Archive of Our Own

Jody was in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher, when she heard the low growl of a car approaching. She stood up quickly and peered out of the window to see the Winchesters’ Impala turn into the driveway. The first sign that something was wrong was the way the car weaved as it made its way towards the house, coming to a stop just short of running into Jody's truck, which was parked outside. After a few moments, the driver's side door swung open and Dean half climbed, half fell out of the car, rolling to land flat on his back on the ground. There was no sign of Sam.

Jody hurried to the front door and flung herself out of the house to Dean's side. She cradled his head in her lap, trying to assess his condition. He seemed barely conscious, his arms flailing as he tried to gain his bearings. His jacket and jeans were covered in blood.

“Dean, can you hear me?”

A muffled groan was the only response.

“Okay,” Jody said, “you’re going to have to give me something here. I can’t leave you just lying out here on the driveway, and you’re too heavy for me to carry on my own.”

Jody managed to hoist Dean to his feet, with a certain amount of co-ordinated input from him. She half-dragged him into the house and got him into one of the spare bedrooms before her legs gave out. He landed on the bed, still not having said anything coherent, and Jody hefted him into the most comfortable position she could.

She saw that Dean's right pant leg was ripped, as was the skin beneath it, but most of the blood seemed to be on his jacket and shirt. Gently peeling the sticky material aside, she exposed three long gashes down his left side, which were oozing blood. She retrieved her emergency first aid kit and set to work, doing what she could to dress the wounds. Dean groaned a bit more and his eyes flickered a few times while she worked, but he didn't register her presence or wake up enough to say anything.

“Shh,” Jody murmured reassuringly. “It's okay, you're safe now.”

He settled at the sound of her voice, though her words were more automatic than anything. She was wondering what kind of situation would have resulted in those wounds and brought Dean to her door without Sam. Her mind skittered away from considering what kind of state Sam might be in.

Jody had a certain amount of first aid training and thought she’d done a good enough job to mean it wouldn’t be necessary to take Dean to the hospital. She assumed, based on their previous interactions, that it would be difficult for him to explain how he’d been injured, and that he’d prefer not to have the authorities involved. She gave a snort of amusement at that thought, since technically she was the authorities, but even her status as sheriff wouldn’t prevent awkward questions from any doctor who got a look at Dean at the moment. He was pale and still unconscious, but not pale enough that she was overly concerned about the amount of blood loss. So, she decided to take the risk of keeping him at the house for the time being.

Once she’d done all she could, Jody tried calling Sam. She held her breath as it rang and, even though she hadn't been expecting anything else, her heart sank when his voicemail kicked in.

“Sam, it's Jody,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “Dean's at my house and he's hurt. Call me to let me know you're okay and where you are. If you can't get here yourself, I can come pick you up. Just call, okay?”

She hung her head as she replaced the receiver, mind cycling through possibilities. There was no way Dean would have left Sam behind, unless... She refused to finish that thought, forcing herself to come up with other options. Maybe they’d split up for some reason, perhaps to do separate jobs. And when Dean got hurt, it was closer for him to come to Jody’s than go to wherever Sam was. There could be lots of reasons for Sam not to be with Dean, Jody told herself firmly. She’d just have to wait for Dean to wake up so she could find out.

* * *

Jody settled in a chair in the corner of the spare bedroom to wait. Dean hadn't stirred all evening and, while Jody was still really worried, she couldn't help but think this was probably the longest he'd slept in a while.

It was around 2am, that things started to change. Jody was reading by the light of the bedside lamp on the other side of the room, when she heard the bedclothes rustle. She put her book down and glanced over to see Dean shifting around. When the movements didn't cease, Jody got up and walked over to the bed. At first, she thought maybe Dean was just having a nightmare and she reached out to put a hand on his forehead, hoping to soothe him without waking him up. She was shocked to feel heat radiating from Dean's skin and sweat beading on his forehead. Dean's eyelids flickered and he started muttering. At first, Jody couldn't make out what he was saying, but gradually it became clearer and more insistent. The theme wasn't unexpected.

“Sammy... Sammy? No... Gotta find Sam...”

“It's okay, Dean,” Jody said, smoothing Dean's hair in an attempt to calm him. “You're safe, and we'll find Sam together when you're well.”

Dean's eyes flew open, but they were unfocused. “No!” he cried. “Gotta find Sam!”

He tried to get up and, when Jody restrained him, he started struggling wildly, trying to fight Jody off, obviously thinking that he was under some kind of attack. As she attempted to keep Dean's flailing limbs under control, she knocked into the bedside table, sending the lamp crashing to the floor. The noise of that only made Dean fight harder. Jody held on grimly, taking an elbow to the eye at one point, but determined to prevent Dean from hurting himself further. Eventually, he seemed to exhaust himself and eased back into a restless doze. His temperature was still really high, though, and Jody reached the reluctant conclusion that the situation was now beyond her abilities. Keeping out of the public eye was one thing, but putting Dean’s life in danger was not something she was willing to do. She dialled 911.

As she waited by Dean’s bedside for the ambulance to arrive, Jody noticed a phone lying on the floor. It must have fallen out of Dean’s pocket during the struggle. She picked it up and put it in her pocket to keep it safe.

Dean's fever was still raging when they reached the emergency room, and he was quickly whisked out of sight by the on-duty nurses. Jody was left to wait anxiously for some kind of verdict.

When a doctor did emerge to find her, the news wasn't good.

“Sheriff Mills? I'm Doctor Mainwaring. Are you the one who tended the young man’s wounds earlier?”

Jody nodded.

“Well, I'm sure you would have checked them properly. I assume you know what to look for,” Dr Mainwaring continued. “Which is why I can't understand how they can be infected now. We've cleaned them out thoroughly but the infection is still raging, and we can't seem to bring his temperature down. We've got him sedated and we're monitoring him closely, but if we can't break his fever, he'll be in danger of seizures.” He paused, looking solemnly at Jody. “What can you tell me about what caused those wounds? It could be really important.”

Jody looked at him helplessly, unable to think of what to say.

“I don't know,” she admitted. “He was already hurt when he arrived at my house this afternoon, and wasn't coherent enough to tell me anything about what had happened to him. I examined him, as you know, and didn't think the injuries were any real danger. It was only a couple of hours ago that Dean started exhibiting the fever; he'd been completely quiet until then.”

“Well, we'll continue to run tests and keep medicating him as best we can,” the doctor told her. “I'll make sure you're kept updated, but I'll have to keep Dean in isolation for the time being.”

With that, he left her alone again.

Whatever had attacked Dean must have had some kind of slow-acting poison. But Jody didn’t know how the doctor was going to figure out how to cure it if she couldn't tell him what it was. Then she remembered Dean’s phone and pulled it out of her pocket. She scrolled through the address book and was relieved to find a number labelled ‘Bobby’.

Jody made her way back through the waiting room and out into the darkness of the parking lot.

“-lo? Dean?” Bobby’s voice was thick with sleep when he answered the phone.

“Bobby? It's Jody. I'm sorry to -” she began, but he cut her off.

“If you’re calling me in the middle of the night from Dean’s phone, I’m guessing there’s trouble.” His tone was immediately alert and she knew the exasperation of his words masked his concern.

She poured out the whole tale, careful not to leave out any of the details, in case even the smallest thing might be useful. Bobby listened in silence, occasionally breaking in to ask a question, but mostly just letting her talk. When she was finished, there was a pause and she waited patiently for his response.

After a few moments, Jody heard Bobby blow out a long breath.

“Doesn't make sense...” he murmured, as if to himself.

“What doesn't?”

“Oh, sorry,” Bobby said. “Good news is, I know what attacked Dean and how to neutralise the poison.” Jody let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. “I guess we can deal with the bad news when I get there. I’ve got some preparations to make, but I'll be there as soon as I can.”

“Bobby,” Jody's voice caught on the next few words, but she forced herself to ask them. “Does Dean have that long?”

“Let's hope so,” he replied. “I'll see you soon.”

* * *

By the time Bobby arrived at the hospital, the sun was nearly up and Dean's condition was getting worse. Dr Mainwaring had allowed Jody to come as far as the observation room outside the ICU, where Dean lay. He was surrounded by ice packs, but his fever was still dangerously high and he had suffered two seizures so far. Bobby found Jody standing helplessly outside the room, arms crossed tightly.

Jody turned to greet him. “How do we get the antidote to Dean?” she asked without preamble.

He ignored the lack of pleasantries, as focused as she was on the job in hand.

“I don't know. We need to get him to drink a concoction I’ve prepared, but I don't imagine the doctors will just let us through.”

“Leave that to me,” Jody said, striding away towards the duty station where Dr Mainwaring was studying a chart.

Bobby followed her, puzzled.

“Dr Mainwaring,” Jody called, getting the doctor's attention. “This is Mr Singer, a friend of the family. He has something that he thinks will help Dean.”

Bobby frowned, not sure where Jody was going with this. The direct approach seemed doomed to failure, a feeling that was backed up by Dr Mainwaring's immediate reaction.

“Dean is isolated for a reason, Sheriff,” he said solemnly. “I understand your desperation, but I can't allow anyone to give him anything not prescribed by me.”

“Look, doctor,” Jody continued, her tone stern but reasonable. “Answer me a couple of questions, please. Has anything you've tried improved Dean's condition?”

“Uh, no,” Dr Mainwaring replied, suddenly uncomfortable.

“And do you have any other options left to try?”

“Uh, no,” came the same reply.

“And, is Dean -” Jody faltered slightly on her next question. “- likely to die if you can't bring his temperature down?”

“Uh...” Dr Mainwaring looked at his feet.

“We're not blaming you,” Jody reassured him. “We know you've done everything you can, and we have no complaint against the hospital.”

The doctor brought his head up to meet Jody's level gaze. “Yes, he'll die if his condition doesn't improve soon.”

“So,” Jody concluded, “where's the harm in us trying a different method? We'll sign a waiver if that's what's required – anything you like, to say that the hospital isn't liable.”

“That won't be necessary,” Dr Mainwaring relented. “To be honest, I'm willing to try anything at this point, even a magic spell if I knew one.”

Jody choked at that, managing to disguise it with a cough.

Bobby produced a pouch from inside his jacket. “Do you have some water I can dissolve this in?”

Dr Mainwaring went behind the duty station, to where there was a water cooler, and brought back a plastic cup of water.

“May I ask what's in that?” he queried as Bobby tipped a strange powdery mixture into the water and swilled it around.

Bobby listed a selection of herbs, some of which Jody had heard of, and others she hadn't. Dr Mainwaring listened carefully, nodding a couple of times, but still looking very sceptical.

“Well,” he said, “I don't know what good they'll do, but none of those things are harmful in any way, so I don't object.”

He preceded the others into the isolation room, sending the attendant nurses out.

Then, Jody gently lifted Dean's head, as Bobby brought the cup to his lips and tipped the mixture into his mouth. Dean choked slightly at the unexpected invasion of liquid, but managed to swallow most of it. Jody set his head back down on the pillow, brushing her hand across his still burning forehead.

“Thank you,” she said, directing her words at both Bobby and Dr Mainwaring.

“Now we wait,” Bobby said.

They didn't have to wait long. Dr Mainwaring asked them to step outside the room again and brought the nurses back in to monitor Dean's temperature and keep replacing the ice packs as they gradually melted. Within twenty minutes, though, he emerged from the room, a stunned look on his face.

“His fever's broken,” he said, incredulously, “and his temperature has already dropped several degrees. I don't know how, but whatever you gave him seems to have worked.”

Jody covered her mouth with her hands, tears threatening. As Dr Mainwaring wandered off in amazement, she turned to Bobby.

“What will happen if he tries to mix those herbs together himself?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he replied with a smile. “I neglected to mention the incantation that goes with them.”

Jody swayed, the exhaustion of a nearly sleepless and entirely stressful night suddenly catching up with her. Bobby escorted her back to the waiting room and sat her down, then went to get them both some coffee. A few minutes later, Dr Mainwaring came to find them there.

“He's out of danger,” he told them, smiling with them as they reacted to the news. “He'll likely sleep most of the day, so I suggest the two of you go and get some rest as well. He'll still be here when you come back in a few hours.”

Jody was going to protest, but Bobby overruled her. “I know you want to be here when he wakes up. We both do. But we won’t be any use to him if we're dead on our feet. The doctor's right – we need to get some rest if we're going to be able to deal with the rest of this situation. We can't look for Sam until we find out from Dean what happened, and we won't be able to do anything at all if we don't get some sleep.”

She knew he was right, and allowed him to steer her back outside to where he’d parked his truck.

“Want to come back to my place for the time being?” Jody suggested. “It’s closer.”

Bobby agreed and gratefully accepted the bed in the other spare room when they arrived. Jody called the Sheriff's office to let them know she wouldn’t be in, and then went to bed.

* * *

A few hours later, Jody and Bobby headed back to the hospital in Bobby's truck. As he drove, Bobby told Jody his theory about what had attacked Dean.

“I've heard of that kind of reaction to slash wounds before. It happens when someone who isn't marked is attacked by a hellhound.”

“Marked?” Jody queried.

“Hellhounds collect the souls of those who’ve made deals with demons,” Bobby explained. “They're normally only visible to the person they've come to collect, and they normally ignore anyone else who's around at the time of collection. They're single minded and virtually impossible to deter. But, as I say, I have heard of instances where people other than the target get in the way, and their wounds cause infection and fever that can't be cured by normal means. What I don't understand,” he continued, “is why Dean would be getting in the way of a hellhound on collection duty.”

“I guess we'll find out when he wakes up,” Jody said hopefully.

When they got to the hospital, they discovered that Dean had been moved out of ICU into a private room. Dr Mainwaring had gone off duty, but his day shift replacement was pleased to give them an update.

“He'll be pretty weak when he wakes up, and those wounds on his chest will be uncomfortable for a while, but other than that he's fine,” he told them brightly. “He's very lucky.”

“Depends on how you look at it,” Jody muttered darkly.

“I'm sorry?” the doctor said.

“Well, if he was really lucky, he wouldn't have been here in the first place,” she pointed out.

“Oh, of course, I...” the doctor said in confusion.

“No, I apologise,” Jody said, realising how ungrateful she'd just sounded. “Everyone here has been nothing but helpful and supportive. It's just been a long night.”

“Don't mention it,” the doctor said, sympathetically. “You can go and sit with Dean, if you like. He should be waking up any time now.”

“Thank you,” Bobby said, ushering Jody towards Dean's room.

Dean was still pale, but looked infinitely better than he had the night before. Jody went straight to his bedside and placed her hand on his forehead. It was dry and cool to the touch. She smoothed his hair and he shifted under her fingers, moaning softly.

“Hey, Dean,” she murmured. “Come on back to us.”

She sat down, taking one of his hands in both of hers and squeezing his fingers gently. Dean's eyelids flickered, and Jody massaged his hand between her own.

“Dean?” she called softly. “Can you hear me? It's time to wake up.”

Gradually, Dean's eyes opened fully, but his gaze was unfocused. Jody reached up to cup his cheek and gently turned his head towards her. She looked into his eyes and was relieved to see them widen in recognition.

“Jody?” he said hoarsely. “How did I...?”

“You drove to my house,” she told him, “and collapsed in the parking lot. I'm amazed you made it that far, the state you were in.”

“Where's Sam?” They said it together.

Jody felt her eyes widen, even as Dean's did the same thing.

“You don't know?” They were still speaking in unison. In other circumstances, it might have been funny.

“Dean,” Jody said gently, “you were alone when you arrived at the house yesterday. We've been waiting for you to wake up so you could tell us what happened.”

Panic filled Dean's face. “I... I don't remember...” he stammered. “Sammy...” He tried to sit up and grimaced at the pain the movement caused him.

Bobby stepped forward. “Now just calm down, son. And think back to yesterday. Your injuries look like hellhound work to me. What would you have been doing getting mixed up in a hellhound hunt?”

Dean's forehead creased in concentration and he closed his eyes again.

“We were on our way to see you, Bobby,” he murmured. “No leads for a while, so we thought we'd take a break for a couple of days and catch up.” He paused for a moment, then continued hesitantly. “We were a couple of hours out, and we stopped for gas...”

* * *

* * *

(The day before)

“Bobby's going to be surprised to see us,” Sam said.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “I bet the first thing he asks is what's wrong, though.” 

“Does seem like we only ever stop by when we’re dealing with a major crisis.” Sam said.

“It’ll be nice to shoot the shit without bleeding or fighting for a change.” Dean glanced at the dashboard, “We're almost out of gas. We'll have to stop before we get there – I don't think Baby can make it that far without a drink.”

A few minutes later, Sam pointed out a gas station up ahead and Dean pulled the Impala into the forecourt. As the attendant filled the tank, Dean glanced around and spotted a diner a hundred yards down the road.

“Hey, Sam,” he called. “You mind if we stop and grab a cup of coffee before we carry on? The early start's catching up to me. I could use a caffeine shot.”

“No problem,” Sam said. “Bobby won’t necessarily have any food in and I could use a snack.”

“Where do you put it all, dude?” Dean asked, incredulous. “Lunch wasn't that long ago, and the amount you ate, I'm amazed you even made it back to the car.”

He caught Sam rolling his eyes as he turned to pay the gas attendant, then got back behind the wheel to take the car the short distance to the parking lot outside the diner. As they pulled up, a harassed looking woman stepped out of the door and called across to them.

“I'm sorry, we're closed!” She glanced back over her shoulder to catch a young girl about ten years old peeking her head out of the door behind her, and her reaction was immediate. “Maisie!” she yelled harshly. “Get back inside right now! What have I told you?”

The little girl disappeared from view and the woman turned back to the car, her expression more than just a little worried.

Dean exchanged glances with Sam. Something didn't feel right here, but he couldn't put his finger on what. He swung the car door open and climbed out.

“Hey,” he said in as neutral a tone as he could manage. “Is everything okay?”

The woman started slightly at his approach, the concern in her face turning quickly to fear. She backed away, holding out a hand as if to ward Dean off.

“Uh, sure,” she said, sounding less than convincing. “We, uh, we're just having a little trouble with the electrics in the kitchen, so we're not taking any business today.”

Dean heard Sam get out of the car behind him and kept a steady but non-threatening progress towards the diner.

“All we wanted was a cup of coffee,” he said genially. “Besides, I know a thing or two about kitchen appliances. Maybe I could take a look and help out some.”

“No!” the woman cried, then caught herself. “I mean, that really won't be necessary, and we're all out of coffee, so you might as well just go.”

Dean searched the front of the building for any clues as to what might be going on there and caught sight of something hanging over the door that immediately told him what the problem was – Devil's Shoestring, the herb used to ward off hellhounds. His eyes widened in surprise. These didn't seem like the kind of people to have made a deal with a demon.

He spread his hands in a placatory gesture. “Look, we really might be able to help if you've put that herb over the door for the reason I think.”

The woman stopped in her tracks, desperate hope flashing across her eyes. “You – you know what it means?” she asked breathlessly.

“Yep,” Dean confirmed. “And I'm guessing you're expecting some unwelcome visitors later today, that we might just be able to get rid of. If,” he added, with a grin, “we could get some coffee.”

The attempt at charm had no effect whatsoever. Dean put that down to the stress of expecting to be dragged off to hell later that night and decided not to hold it against her. The woman hesitated a moment longer, and then backed inside the diner, holding the door open for Dean and Sam to follow her in. She locked and bolted the door behind them. Sam looked sharply at Dean, but Dean just shrugged, silently asking his brother to cut their hostess some slack until they found out more.

There was more Devil's Shoestring inside, hung over every window and above the door through to the kitchen. The girl they'd seen earlier was seated in one of the furthest booths, staring moodily out of the window, headphones on, cutting her off from the world. Dean wondered what provisions had been made for her, if her mother knew what was about to happen. It seemed odd that the girl was even still there; usually people being hunted by hellhounds tried to run, or at least sent their loved ones out of harm's way.

The girl's mother produced a pot of coffee and three cups, and steered the Winchesters towards another of the booths, as far away from Maisie as they could get.

“So,” Dean prompted as soon as the coffee had been poured, “do you want to tell us why you're decorating with Devil's Shoestring?” He figured time might be of the essence and wanted to find out as much as possible quickly.

The woman almost smiled. “If I'm going to be telling you my life story, don't you think we should at least exchange names first?”

The Winchesters introduced themselves.

“I'm Addie Grant,” the woman replied, “and that's my daughter, Maisie. She's ten today.”

A chill ran down Dean's back. Ten today; meaning she was born ten years ago, which was the traditional span of a deal with a demon. He had the feeling they weren't dealing with the usual type of demon deal gig here, and the look on Sam's face suggested he'd come to the same conclusion.

“Why don't you tell us what happened?” Sam brought the conversation back to the topic at hand.

Addie took a deep breath.

“Well, nearly eleven years ago, I met this guy in a bar and ended up going home with him. He was handsome and charming, I was young and stupid. There was just something about him that was irresistible. Anyway, as you might have guessed, we had a one night stand and I ended up pregnant. The guy just vanished the morning after and I had no contact details for him, so by the time I found out about Maisie I had no way of letting him know. I opened up this place not long after, and we've been managing ever since.”

She paused, looking down into her coffee for a moment before continuing.

“Then, about two weeks ago, I got a call from this guy, completely out of the blue. He sounded awful, like he was drunk or crazy, or both, and I nearly hung up on him, but he was still really compelling and I found myself listening to the most ridiculous story. He told me that, fifteen years ago, he'd made a deal with some kind of demon that said it could give him success and happiness in exchange for the soul of his first born child.”

Dean stared at Sam in horror. This was a new twist on an old story.

Addie ploughed on, as if unable to stop now that she had started. “He thought this was a really good bargain, since he never intended to have kids. But four or five years later, he met a woman, fell in love and wanted to start a family. He'd had really great luck all that time, and remembered what the demon had said, so he decided to take out some insurance.” She said it bitterly, glancing towards her daughter in despair. “That was when he picked me up in that bar, planning on conceiving a child with a stranger in order to protect his future family. Ten years on, he's suddenly feeling really guilty and decides to drop this bomb on my head, telling me that hellhounds will come and drag my baby off to hell on her tenth birthday.”

“What an asshole!” Dean exclaimed, amazed that anyone could be that stupid and that heartless.

“So you researched hellhounds and found out about the Devil's Shoestring?” Sam queried.

Addie gave a hollow laugh. “Not at first. To begin with, I dismissed it as garbage – I mean, it's a difficult story to swallow. But then Maisie started having nightmares about big, black dogs – I hadn't mentioned the call to her, of course – and I just started to wonder. That's when I did the research and put up the herbs. I mean, I didn't know what else to do, and I figured it wouldn't hurt to try.”

Dean had been thinking. “You said today is Maisie's tenth birthday?” he asked.

Addie nodded.

“Then it looks like that guy was either wrong or just plain crazy, because hellhounds turn up at midnight at the start of the day they're due. That would have been last night.” Dean looked to Sam for confirmation and found him nodding.

But Addie dashed that theory immediately. “Apparently, in this case, they're supposed to turn up when the child actually turns ten – the time they were born, not midnight on the day. Maisie was born at three-thirteen in the afternoon.”

Dean looked at his watch. It was two-fifty-eight. That didn't leave them much time and he still wasn't sure what they could actually do. He had a sudden thought.

“Do we still have any of that dust stuff left?” he asked Sam. “You know, the stuff that artist guy gave us when we tried to protect him from hellhounds?”

Sam thought for a moment. “I remember gathering up as much as I could after that incident. I figured it might come in handy again, and it definitely worked. It might still be in the bottom of the trunk somewhere.”

“Wait here,” Dean told Addie. “We'll be right back.”

He and Sam went back out to the car and, while Sam rummaged through the stuff in the trunk, looking for the pouch of hellhound-repelling dust, Dean loaded both shotguns and their hand guns with silver bullets.

“You think those will work against hellhounds?” Sam asked, doubtfully.

“Dunno,” Dean admitted, “but we've got to try something, and big black dogs are a bit like werewolves, so you never know.”

“Do you really think we can stop them?”was Sam's next question.

Dean sighed. “All we can do is try. And then we can hunt down the bastard that made this deal and send his ass to hell where it belongs.”

They made their way back inside the diner. Dean glanced at his watch again. 3:10pm. Sam passed him the pouch of dust and paused in the doorway, peering out into the bright afternoon, his expression tense.

It was at that moment that Maisie started violently and ripped the headphones from her ears. “What's that noise?” she asked nervously.

“What noise, sweetheart?” Addie asked, throwing Dean a confused look.

“It sounds like howling – can't you hear it?” The little girl pulled herself out of the booth and moved uncertainly towards her mother.

Dean moved to the open area between the booths and started shaking dust out of the pouch in a circle.

“Get over here!” he called to Addie. “Get Maisie inside the circle right now!”

Addie crossed to where Maisie was standing and grabbed her arm, pulling her towards where Dean was completing the circle.

“What's going on, mom?” Maisie asked, her tone now fearful.

“Just trust me, baby,” Addie begged, clearly not wanting to get into a lengthy explanation right then. “These men are here to help us. They're going to make the howling noise go away.”

“It's getting louder,” the girl said.

“Sam!” Dean called, throwing him the pouch as soon as Sam turned round. “Put some across the doorway – they're on their way.”

Sam caught the pouch easily and immediately started shaking the dust out at his feet. As he did so, he leaned forwards and his head and shoulders crossed the threshold. As Dean watched, something unseen grabbed Sam, who yelped in surprise, and dragged him outside.

“Sam!” Dean yelled, starting forwards. He took a moment to turn back to Addie, and ordered, “Whatever happens, stay inside that circle!” He saw her pull Maisie close towards her, then he turned and raced outside.

Sam was lying flat on his back, his arms spreadeagled; his head was tilted back slightly and something silvery seemed to be coming out of his mouth. Dean assumed one of the hellhounds was standing on Sam's chest, but he wasn't confident enough of its position to use his shotgun, so he just launched himself at where he thought it would be, and collided with something large and hairy. He rolled with the hound onto the ground and struggled to gain the upper hand. He felt something tearing at his leg and then a sharp pain across his chest as claws found flesh. Managing to manoeuvre his pistol underneath the dead weight of the dog on top of him, he fired several rounds into it and was pleased to feel it jump off him, even though he still couldn't hear it make any noise. Dimly through a haze of pain and shock, he heard Maisie screaming inside the diner, and he rolled over onto his side to see Sam apparently under attack by a different hound.

The silvery substance was still pouring from Sam's mouth but, before Dean could push himself to his feet, Sam gave a long sigh and his head lolled to one side.

“No!” Dean cried, scrambling to his brother's side, heedless of where the hellhounds might be. He reached Sam and put trembling fingers to his neck, his suspicions confirmed when he felt no pulse beneath the skin.

He looked towards the diner to see Addie and Maisie emerging nervously into the daylight.

“Maisie says the dogs are gone,” Addie said, then seemed to take in the scene before her. “Oh my god, is he - ?”

At that moment, Dean heard sirens fast approaching. In a split second, all his options ran through his mind and there weren't very many. He knew he couldn't be found there by the authorities, and he knew that in the few moments he had before the cops arrived, he wouldn't be able to get Sam's body to the car. He staggered to his feet, feeling the blood oozing out of the wounds on his chest, and his only thought was to get to Bobby as soon as possible for help. He wouldn't be able to do anything for Sam in his current state, especially on his own and with policemen asking awkward questions.

“Don't tell them our names, or what really happened,” Dean said unsteadily to Addie. “You'll have to make something up. I have to get out of here – make sure they take good care of Sam. I'll be back for him.”

Not giving her a chance to question him, he lurched towards the Impala and climbed in, every step agony both from his injuries and from the necessity of leaving Sam's body behind. He put the car in gear and drove away, in the direction of Sioux Falls, tears blurring his vision as he went.

* * *

“I figure the gas station attendant must have seen us taking the guns out of the trunk and called the cops, thinking we were trying to rob the diner,” Dean concluded.

Jody felt as if all the blood had drained from her body. “So...” she whispered, not wanting to say the words aloud. “Sam's dead?”

“I have a theory about that,” Dean said, looking over at Bobby hopefully. “Please tell me I'm right.”

“If you mean what I think you mean, then yeah, most likely,” Bobby replied.

Jody looked between the two of them. “Will someone please explain what you're talking about?”

Dean made a silent plea to Bobby to take over, the recitation of the incident clearly having worn him out.

Bobby took a deep breath, rubbing a hand across his beard. “Well, the way I think it works is this. Hellhounds are sent out by a demon who has a contract with a human for their soul – or, in this case, the soul of somebody else. Now, I think it's the somebody else part that's made this one turn out like it has. The hellhounds zero in on the human in question, take their soul and drag it off to hell – end of story. Only, this time, the soul they came for was shielded, so they couldn't find it. When Sam leaned over the devil's shoestring barrier, they went straight for him, because his was the only soul on offer. They were sent for a soul, they got a soul, so they left – hellhounds ain't too bright and have a pretty one-track existence, so they're not equipped to deal with obstructions. Anyway, problem for them is, they can't take a soul to hell unless it's the one they were sent for, so what I think will have happened is that Sam's soul will have slipped from their grasp on the way and got stuck in Limbo.” Bobby looked over at Dean. “That how you figured it too?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, looking relieved. “That's what I thought.”

“How does that help us?” Jody still didn't understand. “Wherever Sam's soul is – and don't think I'm not glad to know it's not in hell – he's still dead, isn't he?”

Bobby answered her question by directing another one at Dean. “Sam's body was unmarked?”

Dean nodded. “As far as I could tell. They just sucked out his soul – I was the only one they attacked physically.”

“Then, if we can get his body back from wherever it's been taken, we should be able to do a ritual to bring his soul out of Limbo and back into the plane of the living.”

“You can do that?” Jody was astounded.

“Sam's death was untimely,” Bobby told her. “The hellhounds weren't supposed to take him, which is why his soul will have gone to Limbo. Souls aren't supposed to stay there indefinitely – usually, they get transferred one way or the other to somewhere else after an indeterminate amount of time. Since his soul won't be anchored there, we should be able to pull it out ourselves. But we'll need a body to put it back into.”

Dean suddenly sat up sharply. “That's why I went to your house,” he said to Jody, as if just remembering. “I figured you would be able to get in touch with the coroner's office where the attack took place, and claim Sam's body. As long as they haven't done an autopsy, or anything -” He broke off, looking at Jody anxiously. “How long was I out?”

“You showed up yesterday,” she said, looking at her watch, “and it's nearly 2pm now, so it's getting on for 24 hours since you were attacked.”

“We'd best get a move on,” Bobby said, suddenly businesslike. “Can you contact the appropriate people to stop them cutting on Sam's body and allow us to claim it? I can go with you to collect it, and then we can do the ritual back at your place.”

Jody nodded and made as if to leave the room, but stopped when she realised that Dean was getting out of bed. “What do you think you're doing, young man?” she asked in her best mom voice.

“I'm gonna go with you to get Sam,” he said defiantly. He winced as he stood up, swayed and then immediately sat down again, looking extremely annoyed.

“I don't think so,” she said firmly. “You're in no fit state to go anywhere.”

Dean leaned his hands on his knees and looked up at her through his eyelashes. “Okay,” he capitulated, way too easily. “I won't go with you, but at least let me check myself out. You can drop me off at your house on the way, so I can be there for the ritual. I won't make any trouble, I swear. You can mother me all you like – just don't make me stay here on my own, not knowing what's going on.”

Jody couldn't withstand the puppy-dog look combined with the meek acceptance of his physical weakness. She relented. “Okay,” she said wearily. “I'll send a nurse in on my way out to make the call, so you can sort the paperwork out and get your clothes back.”

She rolled her eyes at the grin that greeted her words, then headed out to the parking lot to call the Sheriff’s office and get the relevant details. She found out what jurisdiction the diner was in and contacted the coroner to let him know she was on her way.

By the time Jody got back into the hospital, Dean was standing unsteadily at the nurses' station in his own clothes, signing himself out. The nurse behind the desk looked severe, her mouth very thin, but she didn't say anything as Jody approached.

“Everything's under control,” she reassured an anxious-looking Dean. “Now let's get you back to my house before you fall down.”

He grimaced in response, refusing a wheelchair, but submitting to leaning against Bobby as they made their way slowly out to the truck. Bobby and Jody sandwiched Dean between them on the front seat, and they drove off.

They deposited Dean at the house, with strict instructions to take it easy, then Bobby and Jody set off to collect Sam’s body.

* * *

They spent most of the journey in silence, neither being the type to fill space with empty chatter. Jody's mind was on what might be involved in the ritual to bring Sam's soul out of limbo, while Bobby dwelt on dealing with the authorities to get Sam's body back, each focusing on the aspect of the mission they knew least about. Over the period they had known one another, they had both developed a healthy respect for each other, and trusted each other to handle whatever fell under each one's respective expertise. In situations like the one they found themselves in now, though, it was inevitable that they would be apprehensive about what lay ahead.

When Jody had contacted the relevant coroner's office, she had been anxious to ensure that Sam's body remained untouched, and to organise its release into her care. She had explained that she'd seen the reports of a John Doe found dead at a crime scene and wanted to bring in the uncle of a missing man who fit the description, to see if he could identify the body as his nephew. She had been told that a young woman and her daughter had been involved in some kind of attack at a local diner, and that the unidentified young man had driven off the attackers at the expense of his own life. Jody had been heartily relieved to discover that Addie had exonerated Sam of any wrongdoing, which meant it would be much easier to get his body released. She wondered what further details Addie had given to explain the unexplainable, and spared some sympathy for the detective placed in charge of a case that would be impossible to solve.

By unspoken agreement, Jody took the lead when they arrived, greeting the man on duty and showing her badge.

“I called earlier about your John Doe,” she prompted. “This is Bobby Singer, who wants to see if he can identify the body.”

“Of course, Sheriff,” the coroner said, getting up to show them the way to the morgue. “If you'll just follow me?”

He led them down a long corridor to the inevitable freezer room and showed them into a side alcove where a body lay under a sheet. Despite unfortunately having been in rooms like this on many previous occasions, Jody found her heart pounding. She knew the planned outcome of this trip was to have Sam safe and whole by the end of the day, but she still didn't relish seeing him cold and dead on a slab. She took a deep breath and steeled herself against reacting as the coroner pulled the sheet back to reveal Sam's still features.

Bobby acted the part of an undemonstrative relative with consummate skill, huffing out a breath and closing his eyes briefly.

“That's Sammy,” he said quietly.

The coroner schooled his face into an expression of sympathy, and said, “I'm sorry for your loss. It may not be any comfort to you in the circumstances, but I gather he was protecting a young woman and her daughter when he died.”

“Thank you,” Bobby replied, continuing his act. “Do the police have any idea who did this?”

“I'm afraid you'll have to follow that up with the County Sheriff's office,” the coroner told him, apologetically. “Though I can tell you there are no obvious signs of violence to your nephew. It looks like his heart gave out, which is very odd for someone his age. Did he have a history of heart problems?”

“Uh, yes,” Bobby said, improvising. “He was born with a heart defect.”

Jody stepped in at this point, not wanting to prolong the encounter unnecessarily. “Will there be any problem releasing the body to us this afternoon?”

“None at all,” the coroner replied. “I've filed my report, and I'll refer any further queries from our sheriff to your office. There are a couple of forms for you each to sign, but that's all.”

They dealt with the paperwork in short order, then carried Sam's body, enclosed in a black bag, to the truck, laying him carefully inside. Not long after they'd arrived, they were speeding their way back to Jody’s house, the first stage of their task completed without a hitch.

“Well,” Jody said, glancing at their cargo, “that's not something I want to have to do again in a hurry.”

Bobby looked across at her. “I guess we both see our share of bodies in our lines of work, but it's a mite different when it's someone you care about, even if you do plan to get them back again,” he agreed, echoing Jody's thoughts from earlier.

She tried not to think about her son and how coming back from the dead had worked out in that scenario.

It was just getting dark when they arrived back at the house. Bobby pulled up in the driveway and they both climbed out, manoeuvring to retrieve Sam’s body. Jody looked round carefully to check that nobody was nearby; it wouldn't do for the sheriff to be seen carrying a body bag into her house. She hefted one end, Bobby taking the other, and they made their way slowly up to the house. Dean emerged from the spare room at the sound of the door and paled visibly at the sight of their burden. He stepped aside to let them past and they laid the bag down on the bed.

Dean reached tentatively for the zip on the body bag, his hands shaking.

Before he could undo it, Jody said, “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

Before Dean could utter the inevitable protest, Bobby's quiet voice decided the matter.

“We need him,” he said matter-of-factly. “It'll be much easier with three – the more people we have who are close to Sam, the stronger the call will be to bring his soul out of limbo.”

Jody didn't argue; she wasn't about to endanger the success of the ritual by pressing the point. She was worried about Dean, though. He looked positively green, and there was a bright sheen of sweat across his forehead. To be honest, she didn't feel so hot herself, and her breath caught in her throat as Dean continued his action and peeled back the plastic of the bag to reveal Sam lying still and silent in their midst. Even though she’d seen him already, she felt tears prickling the backs of her eyelids. He looked so terribly young lying there. Dean's trembling hand reached out towards his brother but stopped just shy of touching him, as if Dean did not want the confirmation of feeling Sam's cold flesh to back up what his eyes were already telling him.

Bobby cleared his throat, bringing their attention back to him.

“Alright,” he said. “Jody, come and stand opposite Dean, and I’ll stand at the foot of the bed.”

They all moved into position. Bobby opened the bag he'd brought from his truck, and pulled out three small holly wreaths, handing one each to Jody and Dean, keeping the last one himself. He directed them to hold the wreaths above Sam's body; one over his head, one over his stomach, and one over his knees.

“I'm sorry this isn't going to be very comfortable,” he said, as they each closed their hands over the prickly leaves. “Just be glad this is one of the rituals where only a few drops of blood are necessary.”

Jody grasped her wreath firmly and said, “It's a small price to pay to have Sam back safe with us.”

Dean nodded and Bobby continued. “Now, close your eyes, and think back to the last time you saw Sam alive. Picture him as clearly as you can, not as he is now, but as he was then. Concentrate on that image and will his spirit to return to us here so that the image in your mind can be restored to reality.” He fell silent for a moment, giving them a chance to follow his instructions, then start chanting in Latin.

Jody pushed all her fear and uncertainty deep down where they wouldn't interfere and focused all her energy on the last time she had seen Sam. She visualised him as clearly as she could, laughing at something Dean had said, his eyes bright, his body strong and healthy, his spirit vibrant. Bobby's chanting went on for what seemed an eternity, the same few words repeated over and over, until they permeated the image in Jody's mind, swirling around the picture of Sam, making him glow.

Suddenly, there was the sound of someone taking a sharp breath, and she felt something bang into her leg. She opened her eyes instinctively to see Sam, eyes open, flailing in confusion on the bed in front of her. It was his outflung arm that had hit her. As Dean stared in shock, she dropped to her knees and grabbed hold of Sam's icy hand, pulling it to her chest.

“It's okay, Sam,” she said. “It's okay, you're safe.”

Her voice pulled his gaze to hers, confusion uppermost in his expression.

“What happened?” he asked. “Why am I so cold?” His chest was heaving, as the shock of returning to his body pushed him to the verge of hyperventilation.

“Just take a minute to catch your breath,” Jody reassured him, not letting go of his hand. “We can explain everything later.”

She looked up at Dean, to find him standing motionless across from her, transfixed by the sight of his brother back from the dead. Bobby’s expression was one of profound relief.

“Sammy...” Dean whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

Sam's eyes flicked to his brother, his whole body relaxing at the realisation of Dean's presence. Then his expression turned to concern.

“Dude, are you okay?” he asked. “You look terrible.”

Dean gave a shaky laugh. “Yeah, man, I'm fine,” he said, smiling. “We're all fine now.”

Bobby collected up the holly wreaths and went to dump his paraphernalia back in the truck, leaving Jody and Dean with Sam.

Sam sat up, swinging his feet onto the floor and pulling a blanket from the foot of the bed around his shoulders to ward off the chill. As if they were taking turns, Dean collapsed onto the other side of the bed, relaxing into the mattress but never taking his eyes off his brother.

Sam seemed to notice the plastic body bag beneath him for the first time, and his eyes widened. “You gonna tell me what's going on?”

Dean grimaced. “What do you remember?”

Sam's brow furrowed. “I'm not sure. It's all a bit hazy. I remember being somewhere dark. It felt like I was floating. And there were voices. But they were really far away and I couldn't make out what they were saying. And then I heard you all calling my name.”

Jody smiled. “You heard us?”

“Yeah,” Sam confirmed. “Faint at first, but then it got stronger. You all sounded scared, so I tried to move towards where your voices were coming from, and that's when I woke up here.” Sam turned back to Dean. “Seriously, dude – what's going on?”

Dean took a deep breath and launched into the story, prompting Sam's memory with the highlights of the hellhound fight, and then describing in more detail what had happened since, including Bobby's theory about where Sam's soul had ended up after the hellhounds took it. By the time he finished, Sam looked stunned.

“Wow,” he said, “that's a pretty weird story, even for us.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean agreed.

Jody shifted seamlessly into practical mode. “I think it's about time I made some dinner,” she announced. “I’m sure Bobby’ll be hungry. What about you two – feel up to joining us?”

“Yes, ma'am,” both Winchesters responded, making her laugh.

They all trooped through to the kitchen to join Bobby as he came back in. Once the food was underway Jody called the sheriff's office out where the attack took place. A few minutes later, she came back with a full report.

“I said I was just checking in,” she explained, “but I really wanted to find out what they know and what they plan to do about it. The gas attendant was the one who called it in, like Dean guessed, reporting that he saw two men with guns go into the diner. He said he didn't know what happened after that because he stayed inside the gas station, so there was no really coherent information from him. Apparently, Addie and her daughter were so traumatised by the incident that they couldn't give a useful report either, and the coroner's report said there wasn't even any evidence of foul play in Sam's death.” Jody concluded with a grin, “The deputy was very apologetic but said he didn't think the investigation was likely to go anywhere.”

Everyone heaved a huge sigh of relief and dinner turned into quite a jovial affair. Jody noticed that Dean kept staring at Sam, as if he expected him to disappear, but she was having to fight the urge to do the same thing herself, and she figured the impulse would fade before long.

She could tell both Winchesters were exhausted by the time they'd got through dessert, so she sent them both straight to bed. The fact that they didn't argue with her showed just how tired they were.

* * *

The next day Bobby headed off early, while Sam and Dean took their time getting themselves together to leave. There were hugs all round once they were ready, and Jody watched the Impala glide out of the driveway, wondering what crisis would next bring the Winchesters to her door.

“Where are we headed?” Sam asked as they drove away.

“I thought we might swing by that diner,” Dean said. “Check up on Addie and Maisie, make sure they're okay.”

“Don't you think me walking in there might scare them a bit?” Sam said.

“Maybe,” Dean replied. “But I think they'd be glad to know we're both okay – that neither of us died and stayed dead.”

“Fair enough,” Sam capitulated.

When they got there, Dean pulled the Impala round to the back of the diner, in case the same attendant was manning the gas station and remembered the car.

As they got out, Addie appeared at the side door and flung it open, shock registering on her face as she saw who it was.

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed. “You're both – but how...?” Then she stopped and her face split into a broad smile. “No, I don't want to know,” she said. “You're here, you're okay – that's good enough for me!”

“So, you're not going to turn us away this time?” Dean teased.

“No way!” she cried. “Get in here, the pair of you!”

They followed her inside, and went to sit in the same booth as before, while Addie made some coffee.

“Maisie's staying with my mother for a few days,” she explained as she noticed them glancing around. “She's still a little shaken up, and I thought a change of scenery might be good for her.”

“You weren't worried the hellhounds might come back – try again?” Sam queried.

“No, I think we're safe on that score,” Addie told him with a grin. “Though that may be something you can confirm for me.”

She brought a newspaper over with the coffee and showed them a story under the headline – MAN FOUND MAULED IN WOODS.

She pointed out the name of the victim. “That's Maisie's father,” she said. “He was found the morning after the attack here, out in the woods. The police think some kind of animal killed him.”

“So the hellhounds went after him when they couldn't get Maisie,” Dean speculated. “The demon must have thought he'd tried to renege on the deal, so it made his soul forfeit after all.”

“That's exactly what I thought, too,” Addie said. “So, am I right in thinking nothing's going to come after Maisie again?”

“Looks like,” Sam agreed.

“I really don't know how to thank you both,” Addie gushed. “You saved my little girl – nothing can ever repay that.”

Dean tipped an imaginary hat. “All in a day's work, ma'am,” he announced jauntily. “Think nothing of it.”

Sam stared at him in disbelief, unable to comprehend how Dean could joke so easily about what had happened to them both in the last few days. If this turned out to be an average day's work, he'd really have to start thinking about quitting.

THE END