Embedded Files
Some things don’t stay buried. They move quietly beneath the surface, following paths no one can see until it’s too late. As Nellie and Jack arrive in Sioux Falls, what begins as a strange case quickly turns into something far worse, one that even Jody Mills can’t explain. Because this isn’t just a monster leaving bodies behind. It’s something building itself piece by piece. And when the hunt starts to fight back, the line between hunter and hunted doesn’t just blur. It disappears.
Word Count: 14.7 k
TW: canon-typical violence. use of mild language.
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The house is quiet, but not empty. There’s life in it. Just settled. The kind of quiet that comes after a long day. Late afternoon sunlight spills in through the windows, stretching across the hardwood floors. A small pair of sneakers sits kicked off near the couch. One of Dean’s toy cars is flipped on its side like it got abandoned mid-race. From the kitchen, the soft rhythm of dishes and the low murmur of Eileen’s voice.
Sam stands at the counter, drying his hands with a towel when his phone buzzes. He glances down. JODY MILLS. That’s enough to make him pause. He answers. “Hey, Jody.”
There’s no greeting on her end. No ease. “Hey, Sam.” Her voice is steady, but there’s something under it. Not panic. Not fear. Frustration. “I know you’re out. I wouldn’t be calling if I didn’t need to.”
He shifts, leaning his hip against the counter. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve been trying to get a hunter out here for three days. Nobody’s taking me seriously.”
He frowns slightly. “That doesn’t sound like normal.”
“No,” she replies. “It doesn’t. I got called to the hospital last night. Routine police call. Guy came in, mid-thirties, no priors, no known trauma. He’s missing half his ribcage, Sam.”
He stills. “What do you mean missing?”
“I mean gone,” she says. “Like it was taken out of him. Clean. No surgical work. No wounds that match what should’ve happened. And he’s still alive.” That lands heavier than anything else she’s said.
His grip tightens slightly on the towel. In the background, faint and distant, his son’s laughter echoes from down the hall. Something small and bright and normal. He turns a little, instinctively lowering his voice. “What are the doctors saying?”
“They don’t have anything,” she replies. “They’re calling it an anomaly. This isn’t something I can handle on my own, Sam.” Not an admission of weakness. Just fact.
He exhales quietly. “Yeah. No, it’s not.”
Jody lets out a breath on the other end, like she needed him to say it out loud. “I know you’re retired. I’m not asking you to come out. But your name still means something. If you know anyone, anyone good, send them my way.”
Sam doesn’t answer right away. He thinks. Jack and Nellie. A small, almost automatic certainty settles in. “Yeah. I’ve got a couple people.”
“Reliable?”
There’s the faintest hint of a smile on his face now. “Very. I’ll call them. They’ll head your way.”
“Appreciate it, Sam.”
“Always.”
The line clicks off. He lowers the phone slowly, staring at the screen for a second longer than necessary. Then he looks up. Eileen is standing in the kitchen doorway, watching him. She doesn’t need to ask. She can read it on his face.
He exhales. “That was Jody. She can’t get any hunters to help her out.”
She tilts her head slightly. “Bad?”
“Yeah. Bad. I’m sending Jack and Nellie.”
She nods once, like that was always going to be the answer.
• • •
The bunker kitchen is quiet in that familiar, lived-in way. Fluorescent lights hum overhead. The counter is cluttered with half-prepped ingredients; nothing fancy, just something easy. The kind of meal you make because you need to eat, not because you’re trying to impress anyone. Jack stands at the counter, knife in hand. Very carefully. Very slowly. He’s holding a carrot in his left hand, the knife in his right, except his right arm is still wrapped up in a cast, making the whole process inefficient at best. He tries to adjust. The knife slips slightly. He pauses. Reassesses. Nellie is leaning against the counter across from him, arms crossed, watching this unfold with zero intention of helping.
“You look ridiculous.”
He doesn’t look up. “I’m adapting.”
“You’re massacring that carrot.”
“I’m cutting it.”
“You’re emotionally damaging it.”
That earns the smallest hint of a smile. He keeps going, determined. The knife comes down, slightly off-center. The carrot piece shoots sideways across the counter.
She snorts. “Oh my God.”
He exhales through his nose. “It’s functional.”
“It’s tragic.” She pushes off the counter, stepping closer, peering down at the uneven slices. “You know, most people would just—” she mimes using both hands “—wait until they’re healed.”
He shrugs slightly. “Most people don’t live here.”
She leans her hip against the counter beside him, still watching. “You want help?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” The knife comes down again, another uneven slice.
She grins. “I’m going to bring this up forever.”
He glances at her briefly. “I know.” There’s no annoyance in it. If anything, he looks amused, like he’s letting her have this.
Her phone buzzes on the counter. She glances down and immediately brightens. “Oh, perfect timing.” She picks up the device. “Hey, Sammy. You are missing out on something incredible right now. Jack is attempting to cut vegetables with his non-dominant hand, and it is — honestly — it’s a safety hazard.”
There’s a quiet chuckle on the other end.
She smirks. “I’m serious. I think the carrot’s winning.”
Jack shakes his head slightly, continuing his very careful cutting.
Sam’s voice comes through a little clearer now, more focused. “I’ll take your word for it.” There’s a shift in his tone. Subtle, but enough. “I’m not calling to check in.”
Nellie’s expression softens just a bit. “Yeah?” She taps the screen and sets the phone down on the counter, switching it to speaker. “You’re on speaker now.”
“I’ve got a case for you two.”
She straightens slightly. “What kind of case?”
“I got a call from an old friend. Jody Mills.”
Jack pauses mid-cut, looking up.
Sam continues, “She’s having trouble getting a hunter to take it seriously. Which… is not something she usually says.”
“What’s going on?” she asks.
“Hospital case. Guy came in missing part of his ribcage. No clear trauma. No surgical explanation. And he’s still alive.”
“…Okay, yeah. That’s not normal.”
“No. It’s not. She told me she is having a hard time getting a hunter to take her seriously. So, I told her I knew some people to send along. You two up for it?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
Jack nods, even though Sam can’t see him. “Of course.”
He exhales, something like relief in it. “I’ll text you the details. She’s in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.”
“Got it,” she says. “Tell everyone we said hi and to make sure Dean doesn’t have too much fun without us.”
Sam huffs a quiet laugh. “Be careful.”
“As much as we can in this job.”
The line clicks off. For a moment, neither of them moves. Then Nellie looks at the counter.
At the unevenly cut vegetables. At Jack. “At least those vegetables are the only things that butchered.”
Jack glances down at his work. “Doesn’t really matter. We’re still going to use them.”
“Mainly because shit is expensive and food is food.” She reaches over, nudging the cutting board slightly. “Come on. Let’s finish this before we head out. I still want to eat.”
• • •
The road stretches on in that endless, midwestern way; long, flat, and quiet. Fields roll out on either side of them, winter-dulled and wind-brushed, the sky hanging low and pale overhead. The kind of sky that makes everything feel a little farther away than it should. The Impala hums steadily beneath them. They’ve been driving for a couple hours now. Nellie has one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, posture relaxed but focused.
Jack’s phone buzzes. He glances down. “Email.”
She doesn’t look over. “Please tell me it’s personal chef recommendations.”
“It’s from the Sioux Falls Sheriff’s Department.”
“…I’ll take that as a no.”
He opens it, scrolling. “They sent the report.”
“Great,” she mutters. “Let’s hear how bad this is.”
There’s a pause. He doesn’t start aloud reading right away.
She notices. “Jack.”
“I’m reading.” But his tone is quieter now. More focused. “There are photos.”
“Of course there are.”
He hesitates for half a second, then opens them. His expression stills.
She glances over briefly and immediately looks back at the road. “That bad?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He’s looking at the screen. Processing. “…Yeah. It looks like—” He stops. Reworks it. “Like part of him is missing from the inside.”
“Be more specific.”
“The left side of his chest… It’s collapsed. He’s not bleeding out. There’s no external damage, but his torso—” He shifts the phone slightly, like that might help him make sense of it. “It looks deflated. Like something hollowed him out and his body just sank in around it.”
She makes a face. “Okay, I hate that.”
He scrolls. “There’s bruising along the ribs that are still there. Fractures. But nothing that explains how they were removed.” He pauses again. “There’s no entry point.”
“Nothing cut him open.”
“No.”
“Nothing tore him apart.”
“No.”
“And he’s alive.”
Jack nods slightly. “He’s sedated. Stable, somehow.”
Nellie shakes her head faintly. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
He glances at the report again. “He said something before they sedated him. ‘Something was under me…’”
She exhales slowly, her thumb tapping once against the steering wheel. “It looks like we’ve got something that takes bones.”
“And leaves people alive.”
“Yeah, no, that part’s the worst.”
He lowers his phone, the screen dimming in his hand. For a moment, neither of them says anything.
Nellie exhales softly, shifting her grip on the wheel. “So,” she says after a beat, tone a little lighter, on purpose. “Tell me about Jody. You’ve met her. I haven’t.”
Jack nods slightly, thinking. “I didn’t know her well,” he admits. “Not like Sam and Dean did. But enough.”
“Enough to what?”
He considers that. “Enough to know she’s someone you can trust. She’s… not exactly a hunter.”
“Kinda nice that there is a cop on our side for once.”
“But she’s not not a hunter either. If something happens in her town, she handles it. Or she tries to. She’s steady. Doesn’t panic. Doesn’t overreact. And she’s good at reading people. She won’t hesitate if she has to act.”
“Sounds like someone I won’t hate working with.”
He almost smiles. “Sam and Dean trusted her.” That carries weight.
She goes quiet after that.
“Did Sam say if she knows who’s coming?” he asks after a minute.
“You mean me.”
“Yeah.”
She shakes his head. “No. When it comes to people Sam knows, he usually leaves that decision up to me.”
He watches her for a moment. “You don’t want her to know?”
She exhales through her nose, a small shrug following. “You know it’s not that simple. My dad had enemies, not just monsters. And hunters aren’t exactly… welcoming.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“They hear ‘psychic,’ and suddenly you’re a problem.”
Jack doesn’t argue that either. “But you might tell her.”
Nellie glances at him briefly. “My job is the hunt. We handle whatever this thing is, make sure no one else gets hurt. After that, I’ll decide.”
He nods once. He knows this is something that he will never push her to do, but this is Jody and she isn’t most people they deal with.
• • •
The motel in Sioux Falls exactly what you’d expect. Faded carpet. Dull yellow lighting. A faint hum from the AC unit that never quite turns off. The kind of place that’s clean enough, but only because no one looks too closely. The room has two twin beds, one small table, and a chair that looks like it’s seen better decades. Nellie stands near the bed, her duffel open, pulling out her suit piece by piece, laying them out with practiced efficiency. Across the room, Jack does the same. Or attempts to. He pulls out his dress shirt, holding it up slightly. There’s a noticeable wrinkle running down the front. He stares at it, like maybe if he waits long enough, it’ll fix itself. He glances over at her. She’s focused, smoothing out her own clothes, already mentally preparing for the morning.
He hesitates. Then, softly says, “Hey.”
She hums in acknowledgment without looking up.
He shifts his weight slightly. “Is it possible—” He pauses, rephrasing. “Would you be able to iron this?”
She glances over, her eyes flicking to the shirt. She doesn’t even hesitate. “Yeah.” She gestures vaguely toward her own clothes. “I should probably do mine too.”
He nods once, relieved. “Thank you.”
She waves it off already, moving toward the closet. “It’s part of the job.” She pulls the door open. Inside is a questionable ironing board and a slightly worse iron. She stares at both for a second. “Fantastic.”
He watches as she drags the ironing board out, setting it up in the middle of the room with a soft clatter. The iron follows. She plugs it in, testing it like she doesn’t entirely trust it. Which is fair. He steps a little closer, handing her the shirt carefully. She takes it, already adjusting the fabric across the board. She starts ironing, slow, practiced movements, smoothing out the wrinkles like she’s done this a hundred times before. Which she probably has. There’s something almost normal about it. Quiet. Domestic, in a way that doesn’t quite fit the life they live.
He leans lightly against the edge of the table, watching for a moment. “You’re good at that.”
She huffs softly. “Years of diner uniforms and not having money for dry cleaning.” She presses the iron down, moving it carefully along the fabric. “Also, I’d rather do this than watch you ruin another shirt.”
He exhales a quiet, amused breath. “That only happened once.”
“You almost melted it.”
“I adjusted.”
She smirks faintly, shaking her head as she flips the shirt to the other side. “Whatever lets you sleep at night, Kline.”
A small pause settles in. The hum of the iron. The soft press of fabric.
He watches her for a moment longer, something thoughtful in his expression. “Thank you.” This time, quieter. More sincere.
She doesn’t look up. Just keeps ironing. “You’re welcome.” She finishes smoothing out the last wrinkle, lifting the shirt and giving it a quick once-over. Satisfied. She hands it back to him. “There. You look like a functioning adult again.”
He takes it carefully. “I try.”
She reaches for her own clothes next, laying them out on the board. “Low bar.”
He almost smiles.
• • •
The Impala idles just outside the station for a moment before the engine cuts.
Morning has settled in fully now; cool air, pale sunlight, the town already awake and moving. Nothing about it suggests something is wrong. Which usually means something is. Jack steps out first, adjusting his jacket slightly. Nellie comes around the other side, keys in hand, locking the car behind them. They make their way toward the entrance.
Just before they reach the doors, she stops. “Hold on.”
He pauses, turning slightly toward her.
She steps closer, reaching up to his tie. The knot is functional, but not quite right. She adjusts it without a word; quick, precise movements, straightening it, smoothing it down. “There,” she says quietly.
He glances down briefly. “Thanks.”
She gives a small nod, already stepping back. “Try not to mess it up, we’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Inside, the station is active but controlled. Phones ringing, officers moving through, the steady rhythm of a place that runs on routine. They walk up to the front desk. The officer on duty looks up. “Can I help you?”
Nellie reaches into her jacket, pulling out her badge and ID, setting them down just enough to be seen. “Detectives Hayes and Carter,” she says easily. “We’re here to meet with Sheriff Mills.”
Jack mirrors the motion, showing his badge as well.
The officer gives them a quick once-over then nods. “Have a seat. I’ll let her know you’re here.”
“Appreciate it.”
They step off to the side, taking seats along the wall. For a moment, neither of them speaks. Just observing. His gaze moves across the room — doors, exits, people. Quiet, automatic. She sits a little more relaxed, but her eyes are still tracking movement, taking everything in. A couple minutes pass. Then, a door opens down the hall and a woman steps out. Short grey hair. Steady posture. The kind of presence that fills a room without trying. Sheriff Jody Mills. Her eyes sweep the front area and land on them. There’s a flicker of confusion first. Then suspicion. Because they are not what she expected. That much is clear. Her gaze lands on Jack. Recognition. It hits quickly, followed by a flash of surprise she smooths over almost immediately.
By the time she reaches them, her expression is composed again. Professional. Measured. “You’re the detectives.” Not a question.
Jack stands. “Yes, ma’am.”
Nellie rises beside him, offering a small, polite nod.
Jody’s eyes move between them, lingering for just a second longer on Nellie, like she’s trying to place something she can’t quite name yet. Then she turns slightly. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s talk in my office.”
They follow her down the hall, the sounds of the station fading slightly behind them. The office door shuts behind them. She doesn’t sit right away. She moves around her desk, but instead of settling in, she pauses, just long enough to look them over properly now that they’re out of the public eye. It’s not subtle. She’s assessing. Weighing.
Jack stands steady, used to it. Nellie doesn’t shift under the scrutiny, just meets it calmly. There’s a beat of silence.
“Sam sent us,” she says, easy, straightforward. That breaks the tension just enough.
The woman exhales slightly, nodding once. “Yeah. I can see that.” Her gaze flicks between them again, still skeptical. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting… young hunters.” There’s no insult in it. Just honesty.
Her mouth quirks faintly. “Yeah, we get that a lot.”
Jody’s attention shifts back to Jack. “I thought you were gone for good.”
He nods once. “I was. For a few years. Then I split. My human side and my other side. I came back because I missed it.”
She watches him for a second longer, processing. Then gives a small nod, accepting it without digging further. For now. Her attention shifts to Nellie. “And you?”
She straightens slightly, not stiff, just composed. “Nellie Branscomb.”
Her gaze sharpens just a touch. “Sam must trust you. Sending the two of you out here.”
Jack answers before Nellie can. “He does. If anything, Nellie’s the better hunter out of the two of us.”
She flicks him a look at that. Not annoyed. Just not used to being said out loud like that.
He doesn’t take it back.
Jody’s eyes shift back to Nellie. Something in her expression changes slightly. Less skepticism now. More consideration. She settles into her chair, reaching for a file on her desk, more out of habit than necessity. She looks between them. “You read what I sent?”
She nods once. “Yeah. It’s certainly weird.”
“Yeah. That’s one word for it.”
She shifts her weight slightly, leaning forward just a bit. “We ran through a few possibilities on the way here. Ghouls, grave feeders, anything that messes with remains. But everything we could think of leaves a mess.”
Jack nods in agreement. “There should be tearing, blood loss, some kind of external trauma.”
“This guy’s still alive. And there’s no sign anything got to him from the outside. So, whatever did this… didn’t come at him the way things usually do.”
Jody watches them closely as they talk. Listening. Evaluating.
Nellie glances back up at her. “Was there anything else? Anything that didn’t make it into the report?”
She shakes her head. “I sent you everything I’ve got. Hospital reports, photos, statements. There’s not much more beyond that.”
Jack speaks up. “Do you know what’s going to happen to him?”
Her expression shifts just slightly. Less investigative. More human. “As far as I know, they’re looking at some kind of surgical reconstruction. Artificial ribs. If he makes it that far.”
“Is there any chance we could get into the hospital?”
She raises an eyebrow slightly. “You planning on interrogating a guy who can barely breathe?”
“No. But we might be able to talk to the staff. See if anything was missed.”
Nellie nods in agreement. “Sometimes people notice things that don’t make it into official reports. Something small, something that didn’t seem important at the time.”
Jody gives a small shrug. “You can try.” Not dismissive. Just realistic. “But I wouldn’t get your hopes up. If there was something obvious, it would’ve shown up already.”
“Yeah, well, this isn’t exactly obvious.”
She almost smiles at that, just a hint. “Fair enough.” She reaches for her keys, pushing back from the desk. “I’ll call ahead. See if I can get you in without too much pushback.”
The hunters exchange a quick glance, then nod. It’s not much. But it’s a start.
• • •
The hospital is bright in that sterile, artificial way. Too clean. Too quiet. The kind of place where everything is controlled, even when it really isn’t. Jody leads them through the halls with the ease of someone who’s been here more than once, badge already getting them past the front desk without much resistance. The ICU doors slide open. Machines hum. Monitors beep steadily. The air feels heavier here. She speaks briefly with a nurse at the desk, low and professional. After a moment, she steps aside, letting Jack and Nellie take the lead.
Nellie reaches into her jacket, pulling out her badge. “Detectives Hayes and Carter,” she says smoothly. “We’re with a special victims unit. We’re looking into a possible harvesting operation.”
The nurse blinks, processing that. “Harvesting?”
Jack steps in, calm, controlled. “We’re exploring the possibility of organized removal,” he says. “Organs, tissue, anything that could be taken without immediate detection.” He doesn’t over-explain it. Doesn’t need to.
She looks between them, then at the badges again. It’s just plausible enough. “…Okay,” she says slowly. “What do you need?”
Nellie offers a small, polite nod. “Anything you can tell us about the patient. Timeline, symptoms, anything unusual that might not have made it into the official report.”
She exhales, thinking. “Honestly… there’s not much more than what you’ve got,” she admits. “He came in, we stabilized him, and then it became a question of how he’s even still alive.”
He nods slightly. “No signs of external trauma?”
“None,” she confirms. “That’s what doesn’t make sense.”
Nellie glances briefly down the hall. “We figured.”
A second nurse approaches, catching the tail end of the conversation. “What’s going on?”
The first nurse gestures toward them. “They’re asking about the rib case.”
The second nurse’s expression shifts. “Oh,” she says. “Yeah, that one’s… weird.”
She turns slightly toward her. “You were involved?”
“Not directly, but I remember him. He was here a couple months ago.”
Jack’s attention sharpens. “For what?”
“Fractured ribs. Same side where his ribs are missing.”
The hunters exchange a quick glance.
“What happened?” he asks.
The nurse shrugs slightly. “From what I heard, he got hit.”
“Hit?”
“Yeah. Car clipped him while he was working.”
Nellie leans in just slightly. “Where was he working?”
The nurse shakes her head. “Don’t know. It was in the report somewhere, but I didn’t see it myself. That’s all I’ve got.”
“Yeah, that helps.” Even if it’s not much.
He gives a small, appreciative nod. “Thank you.”
The nurses step away, conversation already shifting back to their work. Just like that, they’re out of leads again. A few minutes later, they’re back in the hallway, moving toward the exit.
Jody walks slightly ahead, hands in her jacket pockets. “So,” she says, glancing back at them. “Worth the trip?”
Nellie exhales lightly. “Maybe.”
Jack nods. “It gives us something.”
The sheriff hums, not entirely convinced but not dismissing it either. The doors slide shut behind them as they step out into the open air. Cooler. Quieter. A break from the constant hum of machines and fluorescent lights. For a moment, none of them speak.
Nellie glances back at the hospital, thoughtful, then shifts her attention to Jody. “Do you have anything else on the victim? Work, routine, anything like that?”
She shakes her head slightly as they start toward the car. “Not on me. But we’ll have it back at the station. If he was in an accident a couple months ago, there’ll be a file. We can pull it.”
“Yeah. That’ll gives us a starting point.”
• • •
The station feels quieter now. Less movement. Fewer voices. Jody’s office, though, is still very much in motion. Files are spread across her desk. Paper, reports, photos. Everything she has on the case pulled out and laid bare. Jody flips through one folder, then another, scanning quickly before setting them down in front of Jack and Nellie.
“This is everything tied to him,” she says. “Medical, background, the accident report.”
Nellie steps closer, already reaching for the file. Jack moves beside her, reading over her shoulder.
She flips through a few pages, then stops. “Here.” She turns the file slightly so he can see. “Accident report. He was hit by a car a couple months ago. Left side impact. Wasn’t a major collision. Driver reported it. Guy was conscious, talking.” she flips another page. “He was at the cemetery.”
That makes all three of them pause.
Jack looks up. “He works there?”
“Part time it looks like,” Jody replies. “Veteran. Did some volunteer work too. Helped maintain the grounds. Says he had friends buried there. War buddies.”
Nellie looks up. “Where was he found a few days ago?”
The sheriff reaches over, pulling the recent report closer, scanning for the detail. “Near his car. Edge of the cemetery lot.”
“We should take a look.”
She exhales lightly, already shaking her head. “I did. Twice. Walked the grounds. Checked for disturbances, signs of anything unusual. Didn’t find anything.”
Jack nods, acknowledging that. “Still,” he says, calm and even, “it won’t hurt to take another pass with fresh eyes.”
She looks between the hunters. There’s a brief moment where she considers pushing back, then she lets it go. “Alright. We can head out there.” She grabs her keys again. “Let’s go see what you can find that I didn’t.”
• • •
The cemetery is quiet. Not eerily so, just still. Open land, rows of headstones stretching out in uneven lines, the wind brushing lightly through dry grass. The kind of place meant for peace. Which, at this point, means very little. The Impala rolls to a stop near the edge of the lot. Nellie steps out first, scanning the grounds automatically. Jack follows, adjusting his jacket slightly, his cast still a quiet, constant presence. Jody pulls in behind them, stepping out and joining them without a word. For a moment, the three of them just stand there, taking it in.
“That your car?” she asks.
“The Impala?”
Jody nods once. “Yeah. I know that car.”
The two hunters stop their walk.
She steps a little closer now, her gaze steady. “Only a couple people ever drove it. And they weren’t exactly in the habit of sharing.” There’s something sharper under her tone now. Not hostile. But firm.
Nellie exhales quietly. “When I started hunting,” she replies, measured, “Sam let me use it.”
“That so?”
“It’s already outfitted. Made things easier.”
She studies her, then shakes her head slightly. “No. That doesn’t track. I knew those boys a long time. They didn’t hand that car over to just anyone. And Sam trusting you enough to send you out here?” A small pause. “That I believe. But letting you take that car? That’s something else. You’ve got some explaining to do.”
The hunters glance at each other, unspoken words running between them as the wind moves lightly through the rows of headstones. Everything else is still.
Nellie exhales quietly, shifting her weight just slightly. “Our job right now is figuring out what’s out here and making sure it doesn’t hurt anyone else. I don’t owe you an explanation.”
Jody’s expression tightens, not angry, but not backing down either. “That’s not how this works. Not when someone like him shows up again and definitely not when he shows up with someone I don’t know, driving Dean Winchester’s car.”
There’s a pause. Then, Jack speaks quietly, “There’s probably no point in keeping this under wraps with her.”
Nellie looks at him, a warning in it. “Sam trained me a couple years ago. That’s why I have the car.”
She doesn’t move, doesn’t soften. “That doesn’t mean anything. Sam wouldn’t just hand that over. Not that car.”
Jack looks again his partner. This time, it’s different. Not a suggestion. A decision. She gives him a look, sharp, immediate. Don’t.
He hesitates for half a second. “She’s Dean’s daughter.”
She turns her head toward him, shooting him a look that could cut glass.
Jody doesn’t react right away, like her brain is catching up. “What?” It’s not anger. It’s disbelief.
He holds steady. “We don’t have time to go back and forth on this. Not with something like this out here. And you’re someone we can trust.”
Her eyes move back to the girl. Searching. Measuring. Trying to reconcile what she just heard with what she’s seeing. “This isn’t funny. If this is some kind of sick joke—”
“It’s not,” Nellie cuts in. “It’s true. And if you want, you can call Sam and ask him yourself.”
She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “That’s not—” she starts, stopping herself. “That’s not possible.” Her gaze flicks between them again. “Dean doesn’t have a kid.”
Her jaw tightens just slightly. “He did. He just didn’t know about me. And now that he’s gone… Sam’s the only family I’ve got.”
Jody stares at her. Really looks now. Not just at her face, but at the way she stands, the way she holds herself. “If this is true, then where have you been?”
“That’s a long answer. And not one we have time for right now.”
Her expression tightens again, less disbelief now, more frustration at the timing of it all.
Nellie meets her halfway. “If you’re willing to wait and trust us enough to let us do our job, then I’ll answer your questions after the hunt.”
Silence settles between them. The wind brushes lightly through the grass. She looks between the two of them. Jack is steady, unwavering. Nellie is calm but not backing down. She exhales slowly, dragging a hand briefly over the back of her neck. “…You better,” she finally says, “because I’ve got a lot of questions.”
They move into the cemetery. Rows of headstones pass by in quiet succession; old, new, worn, polished. Names and dates that blur together the longer you look at them. Nothing feels disturbed. No broken ground. No signs of digging. No collapse. Just stillness. Exactly like she said. That’s the problem. Most things they deal with? They leave evidence. Blood. Damage. Something. This doesn’t.
Nellie steps forward a few more paces, then stops.
Jack notices immediately. “What is it?”
She doesn’t answer right away. She looks out over the rows, eyes narrowing slightly. “There’s something.”
He shifts closer. “Where?”
“I don’t know.” She exhales once, steadying. “I’m going to take a reading.”
He nods without hesitation. “Okay.”
Behind them, Jody frowns. “You’re going to do a what?”
She doesn’t respond. She steps forward, lowering herself to the ground between two rows of headstones. Flexes her fingers once, then cracks her knuckles.
The sheriff looks at Jack. “What is she doing?”
“She’s going to take a reading of the grounds,” he says simply.
She blinks. “A reading.”
“Just… watch.”
That doesn’t clear anything up. But Jody does exactly that. She watches.
Nellie places her hands flat against the ground, closing her eyes. For a moment, nothing happens. Just the wind. The quiet. Then, something shifts. Subtle. Internal. Her breathing slows. Her focus sharpens. She feels it. Faint. Not tied to anything she can see. Her brow furrows slightly. The sensation spreads cold. Not like air. Like something moving through. Her fingers twitch against the dirt. Her body reacts. A sharp inhale. Her hands jerk back from the ground. She pulls away quickly, bracing herself slightly as she straightens.
Jack is already there. “What did you feel?”
She shakes her head once, trying to piece it together. “I don’t —” She exhales, frustrated. “I could see something.”
Jody steps closer now, unable to hold back. “See what?”
She looks out across the cemetery again. “Lines. Paths.”
He frowns. “What kind of paths?”
“That’s the thing. They didn’t line up with anything here.” She gestures slightly. “Not the walkways. Not the rows. Something else.”
The sheriff crosses her arms. “How does that even—” She stops herself.
Nellie continues, thinking out loud now. “It could be residual. Spirits tend to follow the same routes over time. Like patterns.” She makes a small motion with her hand. “Almost like deer trails.”
He nods slightly, following. “But?”
She shakes her head. “But didn’t feel like that. It felt… wrong.”
Jody looks between them, clearly trying to process any of this. “How are you even coming up with that?”
“That’s another conversation. After the hunt.”
She exhales through her nose. Not satisfied. Not even close. But she lets it go. For now.
They start making their way back toward the cars. Slow. Thoughtful. The kind of walk where everyone is replaying what they just saw — or what they didn’t see — trying to make something out of nothing. Gravel crunches underfoot. The wind picks up slightly, brushing through the grass.
Nellie stops. It’s subtle, but immediate. Her head tilts slightly, like she’s trying to catch something just out of reach. “There’s something.”
Jody’s posture shifts instantly, hand moving toward her gun, not drawing, just ready.
Jack steps a little closer to his partner. “Is it the thing we’re looking for?”
She shakes her head slowly. “I don’t think so. But it might be connected.” She turns, moving off the main path, toward the edge of the cemetery, where the fence line meets a thin stretch of trees.
He follows without hesitation, the sheriff right behind them. More alert now. More cautious. They move in silence for about a minute, weaving between older stones, the ground slightly uneven beneath their feet.
“Wait.” He gestures slightly. “There.”
Just behind a gravestone lay something dark against the grass. They step closer. It’s a pile of bones. Animal. Not fully scattered, more like what’s left after something’s already taken its time with it. Not old enough to be forgotten. Not fresh enough to be recent.
Jody frowns slightly. “Could be a deer. Or something small. Happens sometimes. Animals wander in, don’t make it out.”
It would make sense, except, Nellie doesn’t stop. She moves toward it slowly, her focus narrowing with each step. The closer she gets, the stronger it feels. That same wrongness from before. Faint but present. She kneels down beside the bones. She doesn’t touch it. Not yet.
Her hand hovers just above the remains. It’s different than before. Sharper. More specific. Something was here. Something took something.
Her brow furrows. “There’s something off.”
He leans slightly closer. “What kind of off?”
“Like…” She searches for the right word. “…like something was pulled out of it.” She opens her eyes, looking down more closely now. Really looking. The bones are mostly intact. Ribs. Spine. Skull. Her gaze stops and she points slightly. “There should be a leg here, but it’s missing.”
The sheriff steps closer now, crouching slightly to get a better look. “You’re sure?”
She nods once. “The rest of it’s here. This isn’t natural scavenging.”
His expression shifts, understanding starting to form. “It didn’t eat it.”
“No. It took it.” Her fingers twitch slightly. And then, something pulls. Not physically. Not something she can see. But something grabs. A sharp, sudden tug against her mind, like a thread being yanked tight. She gasps, her hand snapping back like she’s been burned. She recoils, one hand flying to her head as she stumbles slightly backward.
Jack’s already there, catching her before she can lose her balance completely. “What happened?”
Jody’s gun is out in an instant. She turns, scanning the tree line, the fence, the rows behind them. Nothing. No movement. No sound beyond the wind.
Nellie squeezes her eyes shut for a second, breathing uneven as she tries to steady herself. “That wasn’t just residual. I think... I think it noticed me.”
The sheriff lowers her aim just slightly but doesn’t holster her weapon. “Noticed you how?”
She shakes her head faintly. “I don’t know,” she admits. “It just—” She presses her fingers lightly against her temple. “I think I made it aware and I don’t think it liked that.”
Jody glances between them. “Meaning?”
“Meaning it knows something’s here now and it’s not just hunting blind anymore.”
“So what,” she says, voice tight but controlled. “You can just… feel it and tell us where it’s going next?”
“No, it doesn’t work like that.” She keeps moving, eyes scanning as she goes. “We’ve only got one victim. There’s no pattern yet. Nothing to track. We don’t know how it chooses, or why, or where it’s coming from. Which means we’re guessing.”
“Not my favorite position to be in.”
“Yeah, same.”
“So, what are our options?”
“Not great ones.” She gestures vaguely back toward the cemetery. “We either wait and see if it comes back here or we find it after it hits someone else.”
“Yeah, not happening if we can help it. We stay here. By the cars. We’ve got gear, we’ve got visibility, and if it’s tied to this place, this is where it’s most likely to come back.”
Jack nods. “Makes sense.”
Nellie hesitates for half a second, then nods well. “Yeah.”
He moves to the trunk of the Impala, popping it open. The familiar layout of weapons and gear sits inside, organized and ready. She moves beside him, already grabbing her shotgun.
They fall into the rhythm easily. Load. Check. Ready. He reaches for his own, adjusting it carefully with his casted arm. He works slower than usual, more deliberate, a little awkward as he maneuvers the shells. It works, just not smoothly.
She glances over, watching him for a second. “You want me to do that for you?”
He doesn’t look up. “I’ve got it.” He loads another shell. It takes him a second longer than it should.
She smirks faintly. “Mm. Very convincing.”
“I’m managing.”
“You’re struggling.”
“I’m adapting.”
She huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she checks her own weapon. “Yeah, okay. We’ll call it that.”
He finally finishes, giving the shotgun a small check. Functional. Good enough. He looks up at her. “You done?”
“Yeah.” But she doesn’t relax. Doesn’t stop. Even as she stands there, she’s listening. Not with her ears. Something else. Her focus stretches outward, subtle, quiet; reaching for that same wrongness she felt before. Trying to catch it before it catches them.
He notices. “Anything?”
She shakes her head slightly. “Not yet. But it’s still—”
Jody’s radio crackles to life. All three of them freeze.
“—Unit respond, possible medical emergency. Runner found unconscious on the east trail, just off—”
She is already grabbing the radio. “This is Sheriff Mills, I’m en route. What’s the condition?”
“…Possible severe trauma. Caller reports—” Static cuts in briefly. Then clearer, “—arm missing.”
Jack and Nellie look at each other.
She lowers the radio slightly, already moving. “That’s not far from here.”
Nellie’s already closing the trunk. “Yeah. We know.”
Doors slam. Engines roar to life. Jody’s cruiser pulls out first, lights on. Sirens cutting through the quiet morning. The Impala follows close behind, speed picking up despite the short distance. The park is too normal. Green trees. Open sky. A paved trail winding through it like nothing’s wrong. Except, the flashing lights. The distant wail of an ambulance getting closer. The cruiser skids to a stop near the entrance, Nellie pulling the Impala in just behind it. Doors slam.
They’re already moving.
A woman — mid-thirties, pale, shaking — waves frantically from the trail. “Over here — please — she’s —”
Jody reaches her first. “Ma’am, slow down. Show us.”
She nods quickly, turning and hurrying down the concrete path.
The air feels wrong again. Not loud. Not obvious. But present. They round a bend and stop. A second woman lies crumpled on the trail. Still. Nellie freezes for half a second. Jack does too. Because it’s wrong. Her upper arm has collapsed in on itself. Like something inside it is just… gone. The skin still there. The shape still there. But deflated. Empty. Her forearm and hand lie at an unnatural angle, intact, but useless without what should be holding it together. No blood. No tearing. No signs of entry. Just missing.
He exhales slowly. “Okay.”
“Go,” she says quickly, already stepping forward. “Get the EMTs down here.”
He nods once. He turns, heading back up the trail at a quick pace. “Be careful,” he calls over his shoulder.
“You too.”
Jody stays near the witness, keeping her from getting any closer. “Ma’am, stay with me, alright?”
Nellie approaches the victim slowly, eyes scanning, taking everything in. No drag marks. No disturbance. Nothing. She kneels beside her carefully, gently placing two fingers on her throat. “There’s a pulse.” Her other hand hovers slightly above the woman’s arm. She doesn’t touch it. Doesn’t need to. She can feel it, that same wrong, hollow energy she felt at the cemetery, clinging to what’s left.
The sheriff looks over. “Same thing?”
She nods slightly. “Yeah.”
Jody turns back to the witness. “How long ago did you find her?”
The woman swallows hard, still shaken. “I—I don’t know, I was just running and—she was just there—”
“Take a breath. Think.”
She nods, trying to focus. “I run this trail most mornings. She — she wasn’t here when I passed earlier.”
“What time was that?”
“Maybe… six? Around six. I came back around on my work break, maybe forty minutes ago, and she was just—” Her voice breaks. “—like that.”
Nellie’s gaze drops back to the victim. That’s a long window of time and not a small one. If this victim has been here that long… Her jaw tightens slightly, because that means there could already be more.
The EMTs soon arrive in a rush of movement and noise. Voices. Equipment. Controlled urgency. She steps back without being told, giving them space to work. Jack lingers just long enough to make sure they’ve got it handled, then his attention shifts back to her. She’s already moving. Not toward the trail. Away from it. Her focus narrowing again, following something only she can feel. Jody notices, but stays where she is, keeping the scene contained, though her eyes flick back every few seconds. Watching. Tracking.
Nellie steps off the concrete path and into the trees. The air shifts immediately. Cooler. Quieter.
Jack catches up quickly. “Hey—”
She lifts a hand slightly. That’s enough for him. He stays close, eyes scanning the woods as they move.
She slows, following that faint thread. That same wrong energy. It’s not strong, but it’s there. Pulling her. Guiding. Then she stops. “…There.”
He steps up beside her. At first, it doesn’t look like much. Just a hole in the ground, roughly the size of a large burrow. Like something you’d expect from a groundhog. But it’s too clean. Too recent. The dirt around it still loose. Disturbed. Her gaze fixes on it. The closer she gets, the stronger that feeling becomes. That same hollow, wrong presence. Leaking out from the darkness inside. She reaches into her jacket, pulling her pistol from the shoulder holster in one smooth motion and crouching carefully near the edge.
Her tenses immediately. “Nell—” He draws his own weapon, stepping in closer. “I don’t like how close you are to that.”
“I know.” But she doesn’t move back. Her eyes stay locked on the opening. “It’s the same energy from the cemetery.”
He glances between her and the hole. “That means it’s using these.”
“Or something like them.” She studies it. Thinking. Running through everything she knows. “I don’t recognize it.”
He frowns slightly. “Nothing burrows like this?”
“Not that I’ve seen. Not anything that does this.” Her gaze lingers on the darkness inside the hole. She finally straightens, lowering the gun slightly, but not putting it away. “We need to research. Figure out what fits this before it hits again.”
• • •
The station is louder now. More movement. More voices. The tension has shifted from routine to something tighter; urgent but contained. Another victim will do that. Jack and Nellie step in beside Jody, slipping back into their roles before anyone can question it.
“Detectives,” one of the officers calls, waving them over.
Nellie gives a quick nod, already moving. They’re handed a stack of paperwork, incident reports, witness statements, preliminary notes from the park.
“Anything you can add would help,” the officer says. “We’re trying to figure out if this is connected to anything bigger.”
“It is,” she says easily, then adds, “We’re looking into similar cases out of state.” Close enough to truth. Far enough from it.
Jack takes a pen, flipping through the report with practiced ease. “Timeline matches the previous incident,” he says, keeping his tone clinical. Detached. “No witnesses to the actual event?”
“None,” the officer replies. “Just the runner who found her.”
She leans slightly over the desk, scanning. “No signs of struggle. No blood, no forced entry, no drag marks.”
“That’s what’s throwing us.”
He nods faintly. “Could be a precision operation. If this is organized, they’d know how to minimize mess.”
The officer grimaces. “That’s… not comforting.”
“No,” she agrees. “It’s not.”
They continue like that for several minutes. Filling in blanks. Asking questions. Writing just enough to look like they’re contributing, without ever crossing into the truth. Jody stands off to the side at first. Watching. Observing how easily they slip into it. How natural it is. Nellie doesn’t stumble once. Jack doesn’t hesitate. They don’t overplay it. They don’t underplay it. They just fit.
Eventually, another officer comes over with a follow-up sheet.
“Can you confirm if this lines up with your working theory?”
He glances at her briefly, then back to the page. “Possible trafficking angle, but it’s too early to call it.”
She nods. “We’ll need more data before we can confirm anything.”
The officer sighs. “Yeah. That’s what we figured.” He takes the paperwork back, already moving on to the next task.
The door to Jody’s office shuts behind them again. The noise of the station dulls and the act drops. Not completely, but enough.
Nellie exhales, rolling her shoulders slightly. “I hate paperwork.”
Jack almost smiles. “You’re good at it.”
“I’m good at pretending I care about it.”
Jody leans against her desk, arms crossed. “You two didn’t slip once.”
She glances at her. “Didn’t have room to.”
Jody studies them again. Different now. Less suspicion. More understanding. She exhales and flips the file open. “First victim. Male. Cemetery volunteer.”
She nods, scanning. “We know he had prior rib fractures. Left side.”
The sheriff taps the page. “And I just got a call from the hospital. Second victim. Same thing. Dislocated shoulder. A couple months back.”
“So, it’s not random.”
Jack shakes his head. “No.” He gestures toward the files. “It’s targeting previous injuries.”
“Or weakened areas. Places that have already been compromised.”
Jody exhales. “Which means it’s not just hunting. It’s choosing.”
He looks back down at the report, scanning more carefully this time. “Wait.” His finger stops on a line near the bottom of the page.
“What is it?” Nellie asks.
He tilts the file slightly so both of them can see. “There’s a note from the EMT. ‘Victim regained partial consciousness en route. Attempted to speak. Said it felt like there was something underneath him.’”
“That lines up with the burrow.”
The sheriff leans back slightly, processing. “So whatever this thing is—”
“It’s not coming from above.”
He finishes the thought. “It’s coming from below and it can reach people without leaving a trace.”
• • •
The station hum fades into the background again. The office is quieter now, papers spread out, books half-open, a laptop pulled in close. Research mode. Jody had stepped out a few minutes ago, with the promise of getting lunch, leaving Jack and Nellie alone for the first time since the cemetery. She sits at the desk, flipping through a worn journal, scanning quickly. He stands beside her, leaning slightly against the edge, scrolling through something on the laptop. Neither of them speaks for a moment. Just the sound of pages turning. Keys tapping. Thinking.
“…This might not be something common,” she says finally.
He glances over. “You’re thinking obscure.”
“Or barely documented. If it was something standard, we would’ve hit it already.”
“Agreed.” There is a beat of silence before he speaks again. “Nellie.”
She doesn’t look up. “Mm?”
He hesitates for half a second. “Are you actually going to tell her?”
That makes her pause. Not long. Just enough. “I said I would.” She turns another page, but she’s not really reading it anymore. “I just haven’t had to… do that a lot before. Especially with other hunters. Outside of you and Isaac, I’ve kept it pretty contained. She already saw me take a reading. That’s not something I can explain away forever.”
“No,” he agrees. “She’s not going to react the way you think.”
She finally looks up at him. There’s hesitation there. Not fear. But caution.
“Jody’s not like other hunters,” he continues. “She doesn’t jump to conclusions. She doesn’t treat people like threats just because they’re different. She worked with Sam and Dean for years. She trusted them. They trusted her. She’s on our side.”
She leans back slightly in her chair, considering that. “She’s going to have to be,” she mutters. “It’s just— once it’s out there, it’s out there.”
He nods. “I know. But you’re not just anyone telling her. You’re a Winchester.”
She looks down again, fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the page. “Doesn’t make it easier.”
He doesn’t push further. Doesn’t need to.
The door opens. Jody steps back in, balancing a paper bag and a drink carrier. “Hopefully you two don’t mind subpar subs,” she says, setting everything down on the desk. “Figured you two would forget to eat, like all hunters seem to do.”
Nellie doesn’t even look up from the book in her hands. “Not forget,” she mutters. “Just deprioritize.”
Jack reaches for one of the containers, handing another to her.
“Same thing,” the sheriff replies.
They don’t argue. They eat. Still reading. Still scanning. Still working. A few minutes pass like that.
Jody breaks the silence. “Find anything that could point us in the right direction?”
Nellie shakes her head. “Nothing solid.”
“Not something with clean lore, at least,” he adds.
She exhales. “Of course not.”
The hunter sets her food down after a bite, thinking. “We might need to call someone. See if anyone’s run into something similar. Or at least point us in the right direction.” She reaches for her phone, scrolling briefly before hitting a contact.
It rings once. Twice. Then, a voice answers. “You better not be calling me about some damn witches again, Nell, or I swear you’re gonna have to lose my number.”
She huffs a quiet laugh. “Thankfully, no.”
“Whatcha you got for me?” Isaac asks.
She leans back slightly in her chair. “I’ve got a question. Have you ever come across anything that steals bones — clean, no trace — and burrows?”
There’s a pause on the other end. “No. Not specifically.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of.”
“But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Sometimes things don’t have direct lore. They overlap. Share traits.”
“Okay. Then help me narrow it down. Two victims. Both had prior injuries, one with fractured ribs, the other a dislocated shoulder. No external trauma. Bones missing, but the body’s intact otherwise.”
“That sounds like something’s building,” he says solemnly.
Her brow furrows. “Building?”
“A body,” he clarifies. “Or repairing one.”
Her eyes flick to Jack. Then to the open files. The cemetery. The lines. “…The paths,” she murmurs.
“What?” he asks.
She sits up straighter. “The lines I saw at the cemetery. They didn’t match the layout because they weren’t paths.”
He follows immediately. “Tunnels.”
She nods. “It’s been moving underground. Going through coffins, taking bones without anyone noticing.”
Jody’s expression tightens. “Grave robbing without digging.”
“Exactly.” She brings the phone back up. “But why switch to live victims?”
“Because grave bones are useless after a while,” Isaac replies. “They’re brittle. Degraded. If it’s trying to build something that actually works—”
“It needs stronger material,” Jack finishes quietly.
“Yeah. Fresh.”
Nellie exhales slowly. “…That’s not disturbing at all.”
Isaac huffs lightly on the other end. “Welcome to our job.”
She shakes her head slightly. “Alright. That helps. If you think of anything else—”
“I’ll call.”
“Thanks, Isaac.”
“Try not to get eaten.”
“Not planning on it.” She hangs up.
The room is quiet for a second. Then, Jody speaks. “Alright. Let’s say he’s right. It’s building a body. Moving underground. Taking what it needs. How do you kill something like that?”
Nellie exhales slowly, thinking it through. “If it’s tied to remains, then it might be anchored to them.”
She frowns slightly. “Meaning?”
“Meaning it could be like dealing with a corpse-based entity. If there’s a central body, something it’s building toward, a salt and burn might work.”
Jack nods. “That’s usually the safest bet with anything tied to physical remains.”
“The problem is finding it.”
“If it’s moving through tunnels, it’s not staying in one place long.”
Jody exhales. “So, we’re chasing something underground that doesn’t want to be found.”
“Pretty much.”
He turns back to the laptop, already typing. “I’ll see if there’s anything more specific. Anything bone-based, body-reconstruction, burrowing, something that overlaps.”
“Yeah, we need options.”
The sheriff leans back slightly, watching as he scrolls. “What are we hoping for?”
He doesn’t look up. “A pattern,” he answers. “Or a weakness.”
A few seconds pass. Scrolling. Reading. Finally, he turns the screen slightly so they can see. “I’m finding a couple things. Not exact matches, but close enough.”
She steps closer. “Like what?”
“Some entities that reconstruct themselves with bone. They rely on structural integrity, meaning if you disrupt the framework, they can’t function.”
Nellie nods. “So, break it apart.”
“Or collapse it.” He scrolls again. “And there are others that burrow — feed or move underground — but they’re sensitive to certain things.”
Jody raises an eyebrow. “Like?”
“Salt barriers. Iron in some cases. And—” He pauses, reading more carefully. “—fire still works. If you can trap it long enough.”
“So salt and burn is still on the table,” Nellie sighs.
“Yeah,” he replies. “But we might need to force it into a position where it can’t just disappear.”
Jody nods slowly. “Lure it out.” She shifts slightly, arms crossing as she looks between them. “There is one problem.”
He glances up. “What?”
Her eyes land on his arm and the cast. “If this thing is targeting previous injuries, you fit the pattern. Maybe better than anyone.”
Nellie’s expression tightens immediately. “No.” It’s automatic. Sharp.
He looks at her. “Nell—”
“No,” she repeats, shaking her head slightly. “We are not using you as bait.”
The sheriff raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t say we were—”
“You didn’t have to,” she cuts in.
Jack steps in, calm but firm. “It makes sense.”
She looks at him. “No, it doesn’t.”
“It does. If it’s going to target someone—”
“Then we find another way,” she snaps.
“Better me than someone else.” That lands. Hard.
Her jaw sets. Because she knows that logic. She hates it. But she knows it.
Jody watches the exchange, quiet. Reading both of them. “We don’t have to throw him out there blind. If we do this, we control it.”
She exhales sharply, turning away for a second. Thinking. Reining it in. “…If we do this,” she says slowly, “it’s on our terms.”
“Of course,” he replies gently.
She looks back at him. Still not happy. Not even close. “…Fine.” It’s not agreement. Not fully. But it’s enough to move forward. She grabs her blazer. “Let’s get—”
A knock at the door. It opens before anyone answers. An officer steps in, slightly out of breath. “Sheriff.”
Jody turns. “What is it?”
The officer hesitates for half a second. “We just got another call.”
“Where?”
“Another hit,” the officer says. “North side of town. Victim’s dead.”
• • •
The neighborhood is quiet in the worst way. Police lights flash against neat houses and trimmed lawns. Too normal, too calm for what’s sitting in the middle of it. The Impala pulls in behind Jody’s cruiser, Jack and Nellie stepping out immediately. They don’t need direction. They can already feel it. The closer they get, the heavier it becomes. The same energy. Stronger. Fresher. They duck under the tape, officers letting them through with quick nods; detectives, after all. And then they see him. A man sprawled in his front yard. Tools scattered nearby, gloves, a shovel, a half-dug patch of dirt. Like he had been working. Like it had been a normal afternoon. Until it wasn’t. His head is tilted at an unnatural angle. Too far. Too wrong. And his body—
Nellie freezes for half a second. Because she can feel it before she fully processes it.
Jack exhales slowly beside her. “…Spine.”
Gone. There’s no external tearing. No violent mess. Just absence. The only sign of what happened is the faint trace of blood at his mouth and nose, like something inside him gave out. Not something that broke in.
She steps closer, her senses already flaring. It’s there. Stronger than before. Clinging to the body. Lingering in the air. Like whatever did this, was just here. She swallows slightly. “This one’s fresh.”
He glances at her. “You can feel it?”
She nods once. “Yeah. Stronger than the others.”
Jody steps in beside them, taking in the scene. Her expression hardens. “…This is escalating.”
Her eyes stay on the body, mind already connecting it. “It changed.”
The sheriff looks at her. “What do you mean?”
“It knows we’re onto it. The victim from earlier was already hit, but this… this is recent.”
“And this is it reacting?”
Nellie looks up. “Yeah. It didn’t just take what it needed. It took something vital.”
He looks back at the body. “Spine.”
“That’s not repair. That’s upgrade.”
Jody exhales sharply, stepping back slightly. “Then we’re out of time.”
Nellie nods. “Yeah. But, luckily for us, I think it’s going to rest. Regain whatever it spent.”
Jack follows her line of thought immediately. “And if it’s been using tunnels—”
“It’ll go back to the cemetery.”
“That’s our best shot.”
The sheriff looks between them. “Go,” she says. “I’ll finish up here and meet you there.”
She hesitates for just half a second, looking back at the body, then turns. “Let’s move.”
• • •
The sky is starting to dim. That in-between hour where everything feels quieter—but more dangerous. The Impala rolls to a stop at the edge of the cemetery. This time, no suits, no badges. Just flannel, denim, boots. Jack steps out first, grabbing one of the salt canisters from the trunk. Nellie follows, already pulling two more, handing one off to him without a word.
“Fence line,” she says.
He nods. “Trap it in.”
They split, going opposite directions along the fencing. The first line of salt hits the ground in a steady pour, white against the darkening earth. She moves fast, controlled, walking the perimeter, shaking the canister in a continuous line. He mirrors her on the opposite side, his movements slightly slower with the cast, but still efficient.
The last of the daylight fades and the cemetery shifts with it. Details softening, shadows stretching, headstones turning into uneven silhouettes in the dim. She is finishing her stretch of salt, her senses remaining open. Something shifts. Sharp. Focused. Watching. She stills. Her hand pauses mid-pour. Slowly, she lifts her gaze. Across the rows of stones. The wind moves faintly through the grass. Jack is still at the far end — visible, but distant — finishing his side, unaware. She narrows her eyes.
And then there is a flicker of movement. Just beyond a tall gravestone. Something peeks out, not fully visible, not enough to make out shape or detail. Just there. Then gone. Her grip tightens on the canister. She sets it down quietly. Her other hand moves instantly, pistol drawn in one smooth motion. She doesn’t call out. Not yet. Her eyes stay locked on that spot. Waiting. Watching. Trying to catch it again. Her breathing slows. Measured.
Another shift, further to the right this time. A shape slipping behind another stone. Gone just as quickly. She takes a slow step forward. Gun raised slightly. Her gaze flicks briefly to Jack. Still too far. Still working. She doesn’t call him. Not unless she has to. Her attention snaps back ahead.
“…What are you?” It’s barely above a whisper. More to herself than anything else.
The thing doesn’t answer. But she knows it’s still there. She saw enough to know that. Not small. But not large either.
“Nellie.” Jack’s voice cuts across the cemetery, low but urgent. Not shouting but enough.
She doesn’t hesitate. She turns and moves, fast, controlled, weaving through the rows of headstones toward him. Her pistol stays up, her other hand already pulling her flashlight free. The beam snaps on, cutting through the dim. She reaches him in seconds.
“Keep your distance,” she says immediately, breath steady despite the quick pace.
He nods once, already taking a half step back. “Look.” He gestures toward the base of a gravestone, partially hidden beneath a low bush.
It’s easy to miss. But with the small beam of light, there it is. A hole. Fresh. Clean. Wrong. The same size as before. The same disturbance in the soil. Nellie crouches slightly, angling the flashlight toward it, but not getting too close. Her pistol stays trained. Ready.
“It’s another entry point,” he says quietly.
“Yeah,” she replies. Her voice lowers. Tighter now. “Which means it’s close.”
His grip shifts slightly on his weapon. “We knew that.”
She shakes her head faintly. “No, I mean— I saw something.”
That gets his full attention. “What kind of something?”
She flicks the light briefly toward the rows behind them. “Watching us. Moving between the stones.”
He glances around the cemetery, scanning the shadows. “We’re not just hunting it anymore.”
“Yeah… We’re being hunted too.”
They take slow steps back from the burrow. Weapons up. Eyes scanning. The flashlight beam cuts across the ground, catching edges of stone and shadow. Everything feels tight, like something is about to snap. Then it does. A blur of movement. Fast. Too fast. Something slams into them from the side. Hard.
Nellie hits the ground first, the air knocked from her lungs as her shoulder scrapes against dirt and gravel. Jack goes down a second later, his casted arm hitting awkwardly as he rolls.
“—Jack!”
“I’m good—!”
They scramble, instinct kicking in. She pushes herself up, pistol already snapping back into position and she sees it, for just a second. A silhouette. Low. Animalistic. But wrong. Limbs too sharp. Movement too deliberate. It darts between the gravestones, weaving through them with unnatural speed. Gone before the eye can fully track it.
He gets to his feet beside her, pistol up. “What the hell was that?”
She doesn’t answer. She’s already tracking movement. There, a flicker crossing the path. She fires. A sharp crack splits the air. The bullet hits. She knows it does. There’s a jolt in its movement, but it doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow. It disappears into the rows again like it was never there.
“…That didn’t do anything,” he mutters.
Her jaw tightens. “Yeah, I noticed.” Her flashlight swings, trying to catch it again. Nothing. Just shadows. Too many places to hide.
He adjusts his grip, scanning. “We need better weapons.”
She nods sharply. “We need to slow it down. Force it into the open. Then we figure out how to kill it.”
Another blur of movement flashes between the stones. Closer this time. More aggressive. The game has changed. Whatever they’re just with isn’t underground anymore. They’re dealing with something fast. Something physical. And it’s not hiding anymore. They move. Slow at first. Measured. Backing away from the burrow, keeping their spacing tight, close enough to cover each other, far enough to react. The Impala sits at the far end of the cemetery. Too far. Not far enough.
Nellie keeps her pistol up, flashlight cutting through the dark in short, controlled sweeps.
But her attention keeps flicking back to Jack. Tracking him. Watching him. Because if this thing is hunting, he’s a main target.
He notices. “I’m fine,” he mutters.
“Didn’t say you weren’t,” she shoots back quietly. “Just don’t get grabbed.”
A flicker of movement.
Jack sees it first this time. “There—!”
They both turn and fire. Two shots crack through the night. The thing jerks mid-motion and for the first time, they hear it. A sound rips from it. Low. Breathy. Angry. Not quite animal. Not quite human. It recoils, then skitters back into the graveyard, vanishing behind stone and shadow.
She exhales sharply. “Okay—good—so it feels that.”
“Not enough.”
“No. Not enough. We need better.”
They pick up the pace. Not running. Not yet but faster. Urgent. The cemetery feels tighter now. Like it’s closing in around them. The wind dies completely. And then, it steps out right in front of them. They both stop instantly, weapons up. But for a second, neither of them fires. Because now, they can see it clearly. Its skull is an animal’s; elongated and racked in places. But wrong. Because beneath it is a human jaw hangs loosely, misaligned, shifting and clicking as it moves. Not attached right. Not meant to be there. Its body is a patchwork. Bones beneath skin that doesn’t quite fit. Limbs slightly off in proportion. Too long in some places. Too thin in others. It crouches low. Head twitching. Sniffing. Like it’s tasting the air. The jaw shifts again with a dry crack. Then, it looks at them. At Jack. Even without eyes, Nellie can tell it’s locked onto him.
Her grip tightens. “…Of course it is.”
The creature tilts its head, then rises on its hind legs. Slowly. Unnaturally. Unfolding upward. Taller than either of them. Too tall. Its spine shifts under the skin with a sickening series of small cracks. The jaw opens slightly. Not to speak. Just to breathe that same hollow, broken sound.
Jack steadies his stance. “Yeah,” he mutters. “That’s new.”
She doesn’t lower her weapon. “Don’t let it get close.”
It takes a step forward. Jerky. Unnatural. But fast, too fast for something built like that.
She fires. The shot hits center mass and this time, it reacts. A sharp recoil. A twisted, breathy snarl. But it doesn’t go down. It just adjusts.
He fires next. The blast forces it back a step, but not enough. Still not enough.
Her voice tightens. “Keep it back—!”
Its head twitches again, jaw cracking. And then it lunges straight for Jack.
She doesn’t think. She reacts. Her hand snaps up, a sharp pulse of force hitting the air. The creature’s trajectory jerks violently off course. It slams into the ground beside him instead of into him. The impact sends dirt and loose gravel scattering. It lets out that same breathy, broken roar. Frustrated. Angry. Wrong. It rolls, then snaps back toward her instead. A swipe. She barely gets her arms up. The hit sends her crashing into a nearby headstone, stone cracking under the impact. Pain shoots through her shoulder as she hits the ground hard.
“Nellie!”
“I’m—fine—!”
She forces herself up, breath uneven, pistol still in her grip. But the creature is gone. Just gone. Where it had been, there’s a hole. Fresh. Open. Like it vanished straight into the earth. She stares at it for half a second, chest rising and falling as she tries to steady herself. Her mind races.
“…Jack.”
“I’m here—what—?”
She pushes herself fully upright. “It’s incomplete. Still building. It’s missing part of an arm.”
He freezes. “What?”
“The woman in the park. Her upper arm was missing. That thing had it. But it still doesn’t have a forearm or hand.
His grip tightens on his weapon. “So, I’m a match.”
“A better one than anyone else it’s found so far.” She steps closer, urgent now. “You need to get to the car.”
He shakes his head immediately. “No—”
“Yes,” she snaps. “Now. If it’s targeting you, then we use that.”
He hesitates.
She pushes. “It’s already inside the perimeter. If it comes after you, it stays trapped.”
He exhales sharply. “You’re asking me to run.”
“I’m telling you to move,” she corrects. “I’ll cover you.”
He looks at her, towards the Impala, then back. “You better not get taken out while I’m gone.”
She almost smirks. “But I wanted all the fun to myself. Now go.”
He doesn’t argue again. He turns and runs. Boots hitting dirt and gravel, weaving between headstones, the car just ahead. Almost there. Then the ground gives, the earth collapsing beneath him. He drops hard, disappearing into the ground as dirt and broken roots cave inward around him. Gravestones tilt slightly from the shift.
She is already moving, no hesitation. She sprints toward the collapse, heart hammering, pistol still in hand. “Jack!”
“I’m here—!”
She reaches the edge, skidding to a stop and looking down. A tunnel. Rough. Narrow.
Collapsed near the surface, but clearly extending deeper into the cemetery. He is down there, already pushing himself up, brushing dirt from his jacket.
“I’m okay!”
She drops to her knees at the edge, reaching down. “Come on, give me your hand.”
He steps closer, reaching up, their hands almost meeting.
A blur slams into her back, the impact knocking her forward. She falls hard, rolling as she hits the tunnel floor, dirt and debris scattering around her. She scrambles instinctively, catching herself in a rough, unsteady crouch. A shape bursts from the hole above. It skitters along the walls, too fast, too wrong, its limbs scraping against packed earth and exposed roots. That broken, breathy growl echoes through the confined space. She fires. The muzzle flash lights up the tunnel. For a split second, she sees it clearly again. The mismatched bones. The animal skull. That human jaw snapping and shifting. The shot hits and the creature recoils slightly, but it keeps coming. Another shot, the sound deafening in the tunnel. It jerks again then darts sideways, clinging to the wall for a second, then vanishes deeper into the darkness.
Nellie keeps her gun trained into the dark, but her voice cuts through the tension. “We need to get out of here.”
Jack doesn’t argue. They both glance up toward the collapsed opening above. Not far. But far enough.
She moves first, stepping toward the wall where the dirt has caved in, testing for footholds. “Come on—”
The creature bursts from the dark again, a blur of bone and wrong angles. She fires and he raises his weapon, but it’s already on them. They both react, scrambling for higher ground, trying to climb. The loose dirt shifts beneath his foot. He slips and drops hard back onto the tunnel floor. Before he can recover, the creature is on him, its only hand clamps around his leg, bone fingers digging through denim, and pulls. Hard. Dragging him toward the deeper darkness of the tunnel. He fires point-blank, the blast echoing violently in the confined space. It recoils slightly with that breathy, broken snarl ripping from it, but it doesn’t let go. It pulls again. Relentless.
“Jack!”
She doesn’t think. She moves, throwing herself at it, colliding into its side with everything she’s got. The impact throws the creature off balance just enough. Its grip loosens. Jack yanks his leg free, scrambling backward, boots kicking against dirt and stone. The creature turns on Nellie immediately, jaw snapping, body twisting unnaturally. But she is already on it. Her hands grab onto its arm and pulls. There’s resistance. Then a sickening crack. The limb tears free. The creature screams, its body jerking violently. It lashes out. A kick catches her in the side, sending her back into the tunnel wall, the dislodged arm writhing in her grip. Still twitching. Still alive somehow. It recoils. Then, in one sharp motion, it lunges forward, grabbing the arm with its misaligned jaw, the human teeth scraping against bone, and vanishes into the darkness of the tunnel. Like it was never there.
She exhales sharply, pushing herself up. Jack scrambles fully back to his feet, checking his leg. The denim is torn and his skin lightly scratched, but intact.
“…Okay,” he breathes. “That was worse than I expected.”
She huffs, still catching her breath. She looks into the darkness where it disappeared.
Then back at the tunnel walls. “We really need to get out of here.”
He nods immediately. “No argument.”
They climb. Scramble. Claw their way out of the tunnel as dirt shifts beneath them, hands catching on roots and broken stone. She hauls herself over the edge first, turning immediately to grab him and pull him up the rest of the way. They don’t stop. They run. Across uneven ground, weaving between gravestones, the Impala just ahead. A roar, louder than before. Not breathy. Not broken. Angry. They turn and see it. The creature bursts from the earth behind them, the arm reattached. It limps once, twice, then it adjusts. Adapts. And charges.
“MOVE!” A voice cuts through the night. Sharp. Commanding.
Nellie doesn’t question it. She dives, Jack going with her, hitting the ground hard as two shotgun blasts rip through the cemetery. The creature screams a violent, twisting sound.
Jody stands a few yards away. Shotgun smoking. Steady. Unshaken.
It writhes on the ground, one arm blown off again and a leg torn apart. Its body spasming, trying to pull itself back together, but slower now. Damaged.
Jack is already moving. He sprints for the Impala. Nellie, on the other hand, doesn’t follow. She goes straight for the bony creature.
Jody steps forward, reloading smoothly. “Finish it!”
She doesn’t hesitate. She closes the distance fast. The creature snaps at her, jaw cracking, trying to lunge but it’s too slow. She kicks the detached arm away, then the leg, sending them skidding across the dirt. It lets out a broken, furious sound, but it can’t reach them. She raises her boot and brings it down with all her strength. The skull cracks. A sharp, splintering sound. She hits it again. And again. Until the bone gives, caving in under the force. Its body jerks violently, then slows.
Not dead. But not moving. Not fighting. Just twitching.
The sheriff steps up beside her, shotgun ready. “Is that enough?”
She doesn’t take her eyes off it, planting her foot on the pearly white spine. “No. Not until we burn it.”
Jack runs back into the clearing, breath tight, a can of lighter fluid in one hand and a salt container in the other. He works fast. Salt first, sprinkled over the broken bones, over the skull, over the scattered limbs Nellie kicked away. Then the fluid. He douses everything, the sharp smell cutting through the night air. Jody is already there. Lighter in hand. She flicks it once. As soon as Jack pulls back, she tosses it. The fire catches instantly. Flames roar up, bright and violent against the dark cemetery. The bones crack. Snap. Blacken. And beneath it, that same breathy, broken roar tears through the fire. Fading. Dying. Until there is nothing but the hiss of burning and the steady crackle of flame.
Nellie exhales sharply, her shoulders finally dropping as the tension drains out of her. “…Yeah. That’s more like it.” She drags a hand through her hair, still catching her breath, then looks over at the other woman. “Thanks.”
She lowers the lighter, watching the fire burn. “Yeah,” she says simply. “Glad I showed up when I did.” There’s no pride in it. Just fact.
She nods once, then immediately turns. “Jack.”
He’s standing a few feet away, rolling his shoulder slightly, testing his weight. “I’m good,” he says before she can ask.
She still steps closer anyway, eyes scanning him. “You sure?”
“Well, I don’t think it will need to be amputated.”
She huffs quietly, crouching just enough to check his leg anyway. “Yeah, well, I’d like to keep it that way.”
He watches her for a second. “You got thrown into a headstone.”
“I’ve had worse,” she mutters.
The fire dies down slowly. Flames crackling lower, settling into embers as the last of the bones blacken and collapse in on themselves. The cemetery is quiet again. Still. Like nothing had ever disturbed it. Jody watches the remains for a long moment.
“You sure that’s it?” Her voice is steady, but there’s weight behind it. Because sure matters.
Nellie glances at her, then kneels. She places her hand lightly against the ground. The energy is different now. Where before there had been that wrongness, that hollow, moving presence, now fades. Burning away with the remains. Leaving behind only what belongs here. Stillness. Rest. The quiet hum of a cemetery at peace.
She exhales slowly. “It’s clear.”
Jack nods once, relieved. “Good.”
The sheriff steps forward, offering a hand. She takes it, letting her help pull her back to her feet. She doesn’t let go immediately. She studies her. Really studies her. “Alright. Now that this is done, I think it’s time you explain some things to me. All of that. How you knew. And how exactly you’re tied to the Winchesters.”
• • •
Jody’s house is warm. Comfortable. A stark contrast to the cold stillness of the cemetery. Jody sets a couple of beers down on the coffee table before dropping into her chair, posture relaxed, but her eyes are anything but. Watching. Waiting. Jack settles onto the couch, a little stiff from the night’s events, but otherwise fine. Nellie sits beside him, taking one of the beers without hesitation.
“Thank you,” she says, already popping it open.
The woman gives a small nod but doesn’t touch hers yet. No small talk. No easing into it. Just expectation.
Nellie takes a sip, exhales slightly, then looks over at Jody. “Alright. Which one do you want first? My relation to Dean or what makes me a different kind of hunter.”
Jody leans back just slightly, considering. “Start with Dean.” No hesitation. No surprise.
She sets the bottle down, resting her forearms lightly on her knees. “I grew up in Texas with my mother, Eleanor. I didn’t know anything about Dean growing up. Not his name. Not what he did. Nothing. My mom made sure of that. She hated him. She wasn’t… great. Alcohol, mostly. And… Everything that comes with that.” She doesn’t go into detail. Doesn’t need to.
Jody gets it.
She glances down at her hands for a second, then back up. “It wasn’t until I was older that I started looking. Quietly. Just trying to figure out who he was. And by the time I did, he’d already been dead for a few years. So, Sam was all that was left of him. I tracked him down. Met with him. That didn’t go over well at home. My mom… lost it. She tried to kill me. She’d been messing with witchcraft, but she wasn’t very good at it. Sam showed up. Saved me. And that’s how I got pulled into all of this.” She gestures vaguely between them. Hunting. The life. Everything. She continues, quieter now. “My mom had been trying to join a coven. Which meant they knew about me. And they figured out pretty fast that I wasn’t… normal. They saw what I could do, and they decided I was useful. They tried to use me as a conduit for a cosmic being.”
The room stills. The words hang there. Heavy. Jody studies her. Long. Then leans back in her chair, exhaling through her nose. “…Yeah,” she says after a moment, a small shake of her head. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”
Nellie blinks.
The sheriff takes a sip of her beer now. “Winchesters and cosmic-level problems. Kinda their thing.” There’s a faint edge of dry humor there. But it’s not dismissive. It’s recognition.
She huffs quietly. “Yeah, I’m starting to notice that.”
Jack glances between them, a small, almost relieved breath leaving him.
“Alright, now explain the psychic part,” Jody says, setting her bottle down.
She leans back slightly, reaching for her beer again. She takes a sip. “The psychic thing started the same night everything else did. That night with my mom, when she tried to kill me. That’s when it showed up.” Her hand gestures vaguely, like there’s no clean word for it. “I didn’t know what it was at first. Just that things felt different. Louder. Like I was picking up on stuff I wasn’t supposed to. That coven noticed it too. That’s why they came after me. So, Sam and I spent the next few months hunting them down before they could try anything else. After that, I stayed at the Men of Letters bunker Started hunting on my own. Learning as I went.” She tilts her head slightly toward Jack. “Then he showed up earlier this year.”
He gives a small shrug. “Timing worked out.”
She rolls her eyes lightly. “Yeah, something like that. He’s been my partner since.”
Jody’s gaze flicks between them, taking that in. Then back to Nellie. “And the abilities?”
“Most psychics are single talented. I’m… not. I can sense things. Energy, movement, stuff like what we saw today.” “I can read objects and places. And if I need to—” She hesitates just slightly. “…I can use it in a fight.”
The sheriff’s eyes narrow just a fraction. Not distrust. Just trying to understand the scope.
Jack cuts in, calm but firm. “She’s underselling it.”
She shoots him a look. “Jack—”
“She helps maintain the bunker wards,” he continues anyway. “Keeps them powered.”
Jody’s eyebrows lift slightly at that. “That doesn’t seem small.”
He shakes his head. “And she’s channeled some pretty intense stuff on bigger hunts.”
She exhales through her nose. “…I manage.”
“Why not tell other hunters?” the woman asks softly. The question is direct but not accusatory.
“Because most of them would kill me. No questions asked. Psychic equals threat.” Her grip tightens slightly around the bottle in her hand. “That’s why I don’t advertise it. Why I use my legal name instead of Winchester. Less attention.”
Jody nods slowly. “Smart.”
“I told you because Sam trusts you and Jack has vouched for you. And because I figured if you were going to find out, it’d be better if I was the one telling you.”
She holds her gaze. Weighing that. “Yeah. That was the right call. You probably scared the hell out of a lot of people if you showed that off.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Jack smiles faintly at that.
Jody goes quiet. Not uncomfortable. Just thinking. Her gaze moves between them, but it lingers on the girl. Longer. Like she’s trying to place something. Then, she stands. Doesn’t say anything as she crosses the room, moving toward a shelf lined with old photos and small keepsakes. She reaches up and grabs a frame, turning it over in her hands for a second, then walks back. She stops in front of her. Looks at the photo. Then at her.
“…You look like him.” She holds the frame out.
Nellie takes it carefully. Her fingers curl around the edges as she looks down and freezes. It’s old. Years old. Sam and Dean stand in the center, younger, a little rougher around the edges. Jody’s there too, along with a couple other hunters she doesn’t recognize. Dean’s smiling. That easy, crooked grin she’s come to know and love. Like nothing in the world could touch him.
Her breath catches, just slightly. Her thumb brushes the edge of the glass. “…Yeah,” she murmurs. Soft. Almost to herself. There’s a small smile on her face. But it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Bittersweet.
Jody watches her for a moment. Then moves back to her chair, settling in again. “He was a pain in the ass,” she says. Matter of fact.
She huffs a quiet laugh, eyes still on the photo. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah. He was a stubborn ass. Didn’t listen. Thought he knew better than everyone else in the room.”
She doesn’t look up, but there’s the faintest hint of a smirk. “That checks out.”
“He cared, though. A lot more than he let on. Especially when it came to people he thought were his responsibility. He’d show up, guns blazing, acting like he had everything handled—” A small shake of her head. “—and then stay up all night making sure everyone else was okay before he even thought about himself.”
Nellie swallows quietly. Still looking at him. At that familiar face, at the man she never got to know like how Jody did.
“He was… loud,” she adds with a faint smile. “Always had something to say. Usually inappropriate.”
That earns a soft huff from the girl. “Yeah, I’ve heard that too.”
Jody’s smile lingers. “But he was good. One of the best hunters I ever worked with. And a better person than he gave himself credit for.”
Silence settles. Not heavy. Just full.
Nellie finally leans back slightly, still holding the photo in her hands. Still looking at it. “Thank you,” she says quietly.
The sheriff nods once. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything. Because Nellie didn’t get to live those stories. Didn’t get to live those memories. And now, at least, she has a few, even if they come secondhand. She exhales softly, setting her beer down as she looks between the two of them. “I appreciate you coming out,” she says. “I know you did it because Sam asked, but still. Sometimes hunters are a pain in the ass to work with.”
Jack shrugs lightly. “Well, their loss.”
She huffs a quiet laugh at that. “Yeah.” Her expression shifts, something more thoughtful settling in. “You two are good together.” Her eyes move between them again. “You remind me a lot of Sam and Dean.”
He blinks slightly at that.
Nellie just tilts her head a fraction. “Is that a compliment or a warning?” she asks.
Jody smiles faintly. “Both.”
That earns a quiet breath of amusement from Jack.
She pushes herself up from her chair, stretching slightly. “Well, you don’t have to head out tonight.” She gestures loosely toward the rest of the house. “Plenty of room here. I’m an empty nester these days.” Something flickers across her face. Soft. Bittersweet. “The boys used to crash here when they were in Sioux Falls. Figured I could extend the same offer.”
The hunters glance at each other in silent conversation.
“We’d be honored,” Jack finally says.
Nellie nods. “Yeah. Not having to deal with a motel sounds pretty great right now.”
Jody’s expression softens a little more at that. “Good.” She turns, motioning for them to follow. “Come on. I’ll show you where you’re staying.”
They stand, following her down the hallway. As she walks ahead, there’s that same quiet nostalgia in her posture, like this isn’t new. Just familiar in a different way. And for the first time since they arrived, this place doesn’t feel like a stop on a hunt. It feels just a little like a home.
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