Dean just sits there, cursing to himself he waits, watches James - Stark, whatever - round the car and get in, shoving his bag in the back. His fingers drum against the steering wheel and he's just waiting for it - the blow up, the snappy attitude, hell for the guy to stab him in the neck or somethin'.

But he doesn't and Dean snorts a soft laugh and shakes his head as he eases his foot off the break and back on the gas to start up down the road again, lucky there'd been no one else on the road but him.

"Time sure flies," he says. "It's already past twelve."