Thanks to SandraEngstrom1 for the marvelous beta job she did on this chapter.

This chapter is — I hope — one of the better ones as I don't follow a canon episode and instead send Dean off on a hunt that MaryAliceBrandonCullen came up with. Let me know what you think.

Chapter Ten

Gradually, the noise in the bar died down as people left for the night. Engines started and cars pulled out of the parking lot, leaving clouds of dust in their wake.

Ellen came through to the kitchen and raked a hand over her face, sighing tiredly. Dean stood to greet her and she hugged him tightly.

"How've you been, sweetie?" she asked, pulling back to look him in the eye.

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "I'm fine." When she looked at him doubtfully, he continued. "I really am, Ellen. Things have been tough, but I'm okay now."

Her grip on his shoulders tightened. "The last time someone said that to me he'd just made the deal that saved your life. Please tell me you haven't…"

Dean shook his head. "No deals. I haven't even tried since that first night back." He raked a hand through his hair. "I don't know how to explain it, Ellen, I'm not even sure I want to. Things are just different now."

She nodded thoughtfully. "I guess that's good. As long as you're okay."

"I'm not skipping around, seeing the infinite joy in the world, but I'm dealing."

She smiled. "That's better than nothing, I guess. It's what he would want, which is what matters. Have you been out to see him?"

"Yeah. I saw the flowers."

"That's Jo. She goes out there and sees him almost every day that she's here. She tells him about her hunts and the people she meets. I think it helps her, you know?"

"How's she doing?" Dean asked.

"She's dealing too," Ellen said with a small smile. "Her and Sam got close the weeks he was here with us, and I think she's missing him more than she's letting on. You sticking around? She'll be back soon and she'd love to see you again. She's been worried. We both have."

"Yeah, I've got time, and I'd like to see her, too."

They fell into a comfortable silence that was broken only by the cicadas singing outside the window. Then there was a rumble of an approaching engine, and Ellen got to her feet and put water on to boil.

"That's Jo," she said taking a mug from the counter and dropping in a teabag. "I recognize the sputter of that crapped out engine anywhere."

Dean smiled at the fondness in her voice. He guessed it wasn't easy for Ellen, having Jo out living the hunter's life. He knew it was a dangerous world and it left your loved ones living with a constant ache of worry. He was lucky in that his family had all lived the hunting life—for the most part—so they had been too busy working to worry too much. He wondered if Sam had worried about him and their dad when he'd been at Stanford, and then he shook away the thought. There was no way of knowing and dwelling on the things he'd never asked would get him nowhere.

The back door clicked open and Jo came in. Dean looked up at her and smiled.

"Jo, what's wrong?" Ellen asked, concern heavy in her tone.

Dean took a closer look at Jo and saw what was making Ellen worry. Jo's smile was forced and taut and saw there were deep creases on her forehead.

"I saw a dog," she said.

"A dog like Fido the Pekinese or…" Dean asked.

"A black dog. Outside by Sam's grave."

Dean jumped to his feet and threw open the back door. There was nothing out there. The night was still; even the cicadas had fallen silent.

It could have been a stray, perfectly innocent, but Jo wasn't the sort of person that jumped at shadows, and she looked genuinely scared now.

He turned and gripped her shoulders. "What did it look like?"

"It was big." Tears sprang to her eyes. "And its eyes were kinda red."

"Help me out here, Jo. Red bloodshot or red demonic."

She blinked and a tear ran down her cheek. "I think… I think it was a Hellhound."

Dean released her and his hands tangled in his hair. Hellhounds here. Hellhounds were blood and pain and death. They couldn't be here, they just couldn't because that would mean…

"Jo, what did you do?" Ellen asked in a breathy voice. "You made a deal."

"I did not," Jo said shrilly. "I haven't been near a crossroads."

"Swear it," Ellen demanded. "Swear on your father's name."

"I swear it," Jo said. "I swear on dad's name that I haven't been near a crossroads."

Dean believed her, but that added a new level of worry. Hellhounds were invisible unless your deal was approaching and they were coming for you. Jo hadn't seen a Hellhound, which meant she had seen something worse.

"Are you sure you saw it?" Ellen asked. "It couldn't have just been a stray?"

Jo shook her head. "I didn't imagine it, Mom. It had glowing red eyes."

Dean snatched up his jacket from the back of the chair and pulled it on.

"Where are you going?" Ellen asked and Dean knew what she was thinking. She thought Dean was going to crap on their friendship and make a run for it, even after everything they had done for him and Sam.

"We're all going," Dean said. "We've got to get somewhere safe. Grab what you need for a few days and do it fast. We haven't got much time."

"What are you thinking, Dean?" Jo asked. "What did I see?"

"I think you saw a Black Dog," Dean said. "A supernatural Black Dog."

Ellen whimpered and grabbed Jo's hand.

"What's a Black Dog?" Jo asked in a querulous voice.

Dean looked her in the eye and saw the open fear there. He felt sick at what he had to tell her. "It's an omen of death."

Dean called ahead to warn him they were coming, so Bobby was waiting at the door for them. When he caught sight of Jo's tear streaked face, he opened his arms and she fell into his waiting embrace.

"It's okay," he said gently. "We'll take care of it."

"You better," Ellen said. Whereas Jo was wearing her fear like a cloak for all to see, Ellen's seemed to be beyond words. She was terrified for her daughter, but she was hiding it behind a mask of strength.

Bobby released Jo and led them into the library. Jo sat down on the couch and Ellen sat beside her with an arm around her shoulder. Bobby picked up a book from the desk and brought it over to show Jo. "Is that what you saw?"

Jo glanced over the page and shuddered. "I think so. The eyes are right."

"Tell me you've got good news, Bobby," Dean said.

Bobby shook his head solemnly. "Nothing good. I've been reading up on Black Dogs, and it's not good. One thing is it might not mean Jo's death."

Ellen looked up sharply. "Then who's is it?"

"Maybe yours," Bobby said. "The lore says a Black Dog is a portend of a death in a family. It could be the person that saw the dog or someone they love."

Fresh tears ran down Jo's cheeks. "Mom?"

"I'm fine, sweetie," Ellen said. "We're going to be fine. I'll take care of this."

"We will," Dean said firmly. He wasn't going to lose anyone else, not now. He would find this dog and he would take care of it.

"And by we he means me and him," Bobby said.

"I can fight," Jo said, bristling with indignation. "I've been hunting two years now. I'm not a kid."

"No one said you were," Bobby said patiently. "But with the dog targeting you and your mom, you can't be in this. You and your mom are going somewhere safe." "I thought we had," Ellen said. "This place is the best protected from fuglys that I have ever seen."

"You ain't seen nothing yet," Dean said with a grim smile. "Come with me."

Ellen and Jo got to their feet and followed Dean out of the study and into the hall. Dean opened the door leading to the basement and went down the steps with them hot on his heels. He unbolted the heavy iron door and went into the panic room. Ellen turned on the spot, taking in the room with its arsenal of weapons and solid iron walls.

"It's a panic room," Dean said. "Bobby made it himself. If anywhere is safe for you, it's this place."

Jo crossed the room and perched on the edge of the cot. She wrapped her arms around herself. "How long will we have to stay here?"

"As long as it takes," Ellen said firmly. "This is no time to be pandering to our fears."

Dean frowned. He didn't think Jo was claustrophobic. He remembered how she had handled the confined spaces when they had been hunting H.H. Holmes.

"It's not me," Jo said, seeing his confusion. "It's mom."

Ellen scoffed. "You think I'm going to get all phobic now? Jo, your life's on the line. I could be trapped in a coffin and I'd be fine."

Dean didn't think much of that. Having recently woken up in his own grave, he knew it wasn't exactly a party.

"You girls stay here," Bobby said. "Me and Dean will get to researching."

Ellen sat down beside her daughter and nodded. "Work fast."

"You know it," Dean said and then followed Bobby back out into the basement.

When he had bolted the door, shutting Jo and Ellen in, Bobby turned to Dean. "We've got no choice about working fast. Lore says Black Dogs are portends of death."

"We know this Bobby."

"Yeah, smartass, do you also know the death will occur within three days."

Dean cursed. That wasn't nearly enough time.

Rufus had gone home, and though Bobby called him and told him what had happened, he was halfway back to Vermont, twelve hours away, so Dean and Bobby were left to research alone. They worked in silence, only speaking to exchange facts.

They had been at it for an hour when Dean threw his book down onto the table and sighed. Research wasn't his forte, that had been Sam, and he was quickly disheartened by the lack of useful information.

"There's nothing in here about how to kill them," he said.

Bobby snapped his book shut. "No, nor in here. Maybe they can't be killed."

Dean rubbed at his tired eyes. "Then what are we supposed to do? We can't keep them in the panic room forever."

"If that's even helping. It barred against fuglys but there are a hundred natural ways of dying. Who's to say Ellen won't drop dead of a heart attack?"

"Then should we move them?"

"Where to, a hospital? What are we supposed to tell the doctors? My friend saw a death omen, so we need a crash cart standing by?"

"Don't say that." Dean groaned. He didn't want to think about it. He could defend Ellen and Jo from something he could fight, but he had no defense against natural, human deaths.

"I'm sorry, Dean, but I can't not say it. We might well have to…"

"To what?" Dean asked. "Chalk this one up to fate and watch Ellen or Jo die? I can't do that, not after everything we've lost already."

Bobby rested his head in his hands. "If we just knew what weapon to use."

"Weapon!" Dean jumped to his feet and went to where he had stowed his jacket. He pulled Ruby's knife out of the inner pocket. "We've got a weapon. This thing kills demons, right? Why can't it kill a demonic dog?"

"Because a Black Dog isn't demonic," Bobby said. "According to everything I've read, a Black Dog is part of the natural order of things. It is not evil; it's just doing its job."

Dean shook his head and tugged on his jacket. "Natural or not, I'm ganking this thing."

"And how are you going to find it?"

"I'll go back to Bill's. The thing is probably still hanging around."

"That's one hell of a long shot," Bobby said.

"I've got to try, Bobby. You keep hitting the books, and I'll go find me a pup."

Bobby looked like he wanted to argue some more, but he stayed quiet, possibly seeing the determination in Dean's eyes. "You be careful."

Dean tossed the knife from hand to hand. "I always am." He flashed Bobby a grim smile and went out to the car, feeling better now he had something resembling a plan.

The speed Dean was driving at cut down the journey to Bill's by an hour. He was soon pulling up in the parking lot and cutting the engine. Throughout the ride, he considered his plan, and the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. If he could just kill the dog, Ellen and Jo would be fine.

He climbed out of the car and made his way round the back of the bar. It was eerie, with the bar in darkness and the full moon, and he felt like he was being watched. Hoping it was a certain dog that was watching, Dean pulled the knife out of his pocket and crept forward.

"Here doggy, doggy," he said loudly. "Come get your treat."

Nothing moved in the night except the grass in the light breeze.

Dean raked a hand through is hair and wondered what to do next. He could return to Bobby's, a failure, or he could keep at it, trying to track the… And then he heard it, a low growl from behind the shed.

He gripped the hilt of the knife a little tighter and made his way forward slowly. He was almost there when something barreled around the corner and launched itself at him. He was knocked back to the ground and his breath huffed out of him. He looked up at his attacker and his heart contracted painfully. It was a huge dog, with slobbering jowls and glowing red eyes. It looked so much like a hellhound. His mind spun back through the months to the last time, when red eyes had looked at him with hunger, as his chest had been torn to ribbons and the life had left him. He was going to die, he knew it. Then reason caught up with him. Last time he had been defenseless, this time he had a weapon. He drew Ruby's knife up and shoved it up into the dog's neck, drawing it down to its haunches, but there was something wrong. The knife moved through the air without resistance. As if the dog wasn't there. He tried again, jabbing the knife into the dog's neck. He saw immediately what was wrong. The dog wasn't truly there. The knife cut through the dog's throat but rather than drawing blood, it moved through smoke. The dog was like a vengeful spirit, able to affect but not be affected. Dean cursed the fact he'd come armed only with the knife. He needed a shotgun full of salt rounds.

Suddenly, the dog whined and drew back, climbing from him. Dean scrambled to his feet and looked at the dog. It was bowed against the ground now, whining as if it was being whipped.

Dean stared down at it, wondering what the hell was happening, then a voice whispered to him, "Run!" He remained frozen in place, heart pounding in his ears, as he waited for the voice to come again. He needed to hear it again. "Damnit, Dean, run!"

He obeyed without thought, leaving the dog whimpering on the ground, he ran for the car and yanked open the door. He threw himself in behind the wheel and gunned the engine before he had even closed the door behind him.

He was halfway to Lincoln, and his heart still hadn't stopped pounding, when his phone rang.

He snatched it up. "Sam?"

"What?" Bobby's voice was a mere whisper. "Dean, it's me."

"Bobby?"

"Yeah. Look, you've gotta get back here. I've found something."

"I'm already on my way," Dean said.

"Hurry."

Dean tossed the phone down on the seat and coaxed a little more speed out of the engine.

Bobby was pacing the library when Dean got back around dawn. There was a stack of books open on the desk and Bobby had one clutched in his hand. He looked up as Dean came in and breathed a sigh of relief.

"What took you so long?" he asked.

"Driving," Dean said simply. "What did you find?"

"Come downstairs. Ellen and Jo need to hear this, too."

Jo was curled up on the cot and Ellen was sitting on the floor with a hand resting on Jo's arm. As the door creaked closed, Jo sat up and rubbed her bloodshot eyes.

"Tell me you found something good," Ellen said getting to her feet.

Bobby scrubbed a hand through his beard. "I found something, but I don't know whether or not it's good." He opened the book and read aloud. "Black Dogs, the servants of Reapers, bless a forewarning on those bound for death if they are deserving."

"Bless?" Jo said incredulously. "I don't call this a blessing."

"Never mind that," Ellen said. "What's that about Reapers?"

"The dogs, they're like… assistants to Reapers," Bobby said. "From what I've read, they come to people in the know and give them warning of death. It's like a blessing to them, gives you a chance to get your affairs in order."

Dean scoffed. "Well, that's not happening here. No one's getting reaped." Jo gave him a sad smile and Dean recognized it. He had worn the same smile for the year he knew he was living on borrowed time. He hated to see it on Jo's face. It was if she had already given up. "I mean it. We just need to find the Reaper and gank it."

"I don't think it's gonna be that easy," Bobby said. "You can't fight something you can't see, and the only people that can see Reapers are those that are dying."

"Will I be able to see it?" Jo asked.

Bobby shook his head. "You've got to be on the verge. That or a ghost."

Dean grinned as an idea occurred to him. "Well, if ghosts are the only ones that can see them..."

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah?"

"Then I become a ghost."

There was an explosion of noise in the wake of Dean's words. He allowed them to get it out for a minute and then he raised his hands. Ellen and Jo fell silent, but Bobby had a head of steam building and he was going to make himself heard.

"I know you've been through a lot, Dean, but we've been through this. You can't—"

"I'm not pissing all over Sam's grave or whatever else you're going to say. I'm not dying dying. I'm talking about altering perception a little. Astral projecting."

Bobby scoffed. "And I forgot that you're a Zen master. How are you planning reaching the astral plane? That sort of mojo takes decades of practice."

"I'm going to get a little help," Dean said calmly. "I know someone."

There is something in this chapter that I think some of you might take issue with. I am curious to see if any of you do.

Thanks as always to all of you that read, reviewed, fave'd and added this story to your alert. I appreciate your help more than I can say and I wish I could hug each and every one of you for the happiness you give me. The sequel had hit a bit of a wall at the moment so your support means more than ever. Knowing people are waiting for it has me working hard when I want to quit.