You sat in a booth at the back of a rundown diner, eyes scanning the headlines for anything that might be supernatural. Across from you, Dean was doing the same, flipping through a stack of local newspapers.

"Anything yet?" Dean asked, not looking up from his paper.

"Just the usual," You sighed, flipping through the pages. "Missing pets, unexplained power outages."

Dean grunted. "Figures. This town's too quiet, though. There has to be something here."

The door to the diner jingled as another customer entered, the bell sounding unusually loud in the quiet space. You glanced up, your hunter instincts on high alert — but the newcomer was just an ordinary man, who sat at the counter and ordered a coffee.

But something felt wrong.

You looked back down at your newspaper, and all was quiet for a few more moments until the lights in the diner flickered, casting eerie shadows across the walls. Dean tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for the gun under his jacket. You reached for your own weapon, eyes scanning the room.

"Did you feel that?" Dean murmured.

You nodded, eyes narrowed. "Something's off."

The temperature in the diner suddenly dropped, your breath visible in the chilled air. The other customers didn't notice, continuing their meals and conversations as if nothing had changed. Dean's eyes darted to the clock on the wall; it had stopped ticking.

Demons.

"We need to git," Dean grumbled, flipping his newspaper shut, standing up, with you following suit. "Need to leave before trouble comes."

But before you could leave, the diner door slammed shut, the bell jangling wildly. The windows fogged up, frost creeping across the glass. The other customers went silent, their heads turning slowly to look at you and Dean with unblinking eyes.

"Never mind," Dean grumbled, his gaze jumping from the frozen clock to the frosty windows before landing on the scary-as-fuck looking customers staring you and Dean down. "Trouble's already here."