A/N 1: just an idea I had this morning.

A/N 2: very AU-ish. Set within the timeline of the series.

A/N 3: this story will make sense only if you're familiar with "The Hobbit" movies.

A/N 4: might have subsequent chapters if the premise doesn't seem too ridiculous

I was just packing up my gear, getting ready to head out to Hallock, Minnesota to help another hunter with a pack of vargars when my phone rang.

"Hey, Mal. I'm just leaving. I'll be there in about six hours. Five and a half if I can push it."

"That's why I'm calling, Bobby. You don't have to bother - some other hunters showed up and cleared the pack. There's none left to kill."

Vargars are something like a cross between hellhounds and warthogs and they gotta be stabbed in the heart to kill them which can be pretty damn hard to do. "They got 'em all? All six? Who were they?"

"Ah, they gave me some name, but it sounded made up. There was three of them, a father I guess, his two sons."

Well, that could only be one group of hunters, couldn't it?

"Sounds like you met the Winchesters," I said. I knew they were going to be in Minnesota, visiting with Pastor Jim, then they were supposed to swing by my place. They must've gotten a lead on the vargars from Jim. "Was the father kind of grumpy? Dark hair, not much for chit chat?"

"Yeah, that's him. The older boy carries an arsenal of small weapons on him, kept his brother close to him all the time. The younger boy followed his lead, but when two of the vargars got the older one cornered, he killed both of them all by himself."

"They cornered him? Did he get bit?"

"Ripped a bit out of his leather coat, but didn't draw blood. He acted like it was nothing at all. But, anyway, the pack's all dead. We just got through burning the carcasses, they said they were getting back on the road. I'm just calling to save you a trip."

"All right, Mal. Thanks. Keep an eye out though, you see any sign of more vargars, you give me a call."

"I will."

We hung up and I unpacked and headed to the kitchen to start some coffee. My phone rang again, Dean this time.

"Hey, Bobby. Just want to let you know, we're going to be a little late. We got hung up in Kearney. We're headed to Pastor Jim's now."

"Kearney? You're still in Missouri?"

"Yeah, turns out it's a lot harder to salt and burn somebody in the same cemetery where Jesse James is buried. Little bit more security than we usually encounter. We finally managed it though. We're just getting started for Pastor Jim's and we'll be to your place by the end of the week."

"You weren't just in Hallock?"

"Hallock? No. Where's that?"

"Northern Minnesota. Pack of vargas showed up. I was going up to help a friend of mine but he said some other hunters already got to 'em. The way he described them, I thought it was you boys."

"Was I the good-looking hunter? Or the totally bad-ass one?" Dean asked. "Wait - I was both, wasn't I?"

"Aren't you on your way to Blue Earth?" I asked. Dean laughed.

"Yeah, we'll see you in few days."

He hung up and I stared at my phone, thinking about how Mal had described those hunters. I gave him a call back.

"Hey, Mal - those hunters you were telling me about - what name did they give you?"

"Durin. They said their family name was Durin…"

The End