A/N I am intentionally leaving some things on the "vague" side. The timeline for this story is not long after Ren has started traveling with them, so after Winchester Boys And A Little Serendipity obviously, but before most of the others like Moment Of Weakness and Unnatural Things. Probably if I had to nail it down I'd say this is the second in the set (until I finish the next short I'm working on, then it'll be third), so she's still learning to read the boys and her wounds are probably not quite as healed as she would like to think. I'm curious to know what the readers think, though. Chapters two and three especially there's a lot going on behind those eyes of his, and I know it'll be different for everyone and I'm curious what road you've been lead down by what I've written. So - if you have a few moments to kill - I would be interested to hear. I know what's going on, but Ren doesn't and that disconnect between writer and character can be a bitch.

WARNING: This segment contains some images that some may find disturbing. Continue reading at your own risk.

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Whether I made a noise or maybe he could see me freeze in place, I didn't know. My brain temporarily short-circuited. Dean was off the porch and kneeling in front of me holding my head in his hands before I had fully processed my realization.

Mummification.

"Ren? What is it?" He was trying to catch my eyes with his own and I was sure he was thinking the worst about Sam. Guilt weighed down on me for putting that slight quiver of fear in his voice. Even if I could speak, though, I would not have told him that his worst thoughts paled in comparison to the truth.

If that was what was happening to those who had vanished, why? Corpses could be reanimated, but I did not think they needed to be mummified for that. Could a mummified corpse be reanimated, cheesy B-movies notwithstanding? Daemon hosts? Why not just ride a live body like they usually did? What possible purpose could the mummification serve?

That was getting me nowhere, twisting my head around questions that lead to more questions. I turned my brain inside out, trying to remember everything I knew about ritual mummification.

He would be denied food and water for several days so that his system would be purged of everything in it. It would also cause him to lose any water-weight he was carrying which, knowing the Winchesters were both in peak physical condition, would be precious little. It would be enough to loosen his skin slightly for the insertion of the herbal desiccants once he had been opened up and his internal organs removed, though.

It gave us more time to find him but meant he would be suffering, the longer we took the worse he would get. My stomach did a dangerous roll at the thought. The urge to protect them both washed over me, shocking me with the ferocity of it.

I tried desperately to think in detached, clinical terms. The thought of Sam lying covered in blood, his belly and chest open and empty while some lunatic lined him with herbs wormed its way into my imagination despite my best efforts. I knew then that it would be a long time before I could sleep again without that image haunting my nightmares. My eyes squeezed shut and a shudder ran through me, wrenching a whine from my throat.

Dean grabbed the fur along my lower jaw painfully tight and pulled my face up until I opened my eyes and was looking directly into his.

"Ren?" His voice was soft, cautious, his eyes filled with uncertainty underscored with strength and force of will. That one word held so many questions he knew I could not answer, but it was enough to clear my head some and get me back on task.

I lowered my muzzle and bumped his forehead gently with mine, giving a low whuff as I did. Let him translate that however he wanted, but hopeful he would see it for the comfort it was meant to be. I dropped my nose back to the ground and headed for the gate. I heard him take a slow, measured breath as he stood behind me and then followed closely.

I could still smell Sam under the other smells for a few feet, just far enough that I knew we were on the right trail. Where his scent ended I caught the scent of something else.

Blood.

I snuffled around a wide area, but could only track it to one spot. My best guess was that he had struggled and whoever had taken him had knocked him unconscious at that point. It was not a big area of blood, so I took some small comfort that there didn't seem to be enough for him to have been badly hurt.

The gate had a lock on it, but it was not secured. That seemed to confirm my theory that he had been taken out this way. They would not have been able to lock the gate behind them on the way out, only from the inside. Dean had come to the same conclusion.

"Gate's not locked, did he go out this way?" Yip. His eyes locked onto mine, "Did he go out this way on his own?" Yip yip. "Shit. Is he - do you think he's - dammit I hate that we can't just talk," he growled, swiping a hand across his face in frustration.

I dropped my eyes from his, this had been my idea and now I wondered if it wasn't more frustration than it was worth. I could scent and hopefully track Sam, but Dean was half in the dark. He was forced into a position where he had to put his trust in someone he barely knew. Not just his trust, but the well-being of his little brother too. I knew that didn't sit well with him on either count. Dean barely trusted people he knew, and he trusted nobody with Sam's welfare. These simple truths didn't take a long time to figure out.

I could maybe shift back now, but then I would be out of commission for longer than we could spare if I was lucky. I didn't want to think about if I were unlucky.

"Hey." At the sound of his voice I realized I was staring at the ground while my conscience tried to tear me apart. I looked back up into his eyes, "This was still a good idea you had."

It sounded too much like an apology to me, when he hadn't done anything wrong. I huffed out a snort.

I checked the ground and fencing around the gate, but other than the smell of the herbs there was no trace of Sam. If there was no sign of him in here anymore, I would all but guarantee there would be no sign of him I could follow out there either.

I tried to remember if I had ever shifted multiple times in a short period or if I had always heeded the dire warnings that included words like "heart attack", "brain damage", "seizures" and "death".

We still had some daylight left, and I could probably continue to sniff out what I could at the areas we considered prime locations, but maybe I could shift back so we could talk and then shift again in the morning. It was way closer than I had ever tried, but maybe I could get away with it just this once.

"You're not thinking about shifting are you?"

How the hell does he DO that? I thought, though I realized I had stopped moving while lost in thought. Apparently that was enough. I hesitated, not looking at him, then gave sort of a groaning, whining maybe.

"Didn't you say it was dangerous to change too soon?" I honestly couldn't remember what words I had used, so I kept my mouth shut. "Forget it. We'll figure out the communication, alright? You killing yourself isn't going to get him back."

I looked up at him, unwilling to make any promises. If it turned out I had to shift early I would do it and deal with the consequences later. He seemed to take my silence as the closest thing to an agreement as he was going to get and he reached out for the gate.

"Wait here a sec, lemme make sure it's clear."

I drew in a breath to growl at him - of the two of us I was currently better equipped for protection duty and even if I wasn't I certainly did not need to be protected by him or anyone else. Before I could voice my indignation, though, he was gone. It occurred to me, and not for the first time, that someone that big just should not move that damn fast.

Half a heartbeat later he was poking his head back around the gate.

"Okay, coast is clear." I stood for a moment, glaring at him. "What?" He looked at me as his eyebrows drew together, confusion written across his face. I huffed out a breath at him and shouldered my way by him and out the gate. He stood looking at me another second, "What'd I do?"

Lucky I don't bite you in the ass you chauvinist. I thought, then sighed. That was completely unfair of me and, worse, it was not true. I was letting the tension get to me and I needed to get a grip on it. Part of it was that I could feel his distress, even with my empathic ability reined in. Years of Hunting had taught him to shelve any emotion not useful to the situation when hunting and he was damn good at it.

Except when it came to Sam.

A lifetime of reading others and helping them had made me extra sensitive to the emotions of others, even the "shelved" ones, whether I was trying to or not. So, when he came to stand alongside me outside the gate, I leaned my shoulder into his leg. A canine apology. I sometimes thought Dean might be part dog, too, with his sharp growls and playful, forgiving nature.

The gate opened into an alley that ran the length of the block. Houses on one side, the garages that went with them on the other. As I expected, the alley was a total mess of scents and nearly impossible to discern any one over the others. Car fluids, stray cats and dogs, the occasional raccoon, some scents I did not even want to try to identify. A few scents were achingly familiar but I could not place them, so I filed them away to ponder later. There was just no way for me to pick out anything that might help us identify the vehicle he was taken in.

Except that it would most definitely smell of Sam and those damn herbs and oils. If I could pick up that scent again, I knew I could find him. The question was would we be able to track down where he'd been taken in time to get him out before he was irreparably damaged?

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