Authors Note: So sorry for the long lapse between updates! Living got in the way, but hopefully I will do better going forward. Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated.
Sam wonders if he's going mad. He stares at his brother. Dean's out cold, head pillowed by his arms on the table. His short hair is damp, raindrops standing out among the dark blond strands. The hellhound—Cujo—has rested his head against Dean's elbow, red eyes regarding Sam steadily.
"What the hell, Bobby?" he says.
Bobby looks as lost as Sam feels. He shakes his head. "I don't know. I've never seen anything like it."
Neither has Sam. After Dean had stormed off Sam had had time to think. And his thoughts hadn't led him anywhere good. After all if Dean really hadn't been possessed then someone—someone powerful—was trying to manipulate them.
And the list of people with a vendetta against the Winchesters was long. Anyone from your average, run-of-the-mill demon to the Queen of Purgatory herself was after them. Not to mention anyone Sam had pissed off during his year of soullessness.
But if Dean's not possessed, what's with Cujo? The hellhound's eyes remain on Sam as if reading his thoughts. And hell, maybe it is The only other time Sam'd been up against hellhounds they'd been ripping his brother apart. Now the hellhound's acting like a furry bodyguard.
But even Cujo's not the strangest bit—not now.
"What do you think Dean meant? About the hellhound killing demons?"
Cujo snorts and licks Dean's elbow. Bobby eyes the hellhound warily before replying. "I don't know, Sam. Wouldn't've thought it was possible, but then…" His voice trails off and he shrugs.
Tired anger sparks in Sam and then quickly dies, his brain too weary to sustain it. Instead he prods Dean, urging him up. Dean's eyes blink open, but there's no conscious thought behind his movements as Sam pulls him to his feet and guides him towards the stairs.
Cujo follows, bracing Dean up on the other side, and together they get Dean into bed. Amusement flares as Cujo grabs Dean's boot and tugs at it, trying to pull it off. The laces though are bound too tightly and it takes Sam undoing them for Cujo to fully remove it.
Once the boots are off, Cujo leaps onto the bed, heavy body draped along Dean's side. Dean stirs slightly, the lines in his face easing as he settles deeper into sleep. Caution and fear wage in Sam. Before he can overthink his actions, he pulls the flask of holy water from his pocket and sprinkles a bit on Dean's arm.
Nothing happens. There's no smoke, no sign at all that the holy water is anything but ordinary tap water. Cujo huffs, and Sam could swear the beast rolls its eyes at him. "Just checking," Sam mutters and shuffles out, closing the door behind him.
Bobby is waiting downstairs in the kitchen and he hands a glass full of scotch to Sam. "Well?" he asks.
"Nothing," says Sam. "Dean's not possessed and neither is anyone else."
"Except the damn dog," says Bobby.
Sam takes a large swallow, the alcohol burning a path down his throat. "Yeah, pretty much." He thinks back to when he'd first thought Dean was possessed, at the way his eyes had turned black at the name Christo. That had been the only sign. Well, that and the fact that Dean had actually been reading a book instead of a skin mag.
What ever had happened to that book anyway?
Sam tries to shake the thought. It's a damn book; who cares where it went? But something has him hustling out to the car and digging around in the mess that is currently the trunk. Everything from the motel room is there in one massive pile: jeans and tee shirts mix with used carryout containers, and random bits of paper. Sam hadn't stopped to sort their belongings; he'd just gathered and thrown.
He finds the book towards the bottom, a gas receipt stuck between the pages. It's a book of detective stories, the spine and cover in surprising condition for one of Dean's possessions. Sam stares at it, wondering where in the hell Dean had gotten it from.
The answer is on the first page. In girlish, cursive script are the words: To Dean, the World's best hunter! From M, your biggest fan. Just like the detectives in this book, you save the world! Including me! There was a big, pink heart after that and two stick figures that Sam supposes are suppose to be M and Dean.
Guilt gnaws at Sam. He has no idea who M is. Or when Dean saved her. The publication date gives no clues. It's a reprint of a reprint. Closing it, Sam carries it into the house and lays it on the table in front of Bobby.
"What's that?" asks Bobby, no inflection in his voice.
"Dean's book." Sam flips to the inscription. "You have any idea who M is?"
Bobby blinks and pulls the book closer. He studies it for a moment, then shakes his head. "Not a clue." He squints up at Sam. "Any reason why it's important?"
"Because Dean was reading it when his eyes, you know." Sam blows out his breath when Bobby just looks at him skeptically. "I know it doesn't make sense, but I can't help feeling it's important somehow." Sam hates how lame he sounds, how uncertain.
"It's just a book with a nice note, Sam." Bobby's voice is gentle. "I think we've got to consider that we made a mistake."
"I know that," Sam sighs. "I only hope that Dean forgives us."
From Bobby's silence Sam knows that Bobby is hoping for the exact same thing.