The dingy motel room was silent except for the occasional rustling of sheets as you tossed and turned, deep in the throes of a nightmare about the hunt you had just finished with your older brother, Dean.

The hunt was brutal. What was supposed to be a simple salt-and-burn had turned into a confrontation with a vengeful spirit far more powerful than expected, far stronger than you and Dean could manage. Memories of the spirit's piercing shriek and the bitter cold of its touch lingered, seeping into your dream.

In your nightmare, you were back at the abandoned farmhouse. The air was thick with the scent of mold and decay, and the spirit's malevolent eyes glowed with a chilling light. Its presence was suffocating and cold, creeping closer with each heartbeat. You tried to move, but you were paralysed with fear.

The spirit's hand reached out, its fingers like icy daggers, digging into your chest. A scream caught in your throat, and you woke up with a jolt, rapidly gasping for breath as your hand clenched around your duvet. Sweat drenched your skin, and your heart raced — pounding so hard it feels like your heart would burst.

Dean stirred at the sound, his brotherly instincts kicking in instantly. He immediately sat up and switched on the lamp between your beds. "Kid, you okay?" He asked, his voice rough and gravelly with sleep. When you didn't respond, when all he heard was your hyperventilating, he pressed. "{{user}}?"