Love and War

"Son of a bitch!" Dean's holler echoes through the motel room and causes Sam to poke his head around the bathroom door, his hair standing on end, still wet from a shower.

"…Bela?" he asks.

"Fucking Bela," snarls Dean as he snaps his phone shut and swipes furiously at the air in an aimless punch. "Screwed us again. Thought we'd covered all our bases this time."

"What happened?"

"Not now, Sam, I don't even want to think about it." Dean sinks wearily onto the motel bed and leans forward, elbows on knees, to massage his temples. Moments later he jumps up restlessly and starts pacing. "Damn it, fine. She blew our fed cover so now we don't have an in with the authorities, and I'm sure she'll have the freaking amulet in a few hours and be out of town by tomorrow."

Sam frowns, disappears back into the bathroom for a minute to throw on some clothes. When he reappears, he sits and studies Dean, who's still pacing furiously.

"So, what now?" he finally asks.

"I'm gonna waste the bitch, that's what." Dean has calmed himself a bit, but Sam can see he's still raging. "I promised her the last time, and I didn't do it, but this is just crossing the damn line."

"Dean!" Sam protests immediately. He wilts a little under the deadly glare Dean shoots him and adjusts his tone to sound less appalled. "Look, man, I know she's been a real bitch, but killing her? It's not like she's a demon, or even a spirit. She's human, dude. You really want to go killing someone in cold blood like this?"

Dean scowls. "I don't want to hear a voice of reason, Sammy, I want to hear, 'okay, big brother, want some back-up?'"

Sam sighs and rolls his eyes. "You know you don't want to kill her, Dean."

"Alright. Okay. So I won't kill her. I'll just give her a piece of my mind." Dean shoots an aggrieved look at Sam, who's wearing his skeptical-and-disapproving face. "Come on, Sam! She's pulled the wool over our eyes too many times now, and we just take it, again and again!"

It's clear Sam isn't backing his brother up this time, though, because he scoots back on the bed and reaches for the stack of lore books he's got piled there. "Okay, Dean, you go give her a piece of your mind then, but you're on your own. I'm staying here to do some more research on the case and actually get some sleep for once, so we can start fresh tomorrow."

There's silence for a beat, and Sam eventually looks up from his chosen book with a raised eyebrow to watch as Dean gathers up his car keys and phone, then tucks a pistol in the back of his jeans.

"Just in case," Dean snaps pre-emptively, effectively cutting off Sam's protest before it can escape. "Relax, Sammy. I'll give her hell, find out what she did with the amulet, and hopefully scare her off bad enough that we never hear from her stuck-up English ass ever again. You focus on finding us something useful in those dusty books."

Sam wrinkles his nose distastefully and returns his gaze to the book. "Be careful, Dean. And call me if you need anything, alright?"

"Got it." Then Dean's out the door, and Sam hears the rumble of the Impala's engine as it starts up.

It takes him a while, but Dean's a skilled tracker and soon he's standing outside the door to room 342 in downtown Tulsa's ritziest hotel. For a second he's tempted to just kick the door in and barrel in, guns blazing – figuratively – but he settles for the subtler option of jimmying the lock and sliding in the door whisper-quiet.

The room is dim, lit only by the glow of bedside lamps, but there's light shining through the cracks in the closed bathroom door. Dean can hear the hiss of running water, and he smiles.

No way I'm falling for that, lady, he thinks, and he's almost insulted at the possibility that Bela could assume he'd be that gullible. Ignoring the bathroom for now, Dean focuses his attention on the rest of the room – it's at least double the size of any of his and Sam's usual motel haunts and with a separate living and sleeping area, there are several places Bela could be lying in wait.

So Dean slinks along the wall. He's got his pistol drawn and held in a ready to fire position, knowing the only way to get Bela's attention is to back her into a corner so tight she can't squirm her way out of it.

He's halfway completed a circuit of the room, though, before he starts feeling distinctly uneasy. Bela's a slippery bitch, but she's sure as hell not invisible, and there's nowhere else for her to hide. Unless that wasn't really a trap...? Dean wrinkles his brow in confusion and is about to turn back to the bathroom when he hears a sharp inhale followed by a rush of air, and barely manages to duck in time.

Dean's barely got time to register that he actually had caught Bela by surprise – if her white bathrobe and hair perched neatly atop her head, wrapped in a towel, is anything to go by – before he's forced to duck again, because now it's the second time Bela's swiped a curved dagger at his throat. He dances back a few steps and raises his gun, setting Bela's forehead square in his sights. As she freezes, he narrows his eyes and can actually see the steam still rolling off her skin. Well I'll be damned, he thinks, she actually was in the freakin' shower.

"Dean –"

"Drop it!" Dean interjects, his voice harsh enough that Bela straightens, sighs, and tosses the blade to her right, where it skitters beneath the coffee table. Dean shifts a bit as he widens his stance and brings his left arm up to support the other in keeping his gun rigidly level. "You've really done it this time, honey."

Bela smirks and crosses her arms. "You just can't handle being outsmarted by a woman, can you?" she asks, and Dean scowls both at her absurdly pretentious accent and the insult they carry.

"Bela, I don't think you understand just how much shit you've gotten yourself into this time," Dean grinds out. "You've got Sam to thank for the fact that your brains are still intact inside that scheming head of yours."

"I knew you wouldn't kill me, Dean, with or without Sam." Bela smiles at him, winningly, and actually takes a step forward. "You are a man after all, and I know your type."

Dean shakes his head determinedly. "You don't know the first thing about me." He's thrown off guard, though, by her cavalier manner, and finds himself wishing she was a big, hulking man – it'd be so much easier to just bash her face in that way. The entire room even smells like her damn shampoo, and it smells good.

"Alright, fine," Bela concedes, still looking calm and completely unconcerned. "So you're not planning on killing me. What are you doing here then? And shouldn't you maybe check that I'm, ah, unarmed?" One perfectly groomed eyebrow raises slightly. "Imagine the embarrassment if I caught you off guard twice in one day."

Deep breaths, Dean intones silently. Stay calm. You're not killing her. "Bela, you're wearing a damned bathrobe, and I surprised you coming out of the shower. I'm willing to bet that one little pigsticker's the only weapon you had time for."

For some reason, Bela moves closer again, and Dean's gaze dips down to catch a glimpse of bright red pedicured toes before catching himself. As he looks back up, he sees Bela's hands reaching for the knotted terrycloth belt cinching her waist.

"Uh, Bela?" he waves the gun at her, indicating her hands which have now finished with the belt and have slid up to grasp the lapels of her robe.

"Let me help you out, Dean," she murmurs. She looks up at him through hooded eyes and purses her lips as she pulls the robe open and eases it off her shoulders. It drops to the floor with a muffled noise, and Dean has to remind himself to swallow as he suddenly finds himself aiming the barrel of his gun at an unfairly stunning naked woman.