It creeps smoothly, silently, surreptitiously forward. A tasty something is snooping in.
The clank of metal! Its toothy mouth curves into a grin.
"Hey, Sam, what's that on your back?"
The grin spreads wider; two are even better for a scrumptious snack.
"Ow! Dammit, Dean!"
"Dude. Spider."
It freezes in place, not believing its ears.
Sam? Dean? Can those be what it hears?
The shaggy horror is towering tall. His chunky friend holds a gun near the wall.
With nary a sound, it turns and clears out. You don't stay, you run with Winchesters about...
It's just what you do.
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