Of Apocalypses and Other Inconveniences , for the_ladykiki
Title: Of Apocalypses and Other Inconveniences
Recipient: the_ladykiki
Rating: G
Word Count: 2670
Warnings: Some blood (nothing graphic), as well as some swearing.
Author's Notes: Admittedly, I started a couple of different stories for different prompts, but I settled for prompt 6 (what Jody and the girls were up to while the world was ending) and added some sprinkles of prompt 3 (Dean found Mary. The British girl (probably) shot Sam. Then what?). I hope I did them justice!
Summary: As soon as there are signs of supernatural activity nearby, the Winchesters are the ones to call. Jody’s not entirely sure if she’s supposed to call them when the sun suddenly decides that red is the new black - but she’d appreciate them actually bothering to pick up their phones.
The day, like most days, started out well. Clear blue sky, the sun warming the air, yesterday’s bad weather as though magically blown away - long story short, Jody expected it to continuously be a good day.
And it was (good day at the office, no calls from the girls’ school, no mysterious deaths nearby)… Right up until she starts making dinner after work.
“Heya Jody,” Claire greets as she collapses in a chair at the table, closely followed by Alex.
“Hi girls,” Jody replies, keeping her voice cheerful but already feeling on edge (she doesn’t like the way both of her girls seat themselves at the table, and the way they fix their gazes at her make them resemble townspeople coming to gawk at an execution). “How was school?”
“Have you seen the news lately?” Alex asks dryly, pointedly ignoring the question.
Oh, please let a new celebrity scandal or even political scandal be the new hot stuff. “Not during the last couple of hours, no.”
“Have you heard from the Winchesters lately then?” Claire continues, just as dryly.
Well that settles it. Jody’s good day is not going to be a good day anymore - please don’t let there be another hunt for the serial killer brothers, or a brand new documentary about the deceased killer brothers coming up (she’s pretty sure the Winchesters actually would start killing because of that one), or anything else concerning the Winchesters and the news. “Not since last week, no,” Jody replies warily.
“Well, have you looked outside since coming home?” Alex follows up, before adding; “If not, you probably should.”
Jody gives the boiling water and spaghetti a mournful look, before sighing and striding towards the door. She hears the chairs scraping against the kitchen floor, and then quick feet hurrying after her. She opens the door and blinks in the… new and improved sunlight?
The sun is red. The sky is red. The light reflecting against cars and windows is also red. And damn, if that doesn’t both look and sound ominous.
“I was inside for thirty minutes, tops,” Jody deadpans, feeling slightly faint. “Why am I not allowed to turn my back for a second?”
“The news is all over it,” Claire informs her, “and already dozens of experts are puking their scientifically correct theories about this and that all over the internet and television. Like you said, it hasn’t even been half an hour and I’m telling you, the weird shit I’ve already managed to read? I mean holy -“
“It doesn’t automatically have to be a supernatural reason to this crap,” Alex interrupts gloomily and glares at the sky, as though it’s personally offended her and everything she cares for. “Oh, shut up, Claire, I’m not saying it has to be natural - I’m saying it’s like. Fifty fifty.”
Claire brightens at that. “Wanna bet about supernatural slash natural cause?”
“Girls,” Jody warns, feeling a headache getting ready to party behind her temples. “I don’t care who or what started it, it’s the freaking sun. We can’t do anything about the sun. What we can do, is go finish dinner.”
“But Jody,” Claire moans in exasperation as both of them are shooed inside by the sheriff.
“Shouldn’t we call Sam and Dean?” Alex suggests meekly, “I mean - just to be on the safe side.”
“Right, whatever you say, Miss Scientific Cause.”
“I already said fifty fifty, you ass.”
Jody kindly interferes before they have a chance to get started. “I repeat - it’s the sun. Sam and Dean, like the rest of us, also lack the ability to ruin or fix the sun. Now - dinner.”
It doesn’t stop Claire from reading up about myths concerning creatures trying to swallow the sun during dinner, or Alex from scrolling through articles upon articles while subtly peeking at Claire’s research.
Jody manages to delude herself for a full amount of one hour and twenty minutes before she gives up, picks up the phone, and calls the Winchesters.
(Just to be sure.)
Sam doesn’t pick up, and neither does Dean. Then she tries calling all their other cells, but none of them are answered either. She tells herself that the brothers are busy men, what with all their hunting and researching and whatever they do with their free time - and really, what the hell could they possibly do about the sun going red, anyway?
She also wryly reminds herself that the apocalypse already came and went years ago, and the Earth’s continued trying to kick the bucket ever since (and that the Winchesters have been involved in every one of those apocalypses and wanna-be-apocalypses).
Crap, she’s rooting for Alex and natural causes this time.
oOo
The following day, nothing has changed, and Jody (along with practically the rest of the world) is feeling a tad… antsy. And just about everyone have their own theories or ideas or reasoning or coping strategies.
“There are so many myths about the sun,” Claire declares tiredly where she, again, is seated at the table, this time with a bunch of books from the library. “So. Many.”
“Geez, I wonder why; maybe because the sun is kind of a recurring object in every culture?” Alex says scathingly, furiously rubbing at her skin with at least two different types of skin balm.
“It could be anyone of these.”
“Or it could be none of them.”
“But it could be anyone of these.”
Jody sighs, loud enough for both the girls to clearly hear her.
It gets their attention for a little while, considering Claire immediately looks up at her. “No answer from the Winchesters yet?”
“No, and I don’t want you reading too much into that. It’s not exactly unusual that they can’t come to the phone, and trust me, I should know.” Jody pointedly ignores Claire muttering about just how many times Jody’s already called them.
“Jody, hold on,” Alex calls out before Jody leaves for the store, and throws the sheriff one of the bottles of balm. “Wear sunscreen before going out. I read about the sun’s rays being extra funky and causing skin cancer and stuff.”
“And stuff,” Claire echoes mockingly and Alex kicks at her shin.
oOo
On the third day’s afternoon, the sun’s suddenly a hell of a lot less red. It’s not a slow or gradual change; its color merely shifts back to normal in the matter of seconds. Jody’s pretty sure that doesn’t qualify as natural cause (sorry, Alex).
She goes back to calling the Winchesters, and ignores the worry gnawing at the bottom of her stomach. Nonetheless, one of them actually does call back - several hours after the sun stopped looking like the cover of a cheap movie about the apocalypse.
“Uh, evening, Jody,” Dean says, but his voice sounds… wrong.
“What happened, Dean?” she asks promptly, but decides there’s a far more pressing matter than the sun right now, “Is Sam alright?” Oh, hell, Sam’s the one who usually calls, and if he’s not there, and Dean sounds shell-shocked…
“I - I think so - yeah. He’s alright. Just, uh,” his voice trails off, and Jody thinks she can hear a second person saying something on the other line. Only, the second person sounds distinctly feminine and sure as hell not as Sam.
“Where’s Sam?” she asks gently, hoping both brothers are alive and not about to be killed by whatever the monster of the week is.
“That’s… actually what I was calling about. But, uh, I can’t get to him right now, I have no idea where the fuck I am, and I just ran into… our dead mom, actually, and I don’t - I really. I’m confused.”
“What?” Jody says flatly, and then there’s rustling in the phone as someone else takes the mobile.
“Hi,” the new voice greets swiftly, “I’m Mary Winchester. Also confused.”
“Um. Hi,” Jody replies hesitantly.
“Listen, I’m sorry for the inconvenience and for the sorry state of Dean, but we would very much appreciate if you’d go check up on my youngest son. He’s currently thinking his brother is dead, and, well. These boys aren’t exactly known for their healthy coping mechanisms, now are they?”
Jody lets out a bark of laughter. “That’s one way of putting it.”
Mary is silent for a while. “I realize you have no reason to believe I’m who I say I am, but I’d like us to focus on Sammy - Sam. Dean’s tried calling him, but he’s not answering. He should be back at the… bunker? Dean says you know where to find it - honestly, Dean, why are the two of you living in a bunker?” There’s the muffled sound of Dean’s voice answering, and Jody rubs at her temples. Freaking Winchesters.
“Yes, I know where to find it,” Jody interjects, and then, because there never was any doubt about her decision, she adds; “And don’t worry, of course I’ll go check up on Sam.”
“Thank you,” the woman - Mary - says, and Jody recognizes the same sigh of relief that Dean always lets out after he’s found Sam (mostly unhurt but most importantly alive). “We’ll catch up with you as soon as we’ve figured out where the hell we are.”
“Right,” Jody agrees doubtfully (still wondering whether she should trust this woman slash potential-monster to be the actual Mary Winchester). “I’ll just. Go find Sam and tell him Dean’s alive.”
Freaking Winchesters.
Fifteen minutes later, she finds herself in the car along with both girls (Claire outright chortled at the idea of being left behind, while Alex put on a longsuffering look but promptly wanted to join them anyway).
“I need to know where the Winchesters’ super-secret batcave is,” Alex explains. “The fact that Claire knows where it is but I don’t is a disgrace.”
“The actual disgrace right now,” Claire sniffs, “is the fact that you finally caught yourself a Winchester and didn’t bother asking about the sun. Seriously, Jody? That was kind of a big deal. I can’t convince Alex to pay up if I don’t have any evidence that paranormal crap was involved.”
“I never even agreed to your stupid bet,” Alex grumbles and Jody idly wonders if she should start spraying them with a water bottle every time they start bickering.
By the time she finally pulls up at the bunker it’s nighttime, the girls are snoring, and Jody’s tired and cranky and she just wants to find Sam and then go to sleep. She glides out of the car, intending to let sleeping teenagers sleep, but they still manage to stumble after her once she opens the curiously unlocked door to the bunker. Jody’s starting to feel like a mother duck with her ducklings.
She’s known the Winchester brothers for years, and for some reason she’s still taken by surprise by the scene in the bunker.
There’s a bloody sigil on the wall, an unfamiliar woman knocked out cold on the ground, and Sam spread out on the floor while clutching a bleeding shoulder. He’s obviously not doing a good job of keeping pressure on the wound, if the blood pooling around him is anything to go by.
Jody swears under her breath and skids down the stairs in order to reach the younger brother, who wheezes out a questioning greeting.
“What happened?” she asks tightly as she tries to peer at the wound - caused by a gun shot, no exit wound, bullet still lodged somewhere…
“Got shot,” Sam states, sounding remarkably petulant despite gritting his teeth against the pain. “Again.”
“Weren’t you shot on a hunt like, a couple of weeks ago?” Claire asks as she crouches down next to them.
“Bad habit,” Sam mutters, and then yelps as Jody puts actual pressure on his shoulder. She’s worried about the amount of blood he’s lost, and the way his eyes look glassy and unfocused, as well as how listless and hollow he looks.
“What do we do?” Alex asks, and her calm behavior reminds Jody that, oh, right, this girl is already exceptionally used to blood and gore.
This is also where Jody’s reminded that she’s a cop, not a freaking doctor. Damn it.
“Alright,” she mutters before clearing her throat. “Alex, get some quilts for Sam, while Claire goes looking for some bandages. We’re not touching that wound on our own, and since I’m guessing mister here won’t be a smart guy and come to the hospital, I’m calling Dean to ask him where he is -“
Sam flinches as though struck. “Can’t,” he informs the ceiling, “Dean’s not… He’s gone, Jody.”
Ah. Right. There’s that tiny little matter of actually informing Sam about his brother still being very much alive (as well as his mother. Whom Jody very well knows died thirty odd years ago. She decides to leave that part to the Winchesters themselves to sort out).
“Sam,” she says, putting on her mom voice when he won’t look her in the eye. “Sam, Dean’s the one who called me - he’s alive, albeit a bit confused, and he’s on his way here.”
Well - at least that got his attention. He grips her wrist (surprisingly fast for someone who looks about as tan and alive as Dracula), and the obvious desperation mingled with hope in his eyes makes Jody want to wrap him up nice and snug in a couple of blankets. “Are you sure?” he asks lowly, brimming with tension as though her following words will decide the entire fate of the universe.
“Yes.”
There’s no need to add any sweet words or promises or proof to convince him (which, honestly, Jody’s feels a tad smug about - how many else can say they honestly have the Winchesters’ trust?). Sam breathes out; and along with the air, he appears to breathe out all the tension and rigid awareness. He lets his head thud back against the floor as he closes his eyes in relief, suddenly appearing to be inches away from unconsciousness.
“Hey, hey, no sleeping,” she admonishes gently, and Alex reappears, armed with a battalion of quilts.
“What’s up with sleeping beauty over there?” Alex asks quietly, eyeing the unconscious woman on the floor. Speaking of, Jody should probably confiscate the gun still clutched in her hand. Preferably before she wakes up and puts it to use once more.
“Part of some - some British organization,” Sam mumbles with a slur to his words that Jody definitely doesn’t like. “Apparently they’re kind of done with us fucking over the world. I think - I think she and I sort of knocked each other out?”
Alex is mouthing something about fucking over the world and the sun going red, but Jody kindly ignores her in favor of tucking a quilt under Sam’s head.
“You managed to knock her out despite of your messed up shoulder?” Claire suddenly asks and throws Jody a roll of bandages.
“To be fair,” Sam says and clumsily pats his bleeding shoulder, “she got me more than I got her, you know?”
Jody snorts and rises from her crouch, suppressing a groan as her back and knees wail in protest. She should start charging the Winchesters in order to pay for future physiotherapy - and while she’s at it, she may as well start treating herself for all the stress they’ve caused her over the years. “Alright,” she starts and puts her hands on her hips, “I’m going to go call Dean. Sam; don’t you dare move, and girls - behave.”
She leaves Alex and Claire kneeling by Sam’s prone form and walks away, scrolling through her contacts until she reaches Dean’s name.
Over the phone’s dial tone, she can hear Claire’s whoop of triumph from the other room (“Told you they had something to do with the freaky red sun!”), closely followed by Alex’s loud protests (“I didn’t agree to your fucking bet, Claire!”) and then a quiet, breathless chuckle from Sam.
Yeah, she thinks with a tired smile as she waits (hopes) for Dean to pick up the phone. At this rate, she better start charging the whole lot of them.
Recipient: the_ladykiki
Rating: G
Word Count: 2670
Warnings: Some blood (nothing graphic), as well as some swearing.
Author's Notes: Admittedly, I started a couple of different stories for different prompts, but I settled for prompt 6 (what Jody and the girls were up to while the world was ending) and added some sprinkles of prompt 3 (Dean found Mary. The British girl (probably) shot Sam. Then what?). I hope I did them justice!
Summary: As soon as there are signs of supernatural activity nearby, the Winchesters are the ones to call. Jody’s not entirely sure if she’s supposed to call them when the sun suddenly decides that red is the new black - but she’d appreciate them actually bothering to pick up their phones.
The day, like most days, started out well. Clear blue sky, the sun warming the air, yesterday’s bad weather as though magically blown away - long story short, Jody expected it to continuously be a good day.
And it was (good day at the office, no calls from the girls’ school, no mysterious deaths nearby)… Right up until she starts making dinner after work.
“Heya Jody,” Claire greets as she collapses in a chair at the table, closely followed by Alex.
“Hi girls,” Jody replies, keeping her voice cheerful but already feeling on edge (she doesn’t like the way both of her girls seat themselves at the table, and the way they fix their gazes at her make them resemble townspeople coming to gawk at an execution). “How was school?”
“Have you seen the news lately?” Alex asks dryly, pointedly ignoring the question.
Oh, please let a new celebrity scandal or even political scandal be the new hot stuff. “Not during the last couple of hours, no.”
“Have you heard from the Winchesters lately then?” Claire continues, just as dryly.
Well that settles it. Jody’s good day is not going to be a good day anymore - please don’t let there be another hunt for the serial killer brothers, or a brand new documentary about the deceased killer brothers coming up (she’s pretty sure the Winchesters actually would start killing because of that one), or anything else concerning the Winchesters and the news. “Not since last week, no,” Jody replies warily.
“Well, have you looked outside since coming home?” Alex follows up, before adding; “If not, you probably should.”
Jody gives the boiling water and spaghetti a mournful look, before sighing and striding towards the door. She hears the chairs scraping against the kitchen floor, and then quick feet hurrying after her. She opens the door and blinks in the… new and improved sunlight?
The sun is red. The sky is red. The light reflecting against cars and windows is also red. And damn, if that doesn’t both look and sound ominous.
“I was inside for thirty minutes, tops,” Jody deadpans, feeling slightly faint. “Why am I not allowed to turn my back for a second?”
“The news is all over it,” Claire informs her, “and already dozens of experts are puking their scientifically correct theories about this and that all over the internet and television. Like you said, it hasn’t even been half an hour and I’m telling you, the weird shit I’ve already managed to read? I mean holy -“
“It doesn’t automatically have to be a supernatural reason to this crap,” Alex interrupts gloomily and glares at the sky, as though it’s personally offended her and everything she cares for. “Oh, shut up, Claire, I’m not saying it has to be natural - I’m saying it’s like. Fifty fifty.”
Claire brightens at that. “Wanna bet about supernatural slash natural cause?”
“Girls,” Jody warns, feeling a headache getting ready to party behind her temples. “I don’t care who or what started it, it’s the freaking sun. We can’t do anything about the sun. What we can do, is go finish dinner.”
“But Jody,” Claire moans in exasperation as both of them are shooed inside by the sheriff.
“Shouldn’t we call Sam and Dean?” Alex suggests meekly, “I mean - just to be on the safe side.”
“Right, whatever you say, Miss Scientific Cause.”
“I already said fifty fifty, you ass.”
Jody kindly interferes before they have a chance to get started. “I repeat - it’s the sun. Sam and Dean, like the rest of us, also lack the ability to ruin or fix the sun. Now - dinner.”
It doesn’t stop Claire from reading up about myths concerning creatures trying to swallow the sun during dinner, or Alex from scrolling through articles upon articles while subtly peeking at Claire’s research.
Jody manages to delude herself for a full amount of one hour and twenty minutes before she gives up, picks up the phone, and calls the Winchesters.
(Just to be sure.)
Sam doesn’t pick up, and neither does Dean. Then she tries calling all their other cells, but none of them are answered either. She tells herself that the brothers are busy men, what with all their hunting and researching and whatever they do with their free time - and really, what the hell could they possibly do about the sun going red, anyway?
She also wryly reminds herself that the apocalypse already came and went years ago, and the Earth’s continued trying to kick the bucket ever since (and that the Winchesters have been involved in every one of those apocalypses and wanna-be-apocalypses).
Crap, she’s rooting for Alex and natural causes this time.
oOo
The following day, nothing has changed, and Jody (along with practically the rest of the world) is feeling a tad… antsy. And just about everyone have their own theories or ideas or reasoning or coping strategies.
“There are so many myths about the sun,” Claire declares tiredly where she, again, is seated at the table, this time with a bunch of books from the library. “So. Many.”
“Geez, I wonder why; maybe because the sun is kind of a recurring object in every culture?” Alex says scathingly, furiously rubbing at her skin with at least two different types of skin balm.
“It could be anyone of these.”
“Or it could be none of them.”
“But it could be anyone of these.”
Jody sighs, loud enough for both the girls to clearly hear her.
It gets their attention for a little while, considering Claire immediately looks up at her. “No answer from the Winchesters yet?”
“No, and I don’t want you reading too much into that. It’s not exactly unusual that they can’t come to the phone, and trust me, I should know.” Jody pointedly ignores Claire muttering about just how many times Jody’s already called them.
“Jody, hold on,” Alex calls out before Jody leaves for the store, and throws the sheriff one of the bottles of balm. “Wear sunscreen before going out. I read about the sun’s rays being extra funky and causing skin cancer and stuff.”
“And stuff,” Claire echoes mockingly and Alex kicks at her shin.
oOo
On the third day’s afternoon, the sun’s suddenly a hell of a lot less red. It’s not a slow or gradual change; its color merely shifts back to normal in the matter of seconds. Jody’s pretty sure that doesn’t qualify as natural cause (sorry, Alex).
She goes back to calling the Winchesters, and ignores the worry gnawing at the bottom of her stomach. Nonetheless, one of them actually does call back - several hours after the sun stopped looking like the cover of a cheap movie about the apocalypse.
“Uh, evening, Jody,” Dean says, but his voice sounds… wrong.
“What happened, Dean?” she asks promptly, but decides there’s a far more pressing matter than the sun right now, “Is Sam alright?” Oh, hell, Sam’s the one who usually calls, and if he’s not there, and Dean sounds shell-shocked…
“I - I think so - yeah. He’s alright. Just, uh,” his voice trails off, and Jody thinks she can hear a second person saying something on the other line. Only, the second person sounds distinctly feminine and sure as hell not as Sam.
“Where’s Sam?” she asks gently, hoping both brothers are alive and not about to be killed by whatever the monster of the week is.
“That’s… actually what I was calling about. But, uh, I can’t get to him right now, I have no idea where the fuck I am, and I just ran into… our dead mom, actually, and I don’t - I really. I’m confused.”
“What?” Jody says flatly, and then there’s rustling in the phone as someone else takes the mobile.
“Hi,” the new voice greets swiftly, “I’m Mary Winchester. Also confused.”
“Um. Hi,” Jody replies hesitantly.
“Listen, I’m sorry for the inconvenience and for the sorry state of Dean, but we would very much appreciate if you’d go check up on my youngest son. He’s currently thinking his brother is dead, and, well. These boys aren’t exactly known for their healthy coping mechanisms, now are they?”
Jody lets out a bark of laughter. “That’s one way of putting it.”
Mary is silent for a while. “I realize you have no reason to believe I’m who I say I am, but I’d like us to focus on Sammy - Sam. Dean’s tried calling him, but he’s not answering. He should be back at the… bunker? Dean says you know where to find it - honestly, Dean, why are the two of you living in a bunker?” There’s the muffled sound of Dean’s voice answering, and Jody rubs at her temples. Freaking Winchesters.
“Yes, I know where to find it,” Jody interjects, and then, because there never was any doubt about her decision, she adds; “And don’t worry, of course I’ll go check up on Sam.”
“Thank you,” the woman - Mary - says, and Jody recognizes the same sigh of relief that Dean always lets out after he’s found Sam (mostly unhurt but most importantly alive). “We’ll catch up with you as soon as we’ve figured out where the hell we are.”
“Right,” Jody agrees doubtfully (still wondering whether she should trust this woman slash potential-monster to be the actual Mary Winchester). “I’ll just. Go find Sam and tell him Dean’s alive.”
Freaking Winchesters.
Fifteen minutes later, she finds herself in the car along with both girls (Claire outright chortled at the idea of being left behind, while Alex put on a longsuffering look but promptly wanted to join them anyway).
“I need to know where the Winchesters’ super-secret batcave is,” Alex explains. “The fact that Claire knows where it is but I don’t is a disgrace.”
“The actual disgrace right now,” Claire sniffs, “is the fact that you finally caught yourself a Winchester and didn’t bother asking about the sun. Seriously, Jody? That was kind of a big deal. I can’t convince Alex to pay up if I don’t have any evidence that paranormal crap was involved.”
“I never even agreed to your stupid bet,” Alex grumbles and Jody idly wonders if she should start spraying them with a water bottle every time they start bickering.
By the time she finally pulls up at the bunker it’s nighttime, the girls are snoring, and Jody’s tired and cranky and she just wants to find Sam and then go to sleep. She glides out of the car, intending to let sleeping teenagers sleep, but they still manage to stumble after her once she opens the curiously unlocked door to the bunker. Jody’s starting to feel like a mother duck with her ducklings.
She’s known the Winchester brothers for years, and for some reason she’s still taken by surprise by the scene in the bunker.
There’s a bloody sigil on the wall, an unfamiliar woman knocked out cold on the ground, and Sam spread out on the floor while clutching a bleeding shoulder. He’s obviously not doing a good job of keeping pressure on the wound, if the blood pooling around him is anything to go by.
Jody swears under her breath and skids down the stairs in order to reach the younger brother, who wheezes out a questioning greeting.
“What happened?” she asks tightly as she tries to peer at the wound - caused by a gun shot, no exit wound, bullet still lodged somewhere…
“Got shot,” Sam states, sounding remarkably petulant despite gritting his teeth against the pain. “Again.”
“Weren’t you shot on a hunt like, a couple of weeks ago?” Claire asks as she crouches down next to them.
“Bad habit,” Sam mutters, and then yelps as Jody puts actual pressure on his shoulder. She’s worried about the amount of blood he’s lost, and the way his eyes look glassy and unfocused, as well as how listless and hollow he looks.
“What do we do?” Alex asks, and her calm behavior reminds Jody that, oh, right, this girl is already exceptionally used to blood and gore.
This is also where Jody’s reminded that she’s a cop, not a freaking doctor. Damn it.
“Alright,” she mutters before clearing her throat. “Alex, get some quilts for Sam, while Claire goes looking for some bandages. We’re not touching that wound on our own, and since I’m guessing mister here won’t be a smart guy and come to the hospital, I’m calling Dean to ask him where he is -“
Sam flinches as though struck. “Can’t,” he informs the ceiling, “Dean’s not… He’s gone, Jody.”
Ah. Right. There’s that tiny little matter of actually informing Sam about his brother still being very much alive (as well as his mother. Whom Jody very well knows died thirty odd years ago. She decides to leave that part to the Winchesters themselves to sort out).
“Sam,” she says, putting on her mom voice when he won’t look her in the eye. “Sam, Dean’s the one who called me - he’s alive, albeit a bit confused, and he’s on his way here.”
Well - at least that got his attention. He grips her wrist (surprisingly fast for someone who looks about as tan and alive as Dracula), and the obvious desperation mingled with hope in his eyes makes Jody want to wrap him up nice and snug in a couple of blankets. “Are you sure?” he asks lowly, brimming with tension as though her following words will decide the entire fate of the universe.
“Yes.”
There’s no need to add any sweet words or promises or proof to convince him (which, honestly, Jody’s feels a tad smug about - how many else can say they honestly have the Winchesters’ trust?). Sam breathes out; and along with the air, he appears to breathe out all the tension and rigid awareness. He lets his head thud back against the floor as he closes his eyes in relief, suddenly appearing to be inches away from unconsciousness.
“Hey, hey, no sleeping,” she admonishes gently, and Alex reappears, armed with a battalion of quilts.
“What’s up with sleeping beauty over there?” Alex asks quietly, eyeing the unconscious woman on the floor. Speaking of, Jody should probably confiscate the gun still clutched in her hand. Preferably before she wakes up and puts it to use once more.
“Part of some - some British organization,” Sam mumbles with a slur to his words that Jody definitely doesn’t like. “Apparently they’re kind of done with us fucking over the world. I think - I think she and I sort of knocked each other out?”
Alex is mouthing something about fucking over the world and the sun going red, but Jody kindly ignores her in favor of tucking a quilt under Sam’s head.
“You managed to knock her out despite of your messed up shoulder?” Claire suddenly asks and throws Jody a roll of bandages.
“To be fair,” Sam says and clumsily pats his bleeding shoulder, “she got me more than I got her, you know?”
Jody snorts and rises from her crouch, suppressing a groan as her back and knees wail in protest. She should start charging the Winchesters in order to pay for future physiotherapy - and while she’s at it, she may as well start treating herself for all the stress they’ve caused her over the years. “Alright,” she starts and puts her hands on her hips, “I’m going to go call Dean. Sam; don’t you dare move, and girls - behave.”
She leaves Alex and Claire kneeling by Sam’s prone form and walks away, scrolling through her contacts until she reaches Dean’s name.
Over the phone’s dial tone, she can hear Claire’s whoop of triumph from the other room (“Told you they had something to do with the freaky red sun!”), closely followed by Alex’s loud protests (“I didn’t agree to your fucking bet, Claire!”) and then a quiet, breathless chuckle from Sam.
Yeah, she thinks with a tired smile as she waits (hopes) for Dean to pick up the phone. At this rate, she better start charging the whole lot of them.