He opens his mouth but just snaps it shut and scowls, though his lips twitch up just a fraction at the smart ass reply. When James, though he doubts that's his real name, is gone Dean heads outside a few minutes later to see where they're at. Off the bat it's no where he recognizes and that bothers him. He likes knowing where he is, where he's been and where he's going. He hates being caught off guard like this. It's warm and balmy so he thinks maybe they're in the south somewhere.

It's about ten minutes before he's back in the room with no other idea where he's at. The front desk was out of newspapers and he hadn't wanted to 'ask' where he was, not wanting to come off as someone who needed help or was hurt, even though he'd checked himself out in the mirror and whoever put his body back together did a real fine job. Not a scratch or scar on him.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, his knee bounces, antsy, as he waits for James to return. He's tried Sam's numbers again and any other ones - even his dads old cell - but none of them are working. When the guy returns, in the door and almost out it again, Dean's on his feet. Fifteen almost to the minute. The hell could he have done in only fifteen minutes?

"I had a feeling I wouldn't have been able to get far enough away if I tried," he says, then follows him out the door. He takes pause at the car, whistles as he walks around it to the passenger side. Somehow he doesn't think it's actually James', but he's gotta admit the guy's got style. He isn't even going to ask what he had to do to get this sweet ride. In the passenger seat, he raises a brow as he watches James turn the engine over. Inventive. And yeah, definitely not his car.