"Dean! There's something outside!"
Dean dropped the can he'd been opening on to the table and grabbed the shotgun that was sitting on the chair. He ran into the living room, making sure to keep low to avoid being seen, and ducked down with Sam beside the window. Sam's eyes were wide and scared as he looked at Dean.
"Dad?" Dean asked.
Sam wordlessly shook his head. "They were scary." He inched closer to Dean. "I don't want to see a ghost, I don't want to burn like Mommy!"
"The salt lines are in place?" Dean asked intensely.
"Yes," Sam replied, his voice wobbling.
"Then we'll be okay. Nothing's going to get in. Nothing's ever gotten in and it's been a long time." Dean put as much certainty as he could into his voice, but it still wavered on the last words. "Dad will be home soon, and he'll kill them, whatever they are. Nothing can hurt us here."
"Can you hear that?" Sam whispered.
Dean nodded and put a finger to his lips. There were voices outside the cabin. Whatever they were, they talked. Dean clicked the safety off the shotgun and tried to still the trembling in his hands. This had never happened before. His dad had drilled him on what to do, but he had never seen a ghost or anything supernatural in all his twelve years. He hadn't even seen their mother pinned to the ceiling, Dad had just handed Sammy to him and told him to run.
Sometimes he wondered whether his dad had imagined the whole thing. He remembered small bits and pieces from his first four years, and none of that contained ghosts or demons or guns or salt.
There was a loud banging and more voices, causing both boys to jump.
"The front door," Dean whispered. "They can't get in. There's salt."
They heard the unmistakeable sound of the front door opening.
Dean's eyes widened with fear as Sam shifted closer still to him, whimpering. Dean raised the shotgun, holding it pointed at the door to the room. His teeth chattered as they waited and his hands grew slick on the gun.
There were footsteps – maybe werewolves or vampires? He had silver rounds; Dad said that it would take care of either of those. Salt and silver took care of virtually anything, not that they'd ever really had to put it to the test.
There was movement at the doorway and Dean fired.
There was noise, heat and being thrown back against the wall by the recoil because Dean had forgotten everything that his dad had taught him; a shout of "gun" and pain across his chest and wet heat sliding down him as he couldn't breathe and Dean realised as one spoke, but it was too late.
"Oh, God! It's just a kid."
Sam looked from the giant thing that had spoken, to another which was leaning against the wall holding its arm, to his brother who was slumped against the wall and staring blankly in front of him, his t-shirt red. "Dean." He shook Dean hard as the things got closer to them and Dean fell over sideways, now staring at a wall. "Dean. Dean!" The things were pulling him away from his brother. He kicked and screamed as they babbled nonsense at him. "I don't want to die! I don't want them to suck my blood out! Daddy!"
One of the things put its hand on Dean's neck and Sam struggled harder. "No, don't touch him! Get away from him!"
The thing shook its head as Sam was pulled from the room. "Dean!"
Sam concentrated on the coin, spinning it in place just beside his hand. He didn't have to see it to make it spin now. Sam had learned a lot from Max, particularly seeing how Max had thrust the knife through his stepmother's head. He had such control over his gift. Sam could only hope that he'd develop that sort of precision.
The man who killed Sam's father and brother walked out of the store and started down the street. Sam turned away from the window and started following him.
The coin stopped in mid spin, hovering in place, before dropping gently into Sam's hand.
They'd never know what hit them.