"Lucy, look at me."
She did.
"You're underground. You're safe."
Martha glanced at him.
Dean wasn't pretending the storm wasn't dangerous.
He simply refused to let fear control the people around him.
That mattered.
For the next twenty minutes, they waited.
Then came the sound Martha feared most.
A deep metallic crash.
The basement door slammed.
Everyone froze.
Dean moved immediately.
Three riders joined him.
The wind was trying to pull the door open.
They pushed against it.
Martha grabbed another support beam.
"Hold it!"
"We've got it!" Dean shouted.
The door shook violently.
Then, just as suddenly, the pressure changed.
The wind moved away.
The basement fell quiet.
Nobody spoke.
Martha listened.
She waited.
One minute.
Two.
Three.
Finally, she whispered:
"Don't move yet."
Dean looked at her.
"Why?"
"Because sometimes the worst mistake you can make is believing the first silence."
They waited another fifteen minutes.
Only then did Martha allow Dean to open the basement door.
It wouldn't move.
Dean pushed.
Nothing.
He looked at Martha.
"Something's blocking it."
"Then we'll clear it."
"You stay here."
Martha gave him a look.
"That's my house."
Dean nodded.
"Fair enough."
Four riders climbed the stairs.
They pushed together.
Wood scraped against concrete.
The door moved an inch.
Then another.
Rain poured through the opening.
Martha's porch railing had been thrown against the stairs.