At least ten monsters charged down the trail behind Dean, the werewolf leading the way. It had transformed; Dean had caught a glimpse of glowing yellow eyes and sharp fangs. At least two other wolves added their snarls to his. The vamp he'd shot had joined them, along with others. What the hell was happening?

"Dean, I'm almost there."

"No! It's an ambush!" he shouted as he ran. "Werewolves, rugaru…" He spotted the Impala up ahead, and fired a shot over his shoulder without looking. A yelp and a thud told him he'd hit something. He stuffed the phone into his jacket pocket and fumbled for the keys, without slowing down. If he could hold them off long enough to get in—

Something slammed into him from behind. He crashed onto the dirt path, a heavy body on top of him. He twisted his gun arm free and fired point blank into its chest. The body went limp, turning to dead weight. Dean struggled to turn over, to see his attackers, but powerful hands gripped his shoulders and hauled him to his feet. Fingers like metal clamped down on his right wrist. He fired a wild shot before the gun was wrenched out of his grasp. The monsters holding him spun him around, then the werewolf was right in front of him, a leering grin on its doglike face. Without a word, it drove a fist into his gut.

Dean doubled over with a grunt. His lungs felt like popped balloons. Wheezing, he steeled himself for more.

From his pocket came Sam's anxious voice. "Dean? Dean!"

The wolf slipped its hairy hand into Dean's pocket, pulled out the phone, and held it up to its ear. "Sorry, Sammy," it said. "Dean can't talk right now." It hung up, and slid the phone back into Dean's jacket.

A claw caught under his chin and tugged his face upward. Smug yellow eyes peered into his, then turned up to the moonlit sky. "Such a nice night." It drew a long breath, then flicked a claw toward a werewolf, a vampire, and what looked like a human. "You three, hang back and greet our next guest." Then it beckoned to Dean. "Walk with me." It turned back toward the cabin, and the two creatures on either side of Dean dragged him along behind it.

He struggled to get his feet back under him; struggled to pull a breath into his flattened lungs. Even so, his hunter's instincts never paused. He took note of every monster in the group. There was the pack leader, the werewolf from Idaho. The one holding his right arm was a red-haired wolf. The one on his left looked human. It had stuffed Dean's .45 into its waistband; Dean spotted the pearly grip sticking out above the back of its jeans. Since the others were in their monster forms, he assumed it was a ghoul. A vampire walked beside the ghoul, fangs bared. He spotted the injured vampire too, rubbing the back of her head and glaring at him. Off to the side, the pale, wormy-skinned, black-eyed rugaru lurked along the edge of the trail. Six in this group. Three back near the parking lot, waiting for Sam. And the shapeshifter was still around somewhere. So, he'd killed at least two and injured two others, but he was still up against at least ten monsters—at least five different types of them.

And he had no weapon.

He'd never seen anything like it. Monsters, fighting together like this. He didn't wonder long what had gotten them to play nice with each other. There was nothing like a common enemy to bring people—or monsters—together. It was pretty damn effective. He'd brought a gun to a gun-machete-flamethrower fight.

And Sam was about to walk right into it.

"I'm so glad you got my invitation," the werewolf said, then turned around and walked backwards in order to face Dean. "It's nice having an assistant, isn't it? You inspired me. Hope you don't mind me borrowing yours."

Dean narrowed his eyes at the wolf to hide his confusion. It had to be talking about Ruthie and the text. But it was making it sound like Ruthie was working for the werewolf. And that was impossible. It must have sent some of its soldiers to the motel; they must have forced her to do it. He shouldn't have left her alone. He ground his teeth and glared at the werewolf's smug face.

"She played her part beautifully, don't you think?" it asked. "I wasn't sure she'd be able to keep our secret. Did you ever suspect?"

Dean's mouth went dry. Only an hour or two ago, he'd been telling Sam about Ruthie lying to him, acting sketchy. But this? "You're lying." His voice came out hoarse.

The wolf let out a bark of laughter, then stuck its face an inch front of Dean's. Its foul breath warmed his nose, and nausea turned his stomach. "You took everything from me," it growled in a low, chilling voice. "I swore to myself that I'd take everything from you. Everything. And I have." It straightened up and its voice returned to normal. "Well, once Sam gets here, then I will have." It gave him a wolfish grin. "And he'll be here any minute, because he got his invitation, too."

The werewolf started toward the cabin again. Sharp claws dug into Dean's shoulders and hauled him forward. "I know what you're thinking," the werewolf went on, before switching to a high-pitched, whiny tone. "She wouldn't. She couldn't." A pause, and it went back to its normal voice. "But everyone has a price."

No. The werewolf had to be lying. Ruthie would never betray him, betray Sam.

"Don't be too mad at her, Dean. You know she always was a daddy's girl. I made her an offer she couldn't refuse."

Fear gripped him tighter than the hands clamped around his shoulders. He wanted to cover his ears; he didn't want to hear any more.

"She sure misses him. Not much she wouldn't do to see him again just one more time. And it so happens, I know someone who can arrange a meeting."

A sharp pain knifed into Dean's chest. He almost looked down to see what had stabbed him. His current, dire situation faded into background noise. Ruthie had found a way to bring her dad back. The price was Dean's life. Sam's life. And she'd been willing to pay it.

The knife dug deeper into Dean's chest and twisted.

"My friends," the werewolf said, arms spread wide, "this is it! Months of planning and watching and working have led us to tonight. Didn't I promise you? We've had a couple of casualties, yes, but they knew the risk. They knew the reward."

Light glowed from the two little windows of the cabin up ahead. The wolf's tone turned businesslike. "Once we get him inside, we all get a piece, like we agreed. But keep him alive until the brother gets here." Its eyed glinted at Dean. "I want them to watch each other dying. I want them to hear it." It gazed down at Dean's chest. "And remember: I get the hearts."

Dean had always figured he'd die violently. Hunters could pretty much bank on it. But being eaten alive didn't make his top ten list of ways to go. He'd been torn apart by hellhounds once. Being a buffet for man-eating monsters didn't sound any better. As they dragged him closer to the cabin, he scrambled to think of a plan, something, anything to give him a chance against six of them.

Nothing came to mind.

Didn't matter. He'd go down fighting.

He clenched his fists, muscles tensed, planted his feet—

Bang!

A report echoed through the woods from the direction of the parking lot.

Sam.

The werewolf paused, looked back. The group stopped.

Bang! Bang!

A distant howl, a muffled yell, vicious snarling.

The wolf's confident, gloating expression hardened. It jerked its chin toward the shots. The three monsters not holding Dean—the two vamps and the rugaru—took off back up the trail toward the sounds of fighting.

Toward Sam.

Adrenaline surged through Dean's body. With the red-haired werewolf and the ghoul still gripping his shoulders, Dean leaped up and kicked the lead werewolf in the chest with both feet. He caught it off guard, sending it sprawling backwards; its head cracked against the bottom porch step.

The ghoul to his left wobbled, trying to keep its balance. Dean smashed his head into its face; it lost its grip on his shoulder. As it staggered back, he yanked his gun, left-handed, from its waistband. In an instant, he swung it right and pressed the barrel to the chest of the red-haired werewolf. Its open, snarling mouth sprayed spittle on his cheek as he fired into its heart. It dropped, dead before it hit the ground.

It had all taken less than three seconds.

The ghoul grabbed him from behind and clamped its teeth down on the back of his neck. Dean yelled and elbowed it hard in the stomach. Fire raged through his neck as the ghoul's jaws tore away. Dean spun and punched it square in the face, knocking it to the ground.

He pivoted again, gun aimed toward the spot where the husky werewolf had fallen, but it had vanished. He scanned the treeline, the cabin windows. No sign of it.

Bang!

Another shot from behind him on the trail.

The ghoul jumped up and came at him again, its open mouth baring brown, bloodied teeth. He aimed at its head and fired, then sprinted down the trail toward the parking lot. He had no way to decapitate the ghoul, or to crush its skull. He hoped the bullet would slow it down long enough for him to get to Sam.

He raced around the curving path. Through the trees came sounds of struggle: grunts of pain, the whack of fists striking bones, the squelch of metal slicing into flesh. Dean leaped the corpse of the wraith he'd killed earlier, and pounded ahead. Moonlight illuminated the trail; now he spotted more bodies on the ground, and just beyond them, three figures fighting.

Sam, still upright, threw the rugaru to the ground. He spun, but too late to block the female vampire, who punched the side of his head, knocking him off balance. Before he could raise his machete, she pounced on his back, sinking her fangs into his shoulder. Sam fell to his knees with a yell of pain. The rugaru got back to its feet and went for Sam.

Dean hurtled toward his brother. He threw himself into the vampire, tearing her off of Sam, and landed on top of her. She thrashed beneath him, snarling and spitting. He punched her, then punched her again. He needed that machete.

He poured all his strength into pinning the vamp down—he couldn't hold her much longer. Scuffling sounds behind him told him Sam was wrestling the rugaru. Then, a thud farther behind him. He twisted his head toward the noise, scared Sam had gone down.

But Sam was right there, taking one big stride forward, machete raised. Thunk.

The vampire's head rolled a few inches, and stopped at the edge of the path.

Dean jumped up, braced to fight the rugaru, though they had no way to kill it.

Leaving the machete on the ground, Sam reached both hands into his jacket pockets. In one smooth motion, he rose, turned, and pointed a lighter and a can of aerosol hair spray at the charging monster. A stream of fire roared out, engulfing the shrieking rugaru. It flailed off the path, waving flaming arms. The stench of burning skin and hair filled the night air. The creature crashed through underbrush that was still too green to catch fire. Soon, it fell, and lay still. The flames burned lower, until a only smoldering heap remained.

Dean and Sam stood side by side, panting, trying to catch their breath as they watched. Finally, Dean spoke. "You carry around hair spray?"

A small, pained smile made its way across Sam's face. "I keep some in the trunk. Just in case."

Dean closed the gap between them, and pulled Sam down into a fierce hug. He held onto him, looking past him, through the dark tree branches at the stars. He ought to be dead right now. They both should. His little brother was one hell of a hunter.

Dean clapped him on the back, and let him go before it got weird.

"I thought I heard you say 'rugaru,'" Sam said. "It's a good thing I did." His smile vanished, and deep wrinkles creased his forehead. "What the hell happened here?"

Dean eyed the carnage littering the ground: seven bodies, including the rugaru. If they walked back to the cabin, they'd pass three more. The ghoul he'd shot hadn't reappeared, and neither had the shifter mimicking Sam. Their bearded werewolf was in the wind.

"It was an ambush," Dean said in a dead voice. "The werewolf had them all working together."

Sam's eyes widened, shining in the moonlight. "Have you ever heard of anything like that?"

Dean shook his head, and winced at the burning pain in the back of his neck.

Sam's brows knitted even deeper wrinkles. "What lead were you following? Why didn't you call me?"

Dean gritted his teeth as the knife buried in his chest gave another twist. Ruthie—no. He wouldn't tell Sam yet. There had to be something he was missing. A different explanation than the one the werewolf had given him.

He was desperate not to believe it. But the evidence was all there. She'd hidden the paper from them and tried to go find the wolf. She'd said it would "ruin everything" if they found out what she was doing. She hadn't wanted them to hunt it. She'd acted so weird and shady lately. And the texts that sent them both here...he couldn't get around those. That werewolf was obviously persuasive, if it could get different species of monsters all to fight together. For them, it had found the right button, and pushed. Apparently it had done the same with Ruthie.

He reached for any other explanation. Maybe other monsters sent by the werewolf had used her phone or forced her to send the texts. Was she possessed? Or a shapeshifter? Maybe the real Ruthie was a hostage, or dead, and the one he'd left at the motel was a fake. It would be easy enough to find out.

Dean never figured he'd ever hope Ruthie was being possessed or held hostage or mimicked by a shifter. But all three were far better than the alternatives.

Sam was still waiting for an answer.

"It was a misunderstanding," Dean said. Then he motioned at Sam's vampire-bitten shoulder. "Let me see."

"I'm fine," Sam said.

Dean turned on his phone flashlight and shone it onto the wound. Two deep semicircles of punctures. He guided the light over the rest of him, and found several more injuries, including a nasty gash across his upper chest.

"Werewolf," Sam told him. "Claws, not teeth."

Light footsteps from the direction of the cabin instantly sent both brothers into combat mode. Dean extended his gun; Sam snatched the machete from the ground. Dean glared through the .45's sights while the footsteps neared.

A single figure limped into view. Long, dark hair hung over her shoulders. Moonlight glowed faintly on her skin. She was naked, and trying to cover herself with her arms and hands. She stumbled closer, panting and gasping.

Sam lowered his blade. "Ruthie?"

He started toward her, but Dean threw an arm across his chest. Sam protested. "Dean, what are you—?"

"Wait," Dean ordered.

She raised an anguished face to them. "Sam!" she called.

Again, Sam tried to go to her. Dean stiffened his arm, holding him back. Sam gave him a bewildered look. Dean turned his head just slightly to one side, staring Sam down, wordlessly telling him to stay put.

Dean lowered his arm from Sam's chest and aimed his phone's still-lit flashlight at the woman's face. Ruthie's face. An instant was all it took.

Her white eyes widened in the split second before a gun blast shook the woods. A dark spot appeared in the center of her chest, and she dropped to the ground, face down. She didn't move.

Sam stood beside him, his feet frozen in place, the rest of him shaking, staring at the body. Dean stared for a few moments too, while smoke wafted into the air from the barrel of his gun. He slowly lowered it.

"So she wasn't… That wasn't…" Sam couldn't seem to form the whole sentence.

"That wasn't her," Dean finished for him. He found he couldn't bring himself to say her name.

Something near her hand glinted on the dirt path. Dean walked slowly over to it, trying to focus on the object rather than looking at not-Ruthie's naked body. He bent down and picked it up, then went back to Sam.

He held up the knife for Sam to see. "One more ambush," he said. "It was gonna use her to get close to us." His throat squeezed tight around his words. "Because it knew we trusted her."

Sam glanced at him, and pressed his lips together.

Dean tossed the knife into the woods. "Let's go get you patched up," he told Sam.

Sam nodded and they headed for the parking lot. "Hope Ruthie's got plenty of floss," Sam said, grimacing and cupping a hand over his shoulder.

Dean stiffened. "Sammy, you're going to a real doctor. I saw one of those urgent care places near the marina."

"Why? Ruthie can do it."

Because Ruthie might not be Ruthie anymore. If she needed to be rescued, Dean would do it. He wasn't dragging torn-up Sam into another fight. And if she was still herself, and didn't need to be rescued…he didn't even want to think about it. But he knew he wouldn't want Sam there. "You know she'll just make you go back out and get antibiotics anyway."

Sam frowned. "Fine. But first we go check on her. I really wanna make sure she's okay after—" he swept an arm behind them "—all this."

Dean had to concentrate to unclench his jaw. "Look, I'm dropping you off at the doc and then going straight to check on her. Okay?"

Sam kept frowning at him for a few seconds, then shrugged. The motion made him wince and grab at his shoulder again. "Alright."

They rode in silence through town. Dean sat up straight, to keep from bleeding on his headrest and down his seat. The back of his neck burned and throbbed, but Sam looked worse. He was covered in cuts and scratches besides the gash in his chest, and that vampire bite was plenty deep. Although really, none of it was too bad, considering they should both be dead. If Sam hadn't called, if Dean hadn't stayed on the phone long enough to tell him what was coming, if Baby hadn't been parked out there for Sam to grab weapons from the trunk…

If they hadn't gotten those texts, none of it would have happened in the first place.

His adrenaline was long gone. Now, he'd feel numb if it weren't for the constant, gnawing pain in his chest. His mind filled with Ruthie's face, Ruthie's smile, Ruthie's laugh. Those images used to make him feel warm and full, like a home-cooked meal. Now, they hollowed him out more each second, like pickaxes chipping away at him from the inside.

He pulled up to the urgent care and let Sam out. "Tell her I'm okay," Sam told him through the window.

Dean gave him one short nod, and drove away, waiting until Sam was out of sight to let his face harden.

Yes, Sam was okay. And he was going to stay that way.

No matter what it took.

No matter what Dean had to do.