Blood makes him squeamish. When he was a kid he'd held his dying puppy in his arms as it bled out on the pavement from a hit and run and he hadn't been able to stomach the sight of the stuff since. He went well out of his way to avoid people and things that could potentially cause him physical harm, retreating into safer hobbies like hacking and shitposting anonymously on social media sites.

And yet in the last twenty four or so hours he'd seen no less than five people get murdered right in front of him; all by the petite, filthy young woman sitting approximately two feet away from him as she drove them down the dark and deserted dirt road leading directly—according to her—towards Dirk Gently. Whoever the hell that was.

The car swerves suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts, and he glances over to see Bart’s head dipping down towards her lap. A thin trail of drool hangs from her bottom lip, and he realizes that neither of them had slept since they'd met.

“Maybe we should pull over,” he says, trying to keep his voice as calm as he can to avoid spooking her. The last thing he wants is for her to lash out and accidentally shoot him. Or stab him. Or rip his throat out with her teeth.

Her head jerks up to stare at him in that equal parts blank and scary way of hers that never fails to make his blood run cold. He's about to panic, about to apologize and ask her to forget his suggestion, when she yawns widely and nods.

“Good idea, Ken.” She drives for another minute or so before turning off of the road and into a small clearing hidden by a row of tall bushes, parking them beneath a large old tree for additional cover in case there are more murderous bikers trolling the area. The last guy she'd killed had mentioned having friends, and birds of a feather...

He notices her staring at him curiously from the other side of the bench seat and presses himself further into the passenger side door, as if being another couple of inches away from her would make any difference. He cringes and swallows nervously. “W-what?”

“You look soft.”

She says it so matter of factly that he can only blink in response. “Uh...thanks?”

The words are barely out of his mouth before she launches herself across the seat at him to lean her head against his chest, and he can’t stop the squeal of fear that erupts in response. He squeezes his eyes shut and prays to God for forgiveness because he'd done a whole lot of shitty things as a hacker, but eventually he manages to work up the nerve to look down and sees that she’s fast asleep. He marvels at how young she looks when she’s not glaring at him from beneath her eyebrows or trying to murder someone.

He tries to sit completely still, tries not to even breathe lest he wake her and make her angry. She smells of sweat, blood, musk, and dirt, and he wonders when the last time she’d showered was or if she even knew what a shower was.

“Stop that,” she mumbles sleepily, and he feels his heart rate go through the roof again.

He sucks in a sharp breath of air and glances down at her. “Stop what?”

Her eyes pop open to glare up at him. “Being scared. I can’t sleep ‘cause a your heart.” When there's no change to his heart’s rhythm after a minute, she sighs. “M’not gonna kill you tonight. Sleep.”

It’s a true testament to how exhausted and terrified he is of her, but knowing that he's probably going to live through the night does honestly relax him. Once the adrenaline leaves his system he feels the fatigue of the last 24 hours hit him all at once, to the point where he barely even notices her arm slide over his rib cage to snuggle closer.

At some point he must’ve fallen asleep because when he wakes she’s almost fully in his lap, face smushed up against his chest and mouth wide open as she snores gently. He feels something wet and winces at the growing spot of drool on his shirt but a low whimper from Bart draws his attention before he can survey the damage.

He moves her hair away from her face curiously, noting her furrowed brows and clenched fingers. He remembers her earlier statement, that the few sentences he’d spoken to her earlier was the most anyone had talked to her in years, and realizes that beneath the dirt and serial killing, she was just a lonely girl trying to do her best at what she felt was right. Her hand shoots up to painfully grip his fingers and she's suddenly glaring at him. “What are you doing?”

He considers lying, but ultimately decides on honesty. “I don’t know.”

To his complete surprise, she shrugs and relaxes against him again. “Okay. Keep going.” He’s amazed that she’s letting him do this, letting him run his fingers through her filthy knotted hair while she sleeps. Her brow is unfurrowed and the whimpering has stopped, so he continues to gently work out tangles as he encounters them like he used to do with his puppy all those years ago. He’s well aware that she’s probably definitely going to kill him eventually, but he can't help but think that in a weird Stockholm-y sort of way, she's not so bad.

The next time he wakes it’s daylight and she’s driving again, humming a song he’s not familiar with under her breath that might’ve actually sounded nice if it weren’t for her scraggly voice. He’s not completely sure if he’d dreamed the entire night before or not, but a glance down at the dried drool on his shirt quickly confirms it.

She looks over at him and grins in that crazy way of hers, yellowed teeth gleaming in the early dawn light streaming through the window. “Sleep good?”

He realizes that he does feel pretty rested and raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, actually.”

“Good. Eat.” She nods towards a box of donuts that hadn't been there earlier that morning. A box that is also splattered in blood.

“You didn't rob a Dunkin’ Donuts, did you?”

She shrugs and taps out something on the steering wheel. “Nah. Cop pulled me over.”

“Oh, yeah, because that's much better.” Though he wants to ask what happened and how the hell he'd slept through it, he instead simply sighs and flips the top open. Someone had already decimated most of the box, but she'd left him a decent variety to choose from. He opts for a blueberry one because at least it maybe had some sort of nutritional value.

“One of the nurses at that place I was telling you about used to sing to me and stroke my hair to help me sleep,” she offers up casually.

Unsure of how to react, he opts for as neutral of a response as he can manage. “Oh.”

There's a short pause before she speaks again. “I killed him.”

“...Oh.” He doesn't ask why because more than likely she doesn't even know, but if there was anything he’d learned based on her current murder spree was that there was probably a good reason for it.

“You're a good pillow, Ken.” She flashes him a smile, less creepy and more genuine than the last, and he returns it though he's not quite sure whether that means she's planning on killing and stuffing him or not.

“Anytime.”