As the door tapped shut Dean bolted upright in bed, Bowie knife in hand. Subconsciously he knew someone had been there in the room moments before. His eyes darted from left to right.
It could have been Sam, but he doubted Sam would have let him continue sleeping peacefully. He probably would have woken to find his face covered in shaving cream or the like. With no obvious prank evidence he ruled out his brother.
No one was attempting to attack him yet, and the closet, still open after the last event, didn't seem to be exhuming horrible things. Satisfied that he was safe for the moment he put the knife back under the pillow. He then levered himself out of bed and ran a hand in his hair.
Someone had been in the room, he thought, still alert though the edge of the adrenaline was faiding. Wobbling on legs that hadn't yet accustomed themselves to verticality he stumbled to the door and threw it open, poking his head into the hall. Spotting Coraline he hollered after her.
"Hey!..." it was too early and his brain was losing steam like a punctured beachball. "You...." he finished lamely, pointing a limp and accusing finger after her.
Dean sounded sleepy-angry, which made her shoulders jump a little as she paused mid-step, glancing behind her sheepishly. She'd have to put him on the grouchy-woken-person list, for future references..
But for now, the best alternative seemed to be dashing down the hallway, her boots squeaking on tile with ever step, skidding slightly as she nearly over-ran the staircases.
"Sorry!" She piped over her shoulder, along with a frantic friendly wave in hopes of reconciliation later, after Dean had his two mugs of coffee or something.
Most grouchy-morning adults needed something like that.
It could have been Sam, but he doubted Sam would have let him continue sleeping peacefully. He probably would have woken to find his face covered in shaving cream or the like. With no obvious prank evidence he ruled out his brother.
No one was attempting to attack him yet, and the closet, still open after the last event, didn't seem to be exhuming horrible things. Satisfied that he was safe for the moment he put the knife back under the pillow. He then levered himself out of bed and ran a hand in his hair.
Someone had been in the room, he thought, still alert though the edge of the adrenaline was faiding. Wobbling on legs that hadn't yet accustomed themselves to verticality he stumbled to the door and threw it open, poking his head into the hall. Spotting Coraline he hollered after her.
"Hey!..." it was too early and his brain was losing steam like a punctured beachball. "You...." he finished lamely, pointing a limp and accusing finger after her.
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But for now, the best alternative seemed to be dashing down the hallway, her boots squeaking on tile with ever step, skidding slightly as she nearly over-ran the staircases.
"Sorry!" She piped over her shoulder, along with a frantic friendly wave in hopes of reconciliation later, after Dean had his two mugs of coffee or something.
Most grouchy-morning adults needed something like that.
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