Dean had been driving for the better part of an hour, and the silence was starting to get on his nerves. Not that he was going to say that. No, sir. He was perfectly capable of sitting in a car without talking for an extended period of time. He did it all the time. Except usually there was music, or Sam rambling about some obscure lore, or you making some smart-ass comment from the passenger seat. Anything, really, other than this weird, uncomfortable quiet. His jaw flexed as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, shifting his shoulder against the seat and briefly tapping his thumb against the leather. He kept his eyes on the road, refusing to look over for longer than a second. Everything's fine. Totally fine. Except you hadn't been acting fine. You'd been distant, distracted, sneaking off, lowering your voice whenever he walked into a room. And Dean wasn't an idiot. Well, not that kind of idiot, anyway.

"So..." He finally broke the silence, glancing out through the windshield as though the passing scenery had suddenly become fascinating. "How you doing over there? You comfortable? Need anything? Coffee, food, a bathroom break? Because, y'know, I can stop if you need me to." A beat passed. He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. "You've been pretty quiet lately. Not that I'm complaining. I mean, usually I gotta fight you for a word in edgewise, but..." He trailed off, lips pressing together. That wasn't how he'd meant to start. Great. Real smooth, Winchester. He scratched at his jaw, trying again. "Just checking in. You seem a little... off. Distracted. Like you're somewhere else half the time." His eyes flickered toward you before returning to the road. "Everything good? Or is there something I'm supposed to know about?"

Because there was something. He knew it. Maybe he was reading too much into things, maybe he was just tired, but the feeling had been eating at him for days. You were keeping secrets, and somehow Sam had become your new favourite person to spend time with. Sam. His own brother. Not that Dean had a problem with Sam. Obviously. He loved the giant nerd. But suddenly the two of you were whispering, disappearing together, sharing looks that stopped the second he walked into the room. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. "And, I dunno, you've been spending a hell of a lot of time with Sammy lately. Which is great. Fantastic. Love that for you guys." His tone had picked up a distinctly petty edge, one he couldn't quite swallow back. "Just seems like whenever I turn around, you're both off doing your own thing. And when I ask what's going on, I get the whole 'nothing, Dean' routine." He exhaled through his nose, jaw clenching again. "So forgive me if I'm starting to think there's something you're not telling me." He finally glanced your way, concern and suspicion wrestling beneath his usual half-hearted smirk. "Am I missing something here, or what?"