NOW: Shadow of a man running in the night. The slow pan upward reveals our frightened victim to be none other than Dean Winchester. He’s huffing and puffing, and streaking as if his life depends on it. He turns his head, and nothing is there but the sounds of hellhounds on his tail. 

He looks back, runs faster, the music of tension rises as he turns the corner, and he runs into a pile of garbage. He warns the vagabond nearby, “Run, he’ll kill you!”  The man looks down and the camera follows his gaze downward to: A Yorkie? With an aborable pink bow? Dean’s eyes widen in terror and he runs again, screaming off camera while the little critter scatters across the wide shot in pursuit.