An alarm sounded. Exchanging glances, they raced for the nearest exit only to find egress blocked by stacked oil drums. Strong arms made short work of hurling the obstacles aside until a destabilized tower toppled, nearly crushing them. Then they were outside, sprinting briskly down the alley. The first gate was barely a hurdle, each brother in turn vaulting over with a single bound, but the next was too high. A wrong turn down a side-passage found them at a dead end. Dean spotted the fire-escape, which Sam quickly pulled down so they could scale the wall. He took the lead over the rooftops, long legs easily propelling him across the gaps. Their descent was managed with a swing from a flagpole into a neighbouring swimming pool.
"We should get medals," Dean declared when they arrived back at the car, breathless and sweating. "Hunting's a freakin' Olympic sport!"
"I get the gold," he added as he climbed behind the wheel.
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