The knocking started again.

Dean was working on pure instincts.

He had to protect Sammy! Nothing else mattered right now.

His arm felt strangely disconnected from the rest of his body as shaking fingers searched for a weapon.

His finger tips brushed over cool metal. He couldn't remember leaving the gun on the nightstand.

The weapon felt unbelievably heavy and his hand shook violently while he aimed it more or less in the direction of the door.

This would be easier when the fucking room would just stop spinning.

He heard a voice shout something but the words that filtered through the worn wood of the door were muffled and barely audible.

The click of the picked lock was loud in the quiet room.

Dean aimed the gun a bit straighter, willed his bleary eyes to focus.

Where the hell was dad? And what happened anyway?

TBC