It was a lot of money, a whole lot, and trying to get that amount would require much more than hustling pool and drinking shots. It would require stealing, violence and death; and Scarlett wasn't going to let Dean know about that route she needed to take. Sure, she would tell him about the demons that were gonna bit it, but not about the humans. He would never understand it, not even if they had been some of the elite clientele of Wolfram & Hart.

The plan itself was bugging the hell out of her, because she had meant to get that money for her own needs; of course, that had been before Dean had landed in her life, and right now, he needed it more than her. Damn shame, because that was the money that would get her one step closer to the Camaro she wanted so bad.

Dean spent most of the day trying to understand why someone would charge that much for a spell -and complaining nonstop about it- but mostly, he kept cringing at the thought of not getting the cash, or taking too damn long to get it. He needed to go back home to Sammy, he needed to work on a way to revert Metatron's spell and send all the angels back to heaven, and of course he needed to find a way to kill Abaddon. It seemed that everything was working against him, but at least, he wasn't going through this alone.

He had noticed, twice now, how Scarlett would turn into a completely different person come morning. She was all business, never mentioning their late night activities. He didn't know what to think about that; Dean certainly liked to sneak a suggestive joke here and there the morning after sleeping with a girl... But Scarlett? She seemed to not let room for that. Maybe she would laugh if he did; but something told him it would not be wise. So he followed his gut.

The following days all went exactly the same: do nothing during the day -mostly watch TV- bar hopping and hustling at night, with some patrolling on the side. Dean was excited to see new demons and get to gank them; even if his stay was going to be short -he hoped- he wanted to learn about species. And of course most nights would end the same way: with him and Scarlett rolling in between the sheets.

Also, every night, he would learn a little more about her; and without even thinking it, Dean would share something about himself. He had to admit it, everything in this place, everything about the supernatural felt so odd. He had encountered friendly monsters in the past -Lenore, Benny, that purgatory lady Bobby knew, to name a few- but they had only been rare exceptions. But here? Here there were monsters everywhere fighting the good fight, and balancing the scales between good and evil. And it was such a revelation that it made him wonder if this world, this particular world, was better than his.

Dean also noticed that she was acting more cagey than usual; particularly one night while they were having dinner and for some reason she was watching the news instead of some TV show.

"Marcus Vaughan's trial ended with a surprising verdict after being found not guilty. Family members of the victims started a riot outside Detroit's Courthouse. In other news-"

Scarlett switched the channel, and Dean could have sworn he heard her growl, but he wasn't sure. Although, the dead look she had in her eyes made him change his mind. He tried breaking the ice.

"So, what's the plan for tonight? More hustling, or we hunt some baddies?" He asked, rubbing his hands together.

"Neither," Scarlett replied coldly, barely looking at him, "I got stuff to do, and you're gonna stay put."

He tried protesting, but she interrupted him.

"I mean it, Dean," she glared at him as she got up and headed for her bedroom, closing the door with a loud bang.

What the fuck?

Something was clearly bothering her, but Dean didn't feel it was his place to ask her what was wrong.

Scarlett was beyond pissed; she had worked so hard to get that piece of shit behind bars; leaving breadcrumb after breadcrumb that proved he was the one murdering those kids. Sacrifices, that's what they had been, rituals of sacrifices. Vaughan had been an elite client of Wolfram & Hart back in the day, and as far as she knew, the nefarious law company had supposedly gone down after that big apocalyptic battle in Los Angeles, courtesy of Angel, Spike and company.

But she had heard rumors that they were still in business, very low profile, and presumably under a new name. Which would explain how Vaughan was free.

She changed as fast as she could, rage filling her every cell. She was not going to let that scumbag live. She had tried doing the right thing, letting justice do its thing; but as it turned out, justice was broken. Shocker.

Black work boots, black jeans, black t-shirt. Hair neatly done in a bun; she picked a balaclava and stashed it in a backpack, along with other items, like rope, and assorted small weapons.

She stormed out of the room, barely looking at Dean, who checked her out from head to toe.

"Don't wait up. You can sleep in my bed if you want," she said before grabbing her keys and heading out.

"What?" Dean muttered to himself as soon as the door closed. What the hell was going on? If he hadn't known better, he would have chalked her behavior up to some monthly female thing; but he knew better.

A few hours and a lot of boredom later, he decided to take up on her offer and crash in her bed. Flicking through the channels, he found a Rocky marathon, which was already halfway through; and by the time the last one started, Dean was already asleep.

An hour after sunrise, the sound of the apartment door closing woke him up; instincts kicking in overdrive, he grabbed his gun and peeked outside the bedroom. It was Scarlett, who raised an eyebrow quizzically when she saw his ready stance and his weapon trained at her.

"Sorry, force of habit," Dean explained sleepily, putting the gun away. He then noticed the sun shining outside. "Cutting a little close, don't you think?" He thrust his chin towards the window. "Where the hell were you, anyways?"

"I had stuff to do," she replied as she retrieved a thick roll of bills from her backpack and threw it to him, who caught it effortlessly. "There's three grand there."

Dean's mouth fell open, looking from the money to her and back again. "How did you g-"

"Good ol' demon on demon violence. No matter what species you are, everybody loves money," she replied with a faint smile.

"Damn, why didn't you take me with you? I'm always down to kicking some demon ass!" He certainly could have used some stress relief.

Scarlett shook her head. "Too dangerous. This wasn't some lone vamp, or some pathetic demon. You would have been a distraction, I had to do this alone; couldn't step into the lion's den with a piece of meat most of them would tear up just like this," she snapped her fingers for emphasis.

"Gotcha," he offered in return, feeling all warm and fuzzy about her constant concern over his safety.

"Anyways," she continued, "Just spent an hour making my way back here through the sewers to avoid direct sunlight. I'm tired, dirty, smelly, and in dire need of a relaxing bath, so go back to sleep, Dean."

He was still sleepy, so he merely nodded and went back to bed while she quickly picked some clean clothes and disappeared into the bathroom.

The bathtub was full of bubbles, the music in her ears a welcome distraction. This was the best way to relax after what she'd done. Not that Scarlett felt bad or guilty about it, no; but she needed to quell that leftover adrenaline and bloodlust still rushing through her veins. She had lied to Dean, she didn't spend the night killing demons, she spent it making Marcus Vaughan pay. Painfully, slowly, the same way he had made those kids suffer. She had staged it in such way that the police would think it was a mugging gone extra violent.

She could still taste his blood in her mouth and it was intoxicating.

Dean managed only to sleep for another hour, he tossed and turned until the need to piss was too much to bear, the half-hard morning wood not helping matters either. He trudged to the bathroom and, to his dismay, the door was closed and he clearly could hear faint splashes of water.

Oh come on! He mentally complained. He waited ten minutes, pacing outside the bathroom until he couldn't take it anymore and softly knocked a couple of times.

"What is it, Dean?"

"Are you gonna be in there long?" His hand was ghosting over the knob.

"Why?" There was a hint of surprise on her tone.

"Err because-"

"Speak up, I can barely hear you; and I have enhanced hearing," she pressed on.

"Right," he muttered, "'cause I need to take a piss." There, he said it.

"Then go," she offered blankly.

Her reply caught Dean off guard. "What? That would be awkward," he said, already halfway inside the small room. Guess his need to take a little peek was higher than his awkward factor.

Scarlett was covered in bubbles, arms resting on the borders of the tub. Her hair was up, head resting on an inflatable pillow, feet resting on the opposite end, calves on full display. It was quite the view; making his dick twitch in clear interest.

"What? Like I haven't seen it all before," her smug smile surely making Dean harder by the moment.

"It-it's different," he protested, casually hiding his boner. Yeah, no. Showing his dick during sex was one thing. Taking a piss in front of a girl… Whole other beast.

"Oh my, a human having to piss, how unsexy!" Her sarcasm was full of cheekiness. But when she saw him look down in clear self-consciousness, she cut him a break. "Fine," she sighed. "I'll keep my eyes closed, and turn up the volume so I don't hear a peep. Deal?"

Dean thought about it for several seconds before finally agreeing; he waited until she put her headphones back on and closed her eyes before he got down to business; and of course he couldn't help taking a couple of glances at her, all relaxed in the bathtub and humming some song he didn't recognize.

Scarlett waited a couple of minutes before chancing a peek, he was washing his hands and frowning as he looked from to mirror to her and back again.

"Okay, that's creepy," he said while pointing at the mirror.

It took her a second to realize he was referring to her lack of reflection.

"It's one of the downsides of being like us," she shrugged.

"I see," he replied before reluctantly leaving. "Thanks, sweetheart."

"No problem."

And then he was gone, back into bed and hoping he could get some more sleep.

Scarlett sneaked under the sheets as quietly as possible to avoid waking Dean up; and even though she was exhausted, there was only one thought in her mind: her next target.