Demon Blood: A Supernatural Fanfiction

Chapter 11: Typical "Family" Road Trip

Onith’s fire took five hours, three fire squadrons, and seven trucks to put out, and it had consumed nearly the entire block and taken at least six people’s lives. In fact, Sam, Dean, and Mallory had to switch motels because a four-block radius around the fire had to be evacuated. One thing was for sure, though: Onith was alive and kicking, stronger than anything else.

And because there wasn’t much they could do about it, the three of them resolved to get a good night’s sleep, which meant more than just three hours of on-and-off drowsiness. As long as the whole town didn’t get destroyed while they were asleep.

Which it didn’t. The sun was still shining when they woke up the next morning, and there were still people going about their normal lives. Nothing had changed except the mood of the friends.

Mallory woke up first, having had the most amount of sleep in the past week, and had gotten ready and packed up before anybody else had even gotten up. In fact, she had time to read another few chapters in her book and make a long phone call to Reyna before reluctantly deciding to wake the other two up. She stood at the door for a minute, watching them sleep. It was strangely comforting to see them finally peaceful, looking as if they had lost their troubles for a bit. Guiltily, Mallory made her way to the radio between their beds and turned it down low so she could find the perfect station. At last, she found it: a wailing opera channel that seemed to be in the middle of a particularly long screeching solo. With a quick jerk of her wrist, she turned the radio up to nearly full volume.

Dean and Sam both shot up in their beds, reaching under their pillows for their weapons. On impulse, Mallory crouched, all feelings of guilt dissipated after seeing their faces.

“Jesus freaking Christ, Mal! I almost shot you!” hissed Dean, stuffing his pistol back under his pillow. His face contorted into disgust, and he slammed the off button on the radio with more force than necessary. “Opera? Really?”

Mallory grinned slightly homicidally and unfolded herself back up to her full 6’5” height. “I had to. Nobody with your personality would like opera in the slightest. Honestly, I was feeling a little guilty, but,” she waved her hands passively, “Nope. Gone. I should’ve taken a picture. That was great.” She chuckled and wandered back over to the chair where her stuff was packed up. “I probably gave you longer than you should have. Although I guess I am a really early riser.” Picking up her phone, she punched out an awkward message with her long-nailed right thumb. Almost immediately after it was sent, Reyna appeared, perched on the pillow right beside Dean’s head. He swore and took a basic swing at Reyna, but she was already gone, sitting cross-legged on the chair next to Mallory’s.

“You know, I think Dean needs to loosen up a little bit. Be more chill. He’s so … tight.” Reyna mused to Mallory much too loudly, so Dean could hear it across the room. Mallory nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. We should do something about it.” She replied, also unnaturally loudly. Without breaking her gaze toward the opposite side of the room, Mallory leaned down slightly and whispered, “I can hear the wheels in your head turning. Tell me what you’re on to in the car.” Reyna nodded curtly and continued her casual and still much-louder-than-necessary commentary. “You see, I think what Dean needs is a little bit of fun. Yeah, that’s it. He’s just so… not fun. Maybe if we, y’know, did something,” she nudged Mallory with her elbow. “He’d just be a little bit happier and more, er, flexible. Actually, I think he secretly enjoyed the opera.” Dean harrumphed and made a frustrated noise, and Sam was trying (but failing miserably) to fight the smile forming on his face.

“Hey, Dean, don’t let us deny you of your guilty pleasure! You can even sing along, just pretend we’re not here!” called Reyna directly to him. She flicked her wrist and the radio turned on again, blasting mournful operatic voices. Grumbling loudly, Dean reached over to turn off the radio, but found his hand stopped.