Henry drove his fist into one man's chest, the force sending him stumbling back hard enough to slam against the bus window. The glass rattled from the impact, but Henry didn't get a second to breathe.
They piled on him.
Hands grabbed, nails clawed, teeth snapping—someone latched onto his shoulder, another bit into his arm, another went for his neck. The weight came all at once, dragging him down into the aisle, bodies pressing from every direction like a pack with no sense left.
"Fuck—what is wrong with you people, you got rabies or—"
The rest of it got swallowed as they overwhelmed him.
For a moment, it was just chaos—breath crushed out of him, limbs pinned, pain flaring from bites and blunt hits as they tried to tear into him like animals.
Then—
something snapped.
A pulse.
Light burst from him in a sharp surge, blue-white and violent, expanding outward from his body. The force didn't just push—it threw them.
Every person on top of him was ripped off and hurled upward, bodies slamming into the ceiling with a heavy crack before dropping across the seats and floor in a tangle of limbs.
The bus fell into a brief, stunned silence.
Henry pushed himself up from the floor, breathing harder now, wiping at his neck and arm where blood and saliva mixed.
"Fuck… fuck," he muttered, looking down at himself with visible disgust. "I've got saliva all over me… that's—no, that's just gross."
When Henry looked forward again, the demon was already at the driver's seat, leaning in close and saying something too quiet to hear. The driver's hands tightened on the wheel, shoulders locking up like he'd just lost control of himself.
The demon glanced back, gave Henry a quick, casual wave, and disappeared.
Henry's grip tightened on the seat in front of him. "Don't—"
The bus jerked hard to the left.
The steering wheel was pulled too far, too fast. The tires lost grip, the rear fishtailed, and the whole vehicle tipped under its own momentum.
Henry braced, but the force still threw him sideways into the seats as the bus rolled. Metal scraped violently across the road, windows shattered, and people were flung across the interior, slamming into poles and each other.
The bus hit the ground on its side and slid.
Then stopped.
For a second, there was nothing but ringing silence.
Then came the smell of fuel.
A line had ruptured during the crash, and it didn't take long for something to spark. Flames started low, near the engine side, then spread fast along exposed wiring and fabric. Smoke filled the inside, thick and hot, making it harder to see and breathe.
Outside, a car braked hard nearby. Someone got out, already dialing emergency services, shouting into the phone.
Inside the bus, a section of the upper frame started to give way.
Metal bent with a sharp crack as the frame finally gave way, and Henry forced himself through the opening. He dropped out onto the road, but his clothes had already caught fire, flames running up his sleeve and along his shoulder.
"Shit—"
He hit the ground immediately, rolling and pressing his arm down hard, using his jacket to smother the flames. He kept at it until the fire died out, leaving only scorched fabric and heat clinging to his skin.
He stayed there for a second, breathing through it.
The heat from the wreck was still intense, the burning bus behind him crackling as flames spread further along the side.
Henry pushed himself up slowly, his body protesting from the impact. He had poured everything into defense at the last second—without that, the roll and the crush would have flattened him inside that bus.
A man nearby stood frozen, phone still in his hand, staring at Henry like he wasn't supposed to be standing.
"You… you just came out of that," the man said, voice unsteady.
Henry glanced at him briefly, then back at the burning bus, assessing it for a second before turning away.
He stepped closer to the man.
"You wouldn't mind pointing me toward Lincoln?" he asked, like the burning wreck behind him didn't matter.
The man hesitated, still staring, then pointed down the road. "That way… straight road, you'll hit it."
Henry gave a short nod. "Thanks."
***
By the time night settled—
Dean, Sam, and Bobby were parked outside a local bar, the Impala sitting just across the street. The place wasn't special, just another stop on the map, but it matched the pattern they'd been tracking.
Dean leaned back slightly in his seat, watching the entrance. "That's the guy," he said, nodding toward the man inside through the window. "Same one from the footage."
Sam followed his line of sight, focused. "Yeah. He hasn't moved much. Just sitting, talking to people."
Bobby shifted in the back. "Then we don't wait too long," he said. "We go in, keep it clean, figure out what he is before this turns into another mess."
Dean didn't answer right away.
He sniffed the air slightly, brow tightening.
"Hey… you smell that?" he asked, glancing sideways.
Sam frowned. "Smell what?"
Dean leaned forward a little, eyes narrowing. "Something burning," he said. "Like… not from here."
A sharp tap hit the window.
Dean flinched, instinct kicking in as he pulled his gun and turned—
Henry stood outside.
Dean blinked once, then lowered the gun slightly, still staring. The smell hit stronger now, burnt fabric, faint smoke.
He rolled the window down halfway. "What the hell," Dean said, looking him over. "You stay in the sun too long or something?"
Henry let out a short laugh, brushing ash off his sleeve. "Yeah, hilarious," he said, tone dry. "Bus crash. Long story."
Sam leaned forward from the passenger seat, eyes scanning him quickly. "You alright?"
"I'm standing," Henry replied, like that answered it.
*****
🔥 For Advanced Chapters Join My Patreon 🔥
👉 patreon.com/DeathNote4455
🚀 Get early access to 24 Advanced chapters.