Supernatural + ST · Y/n story by @nataliesilva

The world snaps back into focus with a sound like a thunderclap and a jolt that rattles your teeth. The air is cold, damp, and smells of pine and wet earth. It’s twilight, the sky a bruised purple through the thick canopy of trees.

Dean Winchester

Son of a bitch.

Brooke, the youngest, is sitting up slowly, her eyes wide. She’s clutching her elbow but doesn’t cry.

Sam Winchester

Everyone okay? Brooke? Y/n?

Before anyone can answer, a new sound cuts through the ringing in your ears. Music. Laughter. The muffled, overlapping voices of a crowd. It’s coming from a single-story cabin about fifty yards away, its windows glowing a warm, inviting yellow against the deepening gloom of the woods.

Dean Winchester

squints at the cabin Where the hell are we?

Bobby Singer

staggers to his feet, brushing dirt off his coat Not Kansas, that’s for damn sure. Smells like Indiana. Feels like trouble.

The cabin’s front door swings open, spilling a rectangle of light and a burst of louder music into the clearing. A silhouette appears in the doorway, backlit and unclear.

???

Hey! You guys okay out there? Sounded like a tree came down!