"Is there no way we can talk?" Bela asked, the smile still there, but this time it didn't quite reach her eyes. She wasn't pushing her luck anymore; whatever she was reading off Henry, she didn't like it.
Henry didn't shift even an inch, his presence still pressed into the wrecked frame of the car.
"Yeah," he said, voice steady. "Hand it over."
Bela's expression softened into something playful again, like she was trying to steer it back. "What, my innocence?" she said lightly. "Don't you think you're asking a bit fast? We just met."
Henry stared at her, completely deadpan.
"Innocence," he repeated, almost flat, then shook his head slightly. "You and that word don't belong in the same sentence."
For a brief second, Bela didn't answer.
Then her smile came back, smaller this time, more careful.
Henry's own expression didn't change, but there was a faint edge to it now. "Keep playing," he said, a hint of a smile forming. "I might actually take you up on that."
"No need to show your claws, big boy," Bela said, voice smooth again, like she'd already decided how this would end. She held out her purse. "Here."
Henry didn't take it immediately. His eyes stayed on her. "Open it," he said.
Bela gave a small, exaggerated sigh but did as told, unzipping it and angling it toward him. "Satisfied?" she asked.
"Not yet," Henry replied. "Hands up."
She lifted her hands slightly, still holding that faint smile. "Take it and give the bag back," she added. "It's a branded item. I'd rather not have you ruin it."
Henry glanced inside, saw what he needed, and closed the purse without touching anything in it.
Then he didn't give it back.
He held onto it.
"You like this bag?" he asked, swinging it lightly once in his hand.
Bela Talbot's eyes flicked to it, and for a moment something sharper edged into her tone. "Yes," she said. "First thing I bought with real money—the money I got scamming some old lady with a fake charm."
Henry paused.
"Yeah," he said, taking the bag. "Figures."
Bela's smile dropped just a little. "I said give it back," she said, voice tighter now.
Henry stepped back onto the crushed hood, still holding the purse. "No," he replied simply. "I said I'd take what I came for."
"Hey—" Bela started, sharper now.
"Bye, Bela."
He pushed off and dropped away in a clean jump, disappearing from her immediate view with the bag still in his hand.
She stepped out of the car slowly, brushing bits of glass off her clothes, then looked up toward where he had been.
The height.
The distance.
"…Any kind of man doesn't just jump like that," she murmured, eyes narrowing slightly.
She glanced at the crushed front of her car, then back up again, interest replacing irritation.
"It seems like there's something strange walking with the Winchesters," she said quietly, a faint smile forming again.
***
On Dean's side,
Dean didn't even get a minute of peace.
He dropped onto the motel bed and the frame gave out under him with a sharp crack, one side collapsing like it had been waiting for the exact moment he sat down. He shoved himself back up immediately, staring at it like it had personally offended him.
"Seriously?" he muttered.
He took a step back—
The ceiling fan above him rattled hard, screws giving way as it dropped crooked, wires stretching and sparking as it hung loose.
Dean looked up at it, then slowly stepped out from under it. "Yeah, no. Not dying like that."
He moved into the bathroom, turning the faucet to splash some water on his face, and the pipe burst the second it turned, spraying straight at him and soaking the sink, the mirror, and half his shirt in one go.
Dean jerked back, trying to shut it off, but the handle snapped clean off in his hand.
Water kept pouring.
He stepped back out, dripping now, already annoyed, and reached for the light switch.
The moment his fingers touched it, a sharp shock snapped through his hand.
Dean yanked it back instantly, shaking it out. "Okay—yeah, that's great."
He stood there for a second, looking around the room like it was actively trying to kill him.
Dean exhaled, jaw tight. "That stupid rabbit's foot…"
Across from the motel, the two men stayed parked, watching without drawing attention.
Kubrick leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on the building like he was waiting for something to reveal itself. He had Gordon's words running in his head on repeat—Sam Winchester wasn't just a hunter, he was something worse, something that would bring the end if no one stopped him.
And Kubrick believed it.
Creedy shifted beside him, less patient, less convinced. "Kubrick," he said quietly, "you sure Sam's here?"
Kubrick didn't look away from the motel. "Shhh," he said, raising a hand slightly. "God is showing us signs."
Creedy frowned but followed his gaze anyway.
Then it happened.
The motel window shattered outward with a loud crash.
Dean came flying through it, completely out of control, body flipping as he hit the ground and rolled in the window's curtains, ending up tangled awkwardly, limbs pulled in tight like he'd been thrown rather than jumped.
For a second, he just lay there, groaning, trying to untangle himself.
Kubrick smiled.
"See?" he said, almost reverent. "God is with us."
*****
🔥 For Advanced Chapters Join My Patreon 🔥
👉 patreon.com/DeathNote4455
🚀 Get early access to 24 Advanced chapters.