Well, just whoever the hell it is she's got in there.
SNAP, and the entire front of the house is brilliantly floodlit. The silhouette of a grizzled, powerfully-built man is visible through the front door, to those outside.
From the car, there is a high-pitched yelp and then a growled, "Sonuvabitch." Some more grumblings, some more whining, and a car door does open.
And slam.
And Dean Winchester's seventeen year old daughter is stalking up the stairs with her purse in her head and murder in her eyes and her gaze on her father.
...as the car she drove up in peels outta there like a bat from hell.
Comments 46
The engine turning off.
And yet, minutes later, no car door has opened.
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Well, just whoever the hell it is she's got in there.
SNAP, and the entire front of the house is brilliantly floodlit. The silhouette of a grizzled, powerfully-built man is visible through the front door, to those outside.
Waiting.
For now.
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And slam.
And Dean Winchester's seventeen year old daughter is stalking up the stairs with her purse in her head and murder in her eyes and her gaze on her father.
...as the car she drove up in peels outta there like a bat from hell.
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Nope.
No way.
"Have a good night?" he enquires innocently.
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