Title: Bobby's Daughter

Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize…

Warnings: Nope.

Notes: Nope.

Enjoy!

So this is what guys do on a road trip?

We had left my house about two hours ago. Dean informed me about ten minutes ago that we still have twelve hours until the Singer Salvage Yard. Right now we were driving in the car – the boys in their proper seats, me in the back, even though it was my car (theirs was being towed over).

Sam was asleep, head against his window, drooling.

Dean was driving and adjusting his music to a lower level for Sammy.

I, however, was bored out of my mind. These guys had done nothing fun at all.

Maybe I could play some mind games? Nah. Maybe sleep? Nah. Too caffeinated. Maybe read? Nah.

I caught Dean's eye as he glanced in the rearview mirror.

"What's up," he asked, focusing on driving again.

I shrugged. "Nothing." We were silent for a few minutes. "So this is a Winchester car trip?"

"Yeah. Fun, huh?"

"Completely. We going to grab a hotel or just go straight to Mr. Singer's house?"

"Up to you." Okay, so Dean was being completely considerate. He wanted to let me decide when we should see my father.

I paused to think about it, absently biting my lip in the process. "Let's get a hotel. Finish the trip in the morning."

"Hotel it is then."

Eight hours later – without a pit stop mind you – we were checked into a hotel. Tomorrow we would complete the last four hours of our trip.

Dean's arm was still in a sling because he had put too much strain on it when he shoved me against the wall the other night, popping his homemade stitches and pulling the strain he gotten in the crash again. Sam still had bandages adorning every limb. So I carried my bag while Sam carried his brother's and his, me leading the way to the room.

I jammed the key in the door and turned it. I pushed open the door and stepped in after flipping the light switch.

Two beds. Yeah, just as I thought.

Dean brushed past me and sat on one bed. "Mine," he declared.

I narrowed my eyes before sitting next to him. "Guess we'll just have to share then because Sammy can't sleep on the floor with those wounds." I smirked.

He kept my eyes while Sam huffed into the room, mentioned something about being called 'Sammy', and dropped Dean's bag on the opposite bed and took his own into the bathroom. We didn't mind Sam as he announced, "I'm showering."

Dean gave me this wicked grin and I had to look away for fear of blushing.

"What's wrong, Sydney," he taunted, smirk hard on his face. "Afraid you'll lose the battle?"

"Battle," I asked, my eyes whipping back toward him. "Dean, I could beat you in any battle."

"If I remember correctly, I had to save you from that ghost."

"Shut up."