Dean had been a demon for about eight weeks or so. During that time, he had partied with the king of hell, banged countless women, and drunk enough alcohol to be fatal to a human. He had killed and had enjoyed it. He had been reunited with his brother and Castiel. But during all those weeks, he had never felt as uncomfortable as he did now. Of course, he was also slightly amused, but moreover, he was concerned, confused, and extremely annoyed.
Sam was never one for picking up girls at the bar. So when the fourth girl rebuffed him for his sexier, badass older brother, he presented his best bitch-face for all the world to see. But he was tired of it. Damn it, he had his needs too, just like every other man. Why was Dean so special? Sure he was stronger, more rugged, and Sam suspected that he had some sort of demonic voodoo magic shit going on that made him a magnet for pretty women. But Sam was beyond caring about that rubbish. Slamming a $20 bill on