Dean couldn't say what had woken him. One minute he'd been sleeping soundly, the next he was wide awake with all of his senses on red alert. Opening his eyes, he lay still, searching the darkness of Bobby's library for some sign of what had pulled him from his sleep. He sincerely hoped it wasn't Castiel again. He'd had enough of the angel in the past week to last him a lifetime.
A floorboard creaked softly from the direction of the kitchen. In less than a second, Dean flipped over and rolled to his feet, palming a sawed-off shotgun on his way up. Keeping to the shadows, he moved through the house. He swept through and cleared each room on the ground floor but came up empty. Sighing, he tossed his wariness up to nerves and started back towards the library only to stop short when he saw a figure at the bottom of the stairs.
Dressed in a dark hoodie and baggy jeans, the intruder stood with one booted foot planted on the bottom-most stair and one hand on the newel post. Dean ground his teeth and crept forward then rammed the double barrel of the shotgun into the prowler's back.
"Don't move, asshole," he growled seconds before an arm swung out and knocked the gun from his hands. It was followed by a round house kick that sent him skidding across the floor on his ass. His opponent advanced on him quickly, forcing Dean to block several jabs and another kick. The guy was pretty good, he'd give him that, but Dean knew he was better. He ducked another series of blows, landing a couple of his own before raising his right leg and delivering a solid front snap to the intruder's abdomen. Dean watched in satisfaction as the guy went down on one knee, holding a hand to his middle and breathing hard.
Smirking, Dean reached for the hood of the guy's sweatshirt. His hand never reached its target. With a sweep of one long leg, the prowler took his feet out from under him. The sound of the shotgun being cocked echoed loudly in the stillness of the house and Dean froze. Lying on his back in the middle of the foyer floor, he raised his palms in a show of surrender. A light came on upstairs drawing his attacker's attention and Dean gave the guy's thigh a hard kick. The idea had been to put the bastard on his ass but somehow he managed to land on Dean instead. The jarring impact of another body slamming into his wasn't quite as surprising as the breast that was suddenly filling his palm.
"Shit," the intruder muttered as she tried to get to her feet. Dean's free hand shot out and grabbed her hip. They grappled for a few seconds, twisting and rolling but Dean's superior strength won out. She ended up flat on her back and out of breath. Dean used his body weight to pin her to the floor and held her wrists above her head, the shotgun forgotten.
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.
She bucked against him and hissed, "Let me go."
"Not a chance, sweetheart," he whispered.
Heavy, hurried footfalls on the stairs cut off whatever she would have said. A heartbeat later, light flooded the room and Dean got his first glimpse of the woman who was lying beneath him. Her face was mostly obscured by her hair and the hoodie but what from what he could see of her, he'd wager she wasn't more than seventeen or eighteen. Kinda pretty, Dean acknowledged, but he preferred 'em a little older. Jailbait really wasn't his type.
"Dean?" Bobby asked from above them, shotgun of his own in hand. "What the hell is going on?"
Dean didn't get a chance to answer. The girl used his distraction to her advantage and wiggled out from beneath him. When she was back on her feet, she pushed back her hood and smiled.
"Charlie?" Bobby lowered his gun and blinked.
Shoving her hair out of her face, she said, "Hi, Dad."