A/N: CW in this one for death of an animal. Otherwise, go on ahead! Oh, and the boys are back ;)
Of Demons and Dogs
"Do you think Bobby knew that Ellen knew my mother?" Faith wondered sometime after they'd crossed the state border. They weren't far from Bobby's place, the flat terrain familiar in a comforting way.
The question had been niggling at her for miles now, like a song on repeat in her brain. But Toby didn't seem to sense how important the answer was to her.
"No idea," he shrugged. When Faith said nothing, the weight of her silence seemed to make him realise she needed more than a half-hearted shrug. "But … I've also never been a big believer in coincidence."
That only gave Faith more questions, but she voiced none of them, falling silent and letting the sound of Toby's science-fiction audiobook fill the car. The words were just a dull buzzing in her ears; her mind too full to take in anything the narrator was saying.
At some point, she shut her eyes, resting her forehead against the cool glass of the window. She didn't sleep, but just enjoyed the rocking and humming of the car around her. She didn't even realise they were at Bobby's until Toby turned off his book and said, "Seems Bobby has guests."
Faith opened her eyes, not sure what she expected to find. But when her eyes locked onto the unmistakable shape of the Impala parked in Toby's usual spot by the side of the house, Faith felt like the air had been ripped from her lungs.
"Faith?" asked Toby, noticing her reaction.
"It's them," she muttered, not quite able to believe it. She hadn't known when she'd see Sam and Dean again, and to know they were here now – she wasn't sure how to react.
"Who?" Toby asked as brought the car to a stop beside the Impala, but Faith only climbed from the car without a word.
Rumsfeld was laid tiredly on the hood of an old truck. Faith paused long enough to scratch him behind his ears. "Hey," she murmured, kissing him gently on the head. He whined and butted his head against her chin. "Good boy."
The wooden stairs leading up to Bobby's porch creaked underneath her weight, and she knew there was no way the hunters inside didn't know she was there. She hovered uncertainly at the door, unsure whether to knock or just let herself in. She had a permanent room here, so didn't that mean she technically lived here too? Why should she have to knock?
She opened the door, wiping her feet distractedly on the mat as she called out a quick, "Bobby?!"
Silence, then footsteps on the wooden floor. Faith expected to see Bobby round the corner, but instead it was Dean. He looked different, more worn than he had when she'd seen him last. As if something had happened in the time since to drain the life from his eyes.
"Bueller," he said, blinking as though he barely recognised her.
"Winchester," she said, staring much the same.
There was a pause that should have been awkward, and perhaps was, in a way. It was packed full of tension, like there were things they wanted to say but didn't have the words to express. They'd left things in a weird place – a sort of mutual acceptance, if not exactly warm. She wasn't sure how to pick up from there.
Sam appeared in the doorway, eyebrows raised high. "Faith," he said, sounding a hell of a lot more pleased to see her.
"Sam," she smiled, crossing the steps between them and pulling the giant hunter into a hug. He chuckled and patted her on the back. "It's good to see you," she said, pulling back to grin at him.
"You too," his smile was a little subdued, but no less sincere.
The floorboards of the porch creaked, and they all turned to the doorway in time to see Toby hesitating at the threshold. "Oh hey," she said, walking back towards him and taking her duffel bag from him. "Guys, this is Tobias Monroe," she introduced them briskly. "Toby, this is Sam and Dean Winchester."
Sam stuck out his hand and Toby took it with a clap. "I've heard great things, man," Sam said kindly.
"I've heard not much at all," Toby replied honestly. "But then again, your father isn't really the talkative sort."
Sam chuckled, but there was a pain behind his eyes that made Faith wary. "Well, you're not wrong there."
Dean appeared at his shoulder, holding out a hand to Toby, who took it and shook. Faith watched as their knuckles went white gripping one another's hands and just barely kept from rolling her eyes in exasperation.
"Dean," the eldest Winchester introduced himself as if Faith hadn't just done it. Toby nodded, face giving no hint to the way Dean was squeezing his hand. "Bobby said you were in Wyoming?" He aimed the question at Toby rather than her. Faith bristled and Sam shot her an apologetic grimace.
Toby – bless him – just looked at Faith to answer. "We were there looking into my mother's death," she said, and she aimed the answer at Sam rather than Dean, hoping to piss him off just the same. "Got a look at the hard copies of the reports from back then; interviewed a few witnesses."
"Yeah? You learn much?"
"Yeah," she said, dropping her duffel bag down on the floor and kicking the front door shut with her foot. But she didn't want to go over everything they'd learned in Riverton. She didn't want to talk about it at all. "Then we stopped off in Blackhawk for a job before making our way down to Nebraska-"
"Wait, what?" interjected Dean. "A job? You've been hunting?!"
Faith blinked, surprised by the strength of his reaction. "Well, yeah," she said slowly. "That's kind of the whole point, isn't it?"
"What, you've been training for barely three full months, and you think you're ready to take on, what? A haunting?"
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "It was a coven of witches, actually, and I took them on just fine."
"Witches?" Dean looked particularly disturbed.
"Yeah," she snapped. "And I wasted them. Saved Toby's life, too."
Dean didn't seem to know what to say, staring at her wordlessly. Faith's jaw ached with how tightly she was clenching it.
"Whether you think I'm capable or not, Dean, I'm doing this. I'm even pretty fuckin' good at it. And the last thing I need is some kind of misplaced, overprotective bullshit getting in my way."
Sam had a hand pressed over his mouth to smother a smile, while Dean looked vaguely like she'd slapped him across the face. Faith turned her attention to Sam, sliding an arm through his and leading him deeper into the house.
"So, what're you doing here?" she asked him conversationally, as though she hadn't just ripped Dean a new asshole in front of everyone. "How goes the hunt for your dad?"
Sam's amusement melted away in an instant, and Faith felt bad for bringing it up. "That's why we're here, actually," he said, gently extracting his arm from Faith's and taking a seat at Bobby's desk. It was piled high with old books, but there was one spread out before him that looked particularly interesting.
"You found him?" Faith asked, then turned to smile at Bobby, who slipped into the room with two beers in hand.
He handed her one of them and she opened it on the side of the desk, holding it up both in thanks and greeting. Dean slunk back into the room, a deep scowl on his face as he deliberately didn't look in Faith's direction. Toby followed, clapped Bobby on the shoulder in hello and taking the second beer from him with a grateful nod.
"We found him," Sam confirmed grimly. "But we lost him again."
After throwing back a mouthful of beer, Faith frowned. "How'd that happen?"
Sam glanced at Dean as if looking for permission, but Faith kept her attention on Sam. If Dean was going to be a dick, she didn't feel like wasting any more energy on him than she absolutely had to. With a sigh, Sam returned his attention to her and began his tale.
He didn't speak at length, keeping the details brief, but he told her how they'd met up with their father to take down a vampire nest, then everything that had led up to their dad getting kidnapped by a demon named Meg, about a gun called the Colt, and finally ended with how they were expecting Meg to track them to Bobby's place within the next few hours, and how they were planning to use her to find out where their dad was being kept.
He warned them to leave now if they wanted to avoid a fight, but with a single glance, she and Toby decided to stay – there was strength in numbers, and Toby knew what the Winchesters meant to her. Sam didn't quite say thank you, but there was a gratitude in his eyes that made her hide a smile.
Sam finished by tapping the book open before him, a devil's trap inked onto the aged page. "And I've gotta say, this book… I've never seen anything like it," he said, staring at the ancient spell keenly.
"Key of Solomon?" Bobby asked, speaking for the first time in at least ten minutes as he took a seat on the side of the desk Sam was perched at. "It's the real deal, alright."
"And these protective circles…" Sam pressed, looking sceptical. "They really work?"
"Hell, yeah," said Bobby. "You get a demon in one of these, they're trapped. Powerless. It's like a Satanic roach motel."
Faith already knew all about devil's traps. It was one of the first things Bobby had taught her, that first week living in this house with him, studying all those old tomes while Toby was making his way from his last hunt. Bobby had thought it would be useful for her to know. She hadn't needed to use one yet, but she had those symbols etched permanently onto her mind. If she ever needed to trap a demon, she knew exactly how.
"Man knows his stuff," said Dean, strolling towards them and still not looking at Faith. She noticed – in a distant, faint sort of way – that he was slightly bow-legged. Like a cowboy from the wild west, he didn't walk so much as he sauntered.
"I'll tell you something else, too," added Bobby. "This is some serious shit you boys stepped in."
Sam looked alert. "Oh, yeah? How's that?"
Bobby paused, glancing at Faith, which put her on alert, too. "Normal year, I hear of, say, three demonic possessions. Maybe four, tops."
"Yeah?"
"This year, I've heard of twenty-seven – so far. And that's not even counting the ones coming after you, Faith," he added wearily. "Which is a whole 'nother level of shit. But you get what I'm saying? More and more demons are walking among us – a lot more."
Dean glanced at Faith the same moment she glanced at him. Brown and green locked for the span of a heartbeat, then they looked away as one, returning their attention to Sam, who was asking, "Do you know why?"
"No," said Bobby darkly, "but I know it's something big. Storm's coming, and you boys, your daddy, even you, Faith – you're all smack in the middle of it."
The words were foreboding, and Faith felt a chill skitter down the length of her spine. She hadn't thought that maybe – somehow – her own issues with demons could be in some way connected to Sam and Dean's troubles. It seemed stupid, now, to not have thought of it sooner. What she hadn't known was that this many demonic possessions wasn't the norm. Bobby had never mentioned it; she'd just assumed it was a given thing.
She had to wonder, though, what exactly the Hades' Cult had to do with Sam, Dean and their missing father. How were they connected? Was it pure coincidence? She knew what Toby's answer would be.
A sharp, panicked barking reached them from out front. Faith's entire body went rigid, and her hand flew to her knife, fingers curling around its grip.
"Rumsfeld," breathed Bobby, moving quickly as his ageing body would allow. He reached the window, pushing aside the curtain to peer out into the salvage yard. Faith's every cell was on alert, the skin at the back of her neck prickling like her body knew there was a danger her eyes couldn't yet see.
The Rottweiler's deep barks cut off with a whine that Faith felt in her bones. Panic skewered her through, but she kept her cool, gripping her knife tight.
Whatever Bobby saw outside, it made him freeze and mutter, "Something's wrong."
Bobby had barely finished speaking before the door exploded and a skinny, pale-skinned woman with short blonde hair sashayed confidently into the room. Faith gathered this was Meg, but somehow, she didn't match what Faith had expected. Smaller, less physically intimidating.
Though, Faith would be the first person to testify that size was no indication of the horror a pissed off demon could inflict. Her beady, angry eyes flickered over them all. Faith knew she wasn't imagining the way Meg's eyes caught on hers and lingered, a smirk on her face.
"No more bullshit, okay?" were the demon's first, frustrated words.
Dean pulled a flask from his pocket, taking two large steps towards Meg, only for the demon to throw out a hand like any old human swatting at a fly. With a cry, Dean flew backwards, crashing into the bookshelves on the far side of the room.
"Dean!" Faith shouted before she could stop herself, and as if sensing she was going to do something to stupid, Toby thrust out a hand to keep her where she was. Dean fell to the floor, books and wood and glass showering down over him, but he didn't move again.
Sam moved as if on instinct, shifting between the three of them and Meg, whose smile was angry and full of wicked hatred.
"I want the Colt, Sam – the real Colt," she drawled, beginning to walk lazily towards them. "Right now."
Using his arm, Sam corralled Faith, Toby and Bobby backwards. Faith wasn't sure what was happening, but she had a feeling there was a plan in place that they hadn't had time to clue her in on, so she went where Sam angled her, fingers wrapped hard around the hilt of her knife.
"We don't have it on us," Sam was telling the demon hastily. "We buried it."
"Didn't I say 'no more bullshit?' I swear – after everything I heard about you Winchesters, I got to tell you, I'm a little underwhelmed," Meg simpered, still strolling lazily towards them. They passed out of view of Dean, and Faith tried to ignore the way that made it hard to breathe. "First Johnny tries to pawn off a fake gun, and then he leaves the real gun with you two chuckleheads. Lacklustre, men. I mean, did you really think I wouldn't find you?"
Dean appeared in the doorway, completely conscious. "Actually," he said in a confident drawl, "we were counting on it."
With a frown tugging at her brow, Meg turned on her heel, facing Dean who looked smugly up at the ceiling. Meg followed his eyes, and so did Faith. Faith nearly wilted with relief at the sight of the devil's trap painted onto the ceiling. It hadn't been there before she'd left, so Faith guessed Bobby must have painted it on in the last few days – maybe suspecting they would get into a situation just like this one.
Meg returned her beady eyes to Dean, who smirked and said, "Gotcha."
A beat, then Toby took a step around Sam, who looked just as smug as his brother. Faith's sort-of hunting partner lifted his gun and aimed it at the demon in the trap before them. He made no move to shoot, and they all knew why. This was a play for information – not revenge.
"Sammy, why don't you grab our guest a chair?" growled Dean.
Without needing to be told, Faith left them alone, flitting down to the basement to grab a handful of rope. By the time she reappeared, Sam was forcing Meg into a wooden chair from the kitchen. With the barrel of Toby's gun fixed at the space between the demon's eyes, Faith didn't hesitate to step forwards and begin to tie her hands and feet to the chair.
She heard a shuffling behind her and figured Dean had probably wanted to stop her, but someone had intervened. She was getting real sick of his shit, real fast. But now wasn't the time to let him have it.
"Child of War," purred Meg as Faith yanked at a knot, securing the demon's left wrist to the chair, not so much as a millimetre of wiggle room in between. "I know who you are," she sang the words like a nursery rhyme.
"Do you?" asked Faith in a bored voice, giving no indication to how the words made her pulse leap. "Do you also know how quickly I'll gut you like a fish if you try anything?"
Meg's smile stretched wide. It concerned Faith, just a little, how unconcerned the demon seemed by her current situation. It made her wonder: had she played right into their plan, or were they playing into hers?
Meg purred like a cat. "You've caused quite the stir, you know, down below? Now that you've finally come up for air."
Faith pulled the knot around her right wrist even tighter than the last, but no pain flashed in the demon's stolen eyes. She smirked like she wasn't the one tied to a chair; like she was the one with the upper hand.
"I should have known the Winchesters would have already gotten their claws into you," the demon added. "Tell me, which one are you screwing? My money's on the shorter one." Faith didn't react; she wouldn't let the demon get to her. Not in the least because it wasn't even slightly true. "I wonder what your poor, dead lover would think? Knowing you've moved on so fast? Then again, there isn't much time to think about anything other than the pain, down there."
Faith finished tying down the demon's ankles, then calmly pulled free her iron knife and slashed the blade down the length of its shin. The blade cut through her jeans and sliced the skin beneath. Meg let out a shriek, head thrown back in pain, but before Faith could maim it further an arm hooked around her middle and she was dragged backwards by Toby.
The worst of the pain abating, Meg lowered her stare to Faith, who snarled at her like an animal. "You make it too easy," she laughed, then her smirking eyes slid to Sam and Dean. "You know, boys, if you wanted to tie me up, all you had to do was ask."
Bobby returned, a large cannister of salt in his hand. Faith had been so distracted by Meg, she hadn't even realised he'd disappeared. "I salted the door and windows," he told them shortly. "If there are any more demons out there – they ain't getting in."
Dean's nod was brisk, then he climbed to his feet and stood opposite Meg, his jaw tight. Faith nudged Toby and he let go of her waist. She didn't let go of her knife, gripping it tight, comfortable with the knowledge that it would keep this demon at bay.
"Where's our father, Meg?" Dean demanded gruffly.
Meg pouted. "You didn't ask very nice."
"Where's our father, bitch?"
"Jeez. You kiss your mother with that mouth?" she purred, then playfully gasped. "Oh wait, I forgot, you don't."
Dean lunged towards her, gripping either side of the chair Faith had secured her to, face leant in close to hers. He was shaking, just slightly, with rage. Faith hadn't realised, but all of that anger had been bubbling beneath the surface since she'd arrived at the house. She'd thought he was pissed at her, but she realised now the anger wasn't directed at her at all.
"You think this is a fucking game?" Dean snarled in Meg's smug face. "Where is he?! What did you do to him?"
Meg's smirk was a terrible, wicked thing. "He died screaming. I killed him myself."
For a moment Dean said nothing, staring at her while his body trembled with rage. Then, quick as a whip, he backhanded her across the face. The sound of flesh hitting bone echoed throughout the room as Meg's face snapped to the side, a single drop of blood beading from between her lips.
"That's kind of a turn on," purred Meg, licking at the blood like a cat, "you hittin' a girl."
"You're no girl."
"Dean," Bobby barked. Dean reluctantly pulled away from Meg and marched towards Bobby. Faith and Toby remained behind, Toby's gun still aimed at the demon while Faith just paced circles around her, knife held tight. Meg might be locked in a devil's trap, but that didn't mean she was defenceless.
Faith was too far away to hear what the others were saying, but she didn't care, eyes glued to the demon. Meg looked entirely too smug for comfort.
"They're coming for you, you know?" Meg said, conversational.
Faith's pace never changed, though her heart leapt. "The Cult?" she spat the name. "You a part of their little club, Meg?"
To Faith's surprise, Meg snorted. "Are you kidding? Even I'm not twisted enough to make that list," she sneered, though Faith found herself doubting that just a little. "It's a members-only sort of a deal."
Faith cocked her head. "But you're a fan of their work?"
"Not even slightly. But the same can't be said of the others." At Faith's silence, she pressed on, cocky knowing she had knowledge they wanted. "The Cult certainly has their groupies. Who do you think they keep sending after you, since the Cult can't do it themselves?"
She was creating more questions than she was answering, but Faith didn't take the bait. Toby, however, shifted forwards. "Why are they coming after her?" he demanded, gun pressed to the patch of skin between her brows.
"You really don't know?" Meg laughed as if there wasn't a gun to her head. "You're even slower than I thought, Tobias. The two of you make a mighty fine pair." Meg turned those hellfire eyes onto Faith. "When they come for you – and they will – I'm going to enjoy hearing about how they broke and stripped you down into pieces. And once they're free; well, it'll be their party on earth – and everyone in Hell's invited."
"Bueller," grunted Dean, and Faith turned away from Meg to see him standing in the doorway. When she caught his eye, he nodded for her to follow him, and with a hateful glare at Meg, she did, letting Toby guard the demon while Sam, Dean and Bobby spoke in low tones.
"We can't hurt the vessel," Bobby told her point-blank. At Faith's blank look he said, "Come on, Faith. You know there's an innocent girl in there. We can't do anything to hurt the body. Just the demon within."
Her teeth ground together. "So, where does that leave us?"
"Sammy and I are gonna exorcise it," said Dean darkly. "Send it straight back to Hell."
"But it hasn't even told you anything yet," she argued.
"It will," he promised, and that was that. "The less people around for this, the better. You and Tobias do a sweep of the salvage yard. I'm not sure I believe she came alone."
"Yeah, right," she shot back. "You just want me out of the way."
"Of course I want you out of the way," he hissed. "We're exorcising a demon. You don't need to see that."
She had about a hundred scathing responses to that, but she swallowed them down since they were so short on time. "I'm not done getting my own information out of it. It knows about my mom – about the Cult – I can't just-"
Dean was shaking his head before she'd even finished. "Your mom's already dead," he said bluntly. She knew he was just stating a fact, but she still flinched back as though struck. His eyes weren't apologetic, and she thought she hated him a little bit. "Our dad's still alive, but he might not be for long. I'm sorry you can't get your answers, but there'll be other demons; other chances. But if we want to save our dad in time, we have to do this now."
Faith stared at him, and he met her glower without flinching. Neither flinched, neither even blinked. It was a battle of wills, the two of them facing off. Faith forgot about everyone else in the room until Toby gently touched her elbow. With great reluctance she pulled her icy stare from Dean's.
"Let's go check the perimeter," Toby said calmly. "You could use the air."
She didn't answer him, turning back to look at Dean as she pulled her gun from where it was tucked in her waistband. She didn't look down at all as she cocked the gun, swiftly checking the clip and flicking off the safety, all in the span of a heartbeat.
Dean's eyes dipped down to watch how easily she handled the weapon – as though it was second nature. She wasn't the same helpless little girl who'd cowered behind him and screamed while Sam killed a demon before their eyes. Those days were over; they'd ended without him even realising it.
"Let's go," she told Toby flatly, turning away from Dean like he wasn't worth her time and striding from the room without looking back.
Bobby was waiting at the front door, two silver flasks in hand. He handed one off to each of them, and they knew without asking that it was holy water. "I think we're clear, but it's best to be safe," he said quietly. Over his words Faith could hear Sam speaking in Latin from the other room.
Outside, the sky was overcast and the shadow it cast over the salvage yard was unsettling. Faith usually liked clouds, thought they felt like a warm blanket over the world. But just then, staring up at the clouds above their heads, Faith struggled to see them as anything but the lid of a cage, boxing them in and trapping them in this hell.
"We'll split up, you go left," Faith muttered.
Toby objected. "Faith-"
"We'll cover more ground that way," she insisted. "We'll shout if we need backup. The salvage yard isn't so big that we won't hear."
Toby didn't want to agree, she could tell, but Faith walked away before he could argue. With her favourite pistol held out in front of her, flask of holy water a weight in her pocket, Faith quickly and quietly made her way around the side of Bobby's house.
She didn't allow her mind to stray, taking in the familiar sights without any relief. Instead, she just kept her eyes ahead, searching for anything that might have seemed out of place. She reached the western side of the house, where Rumsfeld's chain hung severed and limp, the dog nowhere in sight. Faith's stomach dropped out from beneath her and the steady ground felt like the deck of a ship on a stormy night.
"Rumsfeld?" she asked tentatively, not daring to call out any louder. "Rumsfeld, here boy."
There was no answer, and with her gun still held out in preparation, Faith inched her way closer to Bobby's garage. There was no movement, none at all. But everything was too still, and Faith knew there was no way nothing could be wrong.
When she found Rumsfeld, she desperately wished she hadn't. The poor dog was laid dead against the large mound of Bobby's firewood, a deep gouge in his belly, his insides spilled out. His eyes were still open, and Faith imagined she could still see the fear and pain in those dark, sweet depths.
Her lip began to tremble, and she dropped her gun, collapsing onto her knees and shuffling through the dirt towards the dog. She knew there was nothing she could do – he was dead and gone – but she gripped his body and shook anyway, as if a miracle might occur and he would wake up, lick her face, and go back to irritating Bobby like always.
But Rumsfeld didn't move, eyes glassy and unseeing, and tears began to slide down Faith's face.
She wasn't sure how long she sat there for, hands petting down the length of Rumsfeld's cooling body, knees bloody from his spilt insides. It must have been awhile, and when she finally heard footsteps outside Bobby's garage, she called hoarsely, "In here, Toby!"
But the person who came around the corner wasn't Toby at all – it was Dean. He looked out of place, clean and free of blood, while she was knelt there in dog intestines. At the sight of him she hurriedly wiped her face with her shoulder, but her tears had already been seen.
Dean crouched beside her in the dirt, a pitying look on his face as his eyes dragged over the innocent pup on the pile of wood before them. "He was a good dog," Dean said, voice like a long gravel road, endless and rough.
"What happened to Meg?" Faith rasped, still petting Rumsfeld's coat as if he could feel her love, even in death.
"Back in Hell, where she belongs."
"And the girl?"
Dean paused, the silence heavy with tension, but a different kind than before. "She didn't make it."
Faith's hands never stopped soothing down Rumsfeld's coat, stopping before they reached his gaping wound and returning to the start again. She wasn't sure she could stop; like once she did, it would be over, and she didn't want it to be over. She just wanted an innocent dog to be okay again.
"Did you at least get the information you needed?"
"Yeah," Dean said. "We know where our dad is – or, basically, anyway." A beat. "Sammy and I are about to leave. We have to get there quick, before he's moved."
"Okay," said Faith, feeling numb from her head to her toes. Her hands never stopped petting Rumsfeld, some distant part of her thinking he still needed it – like petting him would keep his soul around. Did dogs have souls? Could dogs become ghosts? She'd never wondered before now.
Dean's hands settled over her own, his skin calloused and warm to the touch. Slowly, with almost painful tenderness, he wrapped his long fingers around her smaller hands and gently prised her away from the dead dog. Another tear escaped her eye, trailing hot and unwelcome down her cheek.
"He was a good dog," she said once more, as though it needed repeating.
Dean nodded. "He was."
Slowly, he pulled her to her feet.
"I know it's been a long day for us all," he said once they were standing. He looked fuzzy before her, indistinct to her eyes, the edges of him blurry. "But we had to call the paramedics for the girl. They'll be here soon, and if they decide to search the property and find a dog like this, on top of the dead girl…"
She understood what he was saying, spying a shovel leant up against Bobby's workbench. "I'll bury him out back," she said dully. "Somewhere they won't find him."
Dean hesitated. "I'm sure Tobias can-"
"I'm doing it," she snapped, a hint of fire returning to her eyes as she turned that blistering heat onto Dean. He held up his hands as if in surrender. "Go save your dad, Winchester," she sighed, wiping at the last of her tears with her shoulder once more. "I'll see you later."
"You will?"
"Hunting," she said. "I've been told it's a small community."
Dean nodded once. "That it is." He hesitated again. "You'll be okay?"
"Goodbye, Dean."
With a final sigh, Dean turned and loped away. Faith didn't watch him go.
She walked out the back, wandering about until she found a nice spot under a large tree that she thought Rumsfeld would have liked. Then she began to dig. Seconds turned to minutes turned to hours, and soon the muted sun was sinking below the horizon and her hands were blistered from the shovel.
It wasn't Toby alone who found her as the last of the light faded from the day; he had Bobby with him. Between them they were bringing Rumsfeld, his large, broken body laid out across a large piece of tarp and dragged behind them.
"What happened with the paramedics?" Faith was the first to speak, never stopping her digging.
"Told them she showed up hurt, knocked on my door and passed out before I could ask what happened. I rang them and by the time they came, she was already dead," said Bobby quietly, hands tucked into the pockets of his ever-present coveralls. He stared solemnly down at Rumsfeld's body and pain twisted in Faith's chest at his expression.
"Hey," said Toby, hopping down into the hole and taking the shovel from her before she could argue, "I think it's deep enough."
He was probably right. It had to be at least five feet deep. There wasn't much point in continuing on. "Come on," said Bobby with a sigh, and the two of them climbed from the grave, then helped Bobby gently drag the tarp carrying Rumsfeld's body into the hole. Then came the truly hard part – covering it back up.
"Why don't you go inside?" Bobby suggested, glancing down at her blistered hands with concern. "I can finish up here."
"No, it's okay," she insisted stubbornly.
But Toby's hand on her shoulder stopped her. "You need rest, and Bobby needs to say goodbye, too," he said, the words so gentle they hurt. Realising he was right – at least about that last part – Faith reluctantly followed Toby back through the labyrinth of cars.
Inside, he cleaned her bloodied, dirty hands in the sink, then used Bobby's first-aid kit to patch her up as best he could.
"Think the paramedics bought Bobby's story?" she wondered, barely feeling the alcohol as it brushed over her open blisters and cuts. The numbness from within was spreading.
"The police came, too, took our statements," he told her. "We planted some blood from the roadside up to the front door. They didn't seem too concerned that we had anything to do with her death. A bit of a risky move, if we had, calling the paramedics straight away. I think they believed us. Besides, out here, I don't think they ask too many questions."
Her stare was sceptical.
"This isn't the city, Faith," he reminded her. "Things are different in small towns. Some things get hushed up more than others, even when they really shouldn't. At least, this time, it worked in our favour."
He put the last clear bandage over her final burst blister and began to pack away his supplies. Faith said nothing, staring out the window. But because it was dark, the lights inside the room turned it into a mirror instead, leaving her staring at her own, broken expression.
"I know you loved Rumsfeld," Toby said quietly. "I'm sorry you lost him."
Faith shrugged. "He was Bobby's dog."
Toby sighed. "Go have a shower, get some rest."
"And then what?"
He was silent for a moment, staring at her, seeming to try to assess her from that look alone. She finally turned away from her own blurred reflection. Looking at her then, he seemed to come to some sort of decision within himself.
"There's a potential job – a bunch of mysterious deaths on a stretch of highway in Missouri," he said, arching a brow. "We should get a good night's rest then get going first thing. It's about a five-hour drive, so we can be there by lunch."
Faith didn't say so, but she was relieved. She'd been terrified he was going to insist on bunkering down at Bobby's, laying low while she 'recovered', or some other such bullshit. But that he wasn't treating her with kid gloves, wasn't locking her down on house arrest to 'deal with her trauma' – it was everything she needed.
This job, it had become her own sort of coping mechanism. And maybe that was pathetic, and sad, and perhaps even a little bit twisted – but sometimes when it felt like the world was against you, it paid to have a way to work out your issues. And this way, they might save some lives in the process.
It was much better than her old coping mechanisms; day drinking and petty theft. This one was at least mildly healthier. If not for her, then for the community at large.
"Sounds good," was all she said, but her and Toby had come to know each other well enough these past few months that he could see in her eyes what she wasn't saying with her mouth.
He smiled, a tight but genuine expression, and nodded her towards the stairs. "Go shower," he ordered her. "You reek."
"So do you, by the way," she shot back.
"Then don't use up all the hot water."
"No promises!" she shouted over her shoulder. And by the time she was under the warm spray of the shower, she might not have been smiling, but that numb feeling began to recede little by little, until finally she could feel something again, even if none of it was particularly good.
They had a quick dinner that night thrown together by well-meaning-but-clueless Faith.
Bobby and Toby were too polite to tell her how terrible it was – or maybe just too tired – but either way, they ate without complaint, and also without conversation. It felt stifling, and despite the mournful air, Faith couldn't stand the quiet. Now that the numbness was gone, her head was a storm of thought, and she thought if she didn't speak it through, she might very well spontaneously combust.
"What do you think she meant?" she wondered.
"Who?" asked Toby.
"Meg," she said. "She called me the 'Child of War'. What did she mean by that? It's been bugging me."
Toby's stare was incredulous. "Everything else she said, and that's what's bothering you?"
"Well, the first demon that attacked me – the day after I met Dean and Sam, at a motel in Baltimore – it called me the Child of War, too," she revealed.
Toby didn't seem to know what to say, and Bobby's eyes were glassy from the drink he'd hit hard after burying Rumsfeld, so she suspected he wouldn't be throwing in his two cents anytime soon.
"Have the demons…nicknamed me?" she asked wearily, poking at her dinner. "How violating."
Toby took another bite and said, "That's violating? Faith, darling; I think you need to check your priorities."
He had a point, but she couldn't help the voice in the back of her head telling her there was something there – something she didn't yet understand. She supposed the only way to find out was to give it time.
"Meg said they were coming for me," she said, tracing steady fingertips over the label of her beer bottle. The condensation was cool against the balm of the summer's night.
"Well, we already knew that," said Toby, logical but not without his own concern.
"Yeah," she whispered, then stuffed her mouth with more terrible food. She didn't bother to attempt any more conversation.
Ironically enough, she slept well that night, even despite the horrors of the past few days. She woke up at dawn, meeting Toby in the kitchen for tea and before they took a quick run, as had become habit. By the time they made it back to Bobby's place, the older hunter was awake, staring out the screen door at nothing, a cup of coffee steaming in hand.
"How'd you sleep?" Toby asked while Faith decided to stick to the one thing she couldn't possibly fuck up and poured some cereal.
"Like a goddamn baby," Bobby sniped.
Toby got the message loud and clear and dropped that line of questioning before it could go anywhere. "Faith and I are off after breakfast," he said, sipping his own coffee and eyeing the cereal she'd poured him as if she might have managed to screw that up, too.
"A job?" grunted Bobby.
"Stretch of haunted highway in Missouri," Toby shrugged. "I'm thinking it'll be a simple salt-and-burn, but I guess we won't know till we get there."
Some clarity returned to Bobby's eyes, which darted between the two of them thoughtfully. "Is this how it is now?" he wondered, and Faith looked up from the coffee she was all but inhaling. "The two of you, hunting partners?"
Faith hadn't really thought about it – they'd just naturally fallen into this pattern. It had happened so organically that she supposed she'd just assumed it was true; but glancing over at Toby now, she found him a veritable deer in the headlights.
Sensing that maybe she shouldn't be going around making any assumptions, Faith took another sip of her coffee and let Toby answer the question.
"I – she – I mean," he stammered, and Faith's brow creased with worry. She and Bobby watched as he took a deep breath. "Faith still has a lot to learn," he finally said, calming. "We agreed I'd decide when she was ready to go off on her own. Well, she's not there yet. So…for now…we'll stick together. Until I'm sure she's ready," he finished with a nod of punctuation.
Bobby looked over at Faith, who just shook her head and smiled, innocently sipping her coffee. They hadn't unpacked from their last trip, so getting ready to leave was really just a case of having a quick shower each, then changing into clean clothes and putting their bags down by the door.
"You gonna be okay, Bobby?" Faith asked as they stood in the doorway, readying to say goodbye.
Predictably, Bobby looked annoyed by her concern. "I'm a big boy, Faith," the words were dripping with derision. "I think I'll be fine."
She hugged him anyway. He was pudgy around the middle, but warm and solid in her arms. She'd never had a father to hug, but she imagined it would be something like hugging Bobby – all warmth and safety. Pulling back, she attempted a smile. "Keep in contact, ya hear?"
"You too," he ordered gruffly, taking off his trucker hat, running a hand through his hair, then slipping it back on.
He shook hands with Toby, and then they were gone, driving south-east towards Missouri. As they drove, the two of them settled into their usual routine. Toby put on a brand-new audiobook – this one about killer robots in a futuristic Shanghai – while Faith slipped her headphones over her head and drowned out the narrator with her own music.
"I lived in Missouri, when I was a kid," she said conversationally sometime after they'd crossed the state border, stopping for gas in some backwater town called Craig. She'd just come back from paying for their gas, her pockets heavy with stolen goods. As they pulled back onto Route 59, she began to empty her pockets of her haul, dividing it up between them.
Toby liked black liquorice – while Faith wasn't a heathen and only ate red. She liked blue Gatorade while Toby preferred grape. She loved jerky and – well, Toby also loved jerky. It was one of the few snacks they could ever agree on.
"You did?" he asked, taking the stick of black liquorice she handed him and chewing while he drove.
"Foster home. Mr. and Mrs. Slater," she said, kicking her feet up on the dash and opening her bottle of Gatorade. "They went to church five times a week and thought vaccinations were from the devil. It was actually where I made my first theft."
Toby glanced at her sceptically. "You stole a vaccination? C'mon, Faith, not even you're that good."
"What? No," she snorted. "I took money from the church's collection bag."
Toby gaped at her across the cab of the car.
"What?" she asked defensively.
"You stole from a church?"
"Yeah?" she shrugged. "What? It's not like I robbed them blind. I was seven; I only took enough to play a few rounds at the arcade down the street."
Toby looked stunned. "Unbelievable."
"What?" she asked again.
"You stole from a church," he said again. "Weren't you afraid of God's wrath?"
She snorted again. "Toby, don't be ridiculous. God isn't real."
He said nothing as he unscrewed the top to his own Gatorade and took a deep drink. "How do you know?" he asked after a while.
"That God isn't real?" She scoffed. "Because there's no sense or order to the chaos that is this world. If I didn't think so before the whole 'demon cult from hell' thing – I sure as shit do now. Besides, my life's been one disaster to another since the day I was born. If there is a God, clearly he gives zero shits about me. So even if by some insane miracle he does exist, then he's nothing I'm ever going to respect, let alone worship."
Toby was quiet again. His hand tightened on the wheel, and he opened his mouth as if to speak, only to change his mind and shut it again, shaking his head.
"What?" she demanded for a third time.
"Nothing," he said, and seemed to mean it. "I get it, I really do."
"But?" she pressed.
He shrugged. "But I guess that if I didn't allow myself to believe there was something good in this world, be it God or angels or just anything other than the sort of monsters we spend our lives killing… I guess I'd throw myself off a bridge and be done with it."
It was grim, even for Toby, but she truly did understand. She also didn't know what to say, and she let them drift into silence as they chewed their snacks and made their way towards their next hunt.
It was just after lunch when they arrived at the stretch of highway in Missouri where the mysterious deaths had all taken place. A road just north of the city of St. Joseph, it was quieter than the rest of the area. Faith could almost feel a chill as they drove down the highway, taking note of all the flowers and crosses laid across the side of the road in respect for the dead.
"I counted six markers," she said as they came to the end of the road, where a motel sat against the backdrop of the cloudy sky. "That's six recent deaths."
"And no other cars on the highway," added Toby as they pulled into the parking lot of Black Reed Motel. He shifted forwards, punching open the glove compartment to rifle through their small trove of fake IDs and credit cards. "I'd say something has the people spooked."
He held out a credit card and driver's license for her to take. "Mrs. Faith Fitzgerald," she read off the front. She looked up at him. "And I assume you're-"
"Mr. Scott Fitzgerald," he nodded seriously, digging into his pocket and producing a small ring. At first glance it looked expensive, but once he handed it to her, her thief's eye saw it for what it was; a clever fraud.
"A married couple?" she asked disparagingly, even as she slid the fake jewellery onto her left ring finger.
"We're taking a road trip for our honeymoon," he informed her. "Think you can handle pretending to like me for more than thirty seconds at a time?"
"As long as I get regular puke breaks – sure."
He smiled sarcastically from behind his beard, but then his expression turned serious. "You've got a really natural acting ability," he said, coming dangerously a compliment. "Think you could pull a rabbit out of your hat and pretend we're in love?"
"You call it acting, I call it grifting," she said. "You wouldn't believe the amount of money I've swindled out of lonely, rich old men."
He frowned. "Has anyone told you lately that you're a terrible person?"
"What?" she asked defensively. "They were mostly perverts, anyway. A girl's gotta eat, Toby."
"You're definitely going to Hell," he said as he cracked the door and stepped out into the sweltering summer heat. Faith huffed as she shouldered her duffel and climbed out of the car with him. Before he could say a word, she grabbed his hand and began to lead him towards the front office, a wide, loving smile on her face.
She took the feelings of confusion and pain and loss that she was feeling, all pent up from the trials that were the last week or so, and shoved them into a quiet corner of her mind. She was the queen of compartmentalisation, and she hadn't been kidding; she really had tried her hand at grifting on more than one occasion. She'd always been freakishly good at it. Back then, she'd thought it was just her instincts from years on the street, now she wondered if it wasn't just the hunter in her all along.
There was a man behind the counter, tall and young, with a face full of freckles and a wide-eyed look about him. His name tag read Billy, and next to that was a little yellow sticker that said trainee.
It definitely showed, his eyes nervous as they sauntered up to him, hands locked together. "Hi," she greeted him happily. "We'd like to book a room?"
"Yes ma'am," said Billy obediently, attention already on his computer. "For how many nights?"
She looked over at Toby as if in thought. "Well, we'll likely want to move on tomorrow, but if we find there's a lot to see, we might stay an extra night," she said, tapping a finger against the dimple in her chin, her smile just a few shades too innocent, though the boy couldn't tell.
"Well, if you'd like to stay longer, just make sure to let us know before checkout and we can put you in for another night," he told her with another nervous smile. "Would you like a room with two singles or a double?"
She thought Billy was maybe a little slow – considering the way she was giving Toby eyes like she was a kitten, and he was drenched in catnip – but smiled all the same, leaning into a too-stiff Toby's side and saying sweetly, "Do you happen to have a honeymoon suite?"
Billy blinked, realisation creeping in. "Oh, um, no…but we do have a room with a queen bed and a bathtub – it's our only one," he said, tapping away at the keyboard, eyes squinted against its light.
"We'll take it," said Faith brightly, sliding her phoney credit card across the counter. With another nervous smile, the boy took the card and began to process them into the system.
"We noticed there weren't many cars in the parking lot," said Toby. Beyond holding her hand and not glowering at everything in sight, he wasn't very good at grifting. He didn't have an actor's instinct. Which was obviously why he'd commented on it – he knew she was the one who'd have to carry them through this. "You must have a lot of vacancy."
Billy looked up with a blink. "Oh, um, yes," he said stiltedly. "It's the off season, so we're not as busy."
"The off season?" Toby echoed. "It's the middle of summer."
Nervous again, Billy pretended he didn't hear and concentrated even harder on booking them into their room. She got the sense they weren't going to learn anything from him; not now, at least.
"There we are," he said, handing Faith back her card and then holding out a small key attached to a metal plate with 09 etched onto its surface. "You're all checked in. Room 09. Breakfast is from 6-8 in the dining hall to your right, and the games room is open 24/7, with both a billiards table and a variety of board games for you to use, free of charge."
"Sounds perfect," said Faith with a simpering smile. She turned away, then pretended to change her mind and looked back at him. "We're actually big hikers, and I thought I noticed some trails on the drive down the highway into town. Are there any you would recommend?"
"Um," said Billy, looking around nervously, as if someone might appear from thin air to help him. "I'm not much of a…a hiker, I'm afraid."
Faith smiled understandingly. "That's okay. Maybe we'll just take a walk and see where it takes us."
Outside the heat was stifling, but Faith kept hold of Toby's hand and led him towards room number 09. It was tacky and cheap inside, but motels like these always were. The bed was indeed a queen, and a glance in the bathroom confirmed a tub, rather than only a shower.
Toby shut and secured the door behind them, then eagerly began unpacking his duffel, revealing his laptop, which he plugged in to charge. "I'm going to go out and grab us some real lunch," he said. Faith rolled her eyes but nodded – any excuse to get out of laptop duty. The giant technophobe. "Can you get started on local research? Find the obituaries and also see if you can find any local legends that might lend us some insight into whatever this thing is."
"Sure," she told him. "Can you get Mexican?"
"I'll get what I get," he grumbled as he pulled out the car keys and opened the front door.
"Love you too, honey!" she shouted after him obnoxiously. He batted a hand in her direction, cheeks pink, and disappeared out the door. Faith grinned to herself and settled in for a long day of arduous research.
Toby didn't come back with Mexican, but rather sandwiches from a local bakery. She grumbled but ultimately let it go, deep in research mode while she ate. After lunch Toby decided to head out into the local area under the guise of searching for groceries, and she waved him away, busy with her study.
He didn't come back until the sun had set, but he'd sent her a text to check about halfway through the afternoon, so she hadn't worried. By the time he was back, arms laden with groceries they didn't need, Faith had compiled a large list of everything they needed to know for the job.
As Toby unpacked the cold items and put them into the mini fridge, Faith began to go over what she'd found.
"Six deaths in under five weeks, all within the same fifty miles of highway. The victims have no connection, interpersonally or otherwise. We've got a black girl, seventeen; a white woman, twenty-seven; a veteran, sixty-four; a well-known local drag queen, thirty-nine…" she trailed off, figuring he didn't need the entire list to get the picture. "None of them knew each other, and none of them fit into the same demographic."
Toby put a carton of eggs into their mini fridge before turning with a frown. "Did you find anything useful?" he asked impatiently.
She made a face. "If we really were married, I'd want a divorce," she sniped, then smoothly continued on as if no barbs were exchanged, "I did, however, find there was a seventh death – exactly twelve months ago to the day of the first attack, on the same stretch of road."
"Well, don't keep me in suspense."
"Amber Bridges, twenty-one. She was training at the local college to become an in-home nurse when she died."
"How?"
"Same as all the others, violent car crash. She had no dash cam, and no witnesses came forwards. By all accounts she just…lost control of her vehicle and ran into a tree. They say she died on impact."
"Nobody in the car with her?"
"A brother, Daniel. He survived."
Toby grabbed a meal from one of his bags, slipped off the cardboard cover and tossed it in the microwave, which rattled noisily as it began to cook. "He still in the area?"
"A couple miles east of here."
"All right," said Toby. "First thing tomorrow, we'll go visit. See if he knows anything."
She frowned. "Why would he talk to the doe-eyed honeymooners, Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald?"
"He wouldn't." Toby crossed the room, rooting around in his bag a moment before pulling out two folded pieces of leather. He tossed one at her and she plucked it from the air with a dexterity that was becoming familiar. "But he will talk to Agents Atwood and Orwell of the FBI."
She blinked down at the fake badge they'd used when investigating her mom's death over in Wyoming. "We're using the same cover twice?"
"Fake FBI badges aren't easy to come across, you know?" he replied. "Unless these get pinged as false, we keep using them."
"And how will we know if they've been pinged?"
"Got Ash on it," he shrugged. "He keeps an eye out for most of us hunters. He's good like that."
The next day found them dressed in their FBI getup, stood outside Daniel Bridges' house. It was a modest abode, one storey with a quaint garden and a series of wind chimes making music in the breeze out the front. Faith gently knocked on the door, and they were waiting a full minute before it opened to reveal a short man whose weight was held up mostly by a cane.
He wasn't old by any means, but he looked a lot older than the photo on file with the DMV, as though the year since it had been taken hadn't been kind. "Can I help you?"
Faith and Toby flashed their badges. "Mr. Bridges, I'm Agent Atwood and this is my partner, Agent Orwell, with the FBI," Faith said smoothly. "We have a few questions about the accident that occurred last year with your sister."
Daniel's expression hardened like granite. "Why would the FBI want to know about that?"
"Just some routine questions," said Toby with a perfunctory smile. He might not have been a very natural actor, but when it came to playing Fed for a job, he certainly gave it everything he had. "May we come inside?"
Daniel hesitated a long moment before seeming to realise there wasn't much point in resisting.
The inside of his house was messy and cluttered, as if he hadn't taken the time to tidy in months. A cat darted between Faith's legs at one point on the journey to the living room, giving a feral hiss as it did, and Faith tried not to let her grimace be too obvious. Daniel gestured for them to sit, but both of them elected to remain standing.
"Mr. Bridges, you were there when your sister lost control of the vehicle that killed her, weren't you?" Toby asked, pulling out his little notebook, poised to take notes.
Daniel narrowed his milky eyes. "I'm willing to bet you already know the answer to that."
Faith smiled patiently. "Mr. Bridges, we're just trying to get the full picture," she said gently. "If you could tell us about that day in full – in your own words, from the very beginning – we would be grateful."
"Why's the FBI interested in this anyway?" the crippled man snapped. "Amber's death wasn't a murder. And it was over a year ago. What could there possibly be to investigate?"
"Please, Mr. Bridges," Faith said again, her smile like spun sugar.
Daniel grit his teeth, but not even he was immune to Faith's charm – on the rare occasions she deigned to use it.
"We were heading to the store. I'm legally blind in one eye," he said, jabbing a finger at his left eye, which was a great deal murkier than the right one, "so I can't drive myself. She always used to pick me up, take me on my weekly grocery run."
Toby was faithfully taking notes. "And what happened when you got to that stretch of highway?"
"I dunno – my memory of the day's all a bit screwed up," he confessed, an old pain twisting on his face. "All I really remember is the screech of the tires, and Amber's scream, and then this white-hot pain up my leg."
As he said it, his hand rubbed a path up and down his left thigh. Whatever wound remained was covered up, but Faith could imagine it wasn't anything pretty. His stubby fingers gripped his lame leg like a farmer might wring the neck of a chicken. Faith frowned with pity.
"When I came to, Amber was dead and I had only just enough wits about me to use her cell to call an ambulance," Daniel shrugged, nonchalance covering a terrible scar of a memory.
Faith looked over at Toby, who was frowning down at his notepad. "You don't remember anything else?" she asked Daniel quietly.
"No."
"What about Amber? What happened to her?" Toby asked bluntly.
Daniel's milky eyes flashed. "Excuse me?"
Faith held up her hands like somebody might soothe a wild coyote. "He means her body," she said gently. "Was she cremated?"
Daniel peered at them critically, and Faith knew he was beginning to doubt the validity of their badges. But still, he answered all the same. Maybe because despite the strangeness of the questions, he sensed they were important. Why else would they go to the trouble of asking them?
"She was buried," he told them gruffly.
Faith bit back a sigh, and Toby asked, "Where?"
By now Daniel clearly thought they were batshit insane, but that worked in their favour just enough to get him to answer. "St James' Cemetery, far south end of town," he said, eyes shooting daggers. "Is that all, Agents?"
Toby shut his little notebook with a snap. "Thank you, Mr. Bridges," he said pleasantly. "You've been very helpful."
Daniel snorted sourly and didn't bother to get up to walk them out.
It was a fair enough bet to say Amber was the cause of the deaths; but the only way to know for sure was to salt-and-burn the bones – which they'd have to do either way, just to be thorough. They had to wait until nightfall to go to the cemetery, however, as digging up dead bodies wasn't exactly a legal activity to engage in.
Faith and Toby spent the rest of the day looking into the rest of the deaths on the highway, waiting for the sun to make its slow journey across the sky. Finally, once the sun had dropped below the distant mountains, they set off for the cemetery.
They'd just pulled up outside the cemetery that bordered a small church when Faith's phone went off.
"Go find the grave," said Faith, tossing her shovel at Toby, who caught it deftly. "I'll be with you in a minute."
He shoved both shovels under his arm and pulled out his flashlight, journeying deeper into the mist-covered cemetery. The whole thing looked like a scene from a low-budget horror movie, and it made Faith want to smile, thinking that this was what her life had become.
Faith answered the still-ringing phone with a wary, "Hello?"
"Faith," it was Sam's voice on the other end of the line. He sounded relieved she'd answered – as though he'd thought maybe she wouldn't.
"Sam." Something deep in her gut told her this wasn't a run-of-the-mill social call. "What's going on? Are you okay?"
"Uh, no, not really," he admitted. He sounded close to tears, and Faith's heart fell down to the ground, burying itself in the earth like the bodies in the cemetery around her.
Her breath caught in her throat. "Dean – is he-?"
"We were in a car crash – we got T-boned by a demon truck driver," Sam said like it was any normal sentence to say. "I walked away fine, but Dad and Dean… Neither of them have woken up yet. They say Dad should be awake by morning, but with Dean, they don't even know if he'll ever…"
Pain choked him off.
Faith could barely breathe. "Where are you?" she demanded.
"Missouri, a hospital just outside of Maryville," he said in a rush. "I'm sorry to bother you, I just – I didn't know who to call. I mean, I guess I have no one else to call, and I thought you might… I dunno, I guess it's stupid… But Dean might not… Dean…"
"I'm only two hours out," Faith said without hesitation. "I'll call you when I get there."
For a moment there was only silence on the other end of the call. Then, "Faith, are you sure-? I didn't mean to…"
"Toby and I are in St. Joseph for a salt-and-burn. We're at the cemetery now. I'll be there as soon as I can."
Sam cleared his throat. "You know, you don't have to-"
"Shut up," she said sternly. "See you soon. And Sam? Everything's going to be okay."
Then before he could say anything more, Faith hung up on him and legged it through the cemetery after Toby, who by now had found the grave of their maybe-spirit and had begun to dig. "Who was it?" he asked as she stumbled to a stop next to him.
"Sam and Dean, they were in an accident. They're in bad shape, only two hours upstate. How long's this going to take, do you think? What's the fastest we can dig a grave?" she asked in a rush, grabbing her shovel and beginning to hack away at the dirt in a rush. Her hands slipped on the shovel, but she ignored it, shovelling dirt like it was an Olympic sport.
Toby stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder. "This is gonna take all night, Faith," he said carefully. "How bad was the accident?"
"Sam said…" she swallowed back the ball of panic in her throat, "…he said they don't even know if Dean will…"
Toby gripped her shoulder hard, anchoring her to the moment. "You should go now," he said patiently. Faith blinked at him uncomprehendingly. "You can jack a car, right? Grab the spare plates from the trunk, jack the first car you can find and get up there. I'll meet you once I've put this spirit down." She stared at him long enough for him to frown and ask, "What?"
It took a moment for her to put her thoughts into order, then another to voice them.
"You were such a prick when we first met, and now you're like the best friend I've ever had," she confessed.
He rolled his eyes fondly. "Sorry to be such an inconvenience."
"I can stay until this is done-"
"Faith – go. I can finish this one on my own," he insisted. Still, she hesitated. "I know how much the Winchesters mean to you. Just go already."
"They don't mean that much," she argued hotly. "I barely know them…"
"Yeah," Toby snorted. "That's why you look like you're about to burst into tears. Just go, make sure they're okay. Keep in contact and I'll meet you in Maryville in a day or two; once I'm sure this thing's not going to hurt anyone else."
She stared at him hard. The only light source came from the moon above and the dim light of the flashlight laid forgotten on the grass, but his eyes were kind even in the shadows. "Thank you," she told him, gripping his shoulder and propping up onto her toes to kiss his bearded cheek. "Thank you."
He rolled his eyes again. "Just go."
And she did.
A/N: Hey guys, so I know Sam calling Faith after not really knowing her that long may seem a little ooc, but I feel like he really connected to her, and he could tell Dean really connected to her too, and in my version of events, he's scared right now, scared he'll lose them, and he doesn't want to be alone. So he had a weak moment and rang for some support – not really expecting Faith to say she'd turn up – but she did, and here we are. Also, it's all explained in-story next chapter anyway!
Next chapter is Winchester central, guys. Thanks for bearing with me 3