han_solo | (no subject)

(no subject)

Dean is Over It.

Nebraska and the Roadhouse cannot come soon enough.

Rachel's getting increasingly more annoying, and Dean's starting to wonder if travelling on his own would be better.

Anything would be better that this, for sure.

... although possibly not, he thinks, stamping on the brakes hard as they cross the border into Kansas and a flickering figure in white appears, screams, falls under the car and disappears -- possibly not this.

Damn.

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Dean glances over at her. "Old enough. You're kiddin', right? You'd seriously want to be that young forever? No-one'd ever take you serious. You'd never get laid. You'd never be able to go into a freakin' bar."

"Yeah, and when you're killing when you're a kid, when you're an adult in a kid's body and no one's taking you seriously, how much better is that?"

She shakes her head and looks away from him, out her own window instead of the front.

"So yeah, I can imagine a lot of worse things."

Dean can, too. It's just he doesn't talk about them.

"This is a stupid discussion anyway. How's y'head feelin'?"

"You started it," Rachel points out irritably.

Irritable, like a kid stuck in an adult's body... and fitting there better than in her own.

"It hurts. Like I'm bleeding from it or something."

"Yeah? Probably cos you are," Dean points out.

The Impala speeds up even further, skimming millimetres above the roadside.

"Don't sleep."

"That was my point," Rachel snaps, and glances at him to glare-- before putting her eyes on the window. "You said that already."

She wasn't planning on sleeping.

"So sue me, I don't want a freakin' coma patient in my care," Dean snaps back.

Rachel wrinkles her nose, lip curled in disgust as she glances at him. "If I go into a coma, just drop me off on the side of the road. I won't be needing your care."

Dean glares at her.

"You really think I'd do it, too, don't you. Sheesh, must be hard bein' you."

Not trusting anyone to take care of her if she was dying?

-- well, okay, Dean's the same, but -- that's not the POINT.

Rolling her eyes, Rachel looks away again, arms crossing over her chest. "I think Jo trusts you, which is why I'm in the car. She trusts you," she repeats, putting narrowed blue eyes on him again.

"I do not. I don't have a reason to yet, so, no, I'm not really thrilled about the idea of being unconscious around some guy I barely know."

Dean's lips narrow -- that sounded suspiciously like an accusation.

Or worse -- just like good sense. Like she knows what kind of guy he is and is smart enough to be careful.

He doesn't say anything, just shrugs and keeps driving.

Good sense is knowing when to watch your back.

And your head.

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