Zeros and Ones

by SNSIE

Sam and Dean arrive in Omaha, unaware that their route there has been planned by an old friend who needs their help. But this time, there's more at stake than saving lives - this time, national security is at risk...

"Zeros and Ones"
by Kes Cross

Nebraska University Campus, Omaha, Dorm 110

Zoe sat staring at the blank computer screen. Her essay was due in three days and she still had nothing. Not one word. It wasn't that she didn't understand the topic, it was just such a ridiculous thing to write about. Seriously. Demonic belief? C'mon! Zoe leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes, trying to focus. "This is dumb!" She pushed the chair back from her desk and stood up, glaring at the mountain of opened books illuminated by the desk-light and the flickering screen of the laptop. She put her hands on her hips and glowered at the computer. "I mean, seriously. Who believes in that crap these days, anyhow?" She threw her arms up, puffing her cheeks angrily. "God damn it!" Zoe flounced across the room and pulled open her refrigerator, staring deep into the chilly, brightly-lit depths. She reached in and pulled out a carton of milk, nudging the fridge door shut with her butt. She pulled the cookie jar down from its hiding place behind two large psychology tomes and popped the lid. Reaching inside, Zoe's fingers closed around a chocolate chip cookie. She knew she shouldn't start on the cookies – a minute on the lips, a year on the hips – but she resolved to spend an extra half hour in the campus gym in the morning to burn the excess calories off. The dance was only a week away, and Bobby Adams had made it very clear that he was expecting a slim Zoe Hunt, not some fat-butt cookie monster chick to be his date. And Bobby was hot. Seriously, as in, day-amn! Zoe leaned back against the refrigerator, absent-mindedly twirling the cookie around in her hand, her mind picturing Bobby Adams in his Speedos. Captain of the Swim Team. A body like Adonis. Zoe smiled brightly. "Hey! Some of this mythology crap is making sense! I know a Greek god! Yay me!" She giggled coyly, imagining him knocking at her dorm door and her answering it, looking fabulous in that pale blue shift dress she knew he liked. Oh, and, no underwear. Wait. Sexy underwear. So much better. She would enjoy letting him take it off her with his teeth later…

The sound of a slamming door and laughter in the hallway snapped Zoe out of her daydream and back to cold, hard reality. Assignment. Crap. No knock on the door from Mr Greek god. No passionate groping in his Honda Civic. Just her, a cookie, a carton of milk and a blank computer screen. That damn assignment. She bit angrily into the cookie, relishing the chocolate taste that flooded into her mouth. She took a swig of milk from the carton and strolled back to her desk. Zoe glanced at the clock. Ten o'clock. God, she'd sat staring at that wretched computer for over an hour now. Determination filled her head. Right. Back to it. She put the milk carton down on the desk next to the keyboard and sat down, taking another bite of the cookie. Crumbs spilled down her white sleeveless tee-shirt and onto the pale blue jogging bottoms she wore. "Oh, MAN!" She brushed angrily at the crumbs, sending them spraying all over the floor. "Wonderful. That's just wonderful!" She pushed the chair back again and stood up. She couldn't possibly concentrate on her essay with this mess all over the floor… Zoe turned her back on the computer and went to her kitchen area, throwing cupboards open in search of her dustpan and brush. She may have been an airhead on a free ride thanks to a sports scholarship, but she was nothing if not neat, and Zoe couldn't stand mess…

A brilliant blue tendril crawled across the keyboard of the laptop, probing and slithering across the keys, making the screen flicker. It wound its fingers around the sides of the screen, lazily crawling up and around the edges. Again, the screen blinked, a single number one on the white face of the computer, like a tiny scar. The blue tendrils multiplied, zig-zagging across the keys, burrowing deep into the body of the computer like worms. As Zoe turned back to her laptop, dustpan and brush in hand, the last blue spider-like finger burrowed into the keys and disappeared. Zoe had seen nothing. She busied herself with cleaning up the crumbs, tipping the offending specks into the bin and putting the dustpan and brush back in its cupboard. Giving her top a last quick swipe with an open hand to remove any minuscule specs of cookie, she sat down again. She didn't see a single blue tendril crawling slowly across the back of the laptop…

Her fingers hovered millimetres above the keys. "Right. Here we go. Why some dumb-ass people believe in demons when it's so not real." She sighed, her hands dropping into her lap. Her face screwed up petulantly. "Oh, man! Can't I just say it's stupid? Like, really stupid and dumb? Wouldn't that be enough?" She sighed once more and her fingers took up their positions hovering above the keys again. She raised her eyes to the ceiling. "C'mon, God! Give me something here!" Her eyes dropped back to the screen and she noticed the number one that shattered the otherwise perfect-white page. "What the…" She peered closer at the screen, her finger moving slowly towards the delete button. She didn't look at the key. So she didn't see the brilliant blue tendril that crawled around the edges of the button… The one stood out. It shouldn't have been there. She knew she hadn't typed it; she knew she hadn't typed anything. As the skin on her index finger almost brushed the key, her phone rang, making her jump back from the computer with a yelp. She gasped twice and shot the phone a look. The blue illuminated face of the Nokia lit up, a name clearly readable on it. Amanda. She giggled and picked the phone up, swinging around in her chair, her back to the laptop. "Hey Mandy!"

"Hey Zoe! Whatchya doin'?"

"Oh, this stupid assignment. You know the one for psyche?"

"What, the demon thing? My god, girl, have you not written that yet? You know it's due in like, two days?"

Zoe stood up and walked to the window of her room, pulling the curtain to one side and staring out into the dark campus square. "Well, dur, Mand, I know! But it's such a dumb-ass assignment, ya know? I mean, seriously, who believes in that kinda thing these days?"

"It's worth ten credits, hun. You gotta do it."

"That sucks!"

"Sucks, yeah. Talking of that, you seeing Bobby tonight?"

"Mandy! You're too rude!" Zoe giggled coyly. "And you know full well I'm not that kinda girl!"

"So you are seeing him tonight, then?"

"Shut UP! And no, I'm not." She turned back towards her laptop, frowning. "Dumb-ass assignment, remember?"

"Yeah, I know, but Bobby is SO buff! I mean, REALLY!"

"Yeah…" Zoe frowned, her pert little nose screwing up as her eyebrows pulled closer together. Her blue eyes stared hard at the screen. Something was wrong with her computer. "Listen Mandy? I gotta go. My computers gone all screwy on me. It's like, typing all by itself, ya know?"

"You're kidding me! Like it's possessed or something? How cool is that, what with you doing that assignment on demons and all!"

"Mandy, that's so not funny, OK? Seriously, it's gone totally schizophrenic on me. It's just typing zeros and ones like mad!"

"Just hit control, alt, delete. Reboot it and it should be fine. Probably just a glitch in the programme, hun. You know what Windows is like."

"And that's why I love having a computer science major as a friend, babes! Talk to you later, OK? Bye." Zoe pressed the end-call button and placed the phone on the desk next to the laptop. Her eyes never left the screen as she sat down. "What the hell?" The screen was covered with zeros and ones. The cursor flashed across the screen, leaving a trail of characters in its wake. Zoe glowered at the screen. "Oh, go all hooey on me, would you, you piece of shit? Well, fix this!" She peered at the keys. "Control," her finger hovered over the button. "Alt, " she stretched her hand towards the last button and pressed down.

The blue tendrils shot up, curling around her fingertips and scuttling up the backs of her hands. Zoe screamed as she felt the white-hot pain seer into her skin. Her eyes widened in fright and confusion as she desperately tried to pull her hands away from the blue snakes that wound their way up her arms. Like demented creeper-vines, the tendrils wound along her arms and around her throat, probing and stabbing at her skin. Zoe's body convulsed as the ganglions crawled across her body, making her dance like some sick puppet. Where the tendrils touched, the skin boiled and blistered and a sharp smell of burning flesh filled the room. She threw her head back and screamed, a terrified, howling scream that echoed around her room. The blue tendrils shot into her open mouth, cutting the scream off in her throat. Her eyes bulged, the tendrils crawling across the surface of her eyeball, blood running down her cheeks, boiling, spitting, blistering the skin that it corrupted. Suddenly, a beam of light shot out of her opened, screaming mouth, illuminating the entire room and bathing it in an intense blue hue. Her body went limp, and the tendrils retracted, crackling and zig-zagging back down her arms and hands, back into the depths of the laptop. Zoe's lifeless body slipped sideways and she dropped to the floor, her death mask one of utter fear and mindless agony.

On the desk, one lone blue tendril crept along the surface, probing and searching. It found the phone and crawled across the keypad. The phone chirruped and dialled the last number – Mandy's number…

"Hello? Hello? Zoe, is that you? C'mon, Zo, stop kidding ar…"

The tinny scream at the other end of the phone blasted through the earpiece, mimicking the terrible scream let out just seconds earlier by Zoe.

On the laptop, the lines of zeros and ones retracted, one character at a time until just one word was left on the screen, the cursor blinking incessantly beside it...

Delete…

xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…SNSIE…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx

SUPERNATURAL…

The freezing January wind sliced through the city of Omaha, Douglas County, Nebraska. The residents of the city, their faces swaddled in scarves and woollen hats, bustled along the streets, their shoulders hunched against the biting cold. Nobody paid attention to the black Impala that growled slowly along the main street. Dean reached forward and twisted the heater control up to full. "Seriously? You couldn't find a case in Florida or New Mexico in January? You had to find one here? It's snowing, dude! It's freakin' snowing!" He glowered at his brother. It had been a long trip from the oppressive heat of the deep south a couple of months previously, and Dean found himself almost wishing they were still back there, dealing with incompetent demons and redneck locals. Sam snapped back.

"Dude, it's snow. It's not fire and brimstone, OK?"

"Oh, yeah. You had to bring my deal up again, didn't you?"

"What? No! I…"

"Every opportunity you get. You just can't resist getting in another dig, can you, Sammy?" Dean swung the car into a parking space at the side of the road, hauling on the handbrake and slapping his hands against the steering wheel in anger. He turned sharply to his brother, his green eyes flashing angrily. "Well? C'mon then, Sammy, have at it. I mean, you haven't lectured me for at least, oh, I guess, what, an hour?"

"Dean…"

"But if you mention the whole 'King of the Demons' thing, I'm supposed to take that as a joke?" Dean was tired, cold, pissed off and in the mood for a fight. The trip from Nebraska had been a long one and, truth be told, he was still freaked. Sure, he'd let Sam make light of the revelation that his kid brother was some kind of demonic magnetic north, with all hellish compasses pointing towards him. But in the small hours, when Sammy was sleeping, Dean had lain awake, almost out of his mind with worry – his father's words still ringing in his ears. "If you can't save him, you have to kill him…"

"See that bar?" Dean stabbed a finger towards a bar. Motorcycles lined up outside the neon-stained front. Sam sighed, his shoulders slumping. "You see it?" Sam nodded. "You want me, I'll be in there, drinking beer, playing pool and hopefully hooking up with some hot chick who doesn't have a seven foot-silly boyfriend with a Hog, an attitude, a club patch on his back and a burning desire to preach me to freakin' death, OK? OK?" Dean threw the door of the Impala open and climbed out. He slammed the door shut and leaned in through the window. "And Sammy? You scratch the car and I'll kill you." Dean slapped his hand on the doorframe, glared at his brother and turned on his heels, stamping towards the bar.

Sam watched his brother walk into the bar, the door swinging closed on their umpteenth argument that week. Sam settled back into the passenger seat, pausing to reach across and wind the driver's window up and shut out the knife-like wind that howled along the main street. He pulled the file out and started to read, occasionally glancing across at the bar. Any second now, he expected to see at least one body come flying through a window, followed by his older brother, punch drunk and swinging. Dean's temper had been getting shorter lately. He knew his brother had a hair-trigger when it came to his anger, but Dean was spiralling out of control again. His glances towards the bar became more frequent and he found himself reading the same sentence over and over again, unable to focus or concentrate on anything else except that bar. "Oh, crap! Dean, you always do this to me!" He slapped the file shut and stuffed it back into the hold-all. The laptop, which had lain open on his knees, blinked at him, the Wi-Fi connection picking up a signal from the internet café that stood next to the parking spot. Sam tapped at the keyboard, shutting the connection down and snapped the lid closed, shutting off the blue-white light of the screen. He carefully put the laptop back into the hold-all and pushed the bag under the back seat – out of sight of over-eager car thieves. Zipping his jacket up against what he knew would be a savagely cold wind, he pulled the keys out of the ignition, opened the passenger door and stepped out into a freezing, dark night. He locked the doors and, checking quickly, darted across the road, dodging the cars as they hurried their drivers home to cosy, safe houses. As he opened the door, the warm, thick atmosphere of the bar caressed his wind-burnt cheeks, making his cold skin tingle.

Dean sat alone at the bar, nursing a beer bottle and staring at a stain on the bench. The blonde barmaid threw him an accusatory look and carried on polishing a glass. Sam pushed his hands deep into his pockets, bracing himself for another conflict with his brother. He walked up to the bar and swung his leg over the stool. He indicated to the barmaid, who put her cloth down and sauntered towards him. "Beer please." She nodded and turned away, pirouetting back a second later with a bottle in her hand. She slammed it down on the counter, glared again at Dean and sashayed back towards the other end of the bar. Sam took a pull from the bottle and studied the label intensely. "So."

"So."

"Dean…"

Dean slammed his beer on the counter and raised his eyes to the heavens. "Oh, man, give it a rest will you!"

"How about you let me finish a sentence before you go all defensive on my ass, Dean? Huh? Wanna give that a try?"

"Because your sentences usually end with, 'and you've only got blah blah days left before you go to hell, and the Hell Hounds are a-comin' and blah, blah…"

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

"You're right. I have been on your case and I'm sorry, Dean."

"Whoa. Didn't see that comin'…"

"Maybe you weren't looking, dude. Maybe you've had other things on your mind."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact that you're gonna die?"

"Oh man, I knew it was too good to be true…"

"No please, listen to me, Dean, OK? And… dude, just why is that barmaid so pissed at you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, she keeps throwing these really weird looks at you and… and she's coming over…"

The blonde barmaid walked back towards the brothers, a puzzled look on her face. She leaned in, her blue eyes fixed on Dean. "You Dean?"

"No, me Tarzan. You Jane?"

"Funny. You're a…funny man. Seriously. Are you Dean?"

"Who wants to know?"

"I have a message for you." She held out a piece of paper. Dean unfolded the paper, his turn now to look puzzled.

"What is it Dean? A girl's phone number?"

"No. Co-ordinates." He looked up at the barmaid. "Who gave you this?"

"Some weird guy with a kick-ass mullet. Said to tell you that Doctor Badass needs to talk. That's all. He said you'd know." The girl shrugged. "He bit Bowzer."

"Sorry?"

"Bowzer. Him. He bit him. Said he cheated at chess." The girl pointed at a huge Biker. The man had a fresh dressing on his left hand. Bowzer glared over at the brothers. It was like being stared down by a grizzly bear. The biker saw the brothers staring at him and slowly, like a glacier, advanced towards them. Dean and Sam watched in awe as continents moved out of the way of this man-mountain. In a surprisingly soft voice, Bowzer finally spoke.

"You know the bitey dude?"

"Um, yes?"

"Tell him that I was deeply hurt by his unprovoked and unnecessary attack on me. It has shifted my perception on the human condition to one of previously reserved admiration, to one of doubt and not inconsiderable personal inner conflict. And I had to get a shot. However, I do understand that at the time he may have been intimidated by my considerable bulk and somewhat overawing physique, so I forgive him. I won't, however, be so forgiving should this regrettable event occur again. And also please tell him that the knight to bishop four move was unprovoked and certainly not sporting. Please pass this on to Mr Badass. Thank you." Without another word, the huge man turned on his heels and walked back to his comrades.

Dean and Sam stared at the huge man, unable to speak for a moment. Finally, Dean, his eyes not leaving the huge biker, spoke. "OK. So I am officially weirded out now, dude."

Sam's eyes widened in amazement. "There's only one person I know who can cheat at chess, Dean." He looked at his brother. Together they said the name.

"Ash!"

xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…SNSIE…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx

Dean drove the car slowly along the dirt track, cutting the lights just before they lit up the old house. "Creepy. Just once, ya know? Nice house, picket fence? Is that too much to ask?"

"You sure this is the place?"

"Sam, I've spent my entire life wandering around the US, working purely on co-ordinates. Yes, this is the place."

"OK. I still think this is some kind of trap."

"Sammy, quit it, will you?" Dean killed the engine and opened the door. "This is Ash we're talking about. What's the worst he can do? Bite me?" Dean laughed. "I'm just glad he's alive, Sam, OK? Shall we?"

Sam climbed cautiously out of the car. "I'm just saying this could be a trap. The demons know who our allies are. They knew Ash was one of them…"

"IS one of them, Sammy. Is. Not past tense. Ash is alive. I knew that wasn't him in the Roadhouse, I just knew it!"

"Dean, think. There's no way you could've known that. It was Ash's watch. He died in the fire."

"Bull. Ever known my instinct to be wrong?"

"Dean, all I'm saying is that it wouldn't be hard for a demon to impersonate him and make us think…"

"And there you go with the over-analysing again, Samantha! Stop it already!" Dean strided towards the house. Sam noticed that, despite his bravado and his certainty that Ash was alive, Dean's right hand hovered over the back of his jeans. Just where Sam knew Dean's gun would be resting in the small of his back…

"HEY! DOCTOR BADASS! OPEN UP!"

There was a crash behind the filthy front door and a quiet curse. Dean leaned towards the door, listening. "Ash? You in there? It's Dean!"

The response was muffled by the thick oak door. "Oh, man, where'd I leave my pants?"

"Ash? You OK? Ash?"

The door creaked open a crack and a bloodshot eye peered blearily at Dean. "What's the password?"

"Excuse me?"

"What's the password?"

"Ash, you butt-head, it's me! Dean! Open the goddamn door will you? It's freezing out here!"

"Butt-head. Butt-head. Yeah, that…that'll do." The door was flung open and the brothers were confronted by a semi-naked Ash. Semi-naked from the waist down. Sam and Dean looked away quickly.

"Whoa, dude! Pants! Pants!"

"Huh?" Ash glanced down. "Oh, sorry. My bad. Guess I didn't have them on then, after all. Oh well, worth a shot." He grinned and stepped to one side. "Enter, brothers Winchester and excuse me while I suitably attire myself. Beer's in the fridge."

"OK." The brothers stepped into the ramshackle house, shielding the view of a semi-naked Ash from their eyes with their hands. A moment later, the man appeared, thankfully this time fully clothed. He threw his arms wide and grinned broadly at Dean.

"Dude!"

Dean laughed and embraced the man in a bearhug. Of all the hunters they had met, Sam had noticed that only two had made any kind of an impression on his brother. Alex Armstrong was one. Ash was the other. Dean and Ash broke the embrace and stepped back from each other, looking one another up and down. They both scowled and as one, said one word. "Fag!" The two men then promptly burst out laughing and did a quick air-guitar at each other.

"When you've quite finished, Bill and Ted…"

Dean grinned. "Most excellent, dude! But seriously Ash, I thought you were dead. How come you…"

All trace of humour left Ash's face. "Who else got out?"

"Ellen. She went out to get pretzels."

Ash sank into a chair, his face a mask of grief. "All of them, Dean? All of them?"

"I'm sorry, man. I thought you were one of them when I found your watch."

"I lost it in a poker game earlier that night. I'd run out of money. The watch was the last thing I had. It was a Rolex. OK, so maybe not a real Rolex, but he didn't know that. I was gonna pawn your car, but you weren't there, so…" Ash looked at Dean's confused face. "What?"

"You were gonna put my car up as a stake?"

"I didn't think you'd mind. Besides, it would've been funny watching the dude trying to get the keys off you without having to get major dental surgery afterwards." Ash gave a lop-sided grin.

"Yep. You're the real Ash." Dean laughed and took a swig of beer.

Ash ran his hand through his hair, flicking the long locks at the back coyishly. "The guy who won it off me was a hunter. A good one, too." He ran his hand through his hair again. His expression changed from his usual, slightly confused at the world but not caring one to a dark and sombre one. "Shit man! That sucks!" He stood up angrily, kicking the chair and sending it spinning across the room. "That SUCKS!"

Dean's expression softened. He knew the loss of the Roadhouse had hit Ash hard. "I know, dude. I know."

"At least Ellen is OK."

"She's with Bobby. He's looking after her for a while until she can get back on her feet." Sam sat down at the table and scratched his chin. Something was bothering him…

"Jo?"

"No. She wasn't there. Look Ash, it's great to see you again and all, but how did…"

"I know that you'd be in that bar?" Who do you think sent you the case?"

Sam stared at the man. "Why didn't you just call us, Ash?"

"People out there, they know stuff. Ya know?"

"Um, no?"

"The net. Cell-phones. They ain't safe."

"Oh, c'mon, Ash, don't start with the conspiracy theory stuff…"

"I'm serious, Sam. And it's not just people." Ash looked scared. Genuinely scared.

Dean held out a beer towards Ash, his eyes gentle. "Hey, Ash, c'mon. Why don't you sit down and take us through this slowly? You sent us the case, right? Six unexplained deaths in a matter of a couple of days here in Omaha? What makes you think they're our kinda thing, dude?"

Ash took the beer wordlessly and drained the bottle. He burped and tossed the empty bottle over his shoulder, ignoring the sound of breaking glass behind him. The man slumped down in a chair, his hands over his face. He ran them up over his head, his eyes closed. Sam noticed the dark circles under his eyes. He looked exhausted.

"Ash?"

"OK. So here's the thing." Ash leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table in front of him. "Ever since the Roadhouse went up, I've been lying low. Keepin' outta harms way. I knew things were getting real bad, but man, I didn't even begin to realise how bad until after that whole Devil's Gate thing. I guessed that a lot of people would be asking some awkward kinda questions, so I dropped off the radar. I knew most people thought I was dead, so I milked it. Easier that way. But I kept my ear to the ground, as it were." He laughed. "Man, you should hear what they've been saying 'bout you two, dude! You ain't gonna win no popularity contests any time soon, believe me!"

Dean shrugged. "We're not in this to make friends, Ash. Go on."

"OK. So. They all think you guys opened the gate and unleashed the great Unwashed Hordes onto us, so don't expect much help from anyone anytime soon." Ash looked thoughtful. "Except maybe a dude called Alex. Alex Armstrong. He's OK."

"We've met."

"Yeah? Cool! He's particularly good with a sword." Ash frowned in puzzlement. "Don't ask me why. Anyhoo, I kept tabs on you guys, ya know, just to make sure you were OK. Watching your backs as it were. You met Ruby, by the way?"

Dean scowled. "Oh yes. We've met Ruby."

Sam kept his thoughts to himself, but merely nodded in confirmation.

"Hot chick." Ash shrugged. "Anyway, she's not important right now. What is important is we have ourselves a cyber-demon. And he's getting real powerful, real quick."

"And a cyber-demon would be?" Dean looked puzzled.

"Of course!" Sam clicked his fingers. "The internet would be a perfect place for a demon to strike!"

"Someone wanna explain this in non-geek babble?"

Ash gently took Dean's beer and swigged it back. "Simple, dude. We got a demon in the internet. That's how he's moving around and that's how he's killing these people. Thing is, I can't work out exactly how he's doing it, or why. Or how we stop him." He drained the bottle and handed it back to Dean. Dean looked sadly at the empty bottle, shrugged and put it on the table. "That's why I didn't contact you by email or cell-phone. You guys ain't just unpopular with hunters, there's kinda a groundswell movement of demons that have a real personal issue with you both, especially you, Dean. If I'm right about this cyber-demon, he'd be monitoring your transmissions. If I tried to contact you through cyber-space, he'd be on to us in a flash. This way, we have the element of surprise." Ash winked conspiratorially.

"How the hell does a demon get itself into the internet? Seriously?"

Sam leaned forward. "It's not that far-fetched, Dean. Think about it. What are we?"

"Oh, man, dude, now is so not the time for deep philosophical questions, Sammy…"

"Dean, take your head out your ass and think will you? We're atoms. Everything that exists is made of atoms, right?"

"OK, so now it's physics?"

Sam scowled at his brother. "Wanna back me up here, Ash?"

Ash shrugged. "Would do if I knew where you were going with this, Sammo."

"Look, it's very simp…" Sam shot Ash a look. "Sammo?"

"What?"

Sam paused for a second before deciding to let the comment slide. "So. OK. Everything that exists has a molecular structure, right? Made of billions of atoms. Even demons. It's a basic rule of physics that energy cannot be destroyed, only manipulated. So, if a demon has found a way to manipulate its form into pure energy, it could use the internet as a hiding place and a conduit to move around from place to place." He sat back. "Dean, this is bad. Really bad. Firstly, whatever this demon is, it's gonna be very powerful to be able to transform itself like that."

"And it means we can't nail the son of a bitch's ass down to one place, right?"

"Exactly. It can get anywhere, any time. By now, it could be in China. Or Australia. Or anywhere. And the first we'd know about it is when it strikes again. Unless we're there at the time, there's no way of tracking it."

"Not strictly true."

Dean and Sam turned their attention to Ash. "Excuse me?"

"Not strictly true. Any power surge leaves a trace. And that amount of energy would most certainly cause a power surge, no matter how hard it tried to cover its tracks. All I have to do is find its signature, track its past movements and route and maybe, just maybe, I might be able to predict where it's gonna pop up again. Or where the bastard hides out when he's not frying people."

Dean frowned. "One thing I don't understand. Why is it focusing its attention on Omaha? What's so special about this place? Apart from freakishly huge, chess playing bikers, that is?"

Ash looked apologetic. "Ah. You met Bowzer, then?"

"Uh-huh. And he was quite upset about the whole biting thing, dude. You gotta stop biting people, Ash!"

"What? I mean, c'mon! The guy used the Romanov move and he'd lost his bishop, for Christ's sake!"

Sam stared incredulously at the two hunters. "Um, guys? Can we focus on the bigger picture here? Dean, I think you're right. Perhaps we should start checking out if these deaths have anything in common. Ash? Do you think you can come up with a way of tracking this thing?"

"Give me…thirty three hours."

"Okay then?" Sam raised his eyebrows at his brother. "Thirty three hours it is."

"No, make that thirty two. I know a shortcut." Ash smiled vacantly.

"Whatever, dude…"

"Perhaps you should stay here, Sammy? Help Ash? I mean, two geeks are better than one, right?" Dean grinned at his brother. "I'll go check out the thriving metropolis that is Omaha." He stood up and pushed the chair back. "OK, a couple of rules while I'm gone. No running off on your own, if you gotta go somewhere, you tell me." He pulled his cell-phone out of his pocket and waved it at them.

"No can do, Deano. Told you. There's a good chance that our sparky friend can track us through any form of electronic contact."

"OK, so what do we do? Send carrier pigeons?"

"No. We'll just have to set a time limit." Sam stood up. "I need to get stuff from the car. Back in a minute, Ash."

Dean nodded at Ash. "Stay off the beer, dude. We need you clear-headed. And NO BITING!"

"Copy that, compadre!" Ash saluted hap-hazzardly and grinned.

Dean followed Sam back to the Impala and popped the trunk. "OK, so what's this with time limits?"

"Simple. If you're not back in three hours, I come looking for you."

"Yeah. That'll work."

"When has it ever let us down before?" Sam pulled out a hold-all and slammed the trunk shut, ignoring Dean's wince as he pushed down hard on the metal. He slung the bag over his shoulder. "See what you can come up with, bro. Anything at all."

"Yeah, ya know? I got it."

"Just don't be tempted to use the cell-phone, OK? And if you use any computers, be careful. If Sparky can track us through our use of electronic equipment, we don't want to give him any heads-up."

"And again with the got it, Sam. What gives? Why're you so goddamn jumpy all of a sudden?"

Sam frowned. "Because any demon powerful enough to do this is way up there on the list of demons not to screw around with, Dean. We're not dealing with some half-wit like Furfur here, OK? This bastard is major league. And I don't want you getting yourself into trouble at this stage of the ga…"

Dean glared angrily at Sam. "And here we go again! Jesus! What the HELL is that supposed to mean, Sammy? Seriously? Another dig at me and my deal? Because, dude, it's starting to wear just a little thin on me, OK? I'm a BIG BOY! I can take care of myself, so stop it already!" Dean threw the door of the Impala open, climbed in and slammed it closed again, the creaking hinges groaning in protest. He turned the key in the ignition and the big car roared into life.

"I think you're over-compensating, Dean! I think you're protesting just a little too much, ya know? I think YOU'RE IN DENIAL! I THINK YOU'RE BEING A GODDAMN ASS-HOL…!" The rest of Sam's angry response to his brother's outburst was drowned out by the screaming tyres as Dean fishtailed down the drive, leaving his younger brother choking in a cloud of dust.

Sam stared at the disappearing car, his emotions twisting inside. Dean was not, as he would insist, fine. He was scared. Every waking moment, he was scared. And he wouldn't let his little brother help him. Why the HELL not?

"Whoa. You guys have a couple of unresolved issues to wash through, dude."

"Drop it, Ash."

"This got anything to do with Dean's deal? Ya know, the one for his soul?"

Sam spun around quickly, staring hard at Ash. "How the hell do you know about that?"

"Bobby told me."

"So if you've spoken to Bobby, how come you didn't know Ellen was staying with him?"

Ash stared at Sam. He said nothing. Sam slowly lowered the hold-all down onto the ground, his eyes never leaving Ash. His right hand snaked around slowly to his gun, nestled in the small of his back. His fingers brushed the bright chrome, closing around the handle, ready to come out firing if Ash gave the wrong answer...

xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…SNSIE…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx

Dean drove back towards the centre of Omaha. His brother's words were echoing around his head, buzzing through his consciousness like angry bees. Over-compensating. In denial. Protesting too much. Oh, yes, he had heard every word. Despite trying to drown out Sam's voice in a raging push on the gas peddle and making the Impala roar, it had still filtered through. Dean punched the steering wheel, scowling in anger. Damn it; that was the worst part. His brother was right. He knew his time was trickling away, and they were no closer to finding a way out. Did he want a way out? Did he want it all to end, to be over? Dean ran his hand over his face, breathing heavily. He shook his head, trying to displace the angry buzz in his head. He reached down, his fingers hunting for the volume knob on the radio. Music. That would block the wretched whining of Sammy's voice in his subconscious out. A bit of AC/DC. That would work…

His fingers brushed the plastic and he yelped, snatching his hand away. "Son of a BITCH!" Dean pulled the Impala to the side of the road and stopped, the big V8 grumbling on tick-over to itself. Dean scowled and glanced down at the radio. A single blue tendril crept across the surface of the tape deck, probing and stabbing at the plastic. It rose up from the surface of the tape deck and seemed to sniff the air, searching, arching, like a cobra. Dean sat motionless, staring at the brilliant blue tendril. His finger throbbed where the tendril had made contact; he glanced at his finger, noting the already-forming blister that bubbled on the surface of his skin. The tendril ran up slowly across the dash and wound its way around the steering wheel of the Impala, like a blue serpent. Dean subconsciously pushed himself further into the seat, trying to keep as much space between himself and this apparition. It crawled slowly along the body of the car, and down the side of the panel. Dean watched it, not daring to move. This was something that couldn't be shot at, couldn't be beaten. The tendril seemed alive, sentient and utterly malignant. It exuded a menace Dean had only come across once before – a menace that only a truly powerful demon could transpose. The blue, snake-like tendril crawled to the side of the road and, rearing up, seemed to examine a yellow junction box. Eventually, it seemed to come to a decision and, contrary to its previously slow, thoughtful movements, darted into the box, crackling between the metal plates.

It was gone.

Dean heaved a huge sigh of relief and leaned his head back onto the headrest. "Jesus H Christ, what the HELL was that?" He tentatively reached towards the ignition and, screwing his eyes closed in anticipation of a shock he felt sure was coming, grabbed the key and turned the engine off. Nothing. He let out another relieved sigh and glanced over towards the junction box. "Okay Sparky, what gives?" He opened the door and climbed out, moving cautiously towards the box.

Just a normal telephone junction box.

Dean sat on his haunches and stared hard at the yellow metal casing. The paint was flaking off in parts and the lock was an easy one to jimmy open. Dean pulled out a pen-knife and opened the blade, pushing it between the two plates of the door and the side. He levered sharply and the door popped open with a metallic click, swinging slowly on creaking hinges. Inside was a spaghetti of wires, switches and connectors. Dean studied the matrix, looking for any hint as to which wire the tendril had used as a conduit.

"Hey! Buddy! What the hell d'ya think you're doin'?" Dean spun around, standing up quickly. The man climbed out of the van and strided towards Dean, tool-box in one hand, a frown on his face. Dean turned on the charm. He glanced at the van. A public utilities contractor. The gods were smiling on him...

"Hi! I just stopped by the side of the road to check my maps and noticed this." Dean pointed to the opened junction box. "Door was wide open on it. What is it – electricity? Phone?"

"Phone box. Has all the connections for the lines going into the north side of Omaha. Not too wise to stand that close to it, sir." The man glanced over at the Impala. "Hey, is that a '66?"

"'67. You into classic cars?"

The man smiled broadly. "Hell, yeah! She's a beaut!" The man glanced at Dean, a questioning look in his eyes, silently asking Dean's permission before he ran a gentle hand over the curves of the car. "Got a '66 Mustang myself. Pa gave it to me on my 18th birthday. A total wrecker. Restored her myself." The man looked proud, pleased to find another classic car buff. "Original engine?"

"V8. Purrs like a kitten. I'm Dean." Dean held his hand out and beamed warmly at the man.

"Ben. Ben Jones." Ben shook Dean's hand firmly. "So, you lost, Dean?"

"What? Oh, no, no. I'm fine."

"Your first time in fair Omaha?" Ben grinned. "'Fraid you may be disappointed, son. Wrong time of the year. Now the spring here, it's beautiful! You on business?"

"Yep, kinda. I'm a reporter. Weekly World News."

"I thought that had gone bust?"

"The on-line side of things is still going. You used to read it?"

"Oh sure. I love all them weird-assed stories you guys used to make up! Demons and aliens and shit, loved it! So what crazy crap is supposed to be going down in my home town then, Dean?"

Dean leaned back on the hood of the Impala and crossed his arms, studying the man carefully. "A lot of unexplained deaths through electrocution. Some kind of charge coming up through cell-phones, computers, that kinda thing. Any thoughts? Seeing as you're in the business?" Dean nodded towards the box. "I'd like a professional opinion, Ben. To balance the article, ya know?"

"And you think it was aliens or demons or sommat?" Ben laughed. "Man, you guys are even more whacko than I thought!"

"OK Ben, so what's your take on it?"

Ben shrugged. "Faulty equipment, dodgy wiring, who knows?" He winked conspiratorially. "Perhaps them MIB's in Washington are conducting some kinda hi-tech experiment?" He walked towards Dean, standing directly in front of him. Dean's senses prickled…

"Now, you're gonna have to excuse me, Dean." Ben nodded towards the box. "Got myself a broken door to mend and a couple of connectors to fix." Dean smiled and stepped out of the way, his senses still on alert. Ben moved past him and crouched down beside the open junction, flipping the lid of the tool box open and pulling out a wrench.

"That's kinda a big wrench for a job like that, isn't it?"

Ben glanced over his shoulder at Dean. "Best you stick to being a reporter, son. This here is exactly the tool for the job I have in mind." He turned back to the matrix that was the junction box and studied it.

Dean smiled at the man's back. "OK, well, thanks for all your help, Ben. Hope you don't mind if I quote you?" Dean raised a hand and turned back to the Impala, still feeling his senses prickling.

Behind him, on almost silent feet, Ben trotted up, the wrench raised above his head, a snarl on his face…

At the last second Dean turned and grabbed the man's wrist, twisting it painfully sideways and throwing Ben off balance. The wrench dropped from his hand and clattered onto the stony ground. Dean punched the man hard on the jaw, snapping his head sideways and sending him sprawling into the dust. "Now that wasn't very frie… oh, heeelloo!" Dean brought the gun around in one smooth move, levelling the barrel at the man's head. "I recognise those black eyes! Looky here, seems I've got myself a demon cable-guy!" He let out a shout of mirthless laughter.

Ben scrabbled to his feet, his pitch-black eyes boring into Dean's green orbs, sheer malice on his face. "Dean Winchester? Ha! What? Am I supposed to be in awe of you, boy? Am I supposed to be afraid?" The demon sneered. "Whatya gonna do, Dean? Shoot me? In case you hadn't noticed, that ain't a Colt you're holding there, son."

Dean snarled his response. "Oh, it's exactly the tool for the job I have in mind, asshole!" Dean moved the barrel of the gun a fraction to the right and fired. The bullet smashed into the junction box, sending sparks spitting out as live wires were blasted from their connectors. The barrel of the A1 swung back, aiming straight at the demon's chest. "From this distance, the impact should have the desired effect…" Dean smiled darkly and squeezed the trigger slowly…

"Effect? What effec…" The double tap took the demon hard in the chest and shoulder, sending him reeling backwards. The demon frantically flailed his arms, trying to regain his balance, but he toppled back into the junction box. The live wires, shot loose by Dean's first shot, connected with the demon's body and thousands of volts arched through him. The demon screamed in agony, his body convulsing wildly as wave after wave of electricity crashed through him, making him dance like some possessed marionette doll. He opened his mouth and screamed again, a rush of blackness pouring out of his mouth, twisting and writhing like a huge black snake. Tendrils of blue shot out of the junction box, wrapping themselves around the black entity, zig-zagging in and out like lightning in a cloud. With an ear-splitting scream, the entity writhed again and was sucked into the junction box, Ben's now lifeless body being pounded by the demonic force that tore through him.

Silence.

Dean pushed the A1 back into his belt and watched as Ben's body dropped to the ground, his death-mask one of horror and fear. Dean crouched, carefully avoiding touching either the body or the junction box. He didn't need to check. There would be no signs of life in Ben now. Dean glanced at the junction box, the electricity still shorting and fizzing across the exposed copper wires. A last blue tendril crawled into a blackened plastic sheath and was gone.

"Shit." He ran his hand through his cropped hair. Another pointless death. Another one he couldn't stop. Another one he had on his conscience. "SHIT!" Dean stood up angrily, raging at a world that didn't care. He kicked the junction box, slamming it hard against the frame, watching flecks of yellow paint flutter to the ground like rusty petals. "SHIT!!" He turned and stamped back to the Impala, flinging the driver's door open and slumping down into the seat. The big car rumbled back into life and spat dust from its tyres as Dean slued back onto the blacktop, heading for Omaha city. He was determined to try and find a way to stop this from taking any more lives…

xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…SNSIE…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx.

"Oh YEAH baby! Show me what you got!" Rodney Marsh stared at his flickering computer screen, his sweaty hand resting on the mouse, the middle finger fumbling over the scroll-wheel. He leaned in closer, a dirty leer spreading across his face as he watched the blonde girl go through her moves. Damn, this was WAY better than pay-per-view…

Rodney, a spotty, desperately thin 19 year old, had started his business as an Internet Service Provider at 15. Living, troglodyte-like in his parent's basement, he rarely saw the sun, or other people. Computers were his whole life. In cyber-space, he could be who he wanted to be. Not the weak, asthmatic, sickly child he had always been in reality – tormented by the other kids for his strange ways and awkwardness – but a god, an Adonis, a mighty cyber-warrior. He had never been good in the company of real people. But the virtual world? Ah, that was different.

The entire basement was full of servers, all quietly bleeping away, connecting his customers with their audiences all over the world. Despite his father's resignation initially, the money Rodney had earned as an ISP had paid off the mortgage, refurbished his mother's kitchen and paid for Rodney's little sister's college education. So his parents were more than happy to tolerate their son's sometimes strange behaviour. They never went into the basement. They never asked him questions, mainly because they both knew that they wouldn't even be able to start to understand the answers that Rodney would inevitably provide.

Right now, they were upstairs, enjoying the new fifty inch plasma screen television that Rodney's strange little business had provided them. It even had internet connection, so his dad could look at giant size porn while his mom was out. That had pleased his father no end… They were both happy and comfortable in the knowledge that their son, their boy, was providing them with a lifestyle they could have only dreamed of before. In the basement, Rodney was enjoying his own kind of show. It involved a rather well-endowed young lady by the name of Dakota and her friend, Hannah. Rodney ran a nervous tongue over his dry lips, his eyes never leaving the hot, girl on girl action on the screen. Man, were these two ever enjoying…

The computer pinged merrily and a pop-up appeared in the middle of the screen, the image of an envelope fluttering across it. "Oh nonoNO! Not now, man! C'mon!" Without looking, Rodney moved the mouse a fraction of a millimetre and double clicked on the icon in the corner of the pop-up. "Sorry for the interruption ladies, I'll be right back!" He moved the mouse again and the two groaning, writhing women disappeared from his screen. His hand moved again and he double-clicked the mouse, opening up his mail. It wasn't a standard email, he had a Skype call. Rodney moved the cursor arrow up to the tool-bar and opened up Skype. Jesus, how had people coped before Skype? Seriously? Free calls and if you had webcams, the chance to literally talk face to face? What's not to like? Rodney reached up and adjusted the webcam that sat on top of his computer, put on what he honestly thought was his Johnny Depp face and clicked on 'connect'. For a moment, the screen was blank, with a snowy white haze hissing persistently on the screen. "Okay then, I'm waiting…" Rodney scowled and slapped the side of the screen with the flat of his hand. "Hello? Wanna try clicking the connect button, Skype-buddy? Hello? Hello?"

The temperature, normally bordering on the uncomfortably warm due to all the technology in the room, plummeted. Rodney shivered, starting to feel uncomfortable. The screen was still a hissing mass of white static and he raised his hand to slap the side of the screen again. Suddenly the static stopped and an image formed on the computer. The image was poor quality, but seemed to show a basement room. Rodney leaned closer, squinting to try and make out some of the details…

He let out a yelp of surprise and sat back hard into his chair. His own face, wearing exactly the same startled expression, stared back at him. He looked puzzled. His image mirrored his puzzlement. Slowly, he waved a hand in front of the camera. The image on the screen did the same. "OK, what gives? You damn crappy piece of garbage, you've looped back on yourself, ain't ya? Well okay then, let's give you a taste of the old control, alt, delete treatment, you son of a bitch computer! Sheesh, I am SO not buying my mainframe stuff off Ebay any more!" He moved his chair back towards the desk, his fingers reaching for the keyboard.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you, Rodney."

"What the…" Rodney snatched his hands back, staring at his own puzzled face on the screen. The voice seemed to have come from all around him. The words that echoed in his head appeared as typed text on the screen.

"I said, I wouldn't touch the keyboard. Not if you want to live."

"Oh, it's you. Why didn't you just say so?" Rodney relaxed and crossed his arms over his chest. He smiled to himself. His virtual self mirrored the smile. "So. What can I do for you?"

"There are hunters here. They wish to stop us."

"Not gonna happen."

"Do not underestimate your enemies, little mortal. These are different. They are marked."

"Look. There's been nothing to link me to your little, um, temper-tantrums this far, so why should I worry now? I know you're a pretty mean-assed son of a bitch, but c'mon, how much of a threat can a couple more hunters be?"

"FOOLISH!" The voice was guttural, dripping with venom and utterly menacing. The problem was, as much as a genius with computers as Rodney was, his limited imagination made him stupidly brazen towards something that would have terrified someone with a little more common sense. The voice decided a lesson was needed. "It seems you underestimate not only our enemies, but me also? Is this the case?"

Rodney smirked. "Well, seriously, dude, you're the one who's stuck in the ether, ain't ya?"

"And you think I cannot reach you from there, is that it? You think that, because you are not touching the void that is my home, you cannot be harmed? You honestly think that, little man?" The voice echoed a malevolent chuckle around the room. Rodney felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and he shifted uncomfortably.

"Hey, I never said…"

"Perhaps a little reminder of what I can do is in order, what do you think, hmm?" There was that chuckle again…

"Whoa, hang on there, dude, I…"

His sentence was cut short by a muffled scream filtering down through the ceiling of the basement. The screams – there were two of them now – carried on, growing in intensity, filled with terror and sheer horror. Rodney glanced up towards the ceiling. The voice chuckled again. "Ask yourself this, Rodney. Are those the screams of actors, playing a part on your lovely new television, or the screams of your parents as their souls are sent burning into hell? Why don't you go take a look, Rodney? Why don't you? Hmm? Why don't you go look at what I can do?"

The door of the basement slammed open by itself, making the banister of the wooden stairs shudder. Rodney jumped, gasping in surprise. The anticipation of what he would see once he had climbed those stairs was making his heart pound. It felt like it was about to punch its way out of his chest and land, quivering and bloody, on the keyboard. He stood up, pushing the chair backwards with his legs and sending it scuttling and squeaking across the room, pirouetting wildly. He shot a look at his own image on the computer. He looked terrified. Furious and terrified. How could two such opposing feelings share the same space? "What have you done, you…"

"Go take a look, little man!" Rodney felt himself physically pushed towards the foot of the stairs. His hand, slick with sweat, gripped the handrail and he looked up, swallowing nervously, his eyes wide. Tentatively, he placed his right foot on the first step, the wood groaning beneath his weight. He crept up the stairs, his eyes never leaving the open doorway at the top – a doorway that was lit with a bright, flickering blue light from the huge television screen in the lounge. His hands crossed one over the other as he pulled his self up, feeling as if he were moving through treacle – each step taking him closer to something that would be beyond his imagination…

He reached the top of the stairs and paused, wanting to delay the inevitable for as long as he could, steeling himself, preparing himself for what he now knew he was about to set eyes on…

He took one last shuddering breath and stepped out into the light…

His eyes widened and he pushed a fist into his mouth to stop himself from screaming. If he started, he knew he would never be able to stop… Rodney felt the bile rising in his throat. He tore his eyes away from the scene of carnage that was his parents twisted, blackened bodies and sprinted into the downstairs toilet. Retching violently, he puked into the toilet, his sobs cut short by another wave of nausea that sent his head bobbing down towards the toilet bowl again. He spat and his shaking hand reached for the flush. He stood upright, clinging onto the washbowl to stop his buckling knees from giving way entirely and sending him crashing onto the floor. Rodney stared at his reflection in the mirror. The tears streamed down his face. His parents lay dead, his father's hand still clutching the blackened, charred remote control of the plasma TV he had given them. He had signed his parents' death warrants. He had given that bastard the means to attack them. He felt his stomach twist into knots. The images kept flashing back into his mind. The vacant, mindless terror in his mother's dead eyes. The stench of cooked flesh, the skin peeling back to reveal the white cheekbone and eye socket of his father. And all that time, the mindless babble of The Jerry Springer show in the background, Jerry and his hick guests almost life-size on the huge screen…

"Bastard! BASTARD!" Rodney slammed his fist into the mirror, the shattered glass spiralling outwards towards the frame. He stared at his distorted reflection – dozens of Rodneys staring back at him, their eyes full of accusation, full of helpless anger against an enemy he could do nothing to stop…

Rodney sprinted back towards the basement, the fury filling him. He grabbed at the post, his hands spinning him around and stopping him from falling head-first down into the dim basement. He pounded down the wooden steps, each one bringing him closer to his enemy. He skidded to a stop in front of the computer screen and slammed both hands on the table. His own image stared back at him through the webcam. "You BASTARD! YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU KILLED THEM! YOU BASTARD!"

"Temper, temper, little man…"

"SCREW YOU!"

"No, little man, no. You will show me a little more respect than that." A blue tendril lashed out of the screen and Rodney screamed as he felt the whip-like sting on his cheek. His hand flew up to his face, feeling the skin sting and blister underneath his fingertips. His fury turned to fear as he realised he could not possibly control the entity that now controlled him…

"Now. We have work to do, Rodney. I trust I have your absolute attention?" The voice chuckled again, knowing it had won…

xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…SNSIE…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx

Sam stared at Ash. Neither of them moved a muscle. Sam's hand still rested on his gun – he was loath to point it at a man he considered one of the few friends they actually had – a man he thought was dead until an hour before. Finally, Ash spoke. "Ellen wasn't with Bobby when I spoke to him. Dude, something wrong?"

Sam shifted his grip, flexing his fingers around the handle of the gun. "When did you speak to him?"

"Two, maybe three weeks ago. Sam, where you going with this, man?"

Sam's grip relaxed. Ellen had only just moved in to Bobby's Dakota home, so Ash was telling the truth. But why hadn't Bobby mentioned he had heard from Ash? Why all the secrets?

"Sorry, Ash. Just a little jumpy I guess." He moved his hand slowly away from the gun, hoping that Ash hadn't noticed his movement. His senses were still on alert, despite the feasible explanation Ash had given him. "So you know about the deal?"

"Uh-huh."

"Any ideas how I can get Dean out of it?"

For a split second, Ash's face was serious and full of sadness. "Trust me, Sam, if I did, I'd tell you." Ash turned away and strolled back into the kitchen. Sam couldn't help analysing what he had just said. Would he? Would he tell him? Or were there more secrets lurking in the background – secrets that shouldn't be kept?

Ash reappeared with two more beers. He grinned lopsidedly at Sam. "So, guess we're gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way then, dude."

"Sorry?"

Ash picked up a dusty old book, the faded, blank burgundy leather binding disguising the powerful grimoire as just another old book. He waved the book at Sam. "The old fashioned way? Namely, not Google?"

Sam took the second beer bottle and flipped the top off. "Okay. So. Where do we start?"

Ash relaxed slightly and sat down, carefully avoiding putting the beer bottle anywhere near the pile of books that lay hap-hazzardly on the table. "Well, I've got half a dozen grimoires here, ranging from The Keys of Solomon parts one and two, through to Agrippa. We're dealing with a demon here, so my guess is we start with Solomon. Whichever demon we've got here, it has to be pretty powerful to be able to manipulate its basic atomic structure, which, by the way, is breaking practically every law of nature." Ash looked up from the book he was thumbing through and smiled. "But hey, we deal with the weird, wacky and way out, so no surprise there, I guess."

"No, I guess not." Sam picked a book at random, flipped it open and started running his finger down the index. "I think we're looking for a demon that can manipulate electricity, because that seems to be the most obvious link between all these deaths. But ya know? What I don't understand is why Omaha? I mean, I know I said it earlier, but I'm still in the dark here. What's so important about Omaha?"

"Got me." Ash shrugged. "All that's here is banking, finance, data-entry companies, ya know the kind that employ thousands of high school drop-outs to sit in front of computer screens all day and punch details about what kinda mayo people like. Oh, and the US Air Force Strategic Command at Offutt Base."

Sam stared wide eyed at Ash. "Ash? USSTRATCOM?" Ash stared back, a puzzled look on his face. "Ash, get there faster, will you!" Ashes eyes widened and his mouth formed an 'O' of surprise.

"Crap! CRAP! Man, I SO forgot about STRATCOM!" Ash frowned. "You seriously think a demon would go after national defen…yeah, actually, you're right. I guess he would. I mean, we're in the middle of a war here, makes sense. It wouldn't just be the freelancers the crispy critters would be going after, like you and Dean. It would be the military organisations too."

"You mean there are covert ops dealing with demonic forces?"

"You have met Alex Armstrong, haven't you?"

"Ash, he said he hunted in his own time. He's an NCIS agent."

"And you believed him?" Ash let out a shout of laughter. "Alex Armstrong is so goddamn deep undercover, even he doesn't know where he is half the time." A slightly confused look crept across Ash's face. "Actually, I don't know where I am half the time. Or, oddly enough, why I have this compunction to keep biting peop…"

"Ash? Hey, yo Ash? Wanna focus here?" Sam rolled his eyes and sighed as Ash shrugged an apology. "So an educated guess is that this demon, whomever the hell he is, is going to go after the military system. Why? And more importantly, how? And, how the hell do we warn them without a, looking terminally stupid and b, getting busted so hard we spend the rest of our lives in jail?"

"The why is easy, Sammo. Like I said, middle of a war here, dude. They're building up to something major-league, outta the park big and if you infiltrate our defence system, then us poor mortals are not going to be able to react by blasting a hell gate or some such into dust using big exploding things called missiles. The how is another matter." Ash frowned again and ran his hand through his hair. "Look. Think about it. If you were a demon, able to travel down internet connections, how would you get yourself into someone's computer system?"

Sam looked thoughtful. "Oh, I dunno, email?"

"Nope. You can't write your way in like some kinda freaky poison pen letter. No, my guess is via an ISP. Internet Service Provider. And a human one at that. One of those geeky, Dungeons and Dragons types who plays fantasy role-play games and thinks that they are masters of the universe. Ya know the type?" Ash grinned at Sam.

"I never played Dungeons and Dragons." Sam looked guilty. "OK, maybe a couple of times."

"You were a Dungeon Master, weren't you?" Ash's grin broadened.

"What? NO! I…I was…I was an Elf Lord." Ash burst out laughing. "Ash, it was a long time ago. And if you tell Dean, I'll kill you." Sam glared at Ash, challenging him wordlessly to pursue the matter. "So what we need is a list of ISP providers based in Omaha. But how the hell are we going to get that without using the internet and leaving ourselves open to attack? If what you say is true and this demon is trying to track us, we can't just log on and hope the firewall holds."

"We go all Alex Armstrong, dude. Undercover. Use an internet café, log on under a different name and hey presto! The cyber world is ours to access once again."

"Now why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you went to Stanford and I went to MIT."

"You got thrown out for biting, Ash."

"You left to hunt demons, Sammo."

"Ash?"

"Huh?"

"Please don't call me Sammo…"

xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…SNSIE…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx

Dean eased the Impala into a parking spot and switched off the engine. Omaha was a city in transit – huge new skyscrapers reached like fingers into the sky and everywhere there was the sense of progress and development. Very unlike their usual, backwoods stop-overs. This wasn't going to be easy. Dean knew he still had to stay under the radar as far as the cops were concerned – there was still the shadow of Missouri and Milwaukee hanging over him. But cities were anonymous – a man could easily get swallowed up in a city like this and nobody would be any the wiser. Nevertheless, it would pay to be cautious…

Dean flipped open the glovebox, ignoring the stinging blister on his finger from his earlier encounter with the cyberdemon and rifled through his fake ID's. His hand rested on one in a black leather holder and he pulled it out of the compartment. Flipping it open, he smiled. "Nice one, Alex!" Dean grinned. A real ID. Kindly provided by Alex. Alex had made it very clear that he was breaking nearly every federal law there was giving this to Dean, but if challenged, the call would come straight back to Alex for confirmation, so he was covered. At least Alex had the decency to change the name he had used before. But if anything, it was worse than Anthony DiNozzo. "Special Agent Mark Harmon. Dude, I am SO gonna kick your ass again when I see you!" Dean snapped the ID shut and opened the door, climbing effortlessly out of the driver's side. He slammed the groaning doors shut and locked the Impala. Glancing up, he looked at the modern-style building that held the county records. The January wind cut through him like a knife. That was the only thing about cities. The alleyways and streets made the wind keen and sharp as it whistled through narrow pathways. He flipped the collar of his brown leather jacket up, trying to protect his skin from the stinging lash of the wind and trotted across the street and into the warmth of the building.

The receptionist looked like she would be immune to any form of charm offensive, but Dean persevered regardless. He turned on his best smile and sauntered up to the desk. "Good afternoon, Ma'am. Special Agent Harmon, NCIS. I wonder if you could help me?"

The woman gave him a puzzled look. "National Crop Insurance Services? Waddya you want?"

"What?" For a split second Dean's face was a mask of confusion. He flipped out the ID and held it up. "No ma'am, Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

"Oh, right." The woman took off her glasses and peered at the ID. "Same question, sailor. Waddya ya want? I mean, we're used to the Air Force runnin' round town, but you're a long way from the sea here, son."

The woman's attitude was brisk, officious and seriously starting to grate on Dean's nerves. He decided to play up to it. The sunny smile dropped from his lips and a frown creased his brow. He stared intently at the woman, one eyebrow arched quizzically. "Do you have a problem with the US Navy, ma'am?"

"What? No, I never said…I never…I…what can I do for you, Special Agent?"

"You can point me in the direction of the Coroner's records. If it's not too much trouble."

"Up the stairs, third door on the left."

"Thank you. Oh, by the way. The Air Force?"

"Offutt Base? Strategic Command? Surely the Navy have heard of it?" The woman's eyebrow arched, a smug expression on her face.

"Stratcom?" Dean snapped his fingers. "Stratcom! Of course!" Realisation hit him. So that's why the demon was focusing on Omaha. He filed the information away and refocused on the job in hand. He still needed some details – some clue that would tell him how this demon was moving around and, more importantly, how he could stop the son of a bitch. He needed that coroner's report. Dean's eyes flickered back to the receptionist, confirming wordlessly that he was heading in the right direction. He pointed up the stairs. She nodded.

"Third door on the left."

"Thanks." Dean trotted up the stairs, ignoring the blue eyes of the receptionist boring into his back and walked along a brightly lit corridor. The third door had 'County Coroner's Records Office' etched onto the glass in black letters. A light shone from the other side. Dean knocked briskly and pushed open the door. Another receptionist. But this one? Wow! Dean's eyes widened. The woman must've been thirty stone if she was an ounce. A thin, red-stained mouth pursed tight shut was almost lost in the white powdered jowls of her face. Chubby fingers typed surprisingly quickly across a keyboard, her dark eyes focused on a form on the screen. "Help ya?" She looked up, a sour expression on her face. Dean paused, still stunned by the sheer size of the woman. The woman's expression changed as she took in the fit young man standing in front of her. "Well, helloo, handsome! And what can I do for you?" She smiled warmly, a kitten pink tongue flickering out over her ruby lips and moistening them suggestively.

"I…err, NCIS, ma'am." Dean pulled himself together and flipped open the badge. "We're investigating the death of Zoe Hunt and I wonder if I could take a look at the coroner's report please, for our, um, investigation? Um, if it's not too much trouble?"

The woman advanced towards him, her floral dress billowing out around her. She batted her eyelashes at Dean, flirting openly with him. "Why, of course, handsome! I'm sure we can accommodate you!" She moved around the desk, surprisingly light on her feet for a woman of that size. She turned to a filing cabinet and opened it, the fingers rifling through the files nimbly. "So tell me, cutie. Why's the National Crop Insurance Service interested in a poor little girl's death all the way out here in Omaha?" She glanced coyly back over her shoulder at Dean.

"NCIS, ma'am. Navy Criminal Investigative Service. Nothing to do with crops or insurance."

"What? Oh, sorry, my mistake." The woman smiled. "OK, sailor-boy, so why's the Navy interested?"

"Her father is a serving Marine. It's routine, ma'am."

"Oh, right. Ah, here we are!" The woman pulled out a file and slammed the drawer shut. "Poor little lass. What a horrible way to die." She turned and held the file out to Dean, her fingers brushing his as she handed him the buff coloured folder. "Can I get you anything else, sailor-boy?" Her voice was strangely deep and husky.

"No ma'am, that's fine, really. Thank you." Dean opened the file and started to read through the report. The girl had been electrocuted by her own computer. The pictures that accompanied the report were graphic and horrific. He glanced up. "Is there anywhere I can make a copy of this, ma'am?"

"Call me Suki."

"OK, is there anywhere I can make a copy of this, Suki?" He smiled. "That's a pretty name."

The woman giggled like a schoolgirl. "Why, thank you! It's my chosen name. It's so much better than Eric, don't you think?" She pointed towards the corner of the office. "Help yourself to the Xerox machine."

"Excuse me?"

"The copier? In the corner?"

"No, um, the Eric bit?"

"Oh that! It was my birth name. I changed it after the operation." The woman smiled coyly again. "You didn't click in there, did you? It's a marvel what they can do these days with trans-gender surgery you know. Of course, I'm still waiting for the gastric band. That's next on my list of must dos. Well, it was next on my list. Until you walked in, that is!"

Dean was mortified. "I…" He fumbled and dropped the file, the contents spilling out all over the floor. "Oops!" He bent down quickly, scooping up the papers and photographs back into the file. "Butter-fingers. I'll…I'll…just…go…" He pointed at the copier and stood up quickly, an awkward grin on his face. He turned quickly and paced over to the copier, pushing the documents into the auto-feeder. "C'mon, c'mon!" he muttered under his breath, his fingers drumming impatiently on the copier as he bounced on the balls of his feet. The copier churned out the xeroxes of the documents and Dean sighed with relief as the last copy was spat out. He grabbed the copies and, pushing the originals back into the buff file, he turned, held the file out at arm's length, smiled frantically and pushed the file into the woman's hands. "Thanks a lot! Gotta go! The Navy appreciates your co-operation, ma'am!" With a last desperate smile, he wrenched the door open and dived out into the corridor. He slammed the door shut and sprinted down the hall, hitting the stairs at a flat run. As he skidded into the reception area, the front receptionist smiled at him.

"Met Suki then, did ya?"

Dean looked at her like a frightened rabbit caught in the glare of a car's headlights and, without a word, ran for the door. The receptionist chuckled quietly to herself and shook her head…

xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…SNSIE…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx

Dean sat in the internet café, reading through the file. Zoe had fried. Her laptop had shorted out, and as soon as she touched it, the mains shorted through her body, practically cooking her. At least, that was the coroner's explanation. Dean knew different. He frowned as he read, sipping absent-mindedly at the coffee mug in his left hand. The cup hovered at his lips as a shadow fell across the page…

"Had the same idea then, compadre?" Dean looked up into Ash's grinning face.

"Ash! What the hell are you doing here? I thought I told you guys to stay put?"

"Had an idea about how we could get on-line and not get traced by Sparky." Sam sat down opposite his brother, grinning at the surprised look on his face. He glanced back at Ash. "Go to it, tiger!" Ash pulled off a mock salute and sauntered over towards the bank of computers at the back of the café. "So. Got anything interesting, Dean?"

"The coroner's report on Zoe Hunt. Take a look." Dean handed the file over to his brother, staring intently at him. "Sammy? I may have found out why our friend is concentrating his efforts on Omaha. A few miles from here is…"

"Offutt Base. Strategic Command. Yeah. I know." Sam didn't look up from the file. Dean looked annoyed.

"So. Good. Glad to see we're on the same page." Dean couldn't disguise the petulant note in his voice. Sam glanced up.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Nothing. I get attacked by a demon on the way, determined to try brain surgery on me using a wrench and then I get practically molested by a he/she, but oh, no! You come up with the same thing all by yourselves, in the comfort of a nice, warm house. OK. Next time, you go out and about and I get to stay home, drink beer and stare at the walls, deal?"

"A he/she?" Sam couldn't stop the smile creeping across his mouth.

"Don't. Just don't." Dean frowned angrily and took another mouthful of coffee.

Sam grinned broadly, his interest in the file suddenly gone. "Dean? A he/she?"

"Quit it."

"Ah, c'mon! Fess up, Dean!"

"I said, quit it!"

"No WAY!"

"Sammy…" Dean's voice was dangerous.

"Dean, I know you're trying to cram in as much life-experience as possible in your last few months, but, DUDE! Trans-gender lovin'?" Sam started laughing. He couldn't keep it in any longer.

"Sammy, I swear I'm gonna kill y…"

"Hey, what's the joke, guys?" Ash sauntered back, a sheet of paper in his hand. Dean stabbed a finger at his brother, a warning look on his face. Sam, still chuckling merrily, winked at his brother.

"Oh, nothing, Ash. Private joke. What ya got?"

"Just a list of all the ISP providers in the greater Omaha area. All three of them. I didn't count the big boys. Reckon our geek is a lone operator. More easily influenced, ya know?" Ash flopped down next to Dean and glanced over his shoulder at the file. He frowned as he saw a post mortem picture of Zoe. "Whoa. Man, that's nasty."

"Coroner says she was electrocuted due to faulty wiring in her computer."

"No go."

"Why not, Ash?"

"Because if there was a power surge from the mains, it would cause the trips to go on the ring circuit. The power surge would be stopped before it ever got to her laptop. No, no, my friend. Coroner dude is ly-ing. This was our friend Sparky's doing."

Dean frowned. "OK, if he's moving through internet connections, tell me one thing. How did he manage to crawl into the radio of my car?"

"What?" Sam's eyes widened.

"Oh yeah, did I forget to mention? I had a little visit from Sparky on the way over here." Dean filled the two men in on the events of his journey into Omaha. At the end of his story, Ash pushed himself back into his chair and puffed out his cheeks.

"Crap. This dude's getting more powerful by the second. I'm guessing he was holed up in your alternator or the battery – anything that would store electricity. Question is, how the hell did he get in there?"

"Ah. That may have been me." Sam looked guilty.

"What?"

"Remember when we first got here and you went into that biker's bar? You know? Bowzer?" Dean nodded. "Well, I was waiting for you outside and I fired the laptop up, tapped into a Wi-Fi network. If Ash is right and the bastard has been tracking us, he could've got in that way."

"He violated my car!"

"Bigger picture, Dean. OK?"

"Yeah, yeah. OK."

"So. Ash. We've got possible starting points to try and find this thing. If we do find it, how do we stop it?"

Ash grinned. "Ah, that's where it gets good."

They waited.

"You gonna actually tell us, Ash?"

Ash grinned again. "How does a virtual Devil's Trap sound? Followed by an online exorcism?" He studied the amazed looks of the brothers, basking in his moment. "Oh yeah! Who's the daddy? Huh? Who's the daddy? Dr Badass is back!"

xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…SNSIE…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx

The hum of mainframe computers added a soft backnote to the control room at Strategic Command. Tessa MacKenzie stared listlessly at the computer screen. It had been a long shift and, as usual, nothing much had happened. Tessa worked for JFCC ISR. Joint Functional Component Command for Intelligence, Surveillance and Reconnaissance. Plenty of initials, sounded seriously important, but not much excitement. Tessa sighed. She was just a glorified computer data entry clerk, with a rank. Not something she had anticipated when she graduated from MIT and, foolishly if somewhat patriotically, had offered her services and 10 years of her life to the US Air Force. She'd wanted excitement. Instead, all she got was RSI and a pension plan.

Tessa yawned and stretched in her chair, trying to coax her spine back into some position that wouldn't mean she'd be crippled by the time she was fifty. The screens blinked reassuringly, no anomalies, no pre-emptive strikes by hostile forces, nothing. Just another ordinary…

"Hello."

Tessa glanced across at the computer monitor, subconsciously aware that the grid of numbers that normally occupied the screen had changed. "What the…" She gripped the table with both hands and pulled herself and her chair closer, peering hard at the screen. It was completely blank. Just one word and a cursor, blinking like a question mark in the top left hand corner.

"Tap, tap!"

Out of nowhere, the Microsoft paperclip, its inane, grinning face snarling a sinister, smug smile, did that mind-blowingly annoying tapping on the screen. But as she watched the screen and that universally hated icon, it slowly morphed, pulsating and burning into her mind. It was no longer just an icon you immediately closed down. It demanded her attention. It demanded her full, unquestioning and complete compliance. Tessa stared at the screen, mesmerised.

"If you want to stay alive, Tess, don't touch the keyboard. Just nod if you understand me."

Tessa nodded slowly, her eyes wide with alarm. She glanced around the room. Teddy was busy on another computer, unaware of her predicament. Ben sat tapping his teeth with his pen, occasionally typing at his keyboard.

"Good girl. Now listen very carefully. In a short while, your dull, boring, pointless little life is going to get suddenly very interesting. You're useful to me. That's why I haven't killed you yet, like those other little, um, shall we call them, test pilots?"

Tess could swear that somewhere, in the corner of her mind, she could hear a dark chuckle. She glanced across at her comrades again, desperate to try and get their attention…

"A-a-a, Tess, don't even think about it, sweetie. Don't even think about it. Now here's the thing. I'm only able to access your system for a very short time and, to do what I want to do, I need full access. Now, my problem is your Firewalls. I'm not quite sure how your pathetic little species knows this, but buried deep in your coding there's a program that stops my kind accessing your mainframe. I want you to disable it. If you refuse, if you attempt to tell anyone about our quiet conversation, then I will be forced to take, how do you say it? Direct action."

The paperclip blinked and in its place was a picture of her brother. Danny was a fighter pilot. One of the Top Guns. The plane he flew was fully computerised. She knew that Danny was on exercise right now, above the skies of the Nevada desert. The on-board camera was being beamed directly to Tessa's computer in real-time. Tessa instinctively knew, without any further prompting from the Paperclip that, if she didn't do as she was told, Danny's plane would develop a fatal computer fault and plummet out of the sky. She snarled at the screen and hissed a response. "You sick son of a bitch sad little hacker, what the fu…"

"Did I say you could speak? Did I? Bad girl, Tess, bad girl!"

Tess watched in horror as her brother yelped, a vibrant blue tendril snaking out of the control panel of his cockpit and striking him like a cobra on the hand. "Whoa! OK, control, I have some kind of electrical problem here, instruments are going crazy. I…JESUS!" The plane's nose dipped and Tessa could hear the engines screaming in protest as the plane went into an uncontrollable dive, spinning wildly through the air like a sycamore seed. "MAYDAY! MAYDAY! I'M GOING DOWN! I'M GOING DOWN! " Danny wrestled with the controls, desperately hauling on the joystick, fighting the bucking plane.

"PLEASE! DON'T!" Tessa's eyes filled with tears as she heard the panic in her brother's voice. She hissed her plea at the computer screen. "I'll do what you want, please, please don't hurt Danny!"

The image of her brother vanished and the Paperclip popped up again, grinning like a lunatic. "So we have an agreement, then? Good. Because, as you can see, I can reach the people you love so very, very easily, any time I want to. Just nod."

Tessa nodded, the screen now blurred through the tears that pooled in her eyes. A line of script began typing itself again on her screen. "Now, this is the line of code I want you to look for. Memorise it. Find it. And DELETE it. You understand?"

Tessa nodded for the last time.

"Good girl. Have a nice day!" The Paperclip winked at her and vanished from the screen. The monitor flickered and the normal grid of numbers that she had spent the last two years staring at burst back onto the screen, as normal as ever. Tessa was shaking. Shaking like a leaf. She pushed herself away from the desk and stood up, fighting the urge to throw up. Teddy turned and stared at her, a puzzled look on his face.

"Tess? You OK? You look as white as a ghost!"

"I…I…I'm not feeling well." She turned and ran towards the door, swiping her pass-card and pulling at the handle as the lock was released. Without another word, she ran out of the room, the door hissing closed behind her. Teddy looked at Ben and shrugged. Ben grinned back at him, spinning his pen between his fingers. "And that's why they don't let them fly planes, dude. Way too emotional!" Ben laughed.

"Ben?"

"Yeah?"

"You're an ass-hole, you know that?"

xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…SNSIE…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx

Dean sipped at his fifth cup of coffee and glanced across the café to where Sam and Ash sat, engrossed in a computer. Ash's fingers were a blur as he typed, stopping occasionally to glance wordlessly at Sam. Sam just nodded, pointed to something on the screen and Ash returned to his incessant typing. Dean couldn't stand the clatter of keyboards any more. He discarded the coffee and stood up, strolling casually over towards the two men. "OK, so this isn't getting us anywhere. Look. If we know that there are only three possible targets here, why don't I go pay them a little social call while you two figure out a way to stop this thing?"

Sam glanced up. "Dean, as much as I know you want to kill something today, you need to be patient here. Until we know for sure that we can trap it and stop it, we can't just go bursting into someone's basement and go, 'Hi. Um, just wondering. Do you have a demonic force lurking in one of your servers?' This thing needs human help. If it thinks that human help is under threat, it'll attack. And we don't have the means to fight it yet."

"Can't I just shoot the computer the damn thing's hiding in?" Dean grinned. "I've always wanted to shoot a computer. Just for the sheer hell of it."

"Dude, everyone has wanted to shoot a computer at least once in their lives, 'specially when you get the blue screen of death and the bastard thing comes up with all that 'this program has performed an illegal function and will shut down' shit. But your kid bro is right, Deano. Softly, softly, catchy monkey, dude." Ash grinned. "Trust me."

Dean shrugged. "Okay then, can't I just shoot the familiar? That way we cut out the middle-man." He looked at the two men, who stared at him. "What? Oh, c'mon! Who hasn't gunned down the occasional geek? Ya know? Nerdy hacker types who've never gotten laid? You can't honestly sit there and defend geekdom, can you? Can you?" Dean's eyes widened. "Dear god, can this be true? Is my little brother actually proud to be a geek?" Dean grinned infuriatingly.

"Ash, Dean's bored. This is never good. We need to find him something to do. Like, now. Otherwise, seriously? He may just start taking pot-shots at laptops."

"You could always rustle up some pizza, dude."

Dean glowered at the two men. "What, I'm the freakin' gofer now?"

"Geek's revenge, dude. Geek's revenge." Ash flicked his hair and smiled disarmingly at Dean. "Oh, don't tell me you couldn't go a slice of Meat Feast right now, man. I know how your mind works!"

"And how does your mind work, Ash? Exactly?"

"In complicated quantum patterns dude, complicated quantum patterns." Ash produced a twenty dollar bill from his pocket. "Pizza's on me."

Dean snatched the twenty from Ash's hand and glared at him. "Meet me back at the motel in half an hour. You don't show, I eat the entire pizza myself."

"You wouldn't!"

"Try me, Ash." Dean winked and turned on his heels, marching out of the café. Sam watched him go and sighed.

"Sorry 'bout my brother, Ash. He's just being a card-carrying pain in the ass at the moment."

Ash sat back and studied Sam. "Dude, perhaps you ought 'ta cut your bro some slack, Sam. I mean, don't you get it?"

"Get what, Ash?"

"How goddamn scared he is?"

"Ash, he's not scared. Just because it's a computer demon and yeah, I know, computers are not his strong point…"

"No, you dumb-ass! Not this!" Ash stabbed his hand towards the computer. "The other stuff!" Ash rolled his eyes and dropped his voice so that the other patrons of the café couldn't hear their conversation. "The deal? You know? The whole, 'going to Hell in less than a year's time' deal? Or had that slipped your addled mind?"

For a split second, Sam's eyes flashed dangerously. "You think I'd forget about something like that? You honestly think I don't know how scared Dean is? How many times do you think I've lain there, awake at night, listening to my brother having nightmare after nightmare about it? And when I try and talk to him, he shuts down on me, Ash! Goddamn it, you know what he's like, for Christ's sake! And yes, he does realise just how serious it is, before you ask, OK? He knows he's going to die."

"Yeah. But does he know he's going to Hell?" Ash's voice was barely audible. Sam couldn't reply. He didn't know how to…

xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…SNSIE…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx

Tessa glanced furtively around the corridor and swiped her pass-card into the door lock. The door opened with a soft click and she slipped inside, praying that nobody had seen her. Checking that the room was empty, she scuttled over to a desk and sat down quickly, pressing the button on the computer and firing up the screen. "Please, if there's a god in heaven, let this work!" The screen lit up with the insignia of Strategic Command and Tessa swallowed nervously. She was committing treason. It was the end of her career. Better that, though, than the thought of her brother's plane spiralling out of the sky and smashing into a fireball ten thousand feet below…

Her fingers tapped frantically at the keyboard as she navigated her way around the site, looking for a way in. Beside her, a piece of crumpled paper held a line of code – a line that sick hacker had shown her and that she had to find and delete. "C'mon, c'mon, where are you!" Screen after screen popped up as she worked her way deeper into the bios system. Then…

"Oh, no! No, no, no!" The screen demanded a password. A sixteen digit password. Her hands balled into fists, her fingernails cutting into the skin on the palms of her hands. "SHIT!" She tried combination after combination, growing more frantic as "ACCESS DENIED" flashed smugly on the screen after each attempt. "Let me IN!"

"ACCESS DENIED "

"PLEASE!"

"ACCESS DENIED "

"Oh God, please help me!"

"ACCESS DENIED "

"NO! YOU BASTARD!"

"ACCESS DENIED "

"Miss? Step away from the keyboard, please." The voice was clear, sharp and unquestionable. Tessa spun the chair around, a terrified look on her face. An Airman stood in front of her, his gun pointing straight at her, the finger resting lightly on the trigger. Behind him stood three men, all in dark suits. She didn't recognise them from the base… "Keep your hands where we can see them and desist from touching the keyboard. I will shoot, miss. Please do not attempt to resist."

"You don't understand! I have no choice, he'll kill my brother!" Sheer adrenaline crashed through Tessa's body and she turned back to the screen, her fingers reaching for the keyboard again.

"DO NOT TOUCH THE KEYBOARD, MISS!"

"You have to let me do this! He'll kill Danny!" Tessa felt two pairs of strong hands grab her arms and she was unceremoniously hauled up from the chair. She screamed, her legs kicking and flailing as she strained desperately against the men who held her so powerfully – strained to touch the keys one more time… "NO! LET GO OF ME! HE'LL KILL US ALL! HE'LL KILL DANNY! LET ME GO!"

The third man quietly stepped up behind Tessa and she felt a sharp scratch on the back of her neck – a needle. What had they done? What…

Tessa's eyes rolled back into her head and her body relaxed, hanging limply in the hands of the suited men. The third man turned to the Airman, his face expressionless. "There will be no report, Airman. Understand?"

The Airman, seeing that his primary target was now neutralised, nodded. "Yes sir. You want me to shut the system down?"

The man, standing next to the computer, reached down and picked up the crumpled piece of paper. He studied the code on it carefully, still no expression on his face. He reached inside a jacket pocket and pulled out a Zippo. He flipped the lid and the Zippo flared, a bright orange flame leaping joyfully out of the dark recesses of the ignition chamber. He held the flame to the corner of the piece of paper and watched as the flame consumed it. Tiny flecks of black soot floated up into the air and vanished, like black snow. He snapped the Zippo closed and switched off the computer. Finally he turned towards the Airman and smiled a mirthless smile. "Oh, I don't think that'll be necessary, Airman…"

xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…SNSIE…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx

Rodney tapped frantically at his keyboard, frequently throwing the black mainframe computer that hummed quietly in the corner a nervous look. From first glance, it seemed to be practically identical to the other two mainframe systems he had; each one of them connecting his website users with their contacts all over the world. But the black one only had one client sitting inside it. The occasional blue tendril crept out of the casing and crawled lazily over the smooth black surface, winding its way along the cable that connected it to the monitor and keyboard on the desk. A keyboard, at which a by-now very jumpy hacker sat, expecting an agonising blue bolt of hellish lightning to strike at him at any second…

"How goes it, Rodney?" The letters typed themselves across the screen. "How goes our little plan?"

"I'm working on it. You can't hack through National Security firewalls in a couple of minutes, dude. No matter how good you are."

"Are you telling me that you are not good enough to complete the job?"

"NO! No, no, I can do it. You just… you just have to give me more time. And it really depends on if our friend in the Air Force has done her job. If she can't find that code, then nothing we can do will get you in. So you're just going to have to be patient…"

The air took on a thick, greasy feeling and a sharp crack sounded like a gunshot. Rodney screamed as the tendril lashed out viciously, stinging the back of his hand, blistering the skin where it made contact. The voice oozed menace. "Remember your manners, Rodney. And remember your parents. Your dead parents upstairs. Rotting slowly where they sit. And remember, Rodney, that I am not the patient sort. Find your way through the firewalls. Do it, Rodney. Unless you want to see first hand how your mommy and daddy died…"

"NO! PLEASE! I…I can do this!" Rodney typed in a frenzy of fear, desperately trying to buy himself more time. What had he done? When he started playing the role-play game three months ago, he never imagined that one of the demonic creatures involved would turn out to be a real goddamn demon! That wasn't in the rules and conditions, man! No way! His fingers danced over the keys. Try and make conversation. Try and connect with this sicko critter. "So. Why exactly are we doing this? I mean, you're a demon, right? You can do anything."

"You think? Have you any idea how long it's taken for me and my kind to break free? How difficult it was for us to move into your dimension? If it hadn't have been for Jake, we would still be rotting in Hell now! Oh no, little man, oh no. But now? We're out. We're free. And nothing you or any of your kind can do will send us back. This is our domain now. And once your pathetic little attempts at stopping us by your military and secret services are destroyed, it only remains for us to hunt down the hunters, one by one. And for our King to begin his reign. And then? Ah, what a feast we will have!" There seemed to be a chuckle, a laugh that chilled Rodney's soul. "Inside your national Defence system there is a secret organisation that dedicates itself to destroying me and my kind. They are intent on committing genocide. Tell me, Rodney. Does that make them righteous? Does that make them the good guys? Or does it make them as bad as my kind? Hmm? Tell me. I'm curious as to what you think."

"I think you've been watching way too many episodes of the X-Files, dude. I mean, secret government organisations? Spooks hunting spooks? C'mon!" Rodney spoke without thinking. "That's just the conspiracy theory nutters' crap. I could show you a thousand sites on Google that say the same thing and they're all crazy. Alien abductions, demonic influences, man, they're right up there with the Militia crazies!" He typed without pause, still trying to dodge his way through a jungle of firewalls and blockers.

"Your conspiracy nutters, as you like to call them, are closer to the truth than they realise. That organisation exists, Rodney. They exist purely to kill me and my kind. Do we not have a right to exist? Do we not have the right to use your kind as a food source? It's merely natural selection at work, Rodney. Merely Darwinism at its finest."

Rodney's fingers slowed. "What do you mean, food source? You mean you're gonna eat me?"

"What, your flesh? Oh, no, Rodney. Although there are those who enjoy the taste of human flesh, especially when it's sweetened with your terror. No, Rodney. Demons like me?" Rodney could almost sense a presence behind him – feel a hot, sulphurous breath caressing his neck. "Demons like me, we feed on fear, Rodney. We feed on FEAR!"

xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…SNSIE…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx…xxx

The door of the motel room burst open and Dean's slice of pizza hovered millimetres from his lips. His gun was in his hand and pointing straight at the figure in the doorway before anyone could blink. As his eyes refocused on the figure, he could see a grinning Ash striking a triumphant pose. Dean rolled his eyes, lowered the gun, clicking the safety catch back on as he did so, and bit into the pizza.

"BEHOLD!" Ash sauntered into the room, an air of smug self-satisfaction surrounding him. "I've done it!"

"Dude, I'm proud of you." Dean waved a hand. "Pizza's on the table." Ash wandered over and stared at the box.

"Make that an empty pizza box is on the table. Where's the contents?" Dean patted his stomach and grinned. Ash merely looked at him, sauntered over and, as Dean went to take another bite from the slice in his hand, pulled the last remaining pizza slice from him and bit into it pointedly.

"Hey!"

Sam closed the door quietly and leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest. "OK Dean, time to act. We've worked out how to trap and exorcise this thing and who the familiar is. And all that while you've been stuffing pizza down your face." Sam smirked. "You're up."

"What?"

"Dude's name is Rodney Marsh. Ash did a trace-back on the point of origin for all the ISP users and they all used Rodney as their ISP provider. So it figures he's our familiar."

Ash took over, still trying to swallow the mouthful of pizza as he explained. "Our friend Sparky has to be able to access the computers via an internet connection, right? And to do that you have to have a server. Well, all we have to do is download this," he waved a CD at Dean. "This holds a virtual Devil's Trap. Once it's uploaded onto the mainframe of the computer, Sparky will be held inside that mainframe just as surely as if he were tied to a chair, sitting in the middle of a Trap on the floor." Ash looked thoughtful. "Mind you, it probably wouldn't hurt to chalk up a quick Trap on the floor and stick the actual mainframe unit in the middle of it, just to be on the safe side. Anyhoo, once we've done that, we can perform a virtual exorcism."

"A what now?"

"A virtual exorcism. Instead of chanting the Latin, we've typed it. Into the program. We could say it out loud too, if that would make you feel any better, Dean."

"And this'll work?"

"No reason why it shouldn't."

"Think of one."

"What?"

"A reason why it shouldn't work."

"Dean? Trust me. It'll work."

"You're sure?"

"Yes!"

"So after that, can I shoot the computer?"

"Would that make you feel better?"

"Absolutely."

Ash grinned. "Well then, hell YES!" He pushed the last piece of pizza into his mouth and smacked his lips happily. "OK, I have a CD, Sam has the Latin text and you have a gun. Shall we go exorcise our critter before he fries our national security system?"

Sam pushed himself off from the door frame and walked into the room. "You know, that's the one bit I don't get. Why is he going after Stratcom?"

Dean smiled. "Now I can answer that one. I spoke to Alex while you two were geeking out with mainframes and virtual Devil's Traps."

"Dean, you WHAT? Jesus, man, did you not listen when Ash said that bastard could track our communications?"

"So? You remember before cell-phones became all the rage there were these things called public phones? You can't miss 'em, they're usually square boxes found on every street corner? Have 'P-H-O-N-E' written on them? Christ, Sam, credit me with a little intelligence, would ya? Anyway, Alex filled me in. Stratcom have a black ops unit working out of Washington that specialises in the Supernatural. X-Files for real, Sammy. Part of Stratcom's job is intel collection. And part of their system is dedicated to Supernatural intel collection, not just who's got a nuke. Sammy, these guys get paid to do what we do. Don't seem fair, does it?"

"You're kidding me, right? You sure Alex hasn't just been surfing too many conspiracy theory sites?"

"Nope, it's for real. Anyway, he said that there had been a report of an attempted break-in to Stratcom's system. One of their own people was discovered trying to get into the main program. She had some line of code written out and was searching for it. Anyway, she was arrested and taken into solitary, screaming something about demons in the system and her brother being in danger. They sectioned her to make sure there weren't too many questions asked. Alex said that the military are on full alert and are trying to track down where the attempted break-in came from. My guess is we're a step ahead here." Dean stood up, brushed the crumbs from the pizza base from his jeans and pushed his gun into his belt. "Guess we better get to Rodney before the goon-squad does. At least if we get there first, the kid may have a chance of staying alive."

All joviality had left Dean's face. He was serious about trying to save Rodney, Sam could see that. Sam knew that Dean, although sometimes cold and ruthless, wanted more than anything to protect life. Strange. How he valued other people's lives so much more highly than his own…

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The Impala growled to a stop a couple of houses down from Rodney Marsh's place. Dean peered through the window at a quiet, suburban road. Perfectly manicured lawns and white picket fences disguised a myriad of crimes and scandals. You could smell the hypocrisy. Dean hated places like these. Despite his protestations that just once he would like to investigate a haunted house that didn't look like the typical, clichéd run down ruin, he knew that behind these perfectly painted walls, darkness was just as likely to be lurking. "OK. So we go in, we… we… um, what exactly is the plan, Sammy?"

"We get to Rodney's computers, find the one that the demon is in, insert the disc and then, after we've exorcised the damn thing, you can take the computer out into the garden and shoot it if you like." Sam rolled his eyes. "Just follow my lead, OK? Let Ash and me deal with the technical stuff, you just make sure Rodney doesn't go all heroic on us."

Dean scowled. "Great. From gofer to babysitter. Yeah, I'm really startin' to feel valued in this relationship, dude…"

"Dean, quit your whining, man." Sam's voice was sharp. There was that hard edge to it again… Dean's senses prickled and, through the mirror, he shot Ash a look. Ash returned the look. Yep. He'd heard that edge in Sam's voice too. Dean put his mask on. The one he always wore when his concerns turned to his brother's well-being. Little things. Just little things. But little things that were out of character from the usual Sammy that he knew and loved. For the umpteenth time, Old Yeller's words echoed through his mind. "Are you sure that what you brought back is one hundred percent Sammy, Dean?" Dean shook his head and tried to refocus on the job in hand.

"Dean? You OK?" There was a note of concern in Sam's voice now, the old Sammy.

"Just someone walking over my grave, man. OK, let's do this." Dean flung the driver's door open and climbed out of the Impala. He leaned back in. "Make sure you got the disc, Ash."

Ash held up a CD and grinned. "One Devil's Trap to go, extra Latin, no mayo."

"Ash? Did I ever tell you how weird you are?"

"Frequently, compadre!" Ash climbed out of the back of the car and straightened his jacket. "Time for the Doctor to pay a house-call, methinks."

Sam and Dean watched Ash stroll casually towards the house, his blonde mullet bouncing on his shoulders. Dean chuckled. "Damn, dude. He looks like an advert for Head and Shoulders!"

"Will you shut up and come on!" Sam grabbed Dean's arm and hauled him along, ignoring his older brother's continuing chuckles. They caught up to Ash just as the mulleted one mounted the steps to the front door. His finger reached towards the doorbell and Dean slapped it away sharply.

"Ash? Dude? Whatchya doin'?"

"Um, ringing the bell, Dean? You don't have to break into every house you go to, you know!" Ash looked indignantly at Dean. Dean's eyes widened, a look of disbelief on his face.

"Ash? Dude? You smell that?"

"What?" Ash sniffed the air. "Whoa. Man, they seriously need their tanks pumpin'!"

Sam reached behind him and pulled his gun out from the small of his back. "No, Ash, Dean's right. That's not a septic tank, man, that's burnt flesh." He stared briefly at Ash and shrugged. "Trust me, dude. We're kinda experts on that particular smell." He nodded to Dean. "Back way?" Dean, his gun already in his hand, nodded back.

"Take Ash with you. I'll circle around and meet you out back."

The three men split up, Ash tagging behind Sam, holding the disc as if it were a weapon. A few moments later, the back door swung open and Sam spun around, gun drawn and ready. Dean leaned against the opened door, grinning. He held a conspiratorial finger up to his lips and then pointed to the floor. Rodney was in the cellar. The signal was clear. Sam nodded and crept into the house. He'd gone only a couple of steps when the full force of the stench hit him. "Jesus!" He covered his mouth and nose with his hand, squinting in disgust.

"Ma and Pa Crispy are in there. Fried. Deep fried. Looks like they've been there a couple of days. Can't believe none of the neighbours have called Environmental Services by now. I'm guessing Master and Blaster are down in the depths of the cellar."

"Master and Blaster?"

"Sammy? Seriously? You've never seen Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome?" Dean rolled his eyes. "A big dude carried a little dude around on his back and the little dude was the brains but Blaster, he was the big dude, was the muscle, OK? And anyhoo…"

"Guys?"

"What?"

Ash pointed. "I spy with my little eye something that starts with Familiar." He waved. "Hi. You must be Rodney."

Rodney had stopped in his tracks. He'd gone into the kitchen to grab some water from the fridge and was now standing staring at two men with guns and a third that held a CD like some sort of shield. "Who the HELL are you guys? And… and… GET THE HELL OUTTA MY KITCHEN! I'm warning you, I'm more dangerous than I look!" Rodney's thin frame looked as if Dean could snap him in half with one hand. Dean glared at the man, his green eyes boring into Rodney's watery blue eyes. All Dean could see was weakness. A pathetic, pale, weak little boy. A pathetic, pale, weak little boy whose parents were currently decomposing in the living room… Dean held the gun up slowly, taking aim at a point right between Rodney's eyes. The man's eyes widened in horror and he held up a hand, staggering backwards, grasping with his other hand for support. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! OK, take whatever you want! You want money? I got money! I got plenty of money, see?" His voice shrill, Rodney fumbled in his pockets and pulled out two wads of money. He held them towards Dean like an offering. "Please, take it. Just don't hurt me. Take the money!"

"Where are the computers, Rodney?"

With his laden hands still outstretched, Rodney's demeanour changed. "What?"

"The computers. Well, actually, one computer in particular." Dean pulled back the hammer on the gun and levelled it at Rodney again. "Where are they, Rodney?"

"You're them, aren't you? He said you'd come." Rodney dropped the money, scattering bills all over the floor. "He said you'd try and stop us. But you can't, you know. Not even you." He pointed at Sam. "Nothing can stop him. He's a god, see? A god!" Behind the watery blue eyes, Dean could see a creeping madness that consumed the young man.

"What did he offer you, Rodney? Because it was all a lie, you know that?" Sam's voice was mocking, not the usual 'Talk 'em down gently' tone that Dean had heard him use before. "He's a demon, Rodney, and not a very important one at that. As soon as he has what he wants, he'll kill you, just like he killed your parents. And countless others. You want that, Rodney? Hmm?" Sam's voice was filled with menace. He could see Rodney's eyes darting between him and Dean, doubt starting to creep in. "Do you want to die, feeling your insides turn into soup as you cook from the inside out? Do you want to see your skin peel from your bones? To smell your own flesh cooking slowly? You want that, RODNEY?" Sam stalked slowly towards the now-terrified man. Slowly, the man sank to his knees in front of Sam, gazing up at him, tears starting to form in his eyes.

"Um, Sammy?" There was a note of concern in Dean's voice. "Wanna lighten up a little with the scaring the crap outta the geek, bro?"

Sam towered over the cowering man, breathing in the power he had over this mere worm of a man. He could strike him dead in a heartbeat, without even raising a hand to him, without even breaking a sweat… Through the haze that started to cloud his mind, he heard his brother's voice. "Sammy? YO, SAM!" Sam snapped back to the here and now, the moment vanishing. He dropped his voice to a whisper.

"Where, Rodney?"

Rodney pointed to a doorway. "D-d-down there. The black server."

Sam held station, looming over him darkly, his eyes boring into the man. "Thank you, Rodney. Dean? If he moves? Kill him." He side-stepped past the snivelling man and walked towards the cellar door. His hand reached for the door-knob and he paused, glancing back over his shoulder at Ash. "Coming?"

"Err, yeah, yeah sure…" Ash threw Dean a look. Dean could see the concern on the normally placid features. They mirrored his own concerns, twisting deep inside him. He nodded briefly to Ash, but his eyes said, 'Be careful, Ash. Be VERY careful…'

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Sam stepped lightly down the wooden stairs that led into the basement, taking in his surroundings as he moved. Ash was only a couple of steps behind him, moving with caution and purpose. They moved into the basement – a surprisingly light room, warm from the constant throb of computers and servers. "Motherload, dude." Sam glanced back at Ash, who raised an eyebrow. "See a black server, Sam?"

"There." Sam pointed at the server, which seemed to have an air of menace around it. "That's the one."

"You sure, dude?"

"Well, it's the only black one down here. You see any other black servers?"

"Nope."

"Well, OK then. Give me the disc." He reached back and felt the CD pushed into his hand. His fingers closed around the cold smoothness of the disc and he moved silently towards the server. A slow, lazy blue tendril suddenly slid out of the box and crawled across the surface, crackling and sparking vibrantly. "Whoa…" Sam froze. "OK, then, guess we had to expect this. It's not gonna go down without a fight." He turned back to Ash. "Can you distract it?"

"What? How?"

"Oh, I don't know, talk to it?"

"And say what? Hi! How ya doin'? How's the weather down in Hell? C'mon, Sammo!"

"Use the keyboard. Distract it, Ash!"

"Not liking this, Sammy boy!"

"Yeah, well, not my idea of a fun afternoon either, Ash, what with the demonic forces and the killer blue static and all, but, ya know? Not really much of a choice here!"

"OK, OK! I'm on it! Sheesh!" Ash moved over to the desk and sat down, pulling himself up to the keyboard. "OK, here goes nothin'. But I'm warning you, Sam Winchester, if I get tazered by this son of a bitch, I'm holdin' you personally responsible, got it?"

"Got it Ash, now stop yabbering and type something!"

Sam heard the clatter of keys as Ash started to type. Without taking his eyes off the sinister black box, he moved slowly towards it, watching for those vicious blue tendrils. "OK, I think its working, Ash. You getting anything?"

"It's just asked me who the hell I am and where Rodney is. What do I tell it?"

"Tell it, tell, oh, Ash, just think of something will you!" Sam crept closer, his finger reaching out for the button that would open the CD rom drive. He licked his lips, took a deep breath and suddenly leapt forward, stabbing his finger onto the button. The drawer opened agonisingly slowly and he slapped the disc into the holder, stabbing the button again and watching the drawer slide closed. "NOW ASH! DOWNLOAD IT NOW!"

Ash slammed a finger down onto the 'Enter' button and leapt back from the keyboard. Both of them stood in the middle of the room, staring at the screen as the pop-up indicated 32, 41, 60… "C'mon, c'mon!" Sam clenched and unclenched his hands as the file loaded and then suddenly…

"What is this?" The screen flashed, and the letters began typing by themselves. "What IS THIS! NO! YOU CANNOT DO THIS!" NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" A Devil's Trap appeared on the screen, blue tendrils crawling around inside it, stabbing at the perimeter and recoiling back from it. Time and again, tiny blue stabs flashed across the screen, desperately trying to find a way out of the Trap.

"Gotchya!" Sam grinned triumphantly. "HA! Damn it, Ash, it's holding!"

"Yeah, but that's only part one, dude. We still have to activate the exorcism. And for that, I'm gonna need to hit a couple of keys." Ash looked at the keyboard.

"Just do it, Ash. The thing's in the Trap. It can't hurt you."

"I'm not one hundred percent sure about that, Sammo. Maybe you'd better do it." Ash glanced at Sam. "Seein' as how these demons seem to kinda have some weird, 'King of the World' thing going with you, they're less likely to zap you than they are me." He waved a hand at the keyboard. Sam looked at him, puzzled by the comment.

"What do you mean by that, Ash?"

"Sam? Bigger picture here?" Ash pointed at the keyboard.

"OK, if you really mean…" Sam stepped over to the keyboard, still puzzled by Ash's words. He reached out towards the keys and his fingers brushed the plastic. A sharp crack sounded behind him as sparks began to shower out of the black mainframe computer. A line of text began to type on the top of the screen above the Trap.

"Why? Why are you doing this, my Lord? Have I angered you? Have I not served in your honour? Please…"

Sam started to tap at the keys, bringing up a file from the CD marked 'X'. Ash watched nervously over Sam's shoulder. He could read every word on the screen…

"My Lord, I BEG you! Please do not send me back! I can serve you well! I can spread your power throughout the WORLD! Let me serve you! Please! MY LORD, PLEASE!"

Sam's finger hovered over the 'Enter' button. He knew that, as soon as he hit it, the exorcism would begin and this being would be sent back to Hell, screaming and writhing in agony. He was killing another demon. What did that make him? Was he right to do this? His finger hovered over the button, the confusion that filled him making him doubt his actions…

Ash's hand came down hard over Sam's shoulder, pushing Sam's finger onto the button. Lines of text, perfect Latin, began appearing on the screen. With each word that appeared, the Trap flickered and pulsed. At the top of the screen, the demon typed its screams of protestation, begging over and over for Sam to spare him. The black mainframe computer spat sparks across the room, the wires inside twisting and writhing like a nest of serpents. Ash raised an eyebrow. "Yo, Sammo? Not one to point out the obvious, but…Time to, um, run, dude!" He grabbed Sam's jacket and hauled him out of the seat and dragged him towards the stairs. The mainframe shook violently and suddenly, the air was filled with an unholy screaming as a stream of black smoke billowed out of the front of the computer. It twisted and writhed in the air as blue flashes flickered in and through it like stabs of lightning in a thundercloud. It let out one, final ear-splitting scream and poured like a black waterfall through a crack in the floor. As the last wisps of smoke vanished, the mainframe exploded in a shower of sparks, sending hot plastic shrapnel spinning around the basement. Sam, half way up the stairs, threw a protective arm across his face as the monitor on the desk exploded outwards, spitting shards of glass in all directions like daggers. He turned and pushed Ash hard. "OUT! OUT NOW!" The two men pelted up the stairs and out into the hallway, slamming the door shut and muffling the sound of exploding computers out.

Rodney, still on his knees and sobbing quietly, turned to them, his blue eyes ringed red. Dean stood motionless, the gun still in his outstretched hand. He raised an eyebrow at his brother. "Can I go shoot the computer now?"

"Dean, there's nothing left to shoot."

"Oh, man! Sammy, you promised me!" He turned a quizzical look towards Rodney. "OK, so what about him?"

"No, Dean. You can't shoot Rodney either."

"Dude, I wasn't talking about…oh, c'mon! I wouldn't shoot him! I mean, look at him! He's practically peeing in his pants here! I meant, what do we do with him?"

Sam walked over to the terrified man and, grabbing him by the back of his tee-shirt, hauled him to his feet. "I'm thinking the first thing he should be doing is calling the authorities and explaining to them why his parents are lying in the living room, fried to a crisp, don't you?" He looked thoughtfully at Rodney. "But I'm guessing you might wanna put the small electrical fire that's currently burning in your basement out first, don't you? He picked up a fire extinguisher that hung on the wall and pushed it into Rodney's arms. Sam flashed a brief smile at his brother. "And us? I'm guessing it's probably a good time for us to get the hell out of Dodge, bro. Coming?" He shoved Rodney out of the way and walked over to the back door. Without another word, he opened it and stepped out into the morning sunshine, letting the warm winter rays bathe his skin. Tipping his head up towards the sun, he smiled serenely. For a split second, he had peace. Then, Sam snapped back into reality and started to walk towards the car. Dean pushed the gun back into the small of his back and looked at Ash. Ash's face was concerned.

"What am I missing here, Ash?" Dean felt something niggling at the back of his mind.

"Demon's back in Hell. Dumb-ass here has got one hell of a clean-up job to do. And us?" Ash shrugged. "Guess we'd better catch your brother up before he boosts your car and strands us here." The two men glanced one last time at Rodney and walked out of the house.

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The diner was quiet; Ash, Dean and Sam the only customers. Dean sat, staring thoughtfully out of the window, the slice of pie in front of him almost untouched. "You gonna eat that?" Ash grinned hopefully.

"What? Oh, no. Help yourself." Dean went back to his vigil, lost in his own thoughts.

"Well, I gotta go pee." Sam stood up and stretched lazily. "Back in a bit." Ash watched him walk over to the rest-room and, as soon as he had disappeared through the door, turned his attention to Dean.

"Dude?"

"Huh?"

"Listen. I need to talk to you. 'Bout Sammy. Down in the basement? When we were exorcising that son of a bitch? Dean, it practically begged Sam to let it live! Offered to serve him, to spread his power all over the world! Dean, this is bad, man. Real bad."

Dean snapped his head around, glaring at Ash. "My brother's OK, Ash."

"Dean, get your head out of your ass will you? Sam is not OK. Something's wrong, dude, really, really wrong. He… he hesitated, Dean. I had to force him to complete the ritual!"

"Careful, Ash…"

"No Dean, please, just listen to me! Look, dude, I know you got things on your mind, but this is…"

Dean shot Ash a warning look as Sam re-emerged out of the men's room. He leaned in close and whispered urgently to Ash. "Ash, I know, OK? But as long as I'm around, nothing's gonna happen. As long as I'm here, Sammy ain't going nowhere near Darkside, got it?"

"Sure Dean, but what about when you're not around? What then?"

Dean watched his brother amble lazily towards them. His green eyes flickered back to Ash. "I don't know, Ash. I don't know…"

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Ash watched the Impala pull out of the parking lot and onto the main highway, shielding his eyes against the low winter sunshine with his hand. He raised his hand and waved one last time as the black car finally disappeared from view. "I'm sorry, Dean. Really, man, I am." His arm dropped to his side and he shrugged, picking the battered green hold-all up and slinging it over his shoulder. As he walked slowly towards the bus station, he turned the conversation he had had with Dean over and over in his mind. Dean had enough to worry about with the Hell Hounds only a few months away. And now? He'd put the seed of doubt about Sammy into his mind as well. Shit. The poor bastard had more than enough on his plate right now, without Ash adding to things.

Ash kicked at a can viciously, watching it scuttle along the sidewalk in front of him. He had to get to Bobby. Get there, and then sit down and figure out with the older hunter what to do. Bobby was like a second father to the boys, especially Dean. If he could work with him, maybe, just maybe, they could come up with something, anything, to try and sort this god-awful mess out…

As he walked along the slippery sidewalk, Ash paid no attention to a woman who stared at him intently, her blonde hair blowing in the sharp January wind, her dark eyes intense and penetrating…

The End.

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Copyright Kes Cross 2008

Thanks to:AJ – Editor

The SNSIE Crew

My husband CJ – Technical Advisor