I have loved Supernatural for years, and I have always wanted to write a story for it. I prefer writing OC stories, but I could never think of any Dean or Sam stories with an OC. I have had this idea for a while, so I'm finally writing it and decided to post it.

This chapter jumps forward, so I've added dates to hopefully make things clearer. It starts at the very beginning of season four but doesn't detail anything that happens. This story will also be AU starting in the next chapter.

Dry Ridge, Kentucky
July 30, 2008

Odie

The knocking was shifting from distant nuisance, which was it had been ten minutes ago, and into full-blown annoyance. Every time the sound started up again, she made a sound in her throat that might have been a whimper if it had been lacking gravel. Her throat was raw from the hangover she'd suffered that morning, burned and inflamed.

Knock-knock-knock

Her knees hit the hardwood floor of her living room, and the joints in her shoulders popped as she practically laid on the floor to look under her couch. She'd been drinking since she managed to pull herself away from the toilet, and she was half a bottle away from sweet oblivion. It'd been two days since the last time she slept, and she really needed that black nothingness she only got at the bottom of a bottle.

Knock-knock-knock

All of her other stashes were cleaned out, she couldn't remember the last time she went to a store, but she was sure that she'd dropped a bottle in the living room somewhere. The only thing under the couch was dust and a lone sock, and she pressed her forehead against the floor. She had definitely dropped a bottle and heard it roll a few days ago, but she couldn't remember where. She might be able to remember, but she couldn't concentrate because of that fucking sound.

Knock-knock-knock-KNOCK

"Can't they fucking read?" she whispered as she straightened up on her knees. There was a sign on her front door that clearly stated no visitors allowed, so there shouldn't be any knocking.

Her palms pressed flat against the middle couch cushion, and her head swam as she pushed herself to her feet. She glanced down, saw black sweatpants and a white tee shirt, and slowly turned around. Bare feet moved in quiet shuffles through the living room and out into the hallway, and she pressed her hand against the wall to keep herself steady. It felt like she was walking on a boat, the wood under her feet rocking up and rolling down, and the knocking was getting louder. She was nearly to the front door now, and she could hear clear yelling through the thick wooden floor.

"-can hear me! Dammit, Odie Bennett, open this door!"

Fingers fumbled against the locks on the door, slipped a few times, and then finally unlocked. The door swung open, and she leaned her right shoulder against the doorway. The move served two purposes. One, it blocked the way into her home. Two, and just as important, it kept her from falling over. Her left hand raised so she could push unkempt hair out of her face, and bloodshot eyes stared forward at the older man standing on her small porch.

"Get out of here, Bobby."

Bobby

For a moment, the only thing that Bobby Singer could do was stare. The last time he saw Odie Bennett was nearly five years ago, but she looked like she'd aged over ten years since then. The long brown hair she used to keep in a sleek braid was darkened with grease and tangled in a halo around her head. The clothes she was wearing were baggy and stained, her once tanned skin was pale and waxy, and her eyes...belonged to a stranger.

If eyes were the windows to the soul, her soul had broken and was now pickled in cheap liquor. Odie had eyes that captivated. A deep dark brown color. Bottomless eyes, he'd called them. She'd seen things that no person should be able to see. Her eyes had held tragedy and pain, strength and compassion. Now the dark color was flat black, no spark of life, and surrounded by broken blood vessels.

"You finally losing it, old timer? I told you to get out of here." Her voice was hoarse, scrubbed raw from whatever she was choking back these days, and slightly slurred.

"What happened to you, Odie?" he asked her. He'd heard the gossip about her leaving the life, but no one had said anything about her attempting to drink herself into an early grave. "Is this about that kid in Oklahoma? You know that wasn't your fault."

"Tell that to the kid's mother." She sucked in air through her teeth and slowly shook her head. "Shit, wait, cancel that. She killed herself the day after her son's funeral."

"Odie-"

"Great catching up with you, Bobby. Really, good to see you, but it's time for me to-"

He blocked the door with his foot before she could finish slamming it, and those stranger eyes looked up at him in banked anger. As if she didn't have the energy to become fully angry. She opened the door again but kept a white knuckled grip on it, and her shoulders slumped as she sighed. Resigned to his presence for the moment.

"I need your help." The words didn't come out easily, but he'd driven all the way out here and wasn't leaving until he'd said his piece.

"I'd already figured that out. Be a little more specific." Hoarse, slurred, empty.

"A friend of mine died-"

"Shocker."

"-and I need help bringing him back."

For a moment, in the space between one breath and the next, he could really see her. Fire lit up her eyes and put a little color in her cheeks. He half expected her to punch him, but the look faded as quickly as it came. That flat color was looking up at him again, and he was looking at the woman who used to be Odie Bennett. Whoever she was now, she wasn't the hunter he knew.

"Didn't you hear?" Her temple pressed against the door, and he realized that she'd fall over if the door wasn't there. "I don't do that anymore."

"You can't turn off being psychic." Odie Bennett wasn't a normal hunter, even though she was a damned good one. All of the Bennett women were psychic, each generation stronger than the last. Odie was a powerful psychic, and he'd only seen some of what she was capable of. If there was anyone that could help him, it was her.

"You can if you drink enough. Hunting, psychic visions, doing the impossible! That's not me anymore. That person you're looking for, she's gone and this world is better off without her." She smiled as she talked, but it was an empty look. Like everything that made her who she was had been washed away, erased.

"Dean Winchester. Have you heard his name? He's in Hell, Odie, and he don't belong there," he said quickly. There was no recognition in her expression, but he had to try.

"I haven't heard anything in years, and Hell is filled with souls that don't belong."

This time when she went to slam the door, he let her.

Lexington, Kentucky
September 18, 2008

Odie

Odie dropped off her latest bounty, the job that she only did to keep her bills paid, and then swung her old truck into a parking lot behind a small bar. She counted out the money she needed for her rent and popped the glove box open, and slightly shaking fingers grabbed the old sock sitting on top of the vehicle registration. She stuffed her rent money into the sock, folded it, and tossed it into the glove box. The leftover paycheck went into her back pocket, truck keys in her front pocket, and she pulled on a frayed baseball hat before heading towards the bar.

She'd been in the bar before, and she liked it because people kept to themselves. The crowd was a little rough around the edges, but she could take care of herself if someone started a bar brawl. The crowd was mostly interested in drinking and pool, so she didn't think she had to worry about fighting her way out. Like every other time she'd stopped in, she sat on a stool at the end of the bar and paid for a bottle upfront instead of signaling for shots. The bartender recognized her, so the whole transaction went down without her ever having to say a word.

Several hours later, she was pleasantly drunk. Only one guy had tried talking to her, but he'd ambled off when she hadn't paid him any attention. She'd spent the night on her stool, drinking slowly but steadily, and her bloodstream was now saturated with the finest cheap whiskey she could barely afford. Her steps were only a little off balance as she walked across the dark parking lot to her truck, and her head tipped back to look at the sky.

She wasn't blackout drunk, she was still vertical after all, but she felt warm. These days, she normally felt cold. She could hardly ever get warm, but the night air was humid and she'd chugged enough to heat her blood for the moment. She thought she might even be able to get some sleep, and that was all that really mattered. Sleep, blackness, empty. Fingers dug into the front pocket of her jeans to get her truck keys, and she sighed happily as she got the truck unlocked and then shoved the keys back into her pocket.

It took some maneuvering, but she managed to crawl into the backseat of her truck and lock herself inside. It was times like this that she was glad she was short, because she could curl up in the backseat and feel perfectly comfortable. Now that she was thinking about it, she was short enough to spread out a little. She stretched out on her back, fingers laced over her stomach, and stared up into nothing as her senses went hazy.

She was on the edge of sleep, felt like she was swirling down a drain, when her skull cracked open. That's what it felt like anyway. Her hands flew to the sides of her head, looking for damage that wasn't there, and she cried out as she became painfully sober. It felt like getting shocked with pure electricity. The alcohol was burned out of her system, and she clutched at fistfuls of hair as she bucked against the seat. Years of quiet, of blissful ignorance, were falling away. She cried out again, this time in white-hot anger, and then the pressure in her head reached its pinnacle.

Dean Winchester is saved!

Sioux Falls, South Dakota
September 22, 2008

Bobby

The phone had stopped ringing but started up again immediately, and Bobby managed to grab it this time before it could cut off. He cleared his throat before barking out a hello, and he could hear rough breathing. Rough and shaky. Not from crying. More like...fear. He listened for a moment longer and felt his patience stretch thin when whoever was on the other end continued to keep silent, except for that breathing.

"If you don't start talking soon, I'm gonna-"

"Bobby?" It was just one word, in a strained tone, but he still recognized it.

"Odie? That you?" A strong, shaky exhale followed by a wet cough was the answer. "Did something happen?"

"Dean Winchester is back, isn't he?" Bobby fell down into his chair and scrubbed his free hand across his face.

"You saw something, didn't you?" She said she hadn't seen anything in years, but he'd been around enough psychics to know that tone. She was asking a question that she already knew the answer to.

"It's bad, Bobby. End of the world bad." Even her laugh sounded unstable. "I thought about killing them, the Winchester boys. I'm rusty but still capable, but killing them won't make a difference. Not at this stage. Those feathery fucks have already made up their minds."

"You've seen the angels?" He still had problems believing they were real, but she sounded like they were familiar.

"I need you to do something, Bobby." The phone rattled, and he assumed that she was holding it away as she wretched. The little bit of distance didn't muffle the sounds of her getting sick, or the gurgling of a toilet flushing a minute later. "Do you trust me?"

"What the hell kinda question is that?" He'd known Odie since he started hunting. He knew her dad, a damned good hunter and a good father, and he had trusted both of them on hunts. That wasn't the same as trusting someone as a person.

"Right. Smart hunters trust no one. Maybe I'm even more rusty than I thought," she laughed. It was followed by harsh coughing, but she didn't get sick again.

"What's this about, Odie?" He was tired, drained. Dean was back, but now there were angels and a good friend of his was now blind.

"I can't stop it. You can't stop it. We're just along for the ride, but I think there's a way. I can't do it now, I'm too weak. It'd probably kill me. There's just enough time for me to get right, and I will. I've already started. I'll get stronger and then I'll get someone who can stop it, but I'll need your help. It won't work without us, and I just need a couple of ingredients. Well, one ingredient from two sources. I need some blood from Dean and Sam. Not a lot, a few drops maybe. Get that for me and keep it safe, and I'll see you when I'm ready."

She went quiet after that, and he could hear her breathing harshly. The words had been said quickly, and he worried for a moment that she was losing her mind. Then he could hear quiet laughter, that sounded more like sobbing. If she wasn't crazy now, she was probably headed that way.

"I thought about checking out, but I've seen too much to not be afraid of hell. I've been going over it, and this is the only way. If I do nothing, the Apocalypse will just be the first domino. Gotta get it right. I'll be seeing you, Bobby. Just don't forget the blood, yeah?"

The phone clicked, signaling that she'd hung up, and he dropped the phone onto his desk. He'd do what she asked, just to be safe, but he wasn't going to hold his breath. Odie Bennett was a good hunter and a strong psychic, but that was years ago. He wasn't going to pin his last hope on the person she was now.

Dry Ridge, Kentucky
October 3, 2008

Odie

Two weeks without a single drop of alcohol was absolute torture. After just two days, snippets started seeping through. She hugged the toilet as visions played out in her pounding head, and there was nothing she could do to stop the images and whispers. As the days drug on, she sobered up more and everything became a little more clear. By the time she reached the two week mark, she was existing on coffee and rage. Oh, and sugar.

There was a time, felt like a lifetime ago, when she loved being psychic. She'd been able to know things even as a small child, and she usually knew what her parents were going to get her for her birthday before they even did. Of course, even back then, there'd been a downside. She'd been six when she had a dream about her mother dying, and she'd only been seven for a couple of weeks when that dream became reality. After that, the things she saw and heard helped her save people. Helped her save her father, until he'd died from a heart attack. She'd been twenty then, not some little kid, so she'd carried on. Welcomed everything her psychic abilities gave her.

Until Oklahoma. Until Kyle Morton. Until she'd messed up.

The job had been a simple one. Hunting a ghoul that had decided to eat something a little fresher? That was a hunt she could do in her sleep. She'd almost had the thing too. Tracked it to a graveyard way off the beaten path and had been ready to wrap things up when a vision came. The waking visions were usually just flashes, quick little videos played out against her closed lids. That time, the vision had been so strong that she'd fallen to her knees. It'd gone on for so long that the sun had set when she finally came to, and she'd been laying facedown on the ground. She'd gotten up and pushed the vision to the back of her mind, but it had already been too late. Kyle Morton had been gone, and killing the ghoul had just left her feeling cold.

She'd been twenty-three when Kyle died, in her prime, and she had decided to put hunting behind her. She found her small cabin in Dry Ridge, tracked down criminals for a paycheck, and started drinking to block all of her psychic senses. If she was sloshed, she couldn't see or hear anything. There were times when she could even forget that monsters were real. Times when she could believe that she wasn't real. Now she was twenty-seven, washed up and bitter, and letting the visions come back.

The worst part about the vision in the graveyard? She couldn't even remember it. It had been strong enough to put her down and long enough to make her lose nearly ten hours, but she couldn't remember a single image or word. The only thing she could remember was an emotion, a lingering feeling that had clung to her. Somehow, that was the worst part. That leftover sense of loss.

The only thing that she knew for sure, that she knew without a single doubt, was that she had been in love. So in love that it had felt like a physical part of her being, something vital. She had been in love and had woken up alone. She came to with her fingers dug down deep into graveyard dirt and dead grass clinging to her cheeks, and she had felt so achingly alone.

The thought of going on another hunt, of having another vision that allowed an innocent to die, wasn't something she could handle. That was the top reason she had stopped hunting. The other reason was a lot more selfish. She didn't have the drive to hunt anymore. She'd always been passionate about hunting, about saving people, but not since she'd woken up in that graveyard. She didn't believe that she needed someone else to feel complete, to feel like a whole person, but whatever had been in that vision had been bad. Bad enough that she couldn't even remember it.

So she ran from it all. From the visions and monsters and possible future where she loved so deeply that it hurt.

Until now. She was letting it all back in, willfully, and planned to do a lot more. She hadn't been lying when she told Bobby that she was weak. She was weak. Physically, mentally, spiritually. If she attempted to do anything more strenuous than tying her boots, she'd probably fall over dead. She had to get stronger, and she had to do it fast. There wasn't a lot of time left before it'd be too late.

The coffee cup in her hands was cold now, but she drank down the dregs anyway. The rocking chair creaked as she tipped her head back to get the last drop, and she blew out a sigh as she lowered the cup. The sun was starting to rise over the trees that bordered her little cabin, and the air was starting to heat up. It was going to be a warm day, so she could exercise outside. Her muscles had grown lax over the years, and she needed to be in top shape.

"Here's hoping I don't screw this up or die too early," she thought and rocked up onto her feet.

Small City Hospital
Sometime In Early February 2009

Dean

The door of his hospital room opened, followed by the sound of quiet footsteps, but Dean kept looking at the window. Sam and Cas were both gone, it was just him in the room, and he didn't feel like talking up a nurse. He could hear low humming, some pop song that he'd heard on the radio, and a pen scratching against paper.

"You need anything?" The voice wasn't high and nasally, so it wasn't the same nurse who'd been in earlier. This voice was lower, throaty, almost hoarse.

"I'm good," he said as he turned his head. The first thing he noticed was her dark eyes, staring straight down at him. He couldn't tell what color her eyes were, brown or green maybe, but they were so dark that they appeared black.

"Tough guy, huh? You too tough to let me fix your pillow?" Her tone was easy going, like it didn't matter if he said yes or no, but her eyes...her eyes were deep and dark.

Dean shook his head, and she smiled down at him. The smile puffed her cheeks out and made her look younger, she looked around Sam's age, and he instinctually smiled back. She slid the clipboard she'd been carrying onto the small table next to his bed and then bent down over him. Pieces of dark hair that had slipped out of her ponytail brushed his face as she gripped the pillow with both hands, and he could smell cinnamon when he breathed in. It only took one good tug to pull the pillow out from under his shoulders, and he could clearly see the flex of muscle in her arms as she pulled.

"That should feel better," she said and straightened up. The pillow was just behind his neck and head now, and he had to admit that he was more comfortable now.

"Thanks." She'd already picked her clipboard up, and she held it in one hand as she looked at him. She looked at him like she could see through him. Like she could see Hell in his eyes and all the things he'd done.

"Stay strong, okay? Whenever it seems like the world is ending, just stay strong. Things usually have a way of working out."

The nurse smiled at him one last time before turning on her heel, and he kept looking at the door even after she was gone.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota
May 11, 2009

Bobby

Whoever was knocking on his door was going to get a face full of rock salt. He pushed himself out of his chair and walked around his desk, and he'd only taken a few steps when the knocking became louder. He grabbed his shotgun before leaving the study, and his eyes narrowed at his door as the knocking became steady. It only took one hard pull to get the door open, and he raised the shotgun immediately in greeting.

"Took you long enough! Don't you know we're on a tight schedule?" A small hand pushed the barrel of the shotgun away, and Bobby took a step back as Odie marched inside his house. "Timing is everything, Bobby. Blood this way?"

He turned around and followed after Odie, and she made a sharp turn into his study. When he walked inside, she was already behind his desk and digging through the drawers. He wanted to ask her what the hell was going on, but he paused as he got his first real look at her. Her hair was down, but it looked clean and brushed unlike the greasy tangles he'd seen last time. She looked healthier too, not as thin or as pale. She looked almost normal, except for the frantic jerks of her arms as she dug through his stuff.

"Do you know where Dean is?" He'd up and disappeared, and Bobby had no way of finding him.

"Dean's safe. Royally pissed off, but what else is new? He'll be okay," she said and slammed a drawer shut. Her palms pressed flat against his desk, and she looked straight at him for the first time.

Soulful eyes. That was the only way he could think to describe that look. Her every emotion was showing through the dark color, and her eyes weren't empty anymore. They were filled with sadness. No, her eyes were more than sad. She looked like she was grieving, but there was determination showing in the clench of her jaw. Odie Bennett was back, and she looked like she was headed to her death but wasn't going down without a fight.

"Right!" she yelled as a palm slapped against the top of the desk. He felt frozen as she hurried past him, and he turned in a half circle to watch her cross his kitchen and open the fridge.

"Have you seen Sam?" She stopped rummaging around for a second, took in a deep breath that caused her ribs to push out against her shirt, and then opened another drawer.

"He's alive. I suppose he's technically okay, but he's gonna need a helluva lot of detox time when this is over. Have faith, Bobby," she said before calling out an ah-ha!

"Have faith in what?" he asked as she turned around. She was holding a flask in each hand, and she raised them up to listen to the contents sloshing inside.

"That God can't control everything, and destiny can be changed." She seemed satisfied with the flasks that held some of Sam and Dean's blood, and she slipped them into the back pockets of her shorts. "You got anything of John Winchester's? It's not necessary, but I think it'll help."

"Of John's?" he heard himself ask. It sounded like he was talking underwater, and he could hear his pulse beating.

"Yeah, just any material thing that belonged to him. Oh, and an old blanket. Get it up and meet me out back." She was already walking, headed towards the door again, and he hadn't moved from his spot in the study. "Get a move on, Bobby! It's almost time!"

The door slammed shut, and the sound got him moving. He placed the shotgun on his desk and then moved upstairs to look around, and he only paused once to wonder why he was going along with Odie Bennett. She'd stopped hunting years ago, and they'd never been particularly close. He had gone on hunts with her and her father though, and he'd hunted with just Odie after her father passed. She was strong, smart, and hadn't let the life turn her bitter. He knew the things she saw were always dead-on as well. One of her visions, as she called them, had even saved his life once.

He didn't know what she was going on about, but it wasn't like he had a whole lot of options either. So he decided to trust her and started to look for anything that belonged to John Winchester. When he came up with nothing after a few minutes, he started towards the door. He remembered to grab a blanket before walking out, and he snagged one out of the study before leaving the house.

Odie was in a cleared out area behind his house, digging into the dirt with a pipe. When he got closer, he realized she was drawing symbols in a wide circle. He didn't recognize the symbols, and he could hear her muttering under her breath as she drew in the dirt. She finished not even a full minute later, and she tossed the pipe away from the circle before straightening up and looking over at him.

"No material thing?" She had dirt on her hands, and she quickly wiped them against her jeans.

"Nothing." She nodded like she'd expected as much and pulled both flasks out of her pockets. As he looked on, she moved the flasks around until she could screw the tops off.

"You know, this ritual is supposed to be performed naked. Something about being pure and natural? Which is kinda hypocritical, considering the whole purpose of this ritual is to go against the natural order. So I think I'll keep my clothes on. Thoughts?" While she talked, she sprinkled out blood from both flasks in four points around the circle of symbols.

"Clothed is good. What the hell are you doing, Odie?" he finally asked. She kept talking like he knew what she was up to, and maybe that was what she thought. Maybe she'd forgotten that other people didn't know the things she did.

"The impossible."

The grin she shot him looked half mad, and she dipped down to carefully place the flasks on the ground. She pulled a small knife out of her boot and cut a line across her arm, and she moved around to add drops of her own blood to the points where she'd sprinkled the boys' blood. As she worked, he took in what she was wearing. She wasn't dressed indecently, but she was wearing less layers than he'd ever seen her in. Denim shorts instead of jeans and a thin white tee shirt without any kind of over shirt. The boots were the same clunky workboots he remembered her wearing on hunts.

"Odie, I really think we need to talk about this." She was standing in the center of the circle again, with her knife back in her boot, and she picked the flasks back up.

"No time for that, but...huh." She paused with the flasks in her hands, and he realized the cut on her arm was still bleeding sluggishly. She turned just her head to look at him, and her eyes were clearer. "I don't think I should make this decision on my own, but there isn't enough time for me to explain. Talk about hindsight."

"We got a little time. You can explain things to me," he said and took a step closer to the circle. She glanced up at the sky, and her eyes had a bright shine of desperation and determination.

"He knows, so I have to hurry. I'll make it simple. I know a way to help the boys. It won't save the world, because they're capable of that. Capable of saving it several times over, but that's how I want to help them. They shouldn't have to keep fighting to save the world, and this will stop the first domino from ever falling. All I have to do is break the laws of nature and piss off God."

She stopped there and looked down. Raised the flasks up like she was weighing them and then smiled. He could see one side of her lips pulled up into a smile, and she slowly shook her head before lowering her hands again. She was still half-smiling when she looked back over at him, and Bobby felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff as her eyes held his.

"What I'm planning on doing is wrong and breaks all kind of natural order rules, but I'm willing to do it because I don't want to see the Winchester boys continue to suffer. I don't know the consequences of this. I just know what will happen if I don't. What do you think, old timer? Definite suffering or the unknown?"

"You can't ask me to decide that." Just like no one could ask her to make a decision like this, but someone had to decide something. "You gotta do what you think is right."

"What I think is right...pissing off God it is."

Odie pinched one flask between an arm and her ribs, and she upended the other one. Blood pooled in her palm and dripped onto the ground, and she dropped the flask when it was empty. She poured the blood from the second flask into her cupped palm before letting it drop too, and his stomach rolled as she spread the blood up to her elbows.

"If I don't make it, tell him he has to go to Maryland. Ilchester, Maryland. St. Mary's, to be specific," she said as she bent to get her knife again.

"If she doesn't make it?"

"Tell who?" he asked instead.

"You'll see, and, Bobby?" Dark eyes looked over at him, and she almost looked like the young woman he'd gone hunting with years ago. "Once I start, don't enter the circle. The world needs you alive."

She raised the knife and cut a line on the left side of her chest, over her heart, and then dropped the knife. She swiped a hand over her chest, mixing the blood already on her hands with her own. He could hear her muttering something, too low for him to make out the actual words. There was a fierce look of determination on her face now, which made her look more in control than when she had been tearing through his house.

The wind was starting to pick up, and her legs shifted to widen her stance and keep her steady. She was talking faster now, chanting in a language that he didn't recognize, and her head tipped back. Her dark hair whipped back and forth in the strong wind, and he gripped the old blanket in one fist and raised his other hand up to hold his hat against his head. Her hands waved through the air, fluid motions in contrast with the sharp chanting, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when lightning struck just outside of the circle.

"You'll have to do better than that if you want to scare me off!" she yelled and raised her hands up. Lightning struck again, and she just laughed in response.

"It's a warning," he thought as she bent her knees to keep from getting blown over. The wind was strong enough to nearly knock them over, but the symbols dug into the dirt were unchanged.

"It's too late to stop me now, and you know it! I'm bringing him back!"

Nothing good could come from that statement, but he had a feeling that she was right. It was too late to stop her, but he still didn't understand what she was trying to do. Whatever it was, it was something powerful. The air around them felt charged, laced with electricity. She was chanting again, voice rising and falling. The sound was drowned out by the howling wind, but he could see her lips moving.

Just when he was sure that the wind was going to transform into a tornado, she dropped to her knees. Her blood soaked hands pushed against the ground until her fingers sunk into the dirt, and her lips were still moving. Another strong gust nearly toppled him over, and he blinked grit out of his eyes. Then wished he hadn't. Long deep cuts had appeared on her arms, and a rip in her shirt showed another line being cut into her ribcage. As he watched, more and more slashes sliced her open. She didn't even react as blood started to pour from her; she kept her hands buried in the dirt and her face tipped towards the sky, while she continued to chant.

"This is my will!"

Bobby was thrown back as light exploded in the center of the circle, and he worried that she'd been struck by lightning as he laid on the ground. He'd dropped the blanket when he got blown over, and he didn't bother with picking it up as he struggled to his feet. The wind had stopped, and the sky was a clear blue again without any sign of lightning or storms. He stumbled forward a few steps and looked at the circle, and Odie was lying in the dirt and not moving.

He hurried to her side and dropped down beside her, and the blood on her shoulder was still slick when he gripped it and carefully rolled her onto her back. The front of her shirt was ripped all to pieces to show torn skin and more blood, and there was even a slash following the curve of her jaw. He'd expected the blood. He hadn't expected for all of her dark hair to be white, as if the color had been leeched out. Or for her to look so small and still.

"Odie? You still with me?" He didn't want to shake her, because he didn't know how hurt she was. Luckily, her eyes opened into slits.

"Did it work? Is he here?" She tried to turn her head, but it was like she didn't have the strength to do that much.

"Nobody's here," he told her.

"Shit," she whispered and passed out.

It wasn't easy, but he managed to get her into his arms and stand up. It was a good thing that she was short and kept herself lean. Otherwise, he might not have been able to lift her and carry her into the house. He got her into the bathroom and into his ancient tub, and it was unnerving how still and quiet she was. He'd think she was dead if he couldn't see her body shifting slightly as she breathed.

The next couple of hours weren't easy ones. He had to cut off her shirt and shorts, because they were soaked in blood and ripped to pieces. Her boots were in one piece and came off easily enough, and he'd turned on the shower to wash the blood off. Her body had jerked at the sudden spray of water before falling still again, and he'd moved as quickly as he could to clean her off and then towel her dry. Things had gotten tricky after that. Cuts were all over her body, and some of them were deep enough to need stitches. He closed up cuts on her legs, arms, torso, and even the one on her jaw. The cuts that didn't require stitches still had to be cleaned and bandaged, and Odie looked like a kid dressing up as a mummy by the time he was through.

Finding clothes for her wasn't easy. One of his old tee shirts hung down on her, and he searched through old clothes until he found a pair of cotton sleeping shorts that he didn't remember Karen ever wearing but had to have belonged to her. He dressed Odie quickly and then carried her into the study to lay her on the couch. He wanted to keep her in his line of sight, just in case she worsened or woke up.

Once she was on the couch and covered up with a quilt, he collapsed into his chair behind the desk and pulled out a bottle of whiskey from one of the drawers. Sam had run off to do only God knows what, Dean was missing, and a possibly insane psychic had just performed some kind of ritual in his backyard. If those weren't good enough reasons to drink, he didn't know what was.

The bottle only had a thin sliver of liquid left inside of it when he heard footsteps, and his eyes popped open wide as he sat up straight in his chair. He must have dozed off at some point, because the room was pitch dark. The footsteps were getting closer, and he hoped it was Dean and not Odie stumbling around bleeding. His hand fumbled in the dark until he found his lamp and switched it on, and dull light flooded the room.

Bobby froze with his hand raised and touching the lamp, and he blinked rapidly and hoped it would clear his vision. It did, the blurriness faded, but the person standing in his study didn't change. It wasn't Odie, stumbling around and reopening her stitches. It wasn't Dean, royally pissed off but whole. It wasn't even Sam.

The person took a heavy step forward, and dirt fell to the floor in a small cloud. The old blanket he'd left outside was draped around wide shoulders, slightly hunched forwards, and he could hear harsh breathing. Another step forward, more falling dirt. Dark eyes were looking at him, and there were even clumps of dirt weighing down the eyelashes. He was staring at a ghost. Had to be. He glanced over at Odie, who was still unconscious on the couch, and then back at the figure standing in the center of the room.

"Bobby, what the hell am I doing back here?" John Winchester asked.

Thank you for reading! I'd love to know thoughts on this chapter or if you think I should continue to post it.