There was a time when the worst possible thing Maura Stevens could think of was the death of her husband, Mike. But, once they'd been married for a few years, after things started to go a bit rocky, it was apparent that there could be worse things. She joked with her girlfriends about murdering him in his sleep, if she ever caught him cheating. And then, she caught him cheating. After that, a month past their 5th wedding anniversary, he left her. 5 months after that, he was dead.
Being questioned by the police quickly came to top her list of horrible things. The detective in charge of Mike's death was condescending and aggressive, jumping on her vocal fumbling like it was a sign of guilt and not a sign that she'd lost someone who she had loved deeply for more than a quarter of her life. Detective Sanchez poked her with proof that they were divorcing, which she had readily admitted during their first meeting. He prodded her with the story Mike's friend had overheard about killing the man in his sleep. He told her not to leave town, he'd have more questions for her. Then, the FBI showed up.
Maura had looked out the front window of her little townhouse when she heard the engine. It was loud, and sounded out of place in her neighborhood full of eco-conscious SMART cars and button-start hybrids. The car, a black 4 door muscle car, was gorgeous, but the men who stepped out of it, they were perfect. Tall, broad-shouldered and both absolutely rocking their suits, they looked like they had stepped out of a 'Hunks of Quantico' calendar. She rushed into the kitchen and turned on her coffee pot before stopping in front of the mirror in her dining room and checking her dark auburn hair. It wasn't that she thought she had a shot with either of them, guys like that pretty much couldn't be single, but they were some of the hottest men she'd ever laid eyes on and she wasn't gonna look like crap when they walked into her home.
The doorbell pulled her away from fixing her make-up. She answered it with a smile. "Yes?"
"How you doing, ma'am? I'm Agent Gibbons, with the FBI. This is my partner, Agent Beard." The shorter of the two men said, as they pulled up two FBI badges. "Are you... is it 'Maura'? Maura Stevens?"
"Yeah, Maura. Like 'Laura' with an 'M'. My parents thought it was unique."
"We're going to need to talk to you about your husband, Mike." The taller one said.
"Of course." She said, opening the door wide and stepping out of the way. As she shut the door, she smiled, tightly. "Full disclosure, he was about to be my ex-husband. We were separated, pending divorce. Can I get you guys some coffee?"
Agent Gibbons smiled and nodded. "That'd be great. Black for me, but my partner will take it with as much sugar and milk as you can fit in there."
Maura had filled three mugs and put them on a tray, next to a carton of half and half and a small bowl of sugar. She placed the tray on her coffee table and pulled her mug up to her mouth as the agents grabbed their own. "So, uh, what can you tell us about your... not-quite-ex-husband?"
She sighed, leaning forward to put her coffee on the table. "I wish I could say nice things. I mean, he's dead. But... he was selfish, childish. He was incapable of seeing the consequences of his actions. He was a diabetic little slip of a guy who couldn't even be bothered to keep his blood sugar under control."
"Any reason you can think of that someone would... turn their dog loose on him?" Agent Beard asked.
"No. I mean, I know that when someone dies, it's the ex-wife that's the first suspect, the wife that's the second and since I'm somewhere in between those two, Detective Sanchez seems to think I'm some sort of super suspect. But I would never have killed him. I loved him. I fell for him in high school. I did everything for him. I mean, I cared more about him than he cared about himself. Like, I used to buy him candy every day in seventh period because he never had lunch money and I didn't want his sugar to fall. I can't think of anyone who'd want him dead. Apparently, though, someone overheard me saying I was going to murder him if he ever cheated."
"Well, that was just talk, right? I mean, I've had some women threaten some..." The green-eyed agent cut off his musing. "But that's just what women say, right? Not many would actually turn their exes into puppy chow."
"Yeah, exactly. Besides, my concept was much more elegant." The agents reach raised an eyebrow. She gave a nervous chuckle and sighed. "He was diabetic. Give him a nice big shot of insulin in his sleep and he never wakes up. It's a lot easier and a lot less messy than... whatever actually happened."
The agents exchanged a look. "You did plan." The bigger one asked.
"Yeah, well. As the song says, 'Would you rather be a widow or divorcee'?"
"What song's that?" Agent Gibbons asked.
"Oh, well, with names like Gibbons and Beard, you probably don't listen to much pop punk music. It's an Infinity On High lyric."
A look of recognition crossed the larger agents face. He smiled, sweetly, and leaned forward. "Well, we don't fight fair."
She smiled, brightly. "Well, all right, G-man."
Gibbons looked confused. "What's going on?"
"It's a Fall Out Boy song. 'Take Over, the Break's Over.'" Beard turned to his partner.
"Is this some of that girl-pants wearing, too much eyeliner music? Man, I am so disappointed in the state of rock music today, grown men wearing make-up."
"Are you kidding me? Girl pants are worse than Angus Young duck-walking around in school-boy shorts, or Freddie Mercury running around stage pantless? And Jagger's pants were so tight, you gotta wonder how he managed to have a family. Oh, man, and 'grown men wearing make-up', does the name 'David Bowie' mean anything to you? The appearance doesn't detract from the depth of the lyrics or pulse of the beat." The agents stared at her with their eyes a little wide. "Sorry. I'm a little... Rock music is kinda big for me. It's helped me through some... tough times."
Gibbons stood, his partner following suit. "Well, I think we've got what we need, for now. I'm sorry I insulted your music. You, obviously, have good taste." He smiled, brightly, green eyes sparkling as he handed her a business card. "You think of anything; anything that might help us find what happened to your... ex or anything at all, you just give me a call." She stood, her heart rate jumping as she realized that he might be flirting. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and walked them to the door.
"I love your car, by the way." She said, as they walked out the door.
"So do I." Gibbons said, proudly.
Maura had come back to the business card half a dozen times. The cell phone number was underlined 3 times. She couldn't help but wonder if that was an invitation to call. Especially paired with the way he'd told her to call if she thought of anything. There was no way he was interested in her, though. He could have any chick, there was no way he was interested in a 26 year old widow who geeked out about pop punk music. She was staring down at the card for the 8th time when she heard the howling. The sound wasn't normal. As a scratching noise came to her front door, she pulled her curtain aside and looked out to see a giant black dog. She screamed and ran up her stairs and hid in her closet. She pulled her cell phone out and dialed the number on the card she'd been focusing on.
"Hello?"
"Agent Gibbons!" She whispered, fear falling over her as she heard her front door breaking down. "There's a... a huge black dog, it's in my house. I think it's..."
"Where are you, right now?"
"Closet upstairs."
"We're on the way. Hold on."
She pushed her way to the very back of the closet and tried to keep from breathing too loudly. Her heart was pounding as she heard growling outside of her closet door, which was soon replaced by a loud scratching on the door. She was trying not to cry out when a shotgun blast was heard.
"Sam! Toss me the knife." Maura had never been so relieved to hear someone's voice. There was a sound of a struggle, followed by the sound of a whimpering dog. Her closet door was yanked open and she let out a heavy sigh as her beautiful green-eyed savior came into view. He was wearing civvies; jeans, a green and blue flannel shirt and a thin denim jacket. He grabbed her arm and helped her out of the closet.
"What was that?"
"We'll explain later. I need you to grab a bag, fill it with clothes. You're gonna have to come with us."
Maura nodded and ran through her room, filling a gym bag with clothes. Once she'd zipped it up, she was ushered out of her house, through her broken door and out into the back of the gorgeous car. Her heart was still pounding as she stared at the two men in the front seat. "You guys aren't FBI, are you? That... that wasn't a dog."
"It was a hell hound." The green-eyed man said.
"We're not FBI. I'm Sam and this is my brother, Dean. We hunt monsters."
Maura took a steadying breath. "Did you kill it? I thought I heard... why was it after me?" She asked.
"It won't be the only one. If someone sent it after you, they'll send another one. Or they'll come get you themselves. We'll talk about it once we get you somewhere safe." Dean said.
They pushed Maura into a motel room and rushed around the room, spreading a dark powder across the door and each of the windows. She sat down on the little love seat, her bag full of clothes on her lap. When they'd finally finished running around the room, they stopped to look down at her.
"So." She started. "That's what killed Mike, huh?"
"Yeah." Dean answered, sitting on the edge of one of the two full size beds in the room.
"You said someone might have sent it for us?"
"Hell hounds are... they answer to demons. They're used to draw souls down to Hell, more often than not." Sam said, softly.
"Why would-"
"You ever make a deal with a demon?" Dean interrupted.
"What? I just learned that monsters exist. I definitely didn't make any deals with one."
"You ever make a wish to someone? Someone who kissed you after? Maybe about 10 years ago?" Dean asked.
"No. I can count on one hand the number of people I've kissed in the last 10 years and I'm pretty sure none of them were demons. Look, if I'd ever had a wish suddenly come true, I'd tell you, but I've never been that lucky."
"Okay. Maybe it's a mistake, or maybe someone is targeting you for some reason. It probably ties back to your husband, so we'll look into that. You're safe here, though." Sam was assuring.
"Because of whatever you did with that black dust?" She asked.
"It's called 'goofer dust'. It's old school vodun. Or hoodoo, whatever you want to call it. It keeps most demons out, and pretty much every hound we've ever come across. It's safe."
Maura nodded. She felt pretty safe just being around the hunters. "Okay. Okay, so... hellhounds, demons, voodoo... you said you hunt monsters. It's all real?"
"Ghosts, witches, angels, demons, even dragons kinda exist."
"What about fairies?" She asked.
Dean grimaced and Sam smiled. "Yeah. Anything you've ever heard about aliens... fairies." Sam answered.
"Wow. That's crazy."
Dean looked down at his wrist and stood. "It's late. We should get some rest. We gotta track down the demon that owned that hound, tomorrow."
Maura nodded and unzipped her back, searching for something to sleep in. "Shit."
"What's up?" Sam asked.
"Oh. I just... I was in a hurry and I didn't grab my pajama pants. I guess I'll sleep in jeans."
"Sammy, toss her one of your shirts." Dean instructed. "He's huge. It'll be a gown on you."
Sam handed her a grey T-shirt, before turning to Dean. "So, you wanna shoot for who takes the couch?"
"You are. I always get the bed by the door, dude."
"Dean, this is a special situation. It's usually just us, and I can understand you taking that bed, but why should you get the bed this time?"
"I'm older."
"I'm bigger."
"Guys, you saved my life. I'll take the couch. I'm the extra person, anyway." Maura said, standing.
The brothers looked between themselves. "No. It's fine. I'll take it." Sam said. "I can sleep pretty much anywhere."
"Yeah, well, I've got a smaller frame. I'll fit better." Dean said.
"Dean, I'll take it, it's fine."
The boys continued to argue as Maura walked to the bathroom. When she reemerged, the boys stopped arguing, distracted by the sight of her walking out enveloped in Sam's shirt. "Okay, why don't you guys go get changed and when you're done getting ready to crash, you can arm wrestle for the bed." They nodded and walked into the bathroom. As she listened to the sink turn on and the shower run, she lied down on the little love seat and curled up on her side.
She could feel them staring at her when they came back into the main room. "Did she just-?"
"Yeah, Dean. Guess she decided she wasn't gonna let us fight over it, anymore."
"This chick's a bit of a control freak. Is it weird that I don't hate that?" Dean said, grabbing the comforter off of his bed and gently pulling it over her.
"I don't even... want to talk about that, Dean."
Maura smiled a little as she heard the beds shift across the room.