On the other side of the makeshift barrier, the room has gone far too quiet.

Two of the demons, the ones whose spell is pinning Dean to the wall, are studying him with a kind of detached curiosity in the brief lull. A third is sprawled against the far wall, muttering over its injured leg; the bleeding stops and the bullet hole in the scaly flesh starts to visibly knit itself back together.

Two more are slowly, silently, advancing on the overturned table.