“What’s the matter, Dean?” You call from the second story window, watching as he stares at his seran-wrapped Impala in dismay. “Did you leave your balls in your purse?”
Dean swears, whipping his pistol out of its holster and aiming it at you. “That’s it! I’m killing her!”
“Dean, no!” Sam shouts, grabbing his arm and looking around worriedly at the bystanders.
“She messed with baby,” Dean argues. “Sam. She messed. With Baby.”
“And I am not letting you shoot her in front of twenty pedestrians,” the younger Winchester retorts.
Dean looks around surreptitiously, glaring at the pedestrians in question. “Fine,” he mutters. He glares up at you. “You’d better watch out, Y/n! This means war! And when I get up there-”
“Ooh, I’m terrified,” you say drily. “Absolutely terrified. So, Dean, tell me something.” You reach into your pocket and pull out his keys, laughing at his stricken expression. “How difficult is it going to be to chase me when you can’t drive your car?”
“No way.” Dean starts patting down his pockets, looking at Sam in horror. “You’d better give those back-” He cuts off when he sees you’re no longer at the window. “Damn it.” He glares at his brother. “You should’ve let me shoot her.”