Both Dean and Auggie's heads snapped up at the noise. "Was that a gunshot?" Auggie asked.

He heard the sound of something getting knocked over, and Dean grunting as he pushed open the bathroom door. "Sammy?" he called. Auggie heard hard thumps as the hunter ran through his apartment.

"Oh, hell," Auggie muttered, moving carefully out of the bathroom after Dean. Each step was slow and cautious - he had no idea what state his apartment was in, but it sure wasn't as neat and tidy as it usually was. "Dean? What happened?"

There was no answer but his apartment door sliding open and then slamming shut. Auggie froze. "Oh, come on," he muttered, frustrated. "Damn brothers."

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was panicked. He ran down the hall to Windor's apartment. The door was already open. He flew through it and barreled into the old man without a second thought. He barely had time for his eyes to widen before Dean was on top of him, ripping the shotgun out of his hands. Dean grasped it in both hands and whacked it over the top of Windor's head. The man crumpled almost immediately.

Dean scrambled over the old man's body to his brother's, lying nearby. Sam was on his back, his eyes scrunched shut in pain. "Sam? Sam, you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," his little brother breathed, making him sigh in relief. "Damn, rock salt hurts."

Now that he knew Sam was fine, Dean could relax. "Hurts like a bitch, don't it? And I don't feel sorry for you at all." He raised an eyebrow.

It took Sam a few moments. "Oh, come on, Dean! I was possessed when I shot you! It was that crazy doctor in my head!"

"Uh-huh. Still hurt." He got to his feet and pulled Sam up with him, putting an arm around him when he swayed. "You good?"

"Yeah," Sam muttered. He glanced down at Bob Windor. "Oh, no. Dean—you're such an idiot."

Dean threw his brother an indignant glare. He had just run into this apartment to help his little brother, had knocked out the guy who had attacked him, and he was an idiot? Sam crossed his arms and glared right back. "How are we supposed to interrogate an unconscious man? Now we have no idea where the little girl's hair is."

"Well, I'm sorry for saving your life, Sam," Dean replied sourly. "What the hell else was I supposed to do?" He turned quickly, tempted to slam his hand into the wall. He restrained himself—barely. "We have a little over an hour. We turn the guy's apartment inside out." He glanced down at Windor. "Don't think he'll mind. It's already a dump."

A loud thump made them both look up. Auggie was bent over in the doorway, a look of pain on his face. "I think I broke a toe. What the hell did I just run into?"

"Uh... You really don't wanna know," Dean muttered. Windor was going to have one bitch of a headache when he woke up. At least Auggie hadn't been wearing shoes when he kicked the man in the head.

The blind man leaned against the doorway, unfocused eyes narrowed. "So, anyone going to let me know what happened?"

Half an hour later, Windor's apartment had been nearly torn apart from top to bottom. Auggie sat at the man's desk, feeling through his piles of papers and setting aside any envelopes he found. Sam and Dean alternated between searching every inch of the rooms and tearing open the envelopes. "Maybe it was a lie," Dean said finally, the frustration evident in his voice. "Maybe he just said that to get you into the apartment alone."

Sam's voice replied from somewhere to Auggie's left. "You better hope it wasn't. Otherwise we have no idea what's holding Sherry here. And we only have forty minutes left."

Auggie put another envelope on the pile and sighed. "I guess I could probably call up Annie, then. Might be a good time to split the scene." This was no longer an issue of pride. He had finally figured out that things were getting dangerous.

A few moments of silence. Auggie tilted his head, guessing that the brothers were exchanging glances. "Well, you could try," Sam said doubtfully. "But at this stage in the game, I'm guessing she's not going to let anyone leave."

"I've been kinda waiting for the doors to slam shut any minute now," Dean agreed. "After all, I'm guessing she spent just as much time in this apartment as she did in her own, since this was her grandpa's place. Might as well make our stand in here."

"We left the bag in Auggie's room, Dean. I'll go grab it."

Auggie guessed that he wasn't the only one who jumped at the sudden bang. He raised an eyebrow. "Well. I think she can hear us."

"Damn it!" Dean swore. There were some rattling sounds that were easy enough to identify—Dean trying to open the door. "Yeah, she heard us, all right. At least we still got the shotgun. Any salt in the kitchen, Sammy?"

Sam's voice came from further away now. "Yeah, some. But no iron that I can see. We gotta find some way for Auggie to protect himself. He's the one in the most danger."

Auggie sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was starting to actually miss his desk back in Tech Ops. If I get out of this alive, he told himself, I'm not going to beg Joan for a field assignment for at least a week.

"Ah, here we go." Something long and heavy was pressed into Auggie's hands. He ran his fingers over it curiously. "A skillet?"

"It's made out of iron. It'll repel Sherry if she tries to..." Dean trailed off.

Auggie decided not to ask. He just nodded and gripped the handle of the skillet firmly. He felt a little ridiculous.

There was a groan from the coach. Sam and Dean went quiet, and Auggie could clearly hear the sounds of someone sitting up. "What the hell happened?" mumbled Windor. "Auggie? What are you doing here?"

"He's saving your ass, that's what he's doing," Dean snapped.

"Dean..."

"Look, I know that she's your granddaughter. And I'm sorry. But she is trying to kill people, and we are not going to let that happen. So you either help us stop your granddaughter from suffering anymore, or you don't and we lock you in the closet until this is over." The hunter's voice was cold and firm. Auggie got the sense that he had absolutely no tolerance for people who got in his way.

Sam spoke now, his voice gentler than his brothers. "Sherry is suffering, Mr. Windor. We're trying to help her."

There was a moment of silence. Then Bob spoke again, his voice thick with tears. "Are they telling the truth, Auggie?"

Auggie sighed deeply, facing toward Windor's voice and wishing he could meet the man's eyes. "They are. I swear. Trust the Winchesters. They know what they're doing."

Bob sniffed. "Okay. I'll help. What do we have to do?"

"We need that lock of hair," Dean said immediately. "Where is it?"

"It's in my safe." Auggie heard the man moving around, back toward his bedroom. Dean followed—he could tell by the tread of his footsteps. Sam was taller than his brother, and just a little louder when he moved.

It was only a few seconds later that Auggie felt the drop in temperature. "Oh, hell," Sam muttered. "Dean? Would you hurry up?"

The response was a loud crash. Auggie jumped up, knocking over the chair, the skillet held in his hands. "Sam? What happened?" he shouted.

"Dean!" Auggie heard steps running away, toward the bedroom. He swore loudly and followed, one hand on the wall and the other wrapped around the pan's handle in a death grip. A moment later, something pushed him. He felt a pressure on his chest, almost like a small girl's hand, but it wasn't just a little push. He flew backward, into the wall. Auggie's head cracked against it and he slid down with a moan.

An icy hand slid around his throat, and cold fingers tightened their grip.