She slipped into the room, closing the door with a soft snick behind her and continued across the room to the small kitchenette where she set her bag of take-out on the counter. It was cold out, being winter in South Dakota, and she removed her coat, wet from a rain/snow mixture and hung it in the shower to dry before moving about the motel room/suite making as little noise as possible. She'd only been standing outside, waiting for the delivery man but she was chilled through.

The room was dim; towels draped over the lights in the bathroom as well as the one lamp next to the sofa she allowed to remain lit. There was no other light. The heavy curtains were pulled across the window, the plug for the digital clock lay on the floor, the TV was off – not because of the noise, but because of the flickering light from the changing pictures. Even the light from the 'fridge had been removed, her cell was on vibrate and kept face down and the room landline was unplugged from the wall jack.

Let him sleep. Let him sleep. Let him sleep. She chanted as she set a mug of water in the microwave to heat so she could have hot tea with her cold hoagie. She truly wished for soup, but soup was hot and hot food had a wonderful aroma and that – smell – was a no-no. She removed the mug before the microwave timed-out – wouldn't do for the bell to sound – no sirree, wouldn't do at all. She dunked a tea-bag into the mug and sat down to her pathetic dinner, wondering – again – how she allowed herself to be talked into situations like this!

*** a lot earlier – like hours ***

Jody, Sheriff Mills, reached across her desk for the file she'd put aside, buried, conveniently forgotten and ignored. She'd delayed reading its contents for some time now. Really, after all she'd experience in the last four to five years of her life, reading about a bunch of high school kids defacing public property with adult graphic graffiti was nowhere on her list of things that needed her attention. Nowhere!

She was reaching for her mug of fresh coffee when her desk phone rang. Eh, to answer or to applaud technology. Voicemail, what a wondrous invention.

"Sheriff Mills." she sipped from her mug, trying not to slurp. Wasn't good manners to be caught eating or drinking while on the phone. Aahh…so good. Maybe a bit more sugar.

"Yeah, hey….this here is Deputy Holt, over from Turner County way."

And she was worried about her telephone etiquette?

"What can I do for you deputy?" she asked, tearing open a sugar packet with her teeth. She swirled and swished the mug about before taking another sip. Much better.

"Well, don't rightly know." he mused. "Got a perp…..swear he gave me an alias, but when I ran it, came up with an outstanding arrest warrant issued by your office."

Huh? Alias? Now that just didn't make any sense….she paused, mouthful of hot coffee. Oh-oh. Maybe she should pay Holt better attention. "Name?" she rasped, gulping the coffee.

"Sure…sure…..Singer."

"Singer? You have…?" no, she rechecked her thoughts sadly, not Bobby. Sniff, snuffle….wait…..what was he saying? "You….aah…..have him in custody?"

"Sure do. Disturbing the peace, unruly conduct, public inebriation, threatening and assaulting an officer…" he was saying, she'd missed the rest of it.

"I see, I see." she muttered. "Right, well, okay then….did he give you a first name?" Dean, had to be Dean.

"…..thing is Sheriff Mills," Holt rattled on, either ignoring her interruption or not having heard it. "Our Sheriff is out of town, and I thought, maybe, you being a Sheriff and all, you might, you know, come get him and take him off our hands. You know, to your county?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"He sure does scare the crap outta me." Holt blurted out.

"Right, of course." Jody said amused. Little ole Dean? – 'cause she was sure it was Dean. "No, of course, I'll come get him." she promised. "I'm leaving now."

***000***

Yup! Boy, she loved being right.

"Hey there, Dean." Jody greeted, roughly two hours later, standing with the deputy outside his cell. "Hi ya. Been awhile." she frowned when he neither moved nor greeted her. "Unruly conduct?" she questioned the deputy skeptically, eyebrow quirked in doubt. "Assault? This guy?"

"Yup." he handed her the key to unlock the cell. "Guessin' he's a might too friendly with Jim or Jack." he waved a hand at the cell. "I ain't going in there. You want him out, you take him out."

Well, that didn't make any sense, Dean could hold his liquor. She eyed the dangling key, okay, so apparently, she being a Sheriff was all that mattered to this deputy. He was willing to send her, a petite female, into a cinderblock jail cell with an enraged, dangerous bat-shit crazy dude (the deputy's description upon her arrival) simply because she was a Sheriff. Good to know. The dumb ass had no way of knowing she knew the prisoner personally. If she didn't, she never would set foot alone in a cell with any man. Hell, she never would have come without her own men as an escort.

"Dean." Jody squatted down next to the cot. ""Hey?" she leaned across him, taking a whiff of his breath. "Huh." she didn't detect even the slightest scent of alcohol. "Okay then, well…..if you aren't…..under the influence….." she looked up to see the deputy watching her from the safety of the other side of the closed and locked iron cell door. "Bar fight, you say?"

"Yes, ma'am." he kept a hand on his holstered gun. "Reckon you know him, then?"

"Was he injured?"

"Naw. Too much to drink. Hopin' he'll've slept it off."

"Has he been like this since you brought him in?"

"No ma'am. He got real quiet like then went to sleep."

"And it didn't occur to you, it might be something more than an alcohol induced rage?"

"Seem too many of them not to know one when I see one."

"Sure." Jody muttered. "Right. How about you go start the paperwork for the transfer?"

"I'll send one of the men back to keep an eye on him in case he wakes up."

"You do that. And unlock this door before you leave." Jody waited until he was out of sight then checked Dean for any noticeable injuries. She called him repeatedly, smacked his cheek several times and shook him until the bed rattled before she got any kind of reaction.

Upon opening his eyes, responding to the lure of hearing his name called repeatedly, all Dean could discern was, he was sprawled on a lumpy mattress. He blinked, squinting against the light that drove spikes through his aching head. Before he screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to block the light that caused him nauseating pain, he recognized the uniform, if not the person, standing above him. No, wait; he opened his eyes a second time. Two persons, there were two persons – people, whatever, bobbing and weaving like balloons. God damn he wished they'd stand still.

"Officer." he licked his lips. Great, he was under arrest – again. He put his wrists together and held them out for the handcuffs. "Wha'd'I'oo?" his hands dropped to his chest when they weren't taken. "M'I under 'rest?"

"You're already in jail." she said, exasperated. "You with me here?"

"Yum-hum, I'm here." but he didn't move. "Oofff." he winced, raising a hand to his forehead. "Mmmm. Ow...that...hurts."

Jody frowned, mind racing, suspecting drugs, spell, hex, incantation, god only knew with this one or...she eyed his forehead...maybe just an injury. But having found no other visible injury, she had to be content with the vague response she did manage to get from him.

"Dean….hey, do you know who I am?"

"You…? You're…" he paused, eyes opening once again. "Officer…..ers."

"Officers? It's just me Dean." she said perplexed but the truth was dawning. "Shit."

"Two….two of you." he swallowed a groan. "Two...to take me...out?"

"You see two of me?" she tried to regain his attention but gave up in frustration within mere seconds. When she tried to get him to sit up, his movements were awkward and jerky. He failed to respond to her, her questions or acknowledge he knew her. When she snapped her fingers, he winced and ducked away. She took hold of his chin and held his head steady.

"You know, big guy, I'm no expert on head injuries, but I'm going to say, you had your wits addled." she released her hold. "How do you feel?"

"Ow...that hurts." silence, then. "Sleepy."

She stood and let herself out of the cell. "DEPUTY HOLT!" she bellowed.

She signed the necessary papers to legally transport her 'prisoner', allowed two of the deputy's officers to get Dean on his feet, cuff his hands behind his back and walk him out to her cruiser where they roughly dumped him in the backseat and abandoned her. Eager to be on her way, she didn't comment. She drove out of sight and pulled over to release Dean from both his cuffs and the backseat.

"Dean? Talk to me? You're scaring me here kiddo. Dean?" she waited. "Come on, sit upfront with me."

"Tired." he mumbled, letting his head rest against the window and making no move to remove himself from the backseat. "Stay here and….and take a nap."

"Yeah, sure. You do that." she gave his arm an pat and returned to the driver's seat. "You nap until I get you to the nearest ER."

She settled for the nearest urgent care clinic. He roused to get out of the car and follow her inside but was unable or unwilling to answer any questions upon check-in and it wasn't long before the doctor, alerted by his staff to the uniformed officer in check-in, was attending him without the usual wait.

"Dean? I'm going to wait out here, okay?" Jody backed around the curtain. "You…you be good. Dean? Okay? You understand me?"

"Does he require…..?" the doctor paused, waiting to see if she understood. Was he a prisoner? Was he in custody? Perhaps they should remand him to the hospital for the duration of his custody.

"He's not in custody." Jody assured the man. "He's my fellow officer." she read his frown correctly as he surveyed Dean's scruffy appearance. "Undercover." she added quickly. "Narcotics."

"Aah." the doctor nodded, finally satisfied. "Thank you, Sheriff."

The doctor wasn't long. He met her in the waiting room and promptly urged her to take him to the nearest hospital for either a CT scan or an MRI, perhaps both. You know, to rule out bleeding, swelling, blood clots and/or brain injury.

Say what?

His initial diagnosis based on the patient's inability to answer questions such as; was consciousness lost, and yes, it made a difference whether it was seconds or minutes, was nausea or vomiting experienced, how long ago had the head injury been experienced, combined with; confusion, loss of memory, slurred speech, complete lack of equilibrium, unequal pupils and sensitivity to light, sound and smell; was a grade 4 concussion.

Grade 4? Weren't there only three grades of concussions? What the hell was a grade 4?

There was a lump behind the patient's right ear and another over his left temple. The level of bruising and lack of swelling by the ear suggested the injury to be several days old while the goose-egg on the temple had been acquired within the last four to six hours. Two head injuries in less than a week mandated an immediate trip to the ER. You know, intracranial hemorrhaging and all.

He required further testing, unavailable at their limited facility, and overnight observation. Putting him in a car and driving him home was out of the question. Under no circumstances was he to be transported via a plane, flying was out of the question, doctor's opinion, of course. Dehydration was too great a risk and to do so risked permanent brain damage. (What the….? Yeah, way to go there doc, scare the crap out of the Sheriff!) They could transport him by ambulance if the Sheriff wished it.

"No, no…..no." Jody shook her head. "He's awake, yes? I'll drive him."

The hospital knew they were coming. The clinic had called ahead and once again, Jody took a seat in the waiting room, with an outdated magazine to wait. A nurse eventually approached to inform her they were taking her partner for a CT scan and if she wished for a bite to eat or a cup of coffee better than what the machine dispensed, the hospital cafeteria was open and she roughly had a two hour wait for further information.

CT scan? Huh. Well, it was why they'd come to the hospital.

So, down to the cafeteria she went. It'd been a long day, and a sandwich and soda sounded better than sitting in the uncomfortable chair flipping through a magazine she wasn't currently capable of reading.

***000***

Whew, good news. No skull fracture, no bleeding or swelling on the brain – no traumatic brain injury. Oh crap, there was bad news too. They insisted on keeping him for observation, wishing to monitor him for signs he required a MRA, he insisted on leaving. Yes, MRA, no, not MRI, they were vastly different. Why? – To monitor him for blood clots of course.

Dean won that battle.

Riding in a car five-plus hours to home was neither advised nor allowed though Jody didn't understand how the doctor would stop him. A cool, dark, quiet room with limited activity, restricted access to lights, sound, smells, movement and mobility was mandatory for a week.

A week?! Mandatory? Was this doctor insane? He certainly didn't know Dean Winchester if he thought for one minute the hunter would be content to remain in bed for a week! She couldn't babysit him for a week! Wait, what? What was the quack saying? Watch him for what? Bring him back why?

"Dramatic worsening of symptoms, such as: Severe headache, slurred speech or poor enunciation of words, impaired writing, impaired ability to read or understand writing, inability to name objects, failure to recognize who he is, where he is or who he's with, change in vision, inattention to his surroundings or poor orientation to time, loss of coordination and ability to perform complex movements, drooping eyelid or sinking of one eye into the socket, poor gag reflex, swallowing difficulty, or frequent choking, drowsiness or difficulty awakening, seizure…" the disapproving tone droned on and on and on, as though reading from a text book, then paused.

Jody gulped.

"Officer? Are you giving me your full attention?"

"But…I…..he….we….." Jody took a deep breath. "I'm from Sioux Falls, doctor."

"I see." he was silent. "Well, I suggest you talk him into staying."

She tried. She failed. When she threatened to go and leave him there, he simply gave her a lazy smile. She knew what that meant. Soon as she was gone, he'd find his own way out and god only knew where he'd end up then. No, better she knew where he was.

"Where's Sam?" she asked. "Dean?"

Dean didn't answer.

Now that she thought about it, where was Sam? She hadn't seen their car at the police station. She hadn't thought to ask about it either, so either Sam had it or it was at the bar where Dean had been arrested. "Let me make a few calls." she told the doctor, who nodded his approval so she stepped out to place her first call to Deputy Holt.

The deputy told her the name of the bar where he'd arrested Dean. The person who answered the phone at the bar informed her no black muscle car was in their lot or anywhere on their property. Sam's cell went to voice mail so she left a message. A return call to the deputy revealed no weapons or bags of any sort had been found with Dean. That told her his car couldn't be far away. She returned to Dean, and after much cajoling and even a few threats, she gained enough information to believe the car was at a motel he'd been staying at. Another phone call to the bar and she got the name of a motel within walking distance. A call placed to that fine establishment – ha! – confirmed that Dean Singer was a guest and yes, a black muscle car was parked in front of his room. Great, she'd take him to his motel, hang for a bit until Sam arrived, wish the brothers well and hightail it home, she had work to do.

Okay then, Jody, you have a plan. She liked having plans. Everything always went her way when she had a plan. She thanked the doctor who frowned at her disapprovingly while Dean signed himself out, somewhat mollified when he learned that Dean would be recuperating in a motel room in town. After advising her to make sure Dean returned in four to five days for reevaluation, he bade them good night.

***000***

Her plan did not go as planned. In fact it went quite awry. Sam had yet to answer his phone, return any of her texts or voicemails or emails. Dean, while not quite combative, was not cooperative either. He weaved and wobbled and would have fallen down had she not wrenched her back supporting his weight. He whined and whimpered over noise and light, still didn't know her, insisted there were two of her and could only comprehend she wore a police uniform.

Once at the motel, she finally got him to understand she was not arresting him, he was not going to jail, she meant him no harm and he was safe with her. Well, at least she thought she'd gotten through to him. He showed no signs of recognizing his own motel room yet made a staggering beeline for the bed. Hands on her hips, she watched him ignore her. Apparently he recognized the alluring call of a comfy bed. He stood long enough to shed his jacket, his shirts save a black tee, his boots, which hadn't been tied at the ER, and his jeans before crawling into bed, pale and sweaty from the exertion of doing everything on his own.

That had been that and here she was. She tried to call Sam from Dean's phone, but the screen was locked and he couldn't tell her the code to unlock it. She put down Dean's phone and reached for her own, thumbing a number. The doctor had told her it would be ok to let him sleep, just to check on him every hour or so for any signs of worsening symptoms but under no circumstances was he to be left alone. Every hour hadn't been part of her plan. Her plan hadn't involved her staying with him, it had involved leaving him with Sam, sure that the younger Winchester was somewhere close by. She had to get back to her office, couldn't reach Sam, couldn't leave Dean alone and couldn't take him back with her. Sooooo...oooh good, her call was answered.

Two hours later, Dean had yet to show alarming signs of being worse, but he wasn't in a state where she felt comfortable leaving him alone for any length of time either. The one time he'd gotten up, heading for the bathroom, had been interrupted by a fall to his knees, head held in his hands, a rebelling stomach and blind groping for some kind of support. Not that he accepted any help from her. Oh, hell no.

Her periodic checks on Dean proved uneventful. He slept, rousing when she woke him, even if he wasn't coherent and made little sense. He didn't complain of a headache, both eyes reacted positively to light though he winced and ducked away, forehead wrinkling against the pain the little flashlight caused. One time, he was actually able to provide her with the password to unlock his cell.

Sam didn't answer a call from Dean either. She didn't bother to leave a message. She scrolled through his contacts but other than her own initials, she recognized no one. When he woke and drank some ginger ale, she asked for a valid number to reach Sam. He looked at her as though he didn't know her, didn't provide an answer and went back to sleep.

It was going on ten o'clock when a knock sound ever-so-softly on the door. Jody opened the door, finger to her lips to enforce the need to be quiet.

"Hi Mom." Jody greeted her mother-in-law.

*** now ***

Oh! How had she gotten herself into this situation? How on earth had her day progressed from puttering around the house, happily picking out new slippers from her just-received-mail-order catalog to…to…to…..babysitting a grown, dangerous criminal who scared the crap out of her. And until now, she had never previously been alone with him.

Oh! The things she did for her beloved daughter-in-law.

Her tea was cold, her hoagie soggy and she wanted to cry. The weather had taken an ugly turn. Great, wouldn't you know? One would expect snow during a winter storm, but no…oh no. No, they were having a thunderstorm and while the loud cracks of thunder didn't upset or disturb her….aah, patient...but, despite the drawn curtains, the flashes of lightning sure as hell did.

She was tired, it was after ten o'clock and she was ready to seek her bed. She looked around the room, right, what bed? The room had one bed and it was occupied. There was a sofa but…..she nodded, she would call for more bed sheets and make up the sofa for she couldn't very well get her own room. She wouldn't feel safe in a room by herself.

She pushed her mostly uneaten meal away, chin cupped morosely in her palm. Addled as he was, she knew without a doubt, he'd rise from that bed and defend her very life with his own. She sighed and picked the phone receiver up then realized it was unplugged from the wall. Oh well, no matter, she'd just walk to the office. She wanted to call Jody and give her daughter-in-law a piece of her mind! Again!

She donned her earlier discarded sweater, retrieved her cell phone, tip-toed to the bed to make sure green eyes didn't stare back at her then let herself out of the room.

"Hey Mom." Jody greeted cheerfully. "How's it going?"

"When you said baby-sit, I naively assumed you meant a young child whose parent was spending the weekend in a jail cell….not….not….well….not…just not this!"

"Now, hold on. Where's this coming from? I never said baby-sit."

"You said 'can you come watch him, sit with him for a day or two'. To any normal person, that translates to baby-sit!"

"Oh, come now. He hasn't been any trouble, has he?"

"He's knocked senseless! How could he be any trouble?"

"Well." Jody hedged, debating whether or not to share the possible complications the doctor had warned her about. She became aware Maggie was still rattling on. "Wait, did you just say…boo-boo?"

"Yes, Jody." Maggie whispered furiously. "Boo-boos. Do you not know what a boo-boo is? It's made all better with a kiss and an hour or two of coddling on the sofa with a blanket and a Band-Aid. Bleeding brains and swollen skulls are not BOO-BOOS!"

"Mom...just calm down..."

"Calm down? Calm down! I will not calm down Jody! Why do you insist on doing this to me?!"

"Now mom, really….you act like you've never taken care of anyone with a head injury…."

"That's because I haven't!" she sing-songed.

"Of course you have." Jody pointed out. "Remember when Sam…..?"

"Sam?" Maggie cut in. "Don't you dare refer to that bump on his noggin as a head injury! And it was three bumps, and a migraine, right? Wasn't that what you told me? He suffered from migraines? Three whacks to that poor boys head and yet you and Dean insisted he didn't have a concussion. Not that it matters, his head injury was nothing, I repeat nothing compared to this one!"

"There, now you see?" Jody said soothingly. "Nothing to worry about."

Maggie snorted. "I'm old, but my mind still works. I know when someone's wits are scattered." she paused. "What do you mean nothing to worry about? My good heavens Jody, he can't get out of bed!"

"That's right." Jody agreed. "Because he's not supposed to. The doctor said as long as he remains quiet and inactive in a dark, quiet room for several days, he'll be fine. It's a grade four concuss…."

"Bah, levels and grades of concussions?! I mean, seriously Jody...what the...the...the...what on earth?! Noise doesn't disturb him greatly, but light? Well….."

"There's no brain injury and blood clots don't seem likely….."

"Blood clots?" Maggie repeated weakly. "Blood. Clots. As in…..in blood clots on the brain? Brain blood clots? You don't mean…ooohhh, I'm going to faint!" she tried to reach the wooden bench by the sidewalk but the wall was right there and hey, it offered support. She'd just lean her shoulder against it, catch her breath, wait for her heart to return to its normal rhythm and all would be well. Right? Right?

A brown paper bag, she needed a brown paper bag, where had she seen a brown paper bag? Would a white, brown paper bag do? She frowned. What on earth was the matter with her? What was she thinking? A white, brown paper bag? What the hell did that mean? Did brown define the item or the color? Oh, she couldn't think, she couldn't breathe, her chest was tight, her lungs gasped to draw in air. She'd raised five, FIVE sons and not one, had ever made her feel like this. EVER! Oh, the irony, her life snuffed out in some flea-bitten motel room frequented by prostitutes in a skeevy little town called...she gasped...she didn't even know where she was! Would that be reported upon her death? Would it be part of her obituary? What would her neighbors think? How would she ever show her face again?

"Mom? Mom? Maggie! MARGARET!"

"I need to lie down. With a wash cloth soaked in lavender water for my forehead." Maggie said faintly. "I don't feel very well."

"Say what?" Jody cracked. "Really Maggie, now is not the time to be squeamish. Man up." she teased affectionately. "It's just for one night. Sam will be there tomorrow." I hope, she added silently.

"Lavender oil." Maggie said somewhat firmly. "It helps relieve tension, settle nerves and reduce stress."

"Yeah….aah….well…..it's not, you know…..strong is it? Its aroma, I mean? See….."

"Jody, I love you as my own child and there is nothing I wouldn't do for you. I dropped everything to race to you upon ending a phone call with you to babysit a grown man - who, let's not forget, is a criminal - who belongs in a hospital with whatever the hell grade or level or degree of concussion he has." Maggie had made a remarkable recovery! Woo-wee, look at that, anger and outrage made great companions! "And now you tell me you put the welfare and comfort of - again, a dangerous criminal who scares the crap out of me above that of the little ole lady who believed she was coming to console and comfort a child?"

"Uh."

"Despite misunderstanding what you meant, I will remain here with him, but I warn you Jody, I have 911 on speed-dial." Maggie sniffed. "Now good-night, I wish to take a hot bath with my lavender oils in what will undoubtedly prove to be a dubiously clean bath tub. I strongly doubt a mere cloth will be effective any longer and you and your concern about its aroma affecting Sir….sir…..him can go to the devil!"

911 needed speed-dial? Jody chuckled as she hung up her desk phone. Aah, you had to love dear ole Maggie!