"You need to get out of here, head south west." Leigh had meant to say something kind, but she's not surprised at what comes out instead. She's always been uncomfortable with acknowledging grief, whether it's her own or someone else's. Ah well, it's too late to backtrack, and this needs to be said. "Don't make it linear. As long as you trend in that general direction you should be safe."

Sam looks up from where he's busy arranging Dean in the back seat. "What about you?"

"I'll head north east. It'll make tracking you harder." Her bag is bulging with the unusually large first aid kit she'd used on Dean. She hikes it higher and shifts on her feet. "There's a hex bag that will hide you from demons," and angels, she adds mentally. "I have an extra one, if you want it."

"You're a witch?" He doesn't sound angry, exactly, but he doesn't sound pleased.

She shakes her head. "No. I'm a psychic, like I said. It's just something I picked up." She glances back at the cabin, where the demon died, and then back to Sam. "It's your choice, and you don't have to keep it any longer than you want to. I'll even leave you instructions to make one yourself."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch." She nods towards a copse of trees a little ways away. "My car's over there. Do you want it or not? It's your choice, but you have to make it soon." Even if the demons are waiting on a signal, they will eventually figure out what happened. They can't afford to linger here.

Frowning, Sam stares hard into her eyes before nodding. "Get it."

She jogs over to the trees and through them. Her car, a boring grey sedan with expired plates, is hidden on the other side. It's covered by leaves and large strips of moss, but nothing actually heavy enough to hinder movement. She sweeps a chunk of it aside and kneels in the dirt to unlock the trunk. It's only the work of a second or two to grab a spare hex bag and some drinks and shove them into her bag.

Sam has the colt trained on her when she returns, but he lowers it once she's close enough for him to see she's still alone and unarmed.

"Here," she hands him the hex bag and pulls a scrap of paper from her pocket. "These are instructions to make another if you don't want to rely on mine. Keep it within twenty yards or so, especially for the next two weeks. And keep your heads down. It'll prevent magical or demonic tracking, but if you run into a demon by accident or let someone trail you physically it won't be any help."

He takes it from her carefully, still suspicious. When nothing happens, he opens the driver's side door and reaches across the seat to place the bag and the instructions in the glove compartment. He stands afterwards, facing her. "I'm going back inside for my dad."

Immediately, Leigh wants to protest, to tell him that there isn't time, but considering her role in the man's death, she doesn't dare. She nearly leaps out of her skin when Sam presses the colt into her hands. Then he places a sheathed knife on top of the car. "Kill anything that tries to come after Dean." The unspoken threat of what he'll do to her if anything happens to his brother has her nodding jerkily.

Sam locks the car and without another word he disappears inside.

Gripping the colt with sweaty fingers, Leigh stands on the balls of her feet beside the rear door. She glances through the window at Dean's pale face every few seconds, just to make sure he's still there.

It's nerve-racking in the dark. At least with Sam there she hadn't felt so alone. Now, with Dean's life in her hands, the shadows seem many times more ominous.

Mercifully, Sam is quick. Leigh waits for him to unlock the car and then wordlessly opens the passenger side door. She doesn't try to help him maneuver the body. Instead, she goes back to watching the shadows.

When the door finally slams she lowers the gun and offers it to him grip-first. He takes it and opens his mouth to speak.

"We need to go," she says, cutting off whatever he was about to say. She fishes blindly in her bag for the drinks she'd grabbed earlier. "Here," she presses the Gatorades into his hands. "He'll need fluids when he wakes up." She stares hard into his eyes, craning her neck to do so. "Remember what I said. And good luck."

"Thanks."

She manages a wan smile and then takes off at a run. She's eager to make her own escape. So far, no one else in the game is aware of her existence. She'd really, really like to keep it that way.

Sam's been driving for three hours when he finally thinks to pull his phone out. He clicks through his contacts one handed and then presses it to his ear.

Bobby picks up on the first ring. "Sam? Are you boys okay?"

He determinedly does not look to his right. "Dad's dead." It comes out harsher than he'd meant it to. Despite their falling out, Bobby and his dad were friends once.

The older hunter seems to take it in stride, barely faltering before he asks, "What about Dean?"

"He's…" Sam glances in the rear view, watching his brother's chest rise and fall. "Alive. Injured."

"What about you?"

"I'm fine." Sam's voice is bitter.

"Damn it, Sam." Bobby's patience is clearly worn thin. "What the hell happened?"

The story comes tumbling out. Everything that's happened since he last saw Bobby. His voice cracks, and he can feel his eyes water, but it needs to be told. "-then he started tearing into Dean. It was bad Bobby. If it hadn't been for Leigh…"

"Leigh?" Bobby repeats, speaking up for the first time since Sam started.

"She, uh, says she's a psychic. Came outta nowhere." He scrubs a hand over his face, still partially in disbelief over how everything turned out. "One minute the demon was ripping Dean's chest open, the next she was standing there with the colt in hand and Dad was on the ground." He sucks in a harsh breath. "I didn't even notice her, I was so focused on Dean."

"And the demon?"

"He's gone too. For good." There's not as much satisfaction in the statement as he'd thought there'd be. How can there be? Dad is dead.

"Christ almighty," Bobby breathes. "What did she do next? Did she threaten you? Steal the colt?" The idea of her stealing the colt makes Sam's blood run cold.

"No." He tries not to think about what would have happened if she'd been there to take advantage of them. He'd left his brother alone with her – practically defenseless, with only a locked door between them. "She was there to help. She grabbed a first aid kit and stitched Dean up as neatly as any professional would've." He'd taken note of that, even in the moment. "She left the colt on the ground while she worked. Told me to pick it up when she was done.

"She helped us," he continued. "Even gave us a hex bag to prevent the other demons from finding us."

"And you trusted her?" Bobby snaps, understandably incredulous. "She could've been a demon herself!"

"What choice did I have?" Sam asks bleakly. "Dad was dead. Dean was bleeding out. And I didn't know what was waiting for us outside. Leigh had all the answers."

There's silence on the other end for a moment before he asks, "Is she with you now?"

"No. She went in the opposite direction – said it would make it harder for us to be found."

Bobby sighs. "Well, you were bound to have good luck at least once in your life. Where are you now?"

"Running," Sam says. "Leigh said Yellow Eyes' followers would be out for revenge. I'm trying to get far enough away to make sure they can't track us the normal way. Once I'm reasonably sure we're clear I'll stop to wake Dean and deal with Dad."

"Sam…" Bobby's pity is clear in his voice. "Call me when you decide on a destination. I'll meet you."

It says a lot about Sam's current mental state that he agrees.