It's quiet.

Too --

Dean shuts that thought off, keeping himself busy by twirling a knife in one hand.

It's better than pacing. Better pretty much because it keeps Bobby from giving him too much of a stinkeye, but still. Dean'll take it.

He'll also take skipping the heart attack he almost gets from the sudden -- and pretty goddamn loud -- clattering of the roof shingles.

The fact that the lights pretty much start exploding after that doesn't do him any favors, either.

"Yeah, that definitely ain't just the wind."

Now if he could just fucking see whatever's coming through the door --