Dean mopped up the gravy left on his plate with half a biscuit and consumed most of it in one bite. "Just because we've fed you, don't think you can keep hanging around."

Sam shot him a frown before glancing over at June.

She looked down her nose at Dean, rose and took up her plate and mug. "Don't worry, I won't be begging at the back door if you don't want me here."

June set her dishes in the sink, then approached the table again and dropped a graceful genuflection in Cas's direction. "Thank you for your message, Castiel. May our Father's will be done."

He nodded in return and she left the kitchen. The front door closed a moment later.

"Kneeling to you? Really?" Dean scoffed.

"The dog knows her place," Cas answered with a slight shrug.

"What is her place?" Sam said. "We've been fine on our own. Why are we suddenly supposed to team up with this… woman… who doesn't even know what's going on?"

"She knows now."

"An hour's info dump isn't the same as years of dealing with this life," Sam countered.

"Come on, Cas. What's in it for us? Why do we suddenly need a fuzzy side-kick?" Dean said.

"Why does any hunter require a hound?" Cas tilted his head.

Dean spread his hands, widened his eyes. "Yeah? So? We're not exactly chasing raccoons up trees here."

"Time is critical. You are stalking lions; you do not need to expend your energy guarding yourselves against jackals."

Sam rubbed his forehead, brows drawn together in a pained-looking frown. When he spoke, his voice was sharp, almost angry. "Look, can we drop the stupid metaphor? What, exactly, can June do for us that we can't do for ourselves?"

Cas gave a nod of acquiescence. "Hyper-vigilance exacts a heavy toll on the human mind and body. Among other benefits, her bonded watch-care will allow both of you to deeply sleep at the same time, in safety. That alone will be worth her keep."

"Wow. God cares if I have a posturepedic morning. That's rich, Cas."

Dean's scorn roughly equaled the skepticism on Sam's face.

"What makes you think we'd trust her that far?" Sam asked.

"A solution is offered, but no one can force you to accept it," Cas answered.

"That's not enough," Dean shook his head. "Not to take the risk of dragging around some stranger."

"And putting her in harm's way," Sam added.

"Harm's way is exactly where her kind was created to stand," Cas answered, his calm voice firm. "Demons, powerful ones, oppose you now. They are quite capable of deluding even the most wary human, as you well know."

Sam's jaw tightened and his nostrils flared. Getting pissed. His temper was on a random hair-trigger lately.

Though Dean wasn't far behind him this time. "Exactly. I doubt that girl on the porch has ever been out of the swamps. So how the hell is she going to do us any good against the likes of Lilith?"

"Against her? Perhaps very little. Against the lesser hordes? June will be a valuable weapon, sentry and support. She is stronger and faster than any human more than twice her size. Her senses are more acute than those of bestial canines. These physical capabilities are the lesser advantage, however. Hounds are keenly attuned to detect the presence of a demon, regardless of what form they may take or who they may possess. In addition, a demon cannot sense the presence of a Hound. Unless the Hound is detected with the natural senses, it remains invisible to the demon."

Sam scowled. "How's that possible? I thought souls—glowed—or something, to a demon?"

"They do," Cas agreed with a nod. "Hounds have no souls."

"That's not a positive, Cas," Dean snapped.

"Maybe it is," Sam countered, as the implications sank in. "If she's never had a soul, there's no vacuum for a demon to fill, nothing to possess. She can't be commandeered or manipulated. That could be useful."

"Could be a huge liability, too," Dean said. "That all she's got, Cas?"

"Other than a life-long bond of absolute, irrevocable loyalty and the willingness to lay down her life for either of yours at any moment?" Cas's lips quirked into a hint of a wry smile. "Yes. That's all she's got."

"Whoa. Seriously?" Sam's eyebrows lifted.

"You know it is."

Sam leaned back, his brows drawing together. Cas had scored a major point with him, but damned if Dean knew how.

"Then what's in this deal for Saint June?" Sam asked. "Dean and I are pretty much flat-broke in the selfless virtues department and I don't see that changing."

"I suggest you ask that of her," Cas said.

"And what's this bond you keep mentioning?" Dean added.

"Again, speak to her." Cas vanished.

Sam slapped the table hard enough to make the dishes bounce and rattle. "DAMMIT! I hate when he does that!"

"He does have a thing about getting the last word," Dean grumbled.

"I'll go get June," Sam said and started to rise.

"Wait. Is there some kind of bond between you two?"

Sam sat back down. "There's a connection, I don't know what it is exactly. It's hard to describe."

"Try."

Sam's brow furrowed. "It's as if… I can feel her now, all the time."

"Some sort of mind-meld craziness? Telepathy or something?"

"No, I can't hear her thoughts." Sam shook his head and shoved the salt-shaker around on the table as if it personally aggravated him. "It's more like having another body part. Proprioception, maybe, like how you know where your arm is all the time. Only my new limb is June, and the connection's still dim, like when your arm's numb. But it's getting stronger and clearer, the longer she's around."

Dean wiped a hand over his face. "So you're tellin' me that by this time tomorrow, you're gonna be grokkin' the dog-faced girl?"

Sam snorted a rueful breath. "Yeah, that'd be my best guess."

"Great, just effin' great. And if you're feeling her long-distance, there's no telling what she's picking up from your melon."

"There is that possibility," Sam nodded and Dean was somewhat relieved to see that Sam wasn't all roses and raspberry leaves about that.

"Explain to me why I shouldn't step outside and put a bullet between her eyes, purely as a precaution?"

Sam winced, and cocked his head. "Because I suspect it'll give me one helluva headache? And probably piss off Cas?"

"You sound like you want to stay plugged in to Lassie!"

"I don't!" Sam fired back.

"Then fight this damn bond or whatever the hell it is!" Dean leaned forward. "I think you're lying. I think you want this. Shit, Sam, it's not like this is the first time you've hooked up with some pretty little she-monster. It's just at the other end this time. For now."

Sam stiffened, his eyes going narrow and his jaw tight. Dean was pretty sure he was going to have to block a punch. Instead, Sam's fists stayed by his sides, white at the knuckles as he lurched to his feet.

"Since that's where you're taking this conversation, it's over," Sam snapped and turned to stride out of the kitchen.

"Don't forget your dog!" Dean called after him.

The front door slammed. The Impala's exit showered the cabin with gravel and mud.

Dean leisurely rose, got a beer, and stepped out onto the porch. Out of the corner of his eye he saw June, balled up into as small a space as possible, wedged into one corner of the scabby, rickety porch swing. "And yet, you're still here."

She didn't lift her head off her knees. "I haven't been sent away."

"Scram."

Eyes almost as blue as Cas's lifted to him, cold and flat. "Not your decision to make, Dean."

He pushed against the porch post with his shoulder. When it didn't yield, he leaned back against it. "Not yours either, I take it."

"Nope." She put her head back down on her knees, her arms wrapped tight around her shins. "It's all on Sam now."

Dean lowered the level in his bottle, watching her. Wasn't much to see past a spill of wild, bright red hair, Sam's shirt and bare toes curled against the edge of the swing's seat. "Why are you going along with this bonding craziness with a complete stranger?"

"You don't want to hear my motivations. You want me gone. You're suspicious and protective and you intend me harm." Her voice was flat, resigned maybe.

"And you know this how? This is the longest we've spoken."

"Explain to me why I shouldn't step outside and put a bullet between her eyes, purely as a precaution?" she parroted, head still down. "I've got very good hearing and this cabin has very thin walls."

"Eavesdrop and you'll never hear anything good about yourself." He drained the last of his beer.

"Thank you, Miss Friggin' Manners. I'll keep it in mind for the next time some trigger-happy nutsack is itchin' to blow the back of my head off."

"Since we understand each other so intimately—leave. Now."

Her head came up again. "I can't. Unless Sam tells me to, I can not leave. You want me gone, refrain from enraging your brother for ten whole minutes and talk him into running me off within the next seventy hours! Or kill me now and be done with it."

"What would that do to Sam?"

She stared back at him, and he didn't detect a flicker of fear. He had a feeling she'd sit right there like a target silhouette while he plugged her. The hair rose on his arms again.

"I don't know. Honest to the Father I don't. You want to risk it, go ahead."

He set his bottle down on the porch rail, drew his pistol and aimed right between those calm, sad eyes. She didn't flinch, didn't react at all. Just watched him with mute resignation. She would die and Sam might feel it. Really, physically feel it. He lowered the pistol.

June uncurled herself to sit relaxed, her legs folded to one side, hands in her lap.

"If you were hearing us, then you know we both want to find out what's in this for you," he gritted.

"A reason to exist," she answered, her voice as neutral as her expression.

"If you're gonna to spout melodramatic horseshit, we're going back to armed hostility. At least that didn't make me want to puke."

"You asked me what's in this deal for me," she answered, her voice taking on a sharp edge. "I gave you the short answer. Shall I elaborate?"

"By all means," he said, inclining his head in a mocking bow.

She looked past him, her eyes going hard and her lips thinning out, then she dragged her gaze back and her expression was neutral again. "No apologies if you still think it's melodramatic horseshit. If you don't like it, stuff it into a small tight orifice."

"I appreciate your delicate non-specificity there."

She obviously didn't appreciate his appreciation. Her voice hoarsened, and a dull, mottled flush spread over her cheeks.

"Me, and all my kind, we were created for Hunters. Without that bond, there's always this huge sucking hole in the center of all of us. For freakin' centuries we've lived and died knowing we've not been able to fulfill our one true purpose. We've waited for a Hunter to accept one of us again like y'all waited for the advent of the Son."

"Hang on a second." He wiggled a finger in his ear with a grimace. "I must be goin' deaf, because I could swear I just heard you say that Sam's the Hound Messiah."

"He is."

Dean wasn't sure what to do first, burst out laughing or back off away from the scorch zone in case lightning took her out. He settled for laughing until it was a good thing he was propped up against that post.

"Have you regained bladder control?" she snapped when he wound down.

"Crap, I won't shoot you just for that. I needed a good laugh," he gasped, wiping his eyes. "Go on, I'm listening."

She was approximately the color of a ripe tomato now, and her words came out as if they were bitten off a spool.

"Yes, your brother is a messiah, in the general sense of 'rescuer of a heck of a lot of people.' And since you two were obviously conjoined until sometime early last week—I suspect you will be too." Her gaze on him now was distinctly sour. "Which just goes to prove that Father's ways truly are mysterious and unknowable—and that a jackass will serve a divine purpose again."

Despite his best efforts, which were minimal he had to admit, he started spluttering again.

"Go ahead, yuk it up. Doesn't change a thing. Sam is the fulfillment of that prophecy. You might want to know what else it says. When that Seal breaks, Hell will be released onto Earth. The prophesied Hunter and Hound will cut a wide swathe through the entire demonic population to ensure that Evil's forces are thinned enough for Good to triumph."

She stood then, her arms crossed over her chest and chin lifted to a regal angle. A commanding posture which, considering she was barely five-four and had hair the color of Bozo's, wasn't very intimidating.

"No matter how much that's exaggerated, it's still an awesome responsibility and honor. Add to that the fact that you guys have a blazin' rep, all on your own. And let's not overlook the whole angelic proclamation thing, which I didn't expect at all. It's heady stuff to think I've been tapped for the first-string by Father Himself. You want to know what's in it for me, here's what's in it for me. If Sam accepts me, I become the Canis Major of my entire species. Top dog forever."

Dean gave her a few sardonic claps. "Congratulations! You've won the Outrageous Bullshit of the Year award."

"Then I have issues with the judges' review," she fired back, "So don't go engraving the plaque just yet."

"I'll tell you one thing, Fido. If there's a God, and he loves us, he'll let me see Sam's face when you lay all this on him."

"What will you do if he believes me?" she asked sweetly.

That wiped his smirk right off. "I'll make sure he doesn't."

"How? I doubt you'll threaten him with violent death, and you sure haven't wasted much beguiling charm on either of us tonight." She gazed off past his shoulder then, in the general direction Sam had taken. "But he's a lot less tense now than he was—so, good luck with that. I'll be back when he is."

She shucked Sam's shirt over her head, draped it neatly across the swing, and hopped over the porch rail into the rain. She didn't shape-shift till she was almost past the light thrown from the cabin. He knew she did that on purpose, the smart-ass little bitch.