She's curled up in bed, the familiar glow of her laptop casting blue shadows across her face. On screen, the Winchesters are arguing about a case—Dean's voice rough, Sam's measured. Comfort noise.

Thunder rolls overhead, deep and guttural. The power flickers once. Twice.

Y/n's eyelids grow heavy. The storm sounds like it's getting closer, wrapping around the house like a living thing. Her breathing slows.

Then—

A blinding flash. A crack so loud it feels like the world is splitting open.

Nothing.

Thud.

Thud.

Y/n registers the sound before anything else. A dull, rhythmic pulse against her cheek. Gravel. She's lying on gravel.

The sky is wrong. Too blue. Too bright. The air smells like pine and damp earth and something metallic.

The sound of an engine. Brakes squealing. A door slamming.

Footsteps. Two sets. Heavy. Boots.

A shadow falls over her.