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Rachel has yet to find what useful purpose Dean serves to this world or any other. So far his driving skills, propensity for violence, and taste in music has been far outweighed by the pure annoying of his personality.

The number of punches she's dealt his shoulder has multiplied ever since she hit her head, too. Maybe Jo was attracted to men that tried to baby her but Rachel would take a monster over a concerned individual any day of the week.

Which is why she had no problem with stealing one of Dean's guns after they'd made camp and he'd gone off to-- do whatever it was he was going to do. Se has her own, of course, but it doesn't serve her purpose.

It isn't shiny.

"Mort?" Rachel frowns and glances over her shoulder to make sure no one's around to see her acting like a crazy woman, talking to a gun. "C'mon, I need to talk to you."

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Rachel lifts her chin and looks at him for a moment, absolutely silent, gaze steady.

"What'd your brother have to say about you taking off like this?"

Silence.

Dean's voice is rough. "Point taken."

"Bitch."

"Jackass," Rachel snaps, perfectly clear.

She goes back to turning the spit.

...but since she also really didn't want to bring up Dean's family, she lets him have first-pick from the rabbits.

He smirks very faintly at her for that.

A while later: "You know, you were right."

"I'm right about everything," Rachel replies automatically, lounging on her blanket, leaning back on her backpack while she cleans a rabbit bone with her teeth.

Finding out what she's right about doesn't seem to be a priority.

"Course you are." He flops back himself, looking up at the stars in disapproval. (There's way too many, and they're way too bright; there should be so much more pollution than this blocking them out.) "I forgot."

Rachel glances at him, head bent with only her eyes lifted, watching him quietly for a moment.

(way too bright... and not enough movement)

"What am I right about?"

"Everything," Dean reminds her. "Did you forget already?"

Rachel frowns a little and shakes her head, nibbling at her bone again.

...she can't ask again. Even if she really wants to.

A lot.

Dean smirks, but apparently soon gets sick of picking on her.

"I meant, about fightin' with the superhero. She's a superhero. You live in the real world."

Rachel looks at him again, blue eyes cool and emotionless.

Then she leans back against her blanket and stares at the stars.

"That farm's screwed if they ever get anything more dangerous than a skunk wandering in."

"Eh. Fray's pretty good. There's a few solid heavies there." Dean shrugs, not bothering to look over at her. "Sides, little miss morals's a decent fighter."

He is still so amused that there are worlds where Batman is real. Dude. Seriously. Batman.

(It's possible he's disagreeing with Rachel for the sake of disagreeing with her.)

"Assuming she'll fight."

Bouncing on those mens' heads - yeah, that was impressive. But then what? What's the point of having the skill if she won't use it?

Sadly, Rachel has no experience with comic books and doesn't recognize Steph as anything but a fellow gymnast and a serious annoyance.

"Not killin' don't mean not fighting," Dean points out, rolling over to eyeball her dubiously. "You've seriously never seen a Batman film?"

Rachel was about to respond to that, really. It's just that now she's busy staring at Dean like he's utterly insane.

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

Dean stares at her, disbelieving. "You've seriously never seen Batman? Movie? Comic book? Never heard of him? Come on, you gotta know him, he's the goddamn Batman!"

Rachel makes a face at him, terribly confused - and irritated because of it. "Yeah, of course I know who Batman is, I've seen a couple of his terrible movies, too. What the hell does he have to do with Wonder Girl back there?"

"You've never actually talked to her, huh?" Dean smirks. "He trained her. No shit."

"I've talked to her plenty," Rachel points out, monotone and goes back to staring at the stars.

For about half a second before the rest of Dean's words register and she's staring at him again.

"...a fictional character trained her." Rachel sits up on her blanket and stares at him with narrowed eyes. "Are you high?"

Dean smirks over at her. "You can turn into a freakin' wolf. Oh, and a bear. And you think I'm high?"

"Uh, yes," Rachel replies, as if this answer is utterly obvious, still frowning at him. "I'm not fictional. You're trying to tell me that Batman is real and one of his little robiny things is out there on her own personal mission to piss me off.

"How is that not insane?"

"She doesn't think she's fictional either," Dean points out, grinning at how annoyed she is. "Nor does Babs. Oracle. Did you meet her? Chick in the wheelchair? Ever hear what happened to the first Batgirl?"

See, Sam, a solid grounding in comic book lore is USEFUL FACT, SO THERE.

"What, the Alicia Silverstone one?"

Rachel is staring at him a lot.

"...wait, are you saying everyone here is from some kind of movie or book or something?"

"Only some of them. I haven't figured it out yet, what's causing it. But I don't trust any of 'em."

Perhaps it is lucky for both of them that Dean has never read Animorphs.

"There was a haunting back home, characters from fairy tales comin' alive and killing folk. I haven't seen any killing yet but I'm keepin' an eye out."

So so so lucky.

Rachel closes her eyes, shakes her head, and flops over onto her blanket again.

"Yeah. Okay, sure. And George Clooney is going to go zooming through the night in a horrible leather suit. Why not? 'Cause my life wasn't insane enough before getting dropped here."