It wasn't that Bobby was waiting for them to call. Not exactly. Sam and Dean weren't exactly the type to check in before heading off to get their brains blown out. It was just that. . .well. . .he'd sort of expected Leslie to call. Screaming, of course, and swearing up a storm, and probably making him glad once again that he'd kicked her out of the house at sixteen, but still. That had been a low blow, sending the Winchesters her way. He just couldn't deal with all those soulful looks and pained silences. He wasn't exactly Dr. Phil.

Of course, Leslie hadn't been, either. At least, not the Leslie he knew, all wild hair and teenage rebellion, and knives hidden down her boots. She'd been pissed at him when she'd found out about the Hunting, even more pissed when she'd learned what he'd done to her mom, and she'd stormed out, threatening never to return when he'd asked her leave the house for John's visits. And she'd kept true to that word: she'd never returned.

But Bobby didn't think she was like that, not anymore. Not with the letters he'd been getting from the church. . .he figured if anyone could straighten the boys out, it was a woman of God. And if she just happened to be his steel back-boned daughter, well, more luck to her.

Still . . .he glanced at the phone again. Still. . .why hadn't she called? Where were the death threats? Or the Christly forgiveness? It was getting a bit eerie. . .and where was Dean's exasperated questions, or Sam's more inquisitive and insightful ones? It was just wrong, was what it was. Too quiet.

So Bobby did what he always did. He plopped a trucker hat on his head, took a long pull of whiskey and a longer pull of root beer, and headed out to the car garage. It was obviously going to be another case of good ol' Bobby to the rescue.

* * * *

"Sam," Dean said, his voice low. Sam was almost afraid to look over toward the driver's seat. He didn't think he could handle what Dean so often called a "chick flick moment." He just wanted to ignore what Leslie had said back in the motel, pretend it hadn't happened. Dean, surprisingly, was the one who didn't seem able to drop it.

"Sam," he said again, insistently, a little louder this time. Sam sighed.

"Yeah, Dean?"

Dean glanced over, just a quick shift of the eyes, and then he was back to the road again. Well, Sam thought, at least if he drove too fast he was usual safe about it.

"She scares me, Sam," Dean said. Sam laughed. He couldn't help it. Dean laughed, too, but it was uneasy and short.

"No, seriously," he said again. "I say we salt and burn her."

"We can't salt and burn her!" Sam said. "She's human! And she's still alive. And I think, in her own way, she's trying to help us."

"She's trying to drive us insane, you mean," Dean griped. "We're sure she's not a demon?"

"You sneaked the holy water in her coffee yourself," Sam pointed out. Dean sighed, shrugged.

"Still. . ." Dean said uneasily. "She knows things, Sam."

That made Sam uncomfortable. Because Dean was right. She did know things, that no human knew: things that even Bobby hadn't been told. It was like she had some kind of an inside connection, like. . .

"Do you think she's a prophet?" Sam asked abruptly, and that drew Dean's gaze away from the road again. Before his brother would say a "huh-wha?" Sam continued to explain his thought. "Like Chuck. It would explain how she knows this stuff. . .might explain why Bobby sent us to her."

"I don't know—" Dean began, but whatever he'd been about to say was cut off when the Cadillac they'd been trailing abruptly fishtailed into a ditch. Dean cursed, and began spinning the wheel, trying frantically to keep the Impala from flying into the rear end of the other car. Reflexively, Sam reached out and grabbed the dashboard, aware that it wouldn't help one bet.

The Impala swung around, narrowly missing the end of the Cadillac, wheels screaming. Dean swore again, beads of sweat bursting out on his forehead. Sam could only imagine what was going on in his brothers head; no worry for their safety, but for what the grinding sounds meant for his precious baby. Moments later they had joined the Cadillac in the ditch.

"What the" Dean swung the door open and clomped out. Sam took a steadying breath before doing the same.

Leslie was climbing out of her own car, legs unfolding first, followed by the rest of her body. She didn't look even the least bit surprised to see Dean, arms-crossed, lips-pursed, stalking her down.

"It's right again here," she said, holding up some strange kind of pendant, glowing a soft white. "Be quiet."

Dean's mouth was working on overload. Lips pursed, then relaxed, then sneering, than lax again. Sam shook his head. He could almost read the thoughts flying through his brother's mind. Almost.

"Okay," Dean said, finally, his body still tense and rigid. "How do we kill this thing?"

Leslie smiled at that, held up one finger. "Only one way to even catch the unicorn," she said. "Somebody pure of heart and pure of body."

Sam's jaw dropped. Was the woman completely insane? Were they out here to kidnap a unicorn, or a virgin? A glance around reassured him that there wasn't another person, not even a house or car, within miles. If she'd lost her marbles, she'd really lost them.

"Really?" Dean scoffed, voicing Sam's own thoughts. "And where are we gonna find one of those?"

"You," Leslie said, a too-sweet smile on her face. Her gaze was directed at Dean. And that did it, the stress and the tension just reached a peak. Sam burst out into giggles.

"D-Dean?" He asked, gasping out between chortles. "Dean's your purity pledge? We are so fucked!"

Leslie sauntered over, hips swaying, that smile still on her face. She reached up and gently ran a hand down Dean's slack face. "I'm not stupid," she said. She gently slapped Dean. "Not you, per se. But your little angel friend. He's about as pure as we're going to get."

"Who?" Dean asked. "Cas? No can do. I haven't seen him in forever."

Leslie shrugged. "That's okay," she said. Sam was bent over now, still trying to get over his giggle fit. His hands were placed lightly on his thighs, and he was still gasping in breath. Tears stood out in his eyes, blurring his vision. That's why he didn't notice when she pulled out the knife. Didn't even notice the knife until he heard Dean's gasp.
"Son of a bitch," his brother choked. That got Sam's attention, jerked it up, in time to see Leslie twitch the knife, her face completely blank. Dean's gaze turned from the knife to Sam, his eyes still wide, a little panicked-looking now.
"Sammy?" he gasped. He fell to the ground. Something inside of Sam broke.

He couldn't even speak, he just sprang at the woman, tackled her to the ground. "You bitch!" He screamed, lifting a fist and bashing in her face. It was easier to punch a girl than he'd thought. He'd seen Dean do it before, but some chivalry had held him back. No such things now. Another, and another, and one eye was already puffing shut, blood streaming from her nose and mouth. He lifted his fist again, but behind him heard again, that choking sob. . .

"Sammy?"

He glanced down at the woman. Her eyes were unfocused, looking at his ear instead of his face. She wasn't out, but she wouldn't be doing anything. He kicked her in the side, once, and then sprang to his brother's side.

"Dean?" he said, and those stupid tears were in his eyes again. He reached down, his arms shaking. Dean's hands were lightly clasped over his middle, already stained red. Green eyes met hazel. Dean's mouth was slightly open.

"No," Sam breathed. "Not like this." A thousand deaths flew at him in that moment. That horrible, unending Tuesday. . .the black dogs. . .the hospital after Alistair. . .Dean choked a little, a bubble of blood escaping his lips.

"No," Sam said again, but he knew it was hopeless. Dean couldn't talk, couldn't even move.

That was when the sky went white.