Author's Note: In response to user BlueEyedSalvatore's review: for the most part, yeah, Bela's past will be the same in regards to her father sexually abusing her and her mother doing nothing to stop it. They also died the same way and the same time that they did in the series, although I'm drifting a little way from canon by making Bela's deal non-existent. So, basically, we can pretty much sum up her parent's death as bad karma in this fic. And, as always, thanks for reading!

It had been hours since they left McKenzie's Cabins and Bela was slowly returning to normal. Every now and then Dean would glance at her out of the corner of his eye just to see her blankly gazing over her arms and hands; that same vacant, yet terrified expression she had on her face when he found her sitting on the toilet and staring at the shower. He'd be worried, of course; gnaw on his upper lip and heavily debate whether or not he should say anything of comfort to her but then she'd beat him to it and give him some sassy one-liner about him not being able to keep his eyes off of her, and then he'd glare and turn his eyes back on the road.

Truth was, though, that Bela was watching him every now and then, too, and in fact had been on and off ever since they got back into the Impala. She did occasionally lapse into a vacant state where she would imagine the slim man's hand lowering over her mouth, and she'd almost screamed a few times before she realized she was safe now. He was never coming back; he was gone. The lapses, however, were becoming less and less frequent the more she watched Dean's profile, and solely because her mind was becoming less preoccupied with her own near-death experience and more with genuine concern for her traveling companion.

The smudges under Dean's eyes had turned an even deeper shade of purple and he was currently viewing the world through eyes that were half-lidded and bloodshot. He had let his stubble grow out longer than it usually was, making him seem almost scruffy, and she would have blamed that on the previous night's events if she hadn't noticed that he almost looked this bad when he first showed up at her apartment a couple of nights ago. She remembered asking him the last time he slept and remembered him telling her that he couldn't remember, then guessed to be about a couple of days. Then she tried to recall if he had been asleep on the couch when she—wince—burst out of the cabin's bedroom and ran out the front door, loud and frantic and fast. She couldn't.

"Can I ask you something?"

The question caught Dean so off guard that he was almost weary to answer, afraid that if he responded then she'd only give him some bitchy answer that would piss him off, which would have probably been her aim in the first place. Even so, and against his better judgment, he hummed in a positive response.

"When I ran out into the woods…when, you know, he was chasing me, where were you?" After she said this she quickly realized how selfish her phrasing sounded and hastily added, "I mean, before you came and saved me. Before you killed him. You weren't in the cabin, were you?"

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his short hair. He shrugged. "I was in here."

"In the car?" He shrugged again. "Why?"

"I don't know. I was listening to music," he replied. Shortly after, he added, "Ever since Sammy's been gone I haven't really been able to sleep."

Bela frowned. "Dean…."

He cut her off. "Just drop it, alright? I'm fine."

"It's not really you I'm worried about. I just don't want you falling asleep on the road and end up killing us both, is all," she quipped, although she failed to completely hide the concern in her voice.

"Yeah, well, I won't," he snapped, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. Bela glared for a second before reminding herself that he had more than one reason to be irritable, so she instead sunk back into her seat and continued to observe him in silence.

It wasn't until they were driving somewhere along the northern border of Ohio, the clock on the dashboard reading four p.m. and the bags beneath Dean's eyes now practically the color of soot, when Bela abruptly sat up and ordered Dean to pull over.

"What?" he replied, an irritated expression almost beating out the reigning exhausted one on his face. "Do you gotta pee or something? 'Cause I hate to break it to you, but you're either gonna have to shake whatever you got down there or wipe with an old map."

"Pull the car over," she repeated, ignoring his disgusting previous comment. When he rolled his eyes at her, she turned in her seat so that the entire front of her body was facing him and, with narrowed eyes, added, "Now."

He had to admit, it kind of scared him. But—and this is what he told himself, although deep down he knew it wasn't true—this wasn't the reason why he complied.

When he pulled the Impala off of the highway and on to a patch of mostly dead grass and sand, Bela pushed herself out of the car and walked around to the driver's side. She peered at him through the open window.

"Scoot over," she commanded.

"What? No," he stubbornly protested. "Don't be ridiculous. Just get back in." After she didn't budge, he rolled his eyes. "You're being childish."

"No, you're the one who is being childish, what with this weird relationship with an inanimate object and all." She knew just what to say, what words would provoke him, and Dean grumbled something that sounded similar to "that's it, bitch" before opening the door and making a move to step out and confront her.

However, as soon as he as much as put one foot on the ground and began to stand up, Bela placed her hand on his shoulder and pushed him down hard, and all in a swift, smooth movement. He landed back in his seat with a thump and a creak—the force caused the car to bounce up and down for a few brief seconds, squeaking in protest—before a fed-up expression completely dominated his face and he tried to get up again, this time with more force. Again, Bela pushed him down but didn't give him a chance to get back up a third time as she pushed her way inside with him. At first he wouldn't move and her bottom would have come into full contact with his lap but he realized what an awkward position this would have put them both in and scooted over to the passenger's side at the last second, although not without muttering in protest under his breath.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? You're not driving my car!" He looked both alarmed and furious at once, and she had to admit that he kind of looked cute, if not ridiculous. Just like she had sat not too long before, his whole front was facing her but he looked awkward and had to hunch over to keep from bumping his head on the roof of the car, whereas Bela could have sat with a straightened back and her legs folded Indian-style if she wanted to, even with the wheel in front of her. Nonetheless, she swiftly reached over and swiped the keys from his hand, which she figured he had snatched out of the ignition before moving over, and started the car back up again.

Dean had stopped trying to fight back and instead folded his arms over his chest and pouted like a little child, frowning at the road ahead of them as Bela merged back on to the empty highway.

She looked over and saw his expression before rolling her eyes at him. "You are such a child."

"You are such a child," he mocked in a high-pitched, poor imitation of her accent. Then, in his normal voice, he added, "I swear to god, I will kill you if you hurt her."

"Please relax, would you, Dean?" she said impatiently. "There's no need to be so drastic."

"Oh, yeah? Bela Talbot is driving my car. There is every need in the entire freakin' world to be drastic!" he replied, waving his hands in the air.

"Do calm down, before you give yourself an ulcer," she said coolly. "But seriously, I'm not going to let you back behind the wheel of this car unless you get some sleep. Or you could just close your eyes—or, at least, pretend you're sleeping. Please, just humor me, because you look like death." And you have me worried, you twit, she mentally added.

Dean glanced at himself in the side view mirror and dragged a hand down his face before bringing it back up and pushing it through his hair. He let out a deep breath before irritably glancing at Bela out of the corner of his eye.

"Fine," he finally said, "Only because you said please."

Slowly, Dean sunk back into the corner between the seat and the door, his arms still folded over his chest and his face still set in a scowl. Trading glances between him and the road, Bela watched as his expression slowly relaxed and his bottom lip puffed out in an almost innocent way.

Soon enough he was snoring lightly, the tip of his nose twitching ever so slightly as he dreamed. Bela glanced at the radio and briefly thought about changing the station to something more of her taste, but quickly thought otherwise once she figured that Dean probably had some sixth sense when it came to music and would have immediately woken up if her fingers so much as brushed the dial. Instead, she willed herself to listen to his music, and soon she was quietly singing along to Fleetwood Mac.

"Thunder only happens when it's rainin', players only love you when they're playin'," She sang, lightly tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. "Say, women, they will come and they will go…."

Her eyes drifted downwards to the space between her and Dean and found it occupied by one of his rough-skinned hands. Tentatively, and almost absently, she edged her own hand down next to his and slowly entwined their fingers, careful not to wake him up.

If she had been looking, she would have seen the soft smile form on Dean's lips.

"When the rain washes you clean…you'll know…."

A/N: Oh, and in case anyone's wondering, the song that Bela's singing to is Dreams by Fleetwood Mac.

Reviews, anyone? (: