As sheets of rain pour down on them, the brothers run the twenty-foot distance to the second rusted door of the motel. Dean unlocks it and they rush inside, shaking the water out of their hair and shivering from the cold.
"Now I want you to stay here; I'll go get some food."
Dean looks over at his brother as he flips the light switch, pretending not to notice what he sees as he does so.
Sam's face, caught in between facial expressions.
Without another word—of course he'll obey—Dean pulls his leather jacket tighter to his chest and flings open the door. He is gone in seconds.
Sam goes to sit on the farthest bed, knowing Dean will want to take the one closest to the door. He tries the TV, but it doesn't turn on. He is already bored. A loud rumble of thunder breaks the steadiness of the pattering rain as he stands up to grab his laptop.
The rain has ceased. Fifteen minutes have passed and Sam is just checking his watch when he hears a scratching at the door. He carefully goes to look for the peep hole.
No one is there.
Sam turns away, realizing that he must have been hearing the wind, when a soft knocking causes him to swing around suddenly. More scratches. Soft moaning.
Sam swiftly reaches behind him, grabbing the gun he keeps in his waistband. He takes a step forward as a loud click resounds.
The door handle is turning slowly. Then the door is slowly swinging open. A figure steps through the frame.
Sam is ready.
But it's just Dean, a grin on his face, back from his food pick-up. He frowns when he sees his brother aiming a gun at him, then begins to chuckle.
"Were you gonna shoot me, Sammy?"
"No, I heard someone at the door."
"Did I scare ya?"
Dean is laughing harder as Sam comes to a realization.
"That was you?"
"Yup. Hope you didn't wet your pants."
"Dean, that's not funny! I could have shot you."
Dean considers this for a moment.
"Doubt it. Now quit being such a girl and let's eat. I'm starving."