Bright-red froth still bathed her snout from the fury of the fight as she limped along through the forest, trailing her broken hind leg. This damp, cold place wasn't her natural habitat, but she understood her homeland was off-limits to her, now and forever.

She'd just battled for her life against her once colleagues, now minions of the new king Asmodeous, making it out of Hell literally by the skin of her ass.

Even among hellhounds, the ambition to get to the top, attach oneself to a rising demon, was rife.

She'd had her moment, she'd seen the potential in the lowly Crossroads demon and had tied herself to him. Crowley hadn't disappointed, his cunning and street-smarts had taken him to Kinghood and she, Juliet had been revered as his favourite.

:

Now, though, where could she go? A hellhound needed a Master, alone it would pine and die. For a moment she considered it, but the instinct to survive was as strong in infernal beings as in other races.

An outlandish idea came to her. Crowley had been fond of the Winchesters. They'd both been to Hell. She'd seen them there herself, the older one having even spent time on the rack before being apprenticed to Alastair, while the other's blood had emanated the familiar scent of demon.

They would be perfect as her new masters in this world of humans.

:

She had their scent, and slowly she padded across the countryside until the aroma was overpowering. She saw the building. The Winchesters were inside.

With a satisfied grunt, she crouched down at the side of the black vehicle, licking at her healing wounds and waited.

She would serve the humans loyally in memory of her previous master Crowley.

Hellhounds have no humans attributes such as weeping but if she had, Juliet would've shed a tear for him.