"I hear whisperering sometimes." He admitted, thankful Dean knew these things. "A voice saying something is coming... Most of it I can't understand... But I can pick out some words." He swallowed hard. "Like... Fire."
John nodded slowly. He took a deep breath and grabbed his bag, digging through it before pulling out a newer journal. He flipped it open to a page of names. "Do any of these, aside from your own name, look familiar? Deja vu, or names you've heard in dreams or those whispers?" He asked, passing it over.
"Alright. How about shotguns? I can teach you boys how to make salt rounds - they won't do much, but they'll keep him back until you can get away. And I'll show you a more elaborate devil's trap - one that might just keep him still."
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