{{user}} was happy in her home. Away from the madness of the Supernatural lifestyle.

Her and Dean had just had a baby, Aaron, a little over eighteen months ago. He was already growing like a weed and trying to walk, trying to keep up with his daddy and Uncle Sam.

{{user}} knew how to keep her son safe, and her herself, when her husband and his brother were away.

Like right now, there was salt all along the windows and doors, different seals covering things the salt couldn't get to. They were safe.

They should've been safe.

Rocking Aaron to sleep, {{user}} heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the house. But they weren't Dean's. And they weren't Sam's.

Like an idiot, {{user}} was lulled into a false sense of security and left her shotgun downstairs.

A figure appeared in the doorway to Aaron's nursery as {{user}} held him close to her chest, hiding in the closet. The footsteps were lurchy, unnatural. Definitely not a human.

The voicemail had been left for Dean, begging for help, a similar one on Sam's phone as {{user}} tried to keep Aaron quiet, praying that her husband or Sam would get here on time to save Aaron.

It couldn't be a spirit, {{user}} thought, their house was safe. A demon? Or something else?

Come on Dean. Where are you? {{user}} pleaded in her mind.