Hounds. Everywhere. There's no stopping them, either.
No matter how fast a human being can run - how fast Dean Winchester can run - he's sure that he'll never outrun them. They're just too fast. That doesn't stop him from trying. He nearly trips over his feet trying to get away from gnashing teeth and groping claws. Over the bed he goes and out the door. The Impala sits in waiting, a home to crawl safely into and avoid them. She'll save me, he thinks, before he realizes that he doesn't have the keys.
It's a mad dash through the parking lot, Dean's mind flitting as he sprints to his brother, probably still asleep in bed. He's got his mind set on worrying for about half a second before he realizes that there's no way Sam is going to get hurt by the ravenous dogs. They aren't here for him, but they'll get what they came for if he doesn't hurry the hell up and run. Dean's running and he's running but nothing is getting any closer - except those hounds.
He panics, unable to get any faster, only growing more tired. The muscles in his legs can't carry him any faster, the adrenaline pumping so thickly through his body going into an overload he can't control as he feels shock creep up his body. He's not going to make it out of this one. Not unless some miracle happens and takes him out of the park he's run to, the dark trees casting their shadows and making it nearly impossible for him to see the dogs anymore.
They come from behind. Silent as the night, suddenly, and he can't even defend himself from the claws or run away. They're grabbing and they're slashing and the pain feels like nothing he's ever felt before. No gunshot, no head wound, nothing has ever felt so terrible. Dean cries out in agony as he's slammed to the floor, then nothing. There is nothing. He is nothing.
