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Dean is Not Impressed.

With everything ever, really.

He's sitting on the porch in Lawrence, drinking a beer and wondering how he wound up justifying time out from the 'what's going on with Sam and Jess' hunt to take a roadtrip with two chicks who hate him.

They're leaving in less than an hour; he should probably pack.

Ehh.

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There is a Rachel slamming the door of Jo's house, stomping out onto the street.

Catching sight of Dean on his porch doesn't make her glare any softer.

Ooh. Catfight.

He raises an eyebrow at her, all innocent charm.

If humans were capable of throwing flaming balls of hate at people with their eyes alone, Dean would be barbecue right now.

Rachel hesitates in front of the house, glancing back for just a moment before returnig her gaze to Dean.

Jerk.

Mmmmm. Toasty.

Dean lifts his beer bottle to her, in cheerful salute.

Also, more subtly, offering. He's got spares.

But she's not old enough to--

Oh, forget it.

Sighing deeply, Rachel crosses the street with steady, strong steps, her eyes never wavering from Dean. And once she's there, just within a few feet from him, her arms cross and she continues glaring.

"I don't want to deal with any crap on this drive."

"Why would I give you any crap?" Dean demands, leaning back and looking up at her.

"Because you and Jo can't stop from fighting after thirty seconds in the same room with each other and this is going to be a several-hour drive where I don't want to half to listen to it the whole time."

Flat Rachel is Flat.

She shifts, another glance back, and glares at him some more.

"And because you seem like a smartass."

"Aw, hey, that's a hasty sort of judgement," Dean complains. Vry Srs, No Rly. "Sure you don't wanna give me a chance?"

It would be a bad idea to tell him that she knows someone exactly like him and wouldn't trust either of them as far as she could throw them - and she cannot throw particularly far.

But it's very tempting.

"I was nice - I said 'seem.'"

That's a tiny hint of a smirk there.

"So you did," Dean agrees lazily, and offers her a beer.

But she's not--

...hell, why not? She's not going to get to beat anything up.

Looking more than a little wary about this, Rachel takes the bottle and - after a long, long pause - sits down on the porch steps with him. There's space for two or three people between them, but she's there.

And takes a sip of the beer before making a face at it.

Dean's curious, of course, as to what made her come storming out. And vaguely curious as to the spandex getup she was in the other day. And kind of annoyed, indefinably, for no reason he can pin down.

But it's a hot afternoon and he's got nothing better to do until Jo's ready.

He doesn't have anything to say, though.

Honestly? Neither does Rachel. And while the beer doesn't taste good, it's cold and she's fine with sipping it. She's not terribly comfortable sitting with a stranger like this.

But whatever. For right now, right this second... it'll do.

"Hey, Dean."

Totally not awkward or anything, whut.

"Hey, dead sister-in-law who doesn't look like a zombie but I'm still fucking suspicious."

Lol whut.

"Do zombies get blisters that heal?"

"Fuck if I know. Do you?"

Dean leans back, looking at her, unfriendly.

"According to horror flicks, no."

"Yeah, well, you and I both know the movies ain't exactly full of truth."

"I don't exactly have a lot else to go on, you know. I even have a freaking pulse."

"Convenient."

Dean returns his gaze to his beer bottle.

"And you show up married. To Sam."

"Yeah."

Even if she thinks, shoulda waited til I got my head clear, she'll defend it.

"Who hasn't exactly been actin' normal lately, either," Dean continues, gaze level. "Convenient."

"I'm sorry for that."

"Yeah, I bet you are."

Scowl.

"Scout's honour."

Dean decides this is a futile argument, and glowers at her instead.

He does not like Jess.

"Anyway to prove that I'm human?"

Dean shrugs.

"Human doesn't mean harmless, either."

"No. But it might mean you'd stop looking at me as if you want to cut off my head."

"How sure are you 'bout that?"

Quietly,

"Reason I said 'might'."

"Mm."

Dean's not committing to any more than that.

"How's Sam?"

Jess?

Really needs a drink.

"He's okay." Beat, long enough that it doesn't seem related. "It always all or nothin' with your family?"

"You keep your bitch mouth shut about my family," Dean says sharply.

"No, I don't. It was a simple question, based on observation. Is it always all or nothing?"

No response.

Aaaand ... more no response.

A muscle twitches in Dean's jaw.

She looks at him for a long moment.

"Thought so," she says at last, and walks away.

Sometimes, she really hates being right.

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