Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing and SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all your help.

Chapter Twelve

"You're hunting?" Dean asked, his mind a little slowed by the alcohol.

"I am," Jack said. "You guys mind getting out of my way? I'm guessing even these hapless cops will think to check the roof eventually, and I'd rather not be here when it happens."

Sam stepped back, seemingly automatically, and Jack passed them and started quickly down the stairs. Sam and Dean exchanged a glance and then followed him. A few steps from the bottom, Jack jumped, and Dean expected him to carry on away, but he stepped back and let Sam and Dean get to the grass before he walked away. They had moved just in time, as voices were approaching. Just as they slipped around the side of the building, two cops arrived around the corner and started up toward the roof.

"Good timing," Sam acknowledged.

"Thanks," Jack said. He started to walk away and then turned back to them. "Don't you want to talk?"

Without a word, Sam and Dean nodded in unison and walked down the street a step behind him. Dean didn't know about Sam, but he was curious about this hunter since Sam didn't seem to know him; he thought Sam knew all the community.

They came to the bar they'd just vacated and Jack made straight for the corner table. Dean followed him while Sam went to get drinks. When he was sitting down and they each had a beer, Sam said, "So, how come I've never heard of you?"

Jack smiled slightly. "I'm pretty new. I've only been in the life properly about a year. Before that I was in college."

That made sense. Sam hadn't been back that long, and Dean had missed a year in the life while staying with Sonny. There was probably all kinds of stuff they'd missed outside of the Crowley problem.

"What made you join up?" Sam asked.

"Long and sordid family tale," Jack said. "You guys?"

Sam's expression darkened for a moment. "Same."

"You guys are based out of The Roadhouse, right?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, that's home," Sam said.

"I haven't made the trip yet," he said. "Is it true that hunters work out in the open there?"

Dean grinned. "If you mean field stripping guns while eating pretzels, yeah, they're out in the open."

Jack's eyes widened. "Man, that's kinda crazy."

Sam shrugged. "Ellen keeps them all in line."

"I heard about her. Real tough cookie, right?"

Dean smiled fondly. "She's definitely that. You should come meet her sometime."

"I may just do that. Need to wrap this case up first, though."

Sam leaned forward slightly. "What makes you think this is a case and not just a guy taking the swan dive?"

"Couple things," Jack said. "One, he's not the first. Two, I'm pretty sure when they flip him, they'll find he wasn't killed by the fall. I'll bet you guys a bottle apiece that they'll find a damn hole in his chest where his heart was ripped out."

"Werewolf?" Dean asked, doubting it as soon as he said it. What kind of werewolf tagged someone on a roof?

Sam shook his head. "The moons aren't right."

"And werewolves don't emit EMF," Jack said. "The roof was buzzing with it."

"Power lines?" Sam asked.

"Not enough to explain the amount I was picking up," he said. "I'm pretty certain it's a spirit." He leaned back in his chair and took a draw on his beer. "I'm going to do the rounds of research tomorrow and see what I can dig up."

"Need help?" Sam asked.

"Nah. I've got it covered. I figure hunters like you have enough to be working already."

Dean frowned. "What makes you say that?"

"People talk," Jack said. "Rumor is you boys took down a big bad and then went into hiding for a year."

Sam smiled slightly. "That's close to what happened, I guess." He drained his beer and set the bottle down. "We'll leave you to work then."

"Thanks fellas. You take care out there. From your reputations, I'm doubting you'll need it, but if you even want help, here's my number." He scrawled on a napkin and handed it to Dean who took it and tucked it in his shirt pocket.

They stood and shook hands with Jack and then made for the door. When they got outside into the fresh air, Sam looked back and frowned.

"What?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "I'm not sure. Something feels weird."

"Something like letting someone else take the hunt?" Dean asked shrewdly.

Sam smiled. "Maybe. Guess I better get used to it though."

"Yeah," Dean grinned. "You better."

When Sam got back to their room with coffee and breakfast the next morning, Dean was fresh from the shower.

"How's your head?" Sam asked.

"Fine," Dean said, taking a coffee from Sam and lifting the lid to inhale the aroma. "Well, almost fine."

Sam laughed slightly. "Well, get that down you. I told Ellen we'd be back soon as we could, and we've got a good couple days drive ahead of us." He eyed Dean's tired eyes. "I'll take first shift."

"You're a good brother," Dean said gratefully.

"The best." Sam grinned and picked up the newspaper he'd brought with their breakfast. He sat down and skimmed over the front page. His heart sank as he saw the photograph accompanying the story of the professor's death.

"What's up?" Dean asked.

Sam considered a moment before answering, habit wanting him to keep it to himself while sense told him to share. "The man that was killed last night – he was the professor that interviewed me yesterday."

"Oh."

"He was a good guy," Sam said. Selfishly, there was another reason for his disappointment. The professor was his key to Stanford. If the interview had gone as well as he'd thought, he would have had a good chance at getting in. With the professor dead and no way to present Sam's application to the panel, it was the end of his Stanford hopes.

"Sammy…" Dean started.

Sam shook his head. "I'm going for a run." He knew Dean hated it when he shut down, and he had tried so hard lately to be open with his brother, but he was stressed and disappointed and he wanted a little space and exertion to spend his feelings before accepting Dean's comfort.

He didn't bother to change into his sneakers. His boots would work just as well. He yanked open the door and walked out onto the motel parking lot.

He started at a jog which sped to a run almost immediately. As his feet pounded the pavement, he rolled over what had happened in his head. He told himself it wasn't the end. There were other colleges he could apply to, other places he'd have a better chance of getting a place at, but Stanford had been his dream. He had wanted to complete the circle of his life, to make the years he'd spent in the hunt a part of his life not the definition of it, by the fact he was going to the college he'd been accepted to all those years ago.

He came to the more crowded area of town, where students were milling around and heading to classes. He was jealous of them, and he hated it. He didn't want to feel that way. He wanted to be happy. He wanted to be one of them.

He reached the residential area and slowed slightly as he had to move among throngs of people. He was little more than walking again when he heard the scream. People all around him stopped dead where they were and then started toward the sound. Sam pushed through them, bumping into people and moving on without apologizing, trying to nail down where the scream had come from. It became clear after a moment when the scream came again.

He entered the building and hurried along the hall. Other people were following, muttering excitedly to each other, and he marveled at the ghoulish nature of humans.

The screaming stopped, but loud sobbing could be heard and it led him to a room halfway along the hall. The sight inside made his stomach clench. There was a girl spread-eagled on the floor, her face drained of color and her eyes wide and staring blankly up at the ceiling. There was a gaping hole in her chest, torn skin, broken ribs and blood. There was another girl kneeling beside her, her sobs ripping through the room.

"Clear the way," an authoritative voice was saying behind him. "Campus security coming through." Sam stepped to the side and grimaced as the campus cop came to a dead stop in front of him and vomited on the floor.

Sam moved back into the crowd and exited through the front door. There was nothing he could do to help, and he didn't have an EMF reader with him to use even if he could have done so covertly. He was as useless as any of the students around him, even though he knew exactly what had done the killing. He had seen it before.

Jack was right. There was a ghost on campus.

Dean spent the time Sam was gone mulling over the problem in his mind, and when Sam burst into the room, he spoke before taking in Sam's wild eyes and tension. "I've been thinking. We need to…" He stopped. "What happened?"

"Another death. Some poor girl on campus had her heart ripped out!"

Dean cursed.

"Have you got Jack's number still?" Sam asked.

"Yeah." Dean picked up the shirt he'd worn the day before from where it was folded on a chair and took the napkin from the pocket. Sam took it and pulled his cell from his pocket. He dialed quickly and after a few moments said, "Jack? Sam Winchester. We've got a problem." He listened for a moment and then said, "I'm going to put you on speaker." He set the phone down on the table and sat down.

"I'm guessing you heard about the latest victim," Jack said.

"Yeah. I saw it for myself," Sam said.

"I wasn't able to get close enough to take a look because Rent-a-Cop was hanging around. How did she look?"

"Like her heart got ripped out. I couldn't check for EMF, but it sure looks like a ghost kill. We've seen something like this before."

"Well thanks for the head's up. I'll make sure to let you know what happens."

Sam's brows contracted low over his eyes. "We're in, Jack. We're on the case, too."

Dean raised an eyebrow. They were?

"You don't need to do that," Jack said, and there was something in his tone that made Dean frown. It sounded more like he was saying, "I don't want you to do that."

"We do," Sam said firmly. "Look, I'm not judging you as a hunter, but like you said, you're pretty new to the life and we've got a reputation. We can help you take care of this. Three of us working together will take it down faster—before more people are killed."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line and then Jack said, "I guess you're right. Okay. You want to meet up to go over what I already have?"

"That'd be good," Sam said. "We're in the Shoreline motel."

"I know it. There's a diner across the street. I'll meet you there."

"Thanks, Jack," Sam said. "We'll be there soon."

They exchanged goodbyes and Sam tucked the phone back in his pocket. He took his wallet from the table and then finally looked up at Dean, taking in his expression. He didn't need an explanation of why Dean looked unamused. They knew each other too well for that.

"I need to do this," he said.

"Why?" Dean asked. "Sam, this isn't going to be the last time a hunt comes along that you shouldn't take. You're going to be in college soon, and you won't be able to drop classes and run every time something comes up. There's already a hunter on the case here. Why do we have to get involved?"

It wasn't that he didn't want to help; it was that he was scared for Sam's future. College was a huge opportunity for him. If Dean couldn't make him understand, he was going to lose that because of his need to help.

"She was so young, Dean," he said. "She was in college, her whole life ahead of her. Then some ghost, some dick, came and tore her heart out, killing her and ruining the lives of her family. It's not like I'm searching up cases. I just want to help."

Dean sighed. Of course he wanted to help. That was what Sam did—helped. He saved people. It must have been tough to see the girl's body. If he was in Sam's position, he would want to help Jack, too. He was worried for Sam's future decisions though.

"All right," he said. "I'm with you."

Sam smiled slightly. "Thanks, Dean." He tucked his wallet in his pocket and made for the door. Dean followed him out.

They reached the diner before Jack and ordered coffees. The waitress who served them lingered a little longer at their table than was really necessary as she was only sloshing coffee into their mugs. She seemed to have taken a liking to Dean though. She tried to engage him in conversation about what they were doing in the area, and she offered him a tour after her shift ended, but Dean refused gently, explaining they weren't in town long and they were meeting friends to explore. She seemed disappointed but she still smiled as she sashayed away, blonde ponytail swinging.

Jack arrived just a few minutes later and looked around for them. Sam raised a hand and he made his way over to their booth, sliding in beside Dean.

The waitress came back to their table and greeted Jack effusively. Sam wondered if she was just a natural flirt, but then she called him by name and Sam realized they were friends. They chatted for a moment while she poured him a coffee and then she left.

"Thanks for coming," Sam said.

"No problem," Jack said. "Like you said on the phone, I'm new and you've got reputations. You'll probably crack this one in a few hours."

"That's not what I meant," Sam said, embarrassed. "I just meant that we'd work faster with three of us."

"I get it," Jack said.

Feeling uncomfortable, Sam returned to the topic at hand. "You said yesterday that the professor wasn't the first. Who was?"

"It was a store-keeper on the other side of town. He was working late doing inventory when he was killed. His wife found him."

"The other side of town?" Dean asked.

Jack nodded. "Yeah, you see the problem, too. The professor and store keeper are a few miles apart—too far for a tethered ghost. There was EMF though, even the morning after store keeper's death, a lot of it. There was definitely a ghost."

"So it's a tethered to a thing as opposed to a place," Dean said.

"That's what I'm thinking, but you see the second problem. We have no way of knowing what the thing is and how it's changing hands."

"Not necessarily," Sam said, turning to Dean. "Remember the Witnesses?"

"Witnesses?" Jack asked.

"Oh yeah," Dean said slowly.

"There was a case a few years ago," Sam explained. "These ghosts were forced to rise by a spell. They were agonized, rabid and murderous, and they weren't tethered."

"You think the same thing is happening again?" Jack asked.

Sam considered. It was possible, but he couldn't see where the motivation came from. Who would want crazy ghosts on the loose? Lilith had done it to break a seal. That was over though, thank God. What could anyone hope to gain?

"I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "I don't see the motivation behind it. It could be a spirit that has enough juice to dump its tether, I guess. I've heard it can happen but I've never seen it. It would have to have a massive amount of power to break free though."

"Great," Jack said. "A super-powered spirit."

"We've taken out worse," Dean said, a hint of pride in his voice.

"I'll bet," Jack said. "Okay. You guys are the ones with the experience. What do you think we should do?"

"Research," Dean said automatically. "Look for anyone in the area with a particularly violent end who could be our ghost."

"And see if anything links our victims," Sam added.

"I'll take that," Jack said. "I'm not good at research."

"Okay," Sam said, draining his coffee and getting to his feet. "We'll get on with that. If you come up with anything, call us."

"Will do," Jack said.

Dean and Sam walked out of the diner. As they passed the window, they saw the pretty waitress slide into Sam's seat and start talking with Jack.

They were halfway across town when Dean's phone rang. He checked the caller ID and smiled as he answered. "Hey, Bobby. How're you doing?"

"I'm good," Bobby said. "Called to ask you fellas the same actually. How did the interview go?"

"Oh," Dean said dumbly. "How did you know?"

"Ellen called, bursting with pride, to fill me in. So, how did it go?"

Dean glanced at Sam. "Okay, I think."

"What's going on?" Bobby asked.

"The interviewer was killed by a ghost," Dean said.

Sam frowned at the road.

"You boys on the case?"

"Yeah. We're just heading to the library now to do some research. See if we can come up with someone who might fit the profile."

"You need any help?"

"Actually, we already have some," Dean said. "A hunter called Jack Austen was already working it when we got here."

"Jack Austen," Bobby said thoughtfully. "I know that name."

"He's young," Dean said. "He's not been in the life long."

"Hmm. I don't think I've met him. Must just be the name I've heard. He any good?"

"Not sure yet. We're just starting out."

"We need all the young blood we can get," Bobby said. "The apocalypse was hard on hunter numbers. Well, if you boys need anything, you give me a call, okay?"

"Of course," Dean said. "See ya."

"Bye, Dean."

Dean tucked the phone away and turned to answer Sam's questioning glance. "Sounds like Ellen's been sharing the news."

Sam grimaced. "Awesome."

"He's happy for you, excited."

"Yeah, that's great and all, but the more people who know…"

"What?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "Nothing."

He pulled them into a parking spot outside the library and climbed out of the car. Dean sighed and then climbed out, too. They walked up the steps of the imposing building and through the entrance.

It was late afternoon when they finally stacked their notes and left the library. They had a few suspects for the haunting, but nothing definite.

"I think it's the Bentley man," Sam said. "He's the oldest and his was the most violent death." He had been stabbed to death in the early 1900's with so many wounds the news article—long before the advent of political correctness and censoring—gleefully described him as a pincushion. He had a century of anger in him that would translate as some serious power now.

"Maybe," Dean said. "We should salt and burn him anyway."

"Agreed. We'll wait till dark and then go desecrate a grave."

Dean smiled. "The way you say that so easily makes me realize just how weird our lives are."

Sam nodded. Their lives were weird, but hopefully not forever. Strange as it seemed, the day spent in the library, surrounded by college students, had reignited his excitement for studying. It might not be Stanford, but it would be somewhere. He was going to make it work. Somehow.

"Hungry?" he asked.

Dean nodded.

"We'll drop the car back at the motel and the go across the street for some food."

"Let's get take out instead," Dean said quickly.

Sam laughed. "Didn't you like the friendly waitress?"

"Not so much. She seemed nice and all, but I'm not really in the mood."

"Okay," Sam said. "Chinese food or pizza?"

Dean considered and they both answered at the same time. "Pizza."

They got back to the motel and Sam pulled up outside their room and got out. He grabbed his notes from the back seat while Dean let them into the room. He paused, straightening as Dean went inside. Something felt wrong.

"Dean!" he said quickly, but Dean didn't seem to hear him. He was overtaken by a coughing fit. Sam rushed after him as Dean staggered forward into their room. Sam felt it the moment he crossed the threshold. Sickness and pain crippling his stomach. He bowed over, gripping his gut.

"Sam!" Dean groaned as his legs gave way and he dropped to his knees.

Sam stumbled toward him but collapsed a few feet away. Something rose in his throat and he vomited crimson. Dean was retching in front of him, his own stain of blood on the floor

"What's happening?" he rasped.

"I don't…" Sam couldn't finish his sentence as sickness swept over him again. He fell forward so his cheek was pressed against the carpet, and blood oozed from his throat.

"Dean…"

Dean didn't answer. His eyes were closed and his breaths were rasping. Sam tried crawling towards him, and managed to get his hand on Dean's back before blackness descended.

"Austen," Bobby murmured. "Austen." The name had been teasing him since the call with Dean. He knew it, but he couldn't put his finger on how. It bothered him. He hated forgetting things.

He set down the book he'd been reading from and picked up his phone. He dialed the number from memory and waited as it rang.

"Singer," Rufus said. "To what do I owe the crisis?"

"No crisis," Bobby said. "Just need a memory jog. You heard of a kid called Austen? Jack, I think the name was."

"You getting dementia?" Rufus asked. "Of course I know the name. The Massachusetts Austens, Bobby."

Bobby cursed. "The witches!"

"Yeah. We took them on about… must be fifteen years ago now. The kid was called Jack, remember?"

"Oh God," Bobby whispered. "The mother was the one that got away."

"And the kid. I searched for that bitch for ten years," Rufus said. "Never found a sign of her. Figured some other hunter took her out or she went to ground. There was no sign. What's wrong, Bobby? Why you asking about them?"

"Crisis after all," Bobby said. "The boys are on a case with a hunter called Jack Austen."

"Damn," Rufus said. "Well, you best get on the phone then, hadn't you. Call me if you need backup."

"I will," Bobby said quickly and then hung up only to redial Dean's number. It rang out. It wasn't like Dean to ignore a call. He dialed Sam and waited impatiently for him to answer. He didn't. He got through to Sam's voicemail. Bobby didn't bother to leave a message. He just grabbed for his gun and shouted into the empty room. "Castiel! I'm at my place and I need a ride. I think the boys are in trouble."

Castiel arrived with a whoosh of air and asked without preamble, "Where are they?"

"Palo Alto, California," Bobby said. "I'm not sure whereabouts."

"We'll find them," Castiel said.

A moment later, Bobby felt the sensation of displacement as he was swept away with the angel. It took less than a second for them to set down in a generic motel and for Bobby's heart to skip a few beats.

The room was thick with the scent of blood. Sam and Dean lay a foot apart on the floor. Sam's arm was stretched out and his hand rested on Dean's back. In front of them both were pools of blood soaked into the carpet, and their lips and chins were stained red.

"Oh God," Bobby breathed.

Castiel thrust him aside and bent beside Dean. He lay a hand on his chest and blue white light glowed on his palm. Nothing happened though. Dean remained still and white faced.

"Fix them!" Bobby shouted.

Castiel straightened and his eyes roved the room. He strode over to the second bed and yanked up the mattress. Under it was a brown cloth hex bag. He closed his fingers over it and the light flared again. When he opened his hand the bag was gone.

"Dean," Sam groaned as his eyes rolled beneath their lids.

"He will be okay," Castiel said as he bent beside Dean and his hand glowed over Dean's chest. Dean's eyes snapped open and he struggled to push himself upright. "Sammy!"

Castiel was already there. With the same glow and touch, he roused Sam whose eyes roved the room, falling on his brother. They were both pale still, and shell-shocked, but miraculously okay.

Castiel helped Sam to his feet and Bobby helped Dean.

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"A hex bag," Castiel said.

Dean frowned. "But the ghost…"

"I'm pretty sure is actually a witch," Bobby said. He went into the bathroom and damped two washcloths for them. They took them gratefully and cleaned their faces of the blood. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Fine," Sam said at the same time Dean answered, "Kinda shaky."

The difference in the honesty of the answers and the difference in the personalities of the people answering was stark.

"You lost blood," Castiel said. "I cannot replenish that for you—only your bodies can only do that, and it will take a little time."

"Thanks, Cas, Bobby," Sam said. "How did you know to come?"

"Jack," Bobby replied. "He's your witch."

Sam and Dean were sitting at the table, sipping orange juice in an attempt to replenish some of what they'd lost.

Dean was feeling shaky still, and he thought only some of it was what had physically happened to him. Part of it was definitely down to the shock. He'd almost died. Sam had almost died. Jack wasn't playing around.

"About fifteen years ago, Rufus and I took on a coven in Massachusetts," Bobby said. "There was a ground of eight, all from the same family. We got them all but a woman and her five year old son. They escaped while we were taking on the rest. In hindsight I think the rest of the coven let their deaths be a distraction so she could escape, not that they went easy. Honestly, over the years the family went to the back of my mind, but Rufus, obsessive as he is, never forgot them. He spent years on the lookout for her."

"How do you know it's the same Jack?" Dean asked.

"He say anything about demons?" Bobby asked in return.

Sam shook his head. "He had an anti-possession tattoo though."

"Figures," Bobby said. "Like a lot of witches, these got their power from demons, and that made them more wary of them than most. Their house was warded to the nines."

Dean groaned. "What do we do about him?"

Bobby and Sam exchanged a glance and Dean answered himself. "We kill him. Damn."

"We've got no choice," Sam said. "He's killed three that we know of so far. He tried to kill us! He's not going to stop." He pushed back his hair from his sweaty face. "We need to draw him out somehow."

"How though?" Dean asked.

Sam considered for a long time, his brow furrowed and his face thoughtful "I think we keep going with the case," he said eventually. "Don't tell him we've been back to the motel yet. Make it sound like we think we're still chasing a ghost. We've got that Bentley guy as a suspect. We can find where he's planted and have Jack meet us there. We've got the colt. That'll work."

Dean nodded slowly. He didn't want to end a life, but this would save others. Jack was a murderer and regular human justice wouldn't work.

"We better get out of here then," he said. "We can't be in here if Jack comes calling."

"There's a diner across the street," Bobby said. "We get you boys some food to bulk up on your sugar and you can put a call in to him. We've got another hour before it's dark enough for you boys to go digging up graves anyway."

"We still need to find where he's planted," Sam said.

"I'll take care of that," Bobby said. "You boys just take care of each other."

"Thanks," Sam said, glancing at Dean. "You okay?"

"Fine," Dean lied.

Bobby went to the library and Castiel took himself off to watch from a distance while Sam and Dean went to the diner. They ordered soup and rolls and Sam then made the call to Jack.

"Winchester?" he answered, a definite touch of shock in his voice.

"Hey," Sam said, forcing himself to sound casual. "We've got what we think is a name for our spirit. It's a local man from the turn of the last century. We're just looking for a location for the salt and burn. You want in?"

"Absolutely," Jack said, sounding enthused. "Where are you now?"

"We just got some food. We spent the day in the library so we need to recharge. How about I text you the location when we've got it and meet you there?"

"Sounds good. I'll see you later."

"Yeah," Sam said, ending the call and putting his phone down. "Asshole."

The waitress arrived then with their food. It was the same woman from before, and she smiled widely and said, "No Jack this evening?"

"Afraid not," Sam said.

"Shame," she said. "I was hoping to speak to him before he left town this time."

Sam's attention was piqued. "This time?"

"Yeah," she said. "When he took off last time, he didn't say goodbye to any of us. Just disappeared in the night. I think it's better that he goes now though. It can't be fun seeing everyone still in class and him missing out."

"Missing out?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. You know about him getting booted, don't you?"

"He only told us some," Dean lied.

"Oh, well he disappeared for like a month and when he come back, he'd lost it all. The college had booted him. His scholarship was rescinded. He lost his job at the Gas-N-Sip. He even lost his girl to some frat house jock."

Sam wanted to know more, but she seemed to realize she'd said too much already. Her mouth pressed into a hard line and she quickly walked back to the counter.

"Booted, huh," Sam said quietly.

Dean nodded. "And what's the betting that's the link between the victims? The storekeeper, the professor, I'd even lay money on the girlfriend being this morning's victim."

Sam nodded. "If he wasn't a murderous lunatic witch, I'd feel bad for him."

His phone beeped then with a message and Sam opened it.

"Bobby's got us a location. Alta Mesa Memorial Park." He opened a new message and fired off the address and a time to Jack. He stuffed the phone back in his pocket and sighed. "We're doing this."

"We've got no choice," Dean said.

"I know," Sam said "It's just… He was supposed to be the new blood. One of them that would take over for us, you know?"

"I know," Dean said consolingly. "There will be more."

Sam hoped so.

The trap was laid. They didn't know whether Jack would scout them before he came, so they had Bobby hide in a mausoleum and an invisible Castiel watch from across the park while they set to work digging the grave. It was made harder because they were both still feeling the effects of the hex bag attack. They'd reached bones before Jack arrived though.

"Keep going," Sam murmured.

They climbed out of the grave and started laying the salt and gasoline as Jack approached.

"Hey, guys," he said cheerfully. "Boy, you two don't look so good.

"Bad burgers," Sam said quickly.

Jack nodded. "Could be. Or it could be the hex bag." He grinned. "How'd you manage to survive that anyway?"

Dean and Sam exchanged a glance and Sam shrugged. "We've got angels watching over us, I guess."

Jack laughed. "I guess you must. It's a shame. I liked you guys; you were entertaining for a while. It'll suck to kill you, but I'm guessing it's you or me, right?"

"Right," Dean said stiffly.

"Pity. Well, best get to it."

"Yeah," Sam said, pulling out the colt and aiming it at Jack.

Jack sighed and swept an arm, muttering something under his breath. Dean felt his legs swept out from under him and he was sent skidding back across the grass to rest against a tall gravestone. Sam landed hard six feet away from him, the colt dropped where he had stood. Jack strode forward and picked it up. "Funny looking gun. You know there are better, newer models, right?"

"It's an heirloom," Sam growled.

"Must be," Jack said conversationally. "I'll put it to good use." He lifted it and pointed it at Sam. Sam looked back at him unafraid.

"No, you won't!" a voice shouted.

It happened so fast Dean could do no more than shout an inarticulate warning as Bobby raced out of his hiding place and ran at Jack who turned the gun and aimed it at Bobby instead.

"Bobby!" Sam bellowed.

Dean saw Jack's finger starting to compress the trigger and he heard the crack of the gun, then Jack's neck snapped to the side with a sickening crack. The gun and Jack's body dropped to the ground and the force holding Dean down disappeared. He struggled to his feet, Sam doing the same at his side, and raced at Bobby who appeared to be unharmed but pale as death.

"What happened?" Bobby asked in a shocky voice.

Castiel appeared standing over Jack's body. "I did," he said simply. He opened his hand and revealed a bullet in his palm.

"You saved me?" Bobby asked breathlessly.

"I did," Castiel said simply.

"Thank you," Sam said, gripping Bobby's shoulder for support.

Castiel smiled. "It's what we do."

In the former office of Professor Rothschild, a TA swept together a pile of files and placed them in a cardboard box. It was a grim task, taking care of her deceased mentor's belongings and work. She picked up the file from the top of the pile and saw the name Sam Winchester. The professor had spoken about him a few days before, saying there was an interesting interview on his books. She considered for a moment and then pulled the file from the box. She tucked it under her arm and left the room, determined that someone else that could help see this file.

Professor Rothschild's last interest should be allowed his chance.

So… You meet a new hunter, you make a friend, he turns out to be a murdering witch. Isn't that always the way? ;-)

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx