Sam groaned. His head was hanging off the edge of the motel bed, the rest of his gangly body dangling off the other side. He groaned. Dean had gone off on his own hunt and had left Sam alone. But this frickin' motel didn't have bloody wifi. So his computer was useless. He'd packed all of their stuff, repacked it, actually folded the clothes, cleared up the room, he'd tried ringing Dean but his phone was off.
With a sigh, Sam pulled himself up and slumped forward. There was a sudden clap of wings and Sam stood up, whirling around. Castiel was standing there, his trench coat was in shreds, and tears had made a line through the grime and soot on his face. "Sam." His voice cracked. Sam vaulted the bed, to catch the angel before he hit the floor. Cas lifted a hand and touched Sam's shoulder, less than an eye blink later; they were in the same positions but in a dark clearing.
"Dean!?" Sam gently set the angel down and stood up. "DEAN!" then he saw the Impala.
It stood in the middle of the clearing. The passenger seat window was smashed, glass sprayed out on the seat. But the driver's seat…
Dean was sprawled across the seat and window, one arm on the wheel and the other behind the head-rest. His legs were going onto the passenger seat, his trousers ripped from the glass.
Judging by the agonized look on his contorted face, he'd spent his last seconds dragging himself away from his attacker.
The hunter had become the hunted…