Demons, Roses, and Winchesters

Chapter 8

Selina's POV

"I am not throwing away my shot!" blared from the Thorn's speakers. We had stopped at another motel in St. Helen, which was near where the biggest fire was.

Already the air smelled sour and rough. I wrinkled my nose briefly as I stepped out of the van, but continued singing along--rather badly--to Hamilton's My Shot. The music was blasting anyways, so everybody in the parking lot could likely hear it. And some people didn't like it.

"TURN THAT OFF!" Dean shouted from where he was on the hood of the Impala.

The reply came back quickly. Evita turned the music up after yelling, "FUCK NO!"

All I could hear was a muffled yell in response.

Angel, who had been driving, walked around the van. Everyone else got out of the back and walked towards us. We had been driving all night and had taken turns sleeping and keeping Angel company in the front.

Dean and Sam were sitting on the hood of their car, Dean with a greasy cheeseburger and Sam with a sad-looking salad. They were arguing about something, but I couldn't tell what about because the music drowned out most conversation.

Dean, having evidently lost the argument, turned around to face us, an angry look on his face.

"HEY! Can you turn down the music!? It sucks anyway, and we're trying to have a conversation!" He yelled over the music.

Evita and Angel looked outraged, and Angel fiddled with it a little before turning it down so she could talk and stalked up to Dean, standing a few feet away.

From the open doors of the van, Mimi smirked and pulled a bag of MNMs out from under a seat and popped several in her mouth.

As the music ended Angel started giggling uncontrollably behind her hand. Of course, most of us ignored it, but we quickly learned why. When she was fiddling with the music she had set it up so different song would play after this one.

The song she had chosen was "Fuck you" by Bad Religion.

We all burst out laughing at Angel's snark and pettiness. Except for Dean. Dean wasn't happy.

Dean walked over to where she was standing and grabbed the front of her shirt. She stopped laughing as he yanked her forward before threatening her in a low voice.

"I suggest you not make fun of me as I alone am more dangerous than your entire group combined, and I am not in a good mood." He snarled in a low voice.

I tensed, fingers twitching. There was something wrong. Dean wasn't this aggresive earlier.

I leaned towards the back of the van where my hunting rifle lay near the door. Not particularly good for close combat, but it was a comfort to have.

"I think you'll find that to be false." she snarled. "Now let me go, asinus petasum."

"What did you call me?!" he growled. "Sam, what did she call me?" His head swiveled to face Sam, who was leaning away.

"Oooh, you don't understand Latin, do you? I said, let me go asshat."

"Oh, you think that's funny. YOU THINK THAT'S FUNNY!" he yelled, shaking her.

Angel, having had enough, then clawed him across the face, leaving three long, bloody scratches on his skin.

He let go of her shirt immediately, staggering back and cupping his face with a yell of pain and surprise

Angel stepped away from him quickly, hands shaking almost imperceptibly.

I snatched my rifle up--it was probably overkill, but at the moment I could care less--and stormed toward Dean as I loaded it, looking as threatening as possible with a lollipop stuck between my teeth and my 5' 7" frame.