After the emotionally charged case at Fitchburg, an air of awkwardness seemed to hand between Deja and the Winchesters. It wasn't much of a problem since most of that time was spent on the road or in separate rooms, but when they were all in the same room the discomfort was glaringly obvious—Sam being sucked into the discomfort by being the third wheel that wasn't aware of why there was so much obvious awkwardness between Dean and Deja in the first place. He had a glimmer of an idea, but that was it, so being stuck in the middle was a rather difficult position for him.

Thankfully, Dean and Deja had made a point of gradually overcoming that awkwardness, and were starting to fall back into their old routine of playful teasing and meaningless flirts.

Except, sometimes, gazes lingered, and maybe there would even be a flicker of longing in someone's eyes. Neither of them made a move, despite that. Dean had officially backed off and stopped with the weightier flirts and the active perusal for Deja's attention, giving control of where they stood regarding each other to Deja. He wouldn't be the one to make the move anymore, because he was going to wait for her to make the first move, which she didn't plan on ever doing.

One thing Deja did notice was that Dean had fallen back into his habit of actively seeking out some lucky lady for him to hit on every time they stopped somewhere, someone he'd make the drink of the day if he could. But it wasn't just the fact that he was sleeping with girls actively again, it was the fact that he seemed to be sleeping with more girls than normal. He hadn't even been this bad when they'd stayed in Chicago.

It had gotten to the point where Deja always got two bed rooms so that she was prepared for when—not if, when—Sam would need somewhere else to sleep because Dean had yet another girl over.

It wasn't that she was complaining about it, she wasn't going to do that—she refused to be the jealous type, especially one of the ones who said no repeatedly and clearly but still expected him to fawn over her and have eyes for only her. No, that was just pathetic. On top of that, Dean wasn't normally one for commitment anyway, so after she turned him down when he put himself out there, it wasn't entirely surprising he'd gone back to his ladies' man ways.

What was surprising was how many ladies there were.

Was he…rebounding?

All of this floated through Deja's mind as he watched Dean flirt with a brunette at the bar of the establishment their group was currently haunting, Sam and Deja remaining at a table with John Winchester's journal open and two different freshly picked up, semi-local papers between them as they looked for a new case. It was strange being with Sam more often than Dean recently, but that was how things had ended up working out with Dean's extracurricular activities. Still, it allowed her to bond more with the younger Winchester, which hadn't happened nearly as much as with Dean considering how much of her time she had spent with Dean.

"I think I've found something," Sam said suddenly, which prompted Deja to tear her eyes away from Dean and turn her attention to Sam as he handed her his paper, pointing to an article about a couple whose throats had been slashed in their own home as he started trying to wave Dean down.

"Good luck pulling him away from the brunette," she muttered absentmindedly, brows furrowed as she scanned the article in front of her. Much to her disappointment, it only took two tries for Sam to wave Dean down—she'd thought Dean would be a little more stubborn with how into the girl at the bar he seemed to be—and soon their lonely group of two was temporarily three once more.

"All right, so, I think I've got something," Sam announced once Dean reached them, placing three glasses of beer on the table as Deja smoothed the article out for everyone to see.

"Yeah, me too," Dean said distractedly, glancing back at the bar where the brunette was watching him with a flirty smile. Deja didn't pay her any mind—or Dean, so she didn't think that she had competition or something. She'd learned she had to make it clear she wasn't going to sweep in and snag Dean out from under any potential hookups after the bartender in Chicago.

She'd hate to hurt his chances simply by existing or being in the same building.

"I think we need to take a little short leave, for just a little bit. What do you think, huh? I'm so in the door with this one, come on," Dean asked Sam, licking his lips absently as he stared his younger brother down as if trying to will him into saying yes.

Apparently, she didn't have a say in this.

Either that, or Dean had some sort of card he was hoping to play that would make the odds two against one to where majority ruled her opinion out.

Whatever.

Sam let out a long suffering sigh. "So what are we today, Dean? Are we rock stars? Are we army rangers?"

"Reality TV scouts looking for people with special skills." The concept was so hilarious their group of three was all laughing before Dean finished the sentence, Dean included. Dean's wide smile and sparkling eyes were infectious, as was Sam's muffled laughter as he buried his face in his hand, shaking his head. "But, hey, it's not that far off, right?"

Dean glanced back at the bar, pausing to take a drink of his beer before looking at his little brother, his voice becoming leading. "By the way, she's got a friend over there—I can probably hook you up, what do you think?"

Deja followed Sam's gaze back to the brunette, who was now accompanied by a blonde.

At least Dean never tried to hook her up with anyone. Then again, he knew from personal experience why he shouldn't try to.

Sam looked away from the girls at the bar. "Dean, uh, no thanks. I can get my own dates," he said a little haltingly. Dean was speaking before Sam even had time to finish saying dates.

"Yeah, you can, but you don't," Dean said casually, staring his brother down once more.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Sam asked. Deja folded her arms on top of one another and simply dropped her head into them like an ostrich sticking its head in the sand.

Dear God, there's no end to this, is there?

"Nothing—what've you got?" Dean asked, and Deja's head popped back up.

Oh, sweet mercy, I've been spared…for now.

"Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York, were both found dead in their home just a few days ago." Dean hummed to acknowledge Sam's information, gaze wandering back to the two women waiting for him still at the bar, the distant, distracted look slowly glazing across his features. "Throats were slit, there were no prints, no murder weapons, all—Dean?"

Dean shamelessly watched another pair of girls pass by despite the two waiting for him at the bar, and Sam scowled while Deja's eyebrows only rose a little at the action.

A little over indulgent recently, are we, Dean?

She was starting to think her theory about him being on the rebound was right.

Sam's voice saying his name in a sharp tone called Dean's attention back to the possible case, his gaze turning back to his brother with an innocent expression that was foiled by the fact that he obviously didn't know what Sam had just said. Sam tried again.

"No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and windows were locked from the inside."

Dean nodded, taking another drink. "Could just be a garden-variety murder, you know, not our department."

Deja couldn't help the bitch-face that she gave him at that statement. Really? A murder with the same kind of strangeness as the ones we looked at in Chicago—different MO, of course, otherwise I'd be saying handle with extreme care and keeping an eye on the shadows…possibly sleeping with my room lit up like Christmas.

Sam held up a finger to stop his brother from dismissing the case entirely, already turning John's journal over so Dean and Deja could both see. "No, Dad says different."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, taking a seat as he seemed to finally accept this was going to take a few minutes.

"Look. Dad noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one, right here, 1912, the second one in 1945, and the third in 1970. The same MO as the Telescas—the throats were slit, the houses were locked from the inside…Now, so much time passed between the murders that nobody checked the pattern, except for Dad. He always kept his eyes peeled for another one."

"And now we got one," Dean finished.

"Exactly."

"All right, I'm with you, it's worth checking out," Dean said with an easy nod. "We can't pick this up till first thing, though right?"

Sam's brows furrowed slightly. "Yeah."

"Good!" Dean said happily, already up and moving in a rush back to the bar.

"Dean…" Sam said, though the attempt was only half-hearted, and Dean was already slipping in between the two ladies with a cocky smirk on his face.

"And there he goes," Deja mused, a small smile on her face as she comfortingly patted Sam's knee. "Don't worry, buddy-boy, you can bunk with me again tonight."

Sam laughed, though it seemed part out of incredulity. "Is it just me, or is he getting worse?"

"He's getting worse, but I think it's a temporary thing, we'll just have to wait it out," Deja assured him, already gathering up their stuff. "Come on, you know I brought my car, we can leave before he tries to set you up with one of them, grab something to eat, and watch a movie back at the motel while diving a little deeper into this case."

Sam quickly got to his feet, snapping John's journal shut. "Deal."

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

The next morning, Deja drove separately to the Telescas' house while Sam drove the exhausted Dean in the Impala. He was still conscious when she and Sam went to investigate the Telescas, Deja taking the time to pose as a close cousin of Ms. Telesca and talk to the neighbors while Sam swept the house. It didn't take too long, but when they approached their cars once more, they could both see Dean slumped against the window with sunglasses on, passed out cold. A few soft snores even reached them as they came closer to the car.

Instantly, a mischievous smile broke out across Sam's face, and with a simple quiet gesture he hurried around the car as silently as he possibly could, leaning in the window and then blaring the horn. Dean let out a shout, lurching awake with hands flying out to defend himself or knock something away—she wasn't sure which, but he probably wasn't sure either—sitting bolt upright in the seat and looking around for the offender.

Deja and Sam erupted into laughter, Deja approaching the passenger side as Sam slipped into the driver's seat of the car. Dean scowled at them, slumping back against the passenger door as Deja leaned down to peer through the window, still grinning.

"Oh, man, that's so not cool," he grumbled, resting his head against his hand.

"I just swept the Telesca house with the EMF—it's clean," Sam said, and Dean pulled off his sunglasses carelessly, letting them drop down into his lap as he squinted at Sam. He must have had a little bit of a hangover…or he'd rolled around quite a bit with the brunette. Who knew? "And last night, while you were…busy…"

Dean licked his lips. "Mm, good times," he murmured with a grin, biting down on his lower lip as he no doubt reminisced. Sam rolled his eyes and pushed on with business.

"…we checked the history of the house. No vanishings, no violent crimes, nothing strange about the Telescas themselves, either."

Dean finally participated, his voice still gruff with sleepiness. "All right, so if it's not the people, and it's not the house, then, uh, then maybe it's the contents—a cursed object or something."

Sam shook his head. "House is clean."

"Yeah, I know, you said that."

"No, I mean it's empty. No furniture, nothing."

Dean looked taken aback, staring at Sam. "Where's all their stuff?"

Sam nodded towards Deja. "Deja talked to the neighbors—All of it is up to be sold at an auction house."

"When's the auction start?"

"Today, in an hour or two," Deja told him. Dean sighed, running a hand down his face.

"I guess we'll just have to drop by and take a look for ourselves, then."

"Right. Well, you take your time waking up, sleepyhead, I'll meet you guys there," Deja chuckled, playfully ruffling Dean's hair. He ducked away with a grumpy scowl, but she was already headed for her car before he could voice his complaint.

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

"Silent auctions, estate sales—it's like a garage sale for W.A.S.P.s, if you ask me," Dean muttered to Sam as they perused the clutter of stuff from the Telescas' home. Classical music played in the background, and Dean kept his eye out for waiters with free food or champagne, snagging a few samples off passing trays and quickly popping them in his mouth as they moved through the rows of fancy crap for sale. He also kept an eye out for Deja, who still hadn't arrived.

She wasn't normally late—frankly, he'd expected her to get here before he and Sam did.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" Came a prudish male voice behind them, and both Sam and Dean turned to face a shorter man with well-groomed white hair in an expensive looking suit. Dean swallowed as much food as he could, speaking around what remained.

"I'd like some champagne, please," he asked, adding a small smile at the end and hoping it still had the same effect despite the slight bulge to his cheeks. Sam looked at him in mild horror.

"He's not a waiter!"

Oh…

Dean tried to swallow quickly, realizing he might have offended the guy.

No harm done, it's an honest mistake.

"I'm Sam Conners," Sam said politely, holding out a hand for the man to shake as he tried to repair the situation. The man glanced at Sam's hand with a look of distaste before Sam let it go, gesturing to Dean. "This is my brother, Dean. We're art dealers with Conners limited."

"You're art dealers?" the man asked, tone disbelieving.

Sam still kept his voice polite. "Yes, that's right."

"I'm Daniel Blake, this is my auction house. Now, gentlemen, this is a private showing, and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list."

Dean gave him a confident smile. "We're there, Chuckles. You just need to take another look." Sam's horrified look grew exponentially, but Dean ignored it. A waiter passing by with two champagne glasses on his tray caught his attention, and he turned around to pluck one of the glasses off the tray, inhaling the sweet, sweet smell of high class champagne. "Oh, finally!"

"Actually, you're not," Deja's voice suddenly said from off to their right. Dean was taken aback, mid-drink as he turned to face her, ready to give her a full what do you think you're doing look for saying they weren't on the list.

Instead, he choked on the champagne, sputtering as the champagne went down the wrong way and he blatantly stared at the woman before him.

As she spared him a passing glance, her turquoise eyes seemed more vibrant than normal, framed by black eyeliner in an elegant cat eye style, a dusting of modestly sparkling blue and white eyeshadow gracing her eyelids. Her usually rosy lips—currently forming a graceful frown—were now a glossy dark red on the outside fading to a pale pink towards the inside. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled up into a low bun, a few stray strands of wavy hair falling in her face.

She wore an ice blue sleeveless cocktail dress that shimmered and sparkled like it was adorned with diamonds, a slit on the left side that stopped just under her hip, a sweetheart neckline that teased the cleavage of her chest, and the slim dress clinging to her curves, accenting a healthy hourglass frame that was usually only teased by jeans and comfortable shirts. She even wore slim silver and diamond—honestly, probably fake diamond, but it still sparkled—sandal styled heels that brought her roughly to Dean's height.

Even Sam was staring.

Deja's attention wasn't on them long as she turned to Blake, shifting a white clutch to one hand and holding her hand daintily out to Blake. "Miss Adcox, Mr. Blake, and they're with me. They're new to the business and haven't been to one of these private auctions yet, so I brought them for a learning experience. I apologize, I thought they would know to wear something more suited for a formal event and would be on their best behavior," she said sincerely as she shook Blake's hand, giving Dean specifically a chastising glare. "I thought this would be a good opportunity for them to learn. I'll keep them on a short leash, make sure they behave."

Blake looked between her and the two Winchesters, gaze narrowing slightly when he looked at Dean before returning his gaze to Deja. "Just make it quick," he said, turning and leaving them behind.

Dean hadn't even registered the conversation. He was too busy staring and trying as hard as he could not to let it show that he had several fantasies running rampant through his mind at the moment. All he could think about was how much he wanted to crush his lips against the pink and red of her mouth, undo the tight up-do and feel her hair cascade down through his fingers, run his hand along her exposed thigh and slip it under the dress…

No, no, she won't even kiss you, no. Hands to yourself, don't even bother to ask, not even jokingly.

But God, just look at her!

Deja turned to face them, diamond teardrop earrings swaying slightly, her expression serious but also exasperated. "What the hell, you two! I thought you knew to at least dress up! Don't you both have suits, those would have been better than casual dress. And you could have at least snuck a peek at the guest list and pretended to be someone on the list, like I just did," she hissed quietly.

"We thought it was just a regular auction," Sam said defensively. Deja swiped away a strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes, turning to Dean.

"Dean…really? You're sticking out like a sore thumb—please, for the love of God, slow down on the munching. You don't have to eat less, just…be less noticeable about it, at least. And next time, don't insult the owner of the establishment to his face," Deja pled.

"Wh…" Dean made an attempt to speak, but it fell flat.

Words, Dean, use them, damn it!

"I, uh…yeah, yeah, sure," Dean managed to say.

What did I just agree to?

Deja blinked, leaning back and giving him a strange look. Crap, was he that obvious? "Okay…well, let's just get a good look at the Telescas' stuff and get out of here before any more toes are stepped on," she said, turning around to head in the other direction.

Sam patted Dean on the back a few times almost sympathetically, miraculously getting Dean to finally tear his eyes away from Deja—though that was partially because she was now mostly hidden as she started walking through some taller furniture like dressers and wardrobes. "Way to woo the woman, there, James Bond," Sam said, lips twitching towards a smile before he followed after Deja. Dean stood there for a moment, still recovering from the shock.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he finally said to no one in particular, as Sam and Deja had already moved on. He saw more champagne glasses passing nearby and went out of his way to snag another one, hurrying to catch up to his brother and Deja as they weaved their way through all the things up for auction.

I can't woo this particular woman as much as I would like to, she doesn't want to be wooed…

As he caught up to the other two, he heard the tail end of the conversation they were having.

"…hate dresses. I hate skirts, too. I never wear them if I can help it. And if I have anything to say about it, then you probably won't see me wear one ever again," Deja was saying quietly as the pair started picking through the Telescas' stuff.

Well, damn, if that's the case, I'm going to look as much as I can while I can.

Dean came even with Deja, offering her the champagne glass. She straightened, pausing from looking at a piece of clay—statue, art, whatever—and taking the proffered glass from him. "Thanks."

"Yeah, thought you might want one. And it goes with the dress, too," Dean said, drawing a smile from her.

Good, even I thought that line was a little cheesy.

He gestured to the dress she wore, trying to figure out how to go about his questions without it sounding like he was hitting on her. "So, uh…did you run out and get that, or has that always been hiding in your stuff?"

"No, I've always had it. I keep a formal dress handy in case a situation like this crops up. Though I'm enough of a girly girl I don't like to wear the same formal dress over and over, so after I wear them I trade them in. Which means I'm gonna say goodbye to this dress after this and go looking for something else."

"What? Don't get rid of it," Dean told her, his tone sounding offended at the thought of her selling the dress. She stared at him as he took a drink of his champagne.

"Why?" she asked curiously.

Because it does things to me and makes me want to just—No, probably shouldn't say that part. The other part I think I can get away with.

Dean allowed himself to give her another once over, though this time right in front of her while she was looking at him. "Because…you're stunning."

Deja's cheeks suddenly flushed pink and she turned away, trying to hide her flustered state by taking a sip of her champagne and pretending like some designer tan chair had caught her attention, offering him no answer.

This was unfair. She told him no, wouldn't even kiss him, but told him she cared as well, told him she wanted more, but still said it wasn't ever going to happen, then wore something like this while he was trying to move on from the rejection.

It did not help him cope. It only made him want her more, damn it.

Their group perused the selection a little longer, finding nothing that caught their eye until Sam spotted one creepy looking portrait resting on the ground, his gaze lingering on it longer than it had anything else. His attention to the item garnered Dean and Deja's attention too, and they all gathered around the portrait, staring at it with different levels of disturbed on their faces.

"A fine example of American primitive, wouldn't you say?" Came a new voice before anyone could speak, and they all turned to see a brunette in a black knee-high dress with straps descending the iron spiral staircase behind them.

Sam looked away, but Dean took a few more seconds to watch the newcomer, slapping Sam's shoulder in a silent hey, check this one out gesture.

She had nothing on Deja, but she was still hot.

"Well, I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses…" Sam suddenly said as he turned to face the woman that was now standing in front of their group. She smiled and looked down as if caught in some act, though Dean was completely lost as to what was going on. "…but you knew that. You just wanted to see if I did."

"Guilty," she admitted, looking back up at Sam. Dean saw a tray of mini quiche passing them and quickly snatched two up and put his now empty glass on it as well before the tray could disappear, earning a chastising glare from Deja. He returned her icy look with an innocent who, me? expression before popping an entire quiche in his mouth, and she rolled her eyes without saying a word about it. "And clumsy. I apologize. I'm Sarah Blake."

"I'm Sam. And this is my…" Sam sighed, the sound coming out as longsuffering when he saw Dean munching away on the appetizers again. "…brother, Dean. And this is our friend Deja."

"Dean," Sarah said politely, watching him finish getting down the first quiche and prepare to send the other one down the hatch after the first. He hummed in acknowledgement, the warning glare he was getting from Deja giving him the feeling she would reach over and smack him if he tried to speak before he swallowed. "Can we get you some more mini quiche?"

Deja hid her soft laugh with a cough, but Dean only shook his head, giving Sarah a charming smile. "Mnh-mnh, I'm good, thanks," he said happily, and Sarah's attention immediately turned to Sam.

Oh…I think she's got a thing for Sammy…

"So, can I help you with something?" Sarah asked. Deja slid over to Dean's side, as it seemed Sarah seemed to be giving all of her attention to Sam instead of the two of them.

That's…she's wearing perfume, cause that's a new smell. It's floral…not roses, though. Hell, I've smelled that on so many girls, I've gotten a little sick of the scent…usually it's green apple and strawberries with her, but this time there's something floral, too…

"Yeah, actually," Sam said as Deja came to stand close to Dean on his right and Dean continued to try and place the new smell. "What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?"

"The whole thing's pretty grisly if you ask me, selling their things this soon. But Dad's right about one thing—sensationalism brings out the crowds," Sarah replied. "Even the rich ones."

She smiled at Sam, who smiled back, and Dean glanced between the two. Yeah, she's definitely into him.

As if to highlight his thought, Deja leaned over and gave him a slight nudge, looking pointedly between the two and winking.

Yup, she thought so as well.

"Is it possible to see the provenances?" Sam asked. Deja's arm suddenly looped through Dean's as she cut into the conversation.

"Actually, we've got to go," she said with an outwardly warm smile but eyes that said take me seriously, I'm not kidding around.

"What?" Sam asked, thrown off. Deja inclined her head to their right.

"I believe Miss Adcox just arrived," she said casually, so Sarah wouldn't know what was going on. Sam and Dean, however, quickly realized what she meant.

The woman she'd impersonated had arrived. And a quick glance to their right revealed a quickly approaching, angry Mr. Blake.

Yup, that's our cue.

Deja was already tugging Dean away in a direction that was apparently meant to avoid Mr. Blake but still take them out of the auction house while Sam tried to excuse their group as politely as he could to Sarah.

"I'm sorry, we do have to go. I, uh…maybe I'll see you around."

"I hope to see you again, too, Sam," Sarah replied, and with one last smile Sam joined Deja and Dean and they hastily made their way out of the auction house without running into Mr. Blake.

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

After getting changed back into jeans and a t-shirt and jacket and set up in her own room—disco themed rooms, that was definitely new, though she kinda liked the black and white scheme—Deja slipped over to the boys' room, surprised when, after Dean let her in, she saw Sam dressed in a suit.

Oh, now he wears one…wait, what's going on?

"Did I miss something? What's Sam all fancy for?" she asked with a smile, taking in his nervous appearance as he smoothed down his suit—probably for the thousandth time.

"Sammy's got a date with Sarah," Dean said with a grin.

"Really? Well that was quick," Deja mused, approaching the slightly scowling Sam and pulling his hands away from the hem of the suit, fixing the collar of the button-up white shirt underneath. "You look fine, Sam, don't worry so much. You've got this," she told him, giving him a wink.

Sam laughed slightly, allowing a smile to show through despite the nerves. "Thanks, Deja."

"Go get her," Deja chuckled, gently punching his shoulder and pushing him towards the door. Once he was gone, Deja looked over at Dean, hands shoved in her back pockets. "So, you got plans too, or...?"

She asked expecting him to have some girl's number ready to be called, but hoping he didn't.

"Other than waiting for Sam, not really," Dean sighed, dropping down onto his bed.

"Well, aren't you exciting today," Deja chuckled, picking up the cocktail shaker and the martini glasses off the living room table as she made her way to him. "Now…this place is lame and doesn't have a television, but they did give us this. Give me a few minutes to hit up a couple stores and we can have a little bit of a party while Sam's on his date, what do you say?"

"Deja…are you carrying out an elaborate plot to have drunken sex with me?" Dean asked in a mockingly serious tone, eyes sparkling like polished emeralds. Deja laughed.

"You wish," she teased, setting the glasses down. "So, is that a yes?"

"Sign me up—how fast can you make the run?"

"You won't even know I was gone," Deja told him with a smirk, handing him the cocktail shaker before heading out the door.

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

Apparently, being a lover of tequila that always kept a bottle on hand, Deja knew how to make a few cocktails with tequila, and had decided that they were going to have margaritas today. So, she'd started them on a rotation of cherry beer margaritas, and even scrounged up a nice bottle of champagne for sparkling margaritas. They'd been pacing themselves rather well until one of them got the bright idea to play Never Have I Ever, and after that, as they'd been rapidly descending towards drunkenness, they'd started playing Truth or Dare. They were at least both sober enough he didn't pry into her past and she didn't try to corner him with any deep or emotionally charged questions.

He could tell, however, by the tipsy sway she'd started to display and the sensation he was rather familiar with, that they were starting to get drunk. Like…might do something they'd regret, drunk.

Hopefully Sam wouldn't be coming home any time soon.

"All right, all right…so…truth or dare?" Dean asked. Deja giggled.

"I'm gonna break the mold…and say dare. C'mon, give me a good one," Deja said, taking another drink of her sparkling margarita.

"Okay…dare, dare…how about…you pole dance for at least a minute. Without a pole," he said with a grin. Deja snorted.

"Sorry, but that won't work—can't pole dance without a pole."

"Oh, but you could with one?"

"There's not a pole in here, so you'll never know," Deja teased, throwing him a wink. Dean chuckled.

"All right, fine, then how about belly dancing, and we'll make it two minutes since that's easier."

"That's a long time to be watching me…"

"I won't do anything more than look, I promise," Dean told her, miming crossing his heart.

"All right, fine, let's just get this over with, I'll do it," Deja said with a snort, putting her glass down and standing up. She cleared her throat, putting on a serious face for about three seconds before she started laughing again, hands placed more like she was getting ready to start a ballerina's routine than a belly dance. "I hope I can still do this…"

"Still do this? You actually know how to belly dance?"

"Kinda. Long story, it's been over a decade, but I think I can remember some stuff. Just…tell me when to go!"

Dean laughed and checked his phone, waiting until it changed before giving her a nod, and she started doing her best impression of a belly dancer, smiling and breaking out in laughter several times as her hips rolled and swayed. For a second, he thought that was all she'd do, but then he realized she was just warming up as she seemed to fall into a more comfortable rhythm, hips rising left and right in a smooth roll that quickly had him hypnotized. She teased a shimmy before trying for a smooth belly wave, her shirt rising slightly to tease some skin before she went back to a slow rise and fall of her hips, left and right…

She rotated her hips in a full circle, then suddenly went into a full, fast paced shimmy, face screwed up in concentration as she tried to focus past the alcohol to keep with her fast-paced dancing for at least the whole two minutes. Dean wasn't even really paying attention to the clock like he was supposed to, his attention was on her movements; smooth, enrapturing, maybe even a little…erotic, at times.

Better than a pole dance, honestly.

"Time?" she asked, shimmy slowing to a smooth roll once more and a little more skin appearing as her shirt slid a little further up. Dean blinked, forced out of her spell for a brief moment as he glanced at the clock on his phone.

"Almost there," he told her, looking back up to see her hips moving up and down again, another belly wave, a tease of another shimmy…

"Time," he finally said, and Deja fell back to the ground with a laugh, snatching her glass back up from where she left it as she pulled down her shirt so it covered her completely once again, no more teased skin.

"That was actually a little fun," she chuckled, taking a drink.

"Where did you learn that?"

"Oh, my mom used to do belly dancing as a way to exercise—she had me join in to burn off some energy and I picked up a few moves," she giggled. "Okay, now, it's your turn. Truth or dare? Please say dare, the truth thing is getting a little repetitive," Deja pled, working her lower lip between her teeth as she stared him down.

"Do I even get a choice?" Dean laughed, watching her excited movements.

"Just pick!" she whined, getting Dean to laugh again.

"Okay, okay—dare."

She surprised him by setting her drink down and leaning in, hand slipping up his arm, sliding to the back of his neck and twining into the hairs at the nape of his neck. "Here's your dare, Winchester…" she said, holding his gaze. He felt trapped by her spell, though it wasn't unwillingly.

"Kiss me."

His brain functions seemed to stop for several long, heart-pounding moments, her watching his every move with a lazy smile, eyes half lidded.

He shifted in place, hand moving up to cup her cheek, all the things he'd wanted to do earlier flashing through his mind as he came closer, both their breathing growing noticeably shallower.

God, yes, I'd love to…

Her nose brushed against his, her eyes closing as his fell half lidded. He paused when he almost knocked over her glass leaning in.

And yet…

He could smell the alcohol on her breath, he'd seen her swaying, heard the constant giggling. She was drunk, and he still had enough sobriety to him to know she was drunk and wasn't thinking as clearly as normal.

And he knew…even if she was daring him to…she didn't want this, not really. The most she'd ever been willing to give him was a kiss to the temple. He wasn't going to kiss her now when she was drunk and would no doubt regret it in the morning, especially if it led to something more.

No…he was sober enough he could be the responsible one here. He could respect her wishes and respect her. He wasn't going to take advantage of her current state of being.

"No, um…" Dean cleared his throat, pulling away and dropping his hand to her shoulder, pulling her hand out from behind his neck. "I think…that's our sign to stop. You're drunk, and uh…you might need to sleep this off."

Deja pouted. "C'mon, Dean, please?" she asked, hand clenching in his shirt. He smiled, standing and pulling her up with him, letting her lean into his chest for support. She looked up at him, eyes locking with his as he waited for her to steady.

"No, it's time for you to rest," he said, picking her up and quickly laying her on his bed. She squeaked when he dropped her to the mattress.

"I don't want to sleep," she complained, and he laughed as she tugged him towards her and she rolled onto her side. She was an insistent little drunk, wasn't she?

"Too bad, you're gonna sleep if I have to knock you out," he teased, ruffling her hair playfully as she giggled.

"Fine…can I finish my drink, first?" she asked.

"No, you cannot—no more for you. Sleep!"

She huffed, flopping onto her back dramatically and watching him as he moved about the room cleaning up their cocktail mess. Eventually, he looked up to see her passed out cold, sleeping soundly on his bed, lips parted slightly and her chest rising and falling at an even, steady pace.

Once everything was cleaned up, Dean pulled up one of the chairs, simply watching her sleep for a few quiet moments before he leaned back in the chair, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes.

Yes, he wanted her. Yes, he wanted to kiss her, to touch her.

But not like that.

If he was ever to have her, he wanted it to be of her own sober choice when she was ready.

He didn't want to be a drunken mistake, not with her.

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

Later, when Sam came back, Dean had sobered up even more, splashed water on his face a few times to stay alert, and was fighting back the inevitable kickback of having several drinks. Deja was still passed out cold, and she was going to stay like that as long as possible so that hopefully, when she woke up, her hangover wouldn't be as bad as it could be.

Cause she'd been a tiny bit drunker than him.

At the moment, while Sam shuffled through the stack of papers he'd come home with, Dean sat on the edge of his bed out of the way of Deja's sleeping form, sharpening his knife to keep himself busy while he listened to Sam talk about how the night had gone.

"So, she just handed the providences over to you?" Dean asked, voice quiet for Deja's sake despite the fact that he doubted a nuclear blast would wake her up right now.

"Provenances," Sam corrected him just as quietly, eyes glued to the papers in his hands.

"P-pr-provenances?" Dean tried again, rolling the word experimentally a few times.

"And yes, we went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers…" Sam said, trailing off at the end. Dean watched him for a moment before prompting him to continue.

"And?"

"And nothing, that's it, I left," Sam said shortly, sounding annoyed. Dean stared at him for a few long moments.

"You didn't have to con her or-or do any special favors, or anything like that?"

"Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?" Sam asked sharply, prompting Dean to laugh, having to stifle the sound in his arm to keep it quiet before he calmed down and spoke again, his tone leading.

"You know, when this whole thing's done, we could stick around for a bit."

"Why?"

"So you could take her out again. It's obvious you're into her, even I can see that," Dean muttered, looking down at the knife once more. Sam didn't answer, choosing instead to change the subject entirely.

"Hey, all right, I think I've got something here."

Dean put the knife and whetstone away, rising from his spot on the bed to come over and take the seat beside Sam, glancing back at Deja when she sighed and rolled over, but remained asleep on his bed. Sam handed Dean a few of the papers he was looking over, watching as Dean quickly scanned the first page.

"Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family, painted 1910," Dean read aloud.

"Now compare the names of the owners with Dad's journal."

"First purchased in 1912 to Peter Sims…Peter Sims murdered 1912." This was sounding like their haunted or cursed object, and he continued to glance between his father's journal and the few pages he shuffled through in his hands. "Same thing in 1945…oh, same thing in 1970."

"Then stored. Until it was donated to a charity auction last month, where the Telescas bought it," Sam said pointedly. "So, what do you think? It's haunted or cursed?"

Dean shrugged, leaning back in the chair. "Either way, it's toast."

Sam looked back at where Deja lay asleep on Dean's bed, glancing back at Dean for a split second. "Should we wake her up?"

Dean followed Sam's gaze back to Deja, shaking his head once he saw how peaceful she looked at the moment. "No, let her sleep. The longer she sleeps, the better."

"I don't think I've ever seen her hungover before," Sam mused.

"Oh, I have—and even then, she probably hadn't drank as much as she just did, so this is probably gonna be worse. She gets a day in bed—rest and water, all that. C'mon, let's just go fry that painting while there's no one at that auction house."

"Right."

They gathered their stuff rather quickly, knowing this was going to be a quick fix—all they had to do was burn the painting—though while Sam rounded up everything they needed, Dean went back over to Deja, who was still sound asleep on his bed. Taking care not to wake her, Dean gently lifted her upper body, shimmying the covers down before laying her back against the mattress, lifting her feet so he could pull the covers back the rest of the way. Once they were no longer trapped underneath her, Dean pulled them up to her chin, watching as she instinctively snuggled deeper into the bed once the blankets were around her. His hand lingered on her arm as she settled, simply watching her for a moment before he pulled himself out of his daze and turned to leave.

Sam was watching him, eyebrows raised slightly and a knowing look that Dean did not like in his gaze. "What?" Dean asked defensively, shoving his knife into his pocket.

"Nothing—let's go," Sam said, a small smirk in place. Dean scowled but took the out Sam was giving him, going out the door first with Sam close behind him.