking for, yet. You don't get a disease paying attention to age and relation systematically and effecting no one else like this," she said pointedly. Dean nodded.

"Maybe something opened that window," Dean added before looking over at Sam. "Look, man, Dad sent us down here for a reason. I think we might be barking up the right tree."

"I'll tell you one thing," Sam said leadingly as they all stopped in front of the stairwell. Dean turned to face his brother.

"What?"

"That guy we just talked to? I'm betting it'll be a while before he goes home."

****************************

They'd all made their way to the house of the last family to be attacked in the Impala to stand out a little less, breaking into the home with well-practiced ease. Now, while Dean scanned for EMF and Sam used a black light to look for any kind of leftover residue, Deja checked in every hiding place that came to her for hex bags, just in case it was a witch they were dealing with.

Dean's checking for ghosts, I'm checking for witches, and Sam's checking for monsters...at this rate we should sign up for Scooby-Doo, or something like that...

"You got anything over there?" Sam asked while Deja was half hidden under the bed, feeling along it's frame.

"No, nothing," Dean replied.

"Yeah, me neither," Sam muttered

"Nothing without trashing the place to be thorough," Deja added, her voice slightly echoing in the confined space to her but probably coming out muffled for the boys. She prodded the underside of the mattress a few times and ran her hand along the frame one more time before relenting, pushing herself out from under the bed.

"Dean, Deja."

Deja propped herself up on her elbows where she lay on the ground, raising one hand to try and smooth her now wild hair.

Damn carpet, damn comforter...

"Yeah?" Dean asked, coming around the bed and snorting softly when he saw Deja's current state. She glared at him, but didn't interrupt as she was waiting for Sam's answer as well.

"You two were right...it's not pneumonia."

Dean helped Deja get to her feet, the two of them making their way to where Sam stood by the window the father had said was open the night before.

Why none of them had thought to check there, first, she didn't know.

Squeezing sideways between Sam and Dean—why did they have to be so tall, namely Sam, since Dean was about the perfect height taller than her to where she could look him comfortably in the eyes and it was easy for him to rest his chin on her head like it was at the perfect fit with her five foot nine height—Deja peered at the black markings on the windowsill that the younger Winchester had found.

Black, rotted markings that looked like a knotted, long fingered hand.

"It's rotted. What the hell leaves a handprint like that?" Sam muttered.

"I don't know, but nothing good," Deja added quietly. Dean didn't immediately respond, and Deja frowned, looking over at the older Winchester. Dean was braced against the windowsill, staring at the handprint with fixated eyes like—for lack of a better phrase—he'd seen a ghost, jaw clenched. She reached out a tender hand, touching his shoulder cautiously. "Dean?"

Dean shied away from the touch, drawing back from the window. "I know why Dad sent us here. He's faced this thing before," Dean said, his voice quieter than normal though he was clearly trying to keep his usual casual attitude. He was shaken, and neither she nor Sam—by the look on his face—knew why. Dean only met his brother's gaze for a few seconds. Hell, he didn't even look at Deja before he looked back at the handprint, rapidly retreating behind his walls. "He wants us to finish the job."

*****************************

Dean didn't talk about what had rattled him on the way to the motel that night—his entire posture had said don't mention it, and don't touch me for the longest time, at least the entire time that Deja was around him. When they parked in front of their motel of choice on this case and got out of their cars, he seemed more at ease and less likely to growl if Deja even accidentally touched him.

No, he hadn't growled at her, though he had been very closed off and sulky, and had shied away several times.

"So what the hell is a shtriga?" Sam asked as he and Dean got out of the Impala.

"A what?" Deja asked, completely bemused by the strange term. This was the problem with traveling in separate cars—she tended to miss important conversations.

"A shrtiga—it's kind of like a witch, I think. I don't know much about them."

"Well I've never heard of it, and it's not in Dad's journal," Sam said, his tone coming off a little annoyed. Deja kept any attitude out of her voice, already knowing Dean was off and not wanting to add to whatever he was dealing with right now.

"I haven't heard of it, either, so I'm going to say it's not a witch and more of a monster."

Dean looked up at that, giving Deja an odd look. "Really? Little Miss Witch Expert hasn't heard of a type of witch? You know, it's quite possible you don't know everything."

Damn it, I still hit a nerve...

"I'm not saying I know everything, Dean, I'm just saying witch might not be the right word for it. That's not the point right now, anyway—how do you know about it?"

The old topic change for a save. Probably won't be able to pull that one again, though.

"Dad hunted one in Fort Douglas, Wisconsin, about sixteen, seventeen years ago." Dean glanced at Sam as he started rifling through their stuff in the trunk. "You were there—you don't remember?"

"No," Sam replied.

"I guess he caught wind that the thing's in Fitchburg and kicked us the coordinates."

"So, wait, this..."

"Shtriga," Dean filled in for him.

"Right, you think it's the same one Dad hunted before?"

"Yeah, maybe," Dean answered, a deep frown etched into his expression as he shut the trunk of the car.

"But if Dad went after it, why is it still breathing air?"

Mighty high opinion of his hunting skills you have there, Sam.

"Because it got away," Dean said simply.

"Got away?" Sam asked, following Dean towards the motel's lobby while Deja went the other way around the car. Just so she didn't give Dean the same following puppy feeling.

"Yeah, Sammy, it happens."

"Not very often."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you, man, maybe Dad didn't have his Wheaties that morning," Dean said with a playful smile.

Deja narrowed her eyes.

You're hiding something.

Dean didn't have his full sarcastic abilities tuned into that comment—it was a little off, slightly...defensive.

Something happened on that case. Something that's bothering him. Frankly, it was clear something was bothering him the moment he saw the shtriga's handprint. The question was, what was getting under Dean's skin?

"What else do you remember?" Sam asked as Dean and Deja reached the door to go pay for their rooms.

"Nothing, I was a kid, all right?" Dean replied, opening the door and slipping inside before Sam could continue questioning him.

And that's my cue not to question him myself. Don't dig, cause not even Sam has digging rights at the moment...got it. If it comes out, it comes out, and until then, I'll just give him a sense of normal. Sam might pry enough for the both of us.

Dean rang the bell to the front desk, Deja leaning against the counter beside him and resisting the urge to study his face for a clue as to what she and Sam were missing about this case.

A blond boy that came up to about Dean's chest approached the counter with a long-suffering sigh, folding his arms on top of the surface and giving them a bored stare.

"King or two queens?" he asked, the question coming easily. Deja's eyebrows rose, and she quickly moved to correct his assumption.

"I'm buying separate—one king," she said hastily.

Dean instinctively glanced back outside where Sam could be seen leaning against the Impala. "Two queens."

The kid leaned over just enough to see Sam outside, snorting softly under his breath. "Yeah, I bet," he muttered.

"What'd you say?" Dean asked, easy smile disappearing while Deja bit down on her lip to try and keep her smile at bay.

"Nice car!" the kid covered easily, giving Dean a well-practiced smile.

"Hi," a new, feminine voice said as the door opened, a petite brunette stepping through with a grocery bag in her arms.

"Hi," Dean replied on instinct, both he and Deja turning towards the newcomer.

"Checking in?" the woman asked.

"Yeah."

Ah, the parent. Dean must feel like this is a victory...

The woman set the bag in her arms down, looking at the blond boy behind the counter. "Uh—do me a favor, go get your brother some dinner."

"I'm helping some guests," he responded innocently. The mom gave him the look, and the kid sighed in defeat. Dean gave the kid a smug, half-smile as the kid turned away, though not before getting in one last jab. "A king, and two queens," he told his mom, putting emphasis on the queens as he stared Dean down before disappearing into the back room.

"Funny kid," Dean said, the statement tinged with sarcasm.

"Oh, yeah, he thinks so. Will that be cash or credit?" the mother said, already filling out the form.

"Do you take MasterCard?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Perfect. There you go," Dean said, sliding a card over with the name Kris Warren.

Now she knew what alias he was using here...

As the woman started to fill out both of their rooms on the form, Deja stopped her.

"I'm getting separate—one king. As close to his as possible, if you can. Me, him, and his brother are traveling together," she explained, her own card in hand as the woman pulled out a second form, handing the first to Dean to sign before working on Deja's. She handed Deja's form over before running Dean's card, the process only taking a few moments. Deja glanced at Dean, noticing that he still hadn't signed the form, pen held loosely in hand as he gazed at the two boys in the back room with a faraway look on his face.

The mother came back with his card, and when Dean didn't immediately take it Deja gave her a slight smile, taking the card instead and discreetly placing it on the form before sliding her own form and card over. Hands now free while the woman got Deja set up, she placed a gentle hand on Dean's upper arm.

"Hey..." she said softly, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"Mm...right, sorry," he murmured, looking down to see the card and pocketing it before he signed the form and pushed it over to the woman behind the counter. "Thanks."

Once they had their keys and were done signing in, Deja stopped Dean by the door, the mother disappearing into the back room. "Hey, let's go pick up dinner for the night—I saw this place down the road that looked like it was good."

"We're about to do the research crackdown," Dean replied, looking a little surprised. Sam was watching them from the other side of the glass, unable to hear what they were saying.

Deja gave a little shrug. "Meh...it's Sam's turn to wade through the lore."

"Sam did it last time."

"He can do it again, it won't kill him. Come on, Dean, I just want to grab some food down the street, damn it, just say yes."

Dean leaned back, eyebrow quirking up in question as a small smirk played across his face. "Are you...asking me out on a date?"

"Hell no," Deja said with a laugh, running her fingers through her hair. "I'm just asking you to come pick up some food with me, is that so much to ask, jackass? It gets you out of some researching time..."

Dean shook his head, opening the door. "Fine, whatever," he laughed.

******************************

After picking up some burgers to go at the restaurant Deja had spotted and something more health-conscious for Sam, Dean and Deja were making their way on foot back to the hotel. Dean had the to-go sack with their food in one hand, an arm wrapped around Deja's shoulders as they walked, holding her close to keep her warm in the chilly night air. They'd been talking for the whole trip—nothing too soul-searching, just casual conversation—though he had managed to get her to open up a little bit more about her early life, which was what she was talking about right now.

"I was actually pretty young when I first handled a gun—I don't know when, exactly, but we had guns in the house and when I was mature enough my parents set up a target and taught me how to handle and shoot all the kinds of guns we had in the house. My first shot with a .45 was actually a bullseye."

"You're bluffing," Dean scoffed.

"Cross my heart—of course, the second shot was near the edge of the target, so I'm willing to say it was beginners luck...though it didn't take me long to become a decent shot, I will give myself that."

"What was the gun you were best with?"

"A 22, actually, then the handgun—I would make rocks at the end of our little shooting range jump around because the targets and jugs and cans were too easy. And I could get those shots off fast, let me tell you," Deja chuckled.

"Nice to know even some of the normal kids were handling guns at an early age, and it wasn't just me."

"Well...I never said our family was normal."

"That's not true—first time we met you said you'd had a taste of the apple pie life."

"Doesn't mean we lived it. A family can have apple pie moments but still be weird as hell and far from normal."

"All right, I'll give you that one," Dean laughed, Deja's laughter mixing in with his own before they settled down and he instinctively tightened his grip on her shoulder, pulling her a little closer and enjoying how comfortable the action was between them. It was clear tonight, and they'd probably be able to see stars if they weren't in town. He was too busy looking at her, anyway, to try looking at the stars—they were far less interesting. "Are you sure this isn't a date? Cause it really feels like one."

Deja snorted softly. "Yes, I'm sure—we're just grabbing something to eat."

"...that sounds like a date."

"Well, it's not, so you better not count it as one," she said, jabbing a playfully warning finger towards his face. Dean rolled his eyes, feeling a twinge of exasperation as his gaze settled on her once more.

"Can't I win anything with you?"

"Hmm...you've won my respect—when you deserve it, sometimes you act like a complete child," she said with a laugh, bumping playfully into his side. She stayed serious enough he knew she meant what she said, but she seemed to be making a conscious effort to keep this conversation in a safe area, their usual teasing-with-no-meaning, flirting with the edge area. "But I like that about you—your humor is much appreciated. My presence in general—I could have left numerous times but I stayed. I'd like to think there's a friendship between you, me, and Sam..."

"What about affection?" Dean asked suddenly, slipping his arm out from around her shoulder and stepping directly in front of her, hand pressing gently and briefly against her other shoulder to stop her. They only stood a few inches apart, Dean gazing at her intently. He'd been wondering for months—months—where they stood, trying to understand the mixed signals of I care for you and then flirtatious but meaningless advances where she seemed to lean towards the line (which he was nearly standing flush against) but never took a step closer. "You know I've been vying for your affections since day one...I'd like to think I'm getting somewhere."

Deja looked down at his statement so that her eyes couldn't betray her and reveal any emotions that could give him a glimpse of the truth, heaving a soft sigh. "Dean..."

"God—never mind," Dean suddenly snapped, turning away and resuming the walk on his own as he quickly pushed back rising hurt, frustration, and even anger.

He should have known better than to even try.

Deja followed him after a moment's hesitation, sounding genuinely bemused when she called out to him. "What? I didn't even say anything!"

"You didn't have to," Dean threw over his shoulder, still walking. "You got that letting you down easy, tone—I know, I use it a lot myself."

He heard her footsteps stop following him. "That's exactly the problem, Dean."

Dean halted, foot stumbling slightly right before it connected with the sidewalk. He didn't know how to react to that, but it didn't sound like something he was going to like. So, he let some of his aggravation leak into his tone as he turned around to face her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Now there was hurt in Deja's eyes—over what she was about to say or his sudden anger towards her, he wasn't sure—though that hurt was quickly giving way to irritation. "It means, when it comes to women they're more like a drink of the day with you—one and done, move on, and I don't—"

"Don't do one night stands, yeah, I've heard," Dean interrupted bitterly, turning away from her as the memory of Deja ripping into the girl he'd spent the night with flashed through his mind.

"Then what's the problem?" Deja snapped, her desperate frustration to know what she'd done wrong clear in her tone—she even stamped her foot. "You ask me to join the Just One Night club when I don't party there, and I say no—it's kind of an expected outcome—"

Dean's patience snapped and he cut her off, speaking loudly over her. "Well what if that's not what I'm asking for?"

Dean stared at her as she leaned back in shock, eyes widening as that sentence settled between them. He'd just crossed the unspoken line and put meaning into their once teasing game. But it was more serious than a game now for him, and as nervous as putting himself out there made him, even if he hadn't exactly bared his soul—yet—he wasn't a coward, and he wasn't going to retract the statement. Instead, he expanded on it, pushing for a little more to make sure she knew what he was talking about.

"What if...what if I don't like the thought of just one night, either?"

Deja seemed to be struggling for words. "Dean...I...I don't—"

She was trying to hold onto their game, resisting taking the step—had he crossed too soon? Hell, that would be just like him, screwing everything up when it starts to actually mean something to him. This was why he didn't do these sorts of things.

He quickly cut her off, wanting to confirm something, and hopefully walk away without being completely shut down. "You can't tell me that with everything, there wasn't once where something meant...meant more. That you haven't felt anything even one time."

Deja still wouldn't meet his gaze, looking at the street where the occasional car passed instead of at him. Dean's jaw clenched at her continued refusal to even look at him while he tried to get an answer, as he put himself out there when he usually kept no ties and cut everyone loose. Why was he the one scrambling for a foothold?

"Do you even care about me?" he asked, the frustrated question slipping unbidden past his lips. Deja's head whipped around, gaze snapping to his.

"Of course I do!" she said sharply, her entire person accusing him for thinking she didn't before she melted back to exasperation. "Why else would I still be here? Dean, I don't—I don't get involved!" she finally snapped.

At some point Dean had stepped closer, it seemed, as she was stepping back, putting distance between them again. He hated that. They weren't going to be able to sit comfortably side by side for a while if this conversation continued on its downward spiral, were they?

"Whether I have feelings or not doesn't matter, because even if I did, I don't get involved with people anymore, Dean. It was a miracle I'd even given you and your brother a way to contact me when we met, not to mention I actually showed up again and asked to tag along. In my experience, I'm better off by myself."

"Bullshit—" Dean started to accuse, stepping closer again before she held up a finger to stop him, eyes flashing in warning as she stepped back.

"No," she said firmly. "I am trying to prove to myself that I'm wrong—that I don't have to spend my life alone going crazy till my past is dead or I go mad, or I die hopefully after or while fighting the people who killed my family. It's already scary enough getting close to you—and Sam. I'm not ready to be involved, I don't want to be involved right now."

"Why?" Dean asked sharply, resisting the urge to try and close the distance again as, despite her firm stance on the no, she almost looked ready to run away like a startled wild animal—at least that's what her body language was telling him. She looked braced to flee. "Why are you so scared of people, then, Deja, at least let me understand why. Cause I've spent long enough trying to figure out what's going on, and I'm tired of being confused by the mixed signals."

Deja looked like she was trying to restrain the words within herself, resisting telling him as she held his unwavering gaze—he wondered if she could see the storm of emotions he was trying to keep repressed enough for him to still have a civil conversation without his emotions spilling all over the ground in front of them—he didn't want to be that bare in front of her.

The words still made it through her control.

"Because everyone I get close to leaves."

"You mean dies," he said bluntly, kicking himself inwardly for how harsh that seemed to come off. Her walls seemed to slam into place as she tried to carry out damage control, but it wasn't working.

"More or less. Either they die, or they get close enough to see things I don't let people see normally, and they run the opposite way. Everyone. Leaves."

"And you believe that I'm going to do the same," Dean ground out. Deja remained rooted in place, biting the inside of her cheek. Her silence was telling. "You know, maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do," Dean snapped, the anger starting to be the dominating feeling he was wrestling with inside.

"I don't know if you will," Deja forced out before Dean could turn away. "I don't know how you'll react to those...that part of me, and I'm not ready to let anyone see that, not even you. And if we took this any further than what we do now, I'd feel...obligated to tell you, and I would feel guilty if I didn't tell you, and I'm not ready to take that leap. So...I'm trying to let myself connect with people again...but I don't-I can't get that involved. Not yet, not now."

"And you think this is easy for me?" Dean pointed out. Before she could answer, he decided to cut his loses now before too much damage was done. "You know what...just forget about it. I've got my answer now. Just forget all of it and we can go back to the meaningless flirts that never go anywhere, like this never happened."

Deja nodded, wiping away a tear before it could make it all the way down her cheek. "Then that's what we'll do."

Dean nodded as well, turning away and running a hand down his face before continuing back towards the motel.

He wondered if she would actually be able to forget, because he didn't think he really could.