Dean glanced at the girl and then back to the jukebox, a half-eaten sandwich in his hands as he contemplated life, teenagers (because this whole thing did have a sort of prom kind of vibe, complete with cutthroats), and the awful twang of something that almost sounded like English coming over the wires.

"You know, however, much I'm not a fan of whatever it is that's playing, I don't think that Jukebox deserves a death glare." He paused. "Although I have to admit, I think you've got one heck of a death glare going on there."