PartFour

The call didn't come until the next night, Saturday, in the middle of the second quarter of a Kansas v Nebraska football game. Ben was in the stands, yelling with his friends when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He looked at the caller ID; Cody Williams. It was from one of those hunters or whatever they call themselves. Ben's heart rate accelerated a bit—he was finally going to get somewhere with his investigation working with these guys, however crazy or misled they were, he just felt it. He hit "accept" and put the phone to his ear, covering the other ear with a hand.

"Hello?" Ben said loudly into the phone. "Sorry about the noise, I'm at the game."

"Ben—it's Cody from last night. We've got some info for you. What're you carrying?" Cody said, speaking up a bit so Ben could hear him over the crowd.

"What, like weapons? Uhh—just a pocket knife. Why?"

"There was another murder early this morning. He's changed his pattern though, Ben, the vic was never at that bar. They found her in someone else's apartment, stabbed through the stomach, the owner of the place is dead too. The cops think it's just a random killing, but Mason and I aren't so sure. We left the crime scene a little while ago, and we found sulfur there. The killer is smart, boy, he's switching it up to throw the police off his trail." Cody explained.

Ben wasn't so sure if Cody and Mason knew what they were talking about. Why was sulfur so important to them? Were they really still on that demon idea? Why was there sulfur near all the victims, anyway? Did the killer just go around sprinkling the yellow element everywhere? Ben knew from a class he was taking that sulfur was a common ingredient in a lot of fertilizers used in Kansas, it was known as the "fourth major nutrient", and was essential for crops to grow. Maybe the killer was a farmer or something. That doesn't even begin to narrow the suspect list down though, which at that point included everyone.

"Are we going after him tonight?" Ben asked, turning away from his group of friends on the bench. Cody didn't answer for some time, but Ben could hear him talking away from the phone.

Suddenly, Ben heard Mason exclaim, "Shit!" in the background, and Cody returned to the call.

"Ben, he's at the game. The killer is at the stadium somewhere."

Ben didn't respond for quite some time. He looked up and around the crowd, as if he could pinpoint the killer. The crowd churned blue and red, the screaming of the fans took on an underwater quality, muffled and senseless. He made eye contact with several fans, none of them seemed suspicious, but all of them were possible suspects. It was impossible to tell. The killer could be anyone; no one could possibly pick him out of the raucous crowd. Ben couldn't help but cast a suspicious glance at the KU mascot; the Jayhawk, as the red and blue costume bird jumped around, prompting the student side of the stadium to cheer.

"Ben?" Cody said, breaking Ben out of his paranoid search.

"How do you know he's here?" Ben asked, jumping off the bench and waving to his friends as he trotted down the stairs. He pulled the KU ball-cap down further over his forehead.

"We uh, just visited a friend who's got good instinct for this kind of stuff." Cody said. "A psychic."

Ben stopped dead. "You went to a psychic to help us find this guy?" The investigation was getting weirder and weirder. A psychic? Really?

"She's the real deal boy, hasn't been wrong yet." Cody assured.

"Whatever you say. Did she give any details?"

"Naw, just said she saw the stadium."

Of course.

"Hey kid," Mason was on the phone now, "don't do anything crazy okay? We're on our way over there, and the three of us can work on this together."

Ben thought that was reasonable. He didn't know where to begin anyway. He got in line for concessions, figuring it was a good vantage point of some of the crowd. He tried to look casual while scanning through the masses of students and fans, but he didn't even know what to look for. The killer was probably a man, probably not a Nebraska fan, and that was about all he could determine. Mason said he'd interviewed a few people that had last seen the victims, but none of them could remember anything significant.

He paid for a bag of Cracker Jack and wandered around a bit, heading towards the entrance of the stadium so he could keep an eye out for Cody and Mason. At the sound of a grumbling V8, he turned to watch the parking lot, expecting Mason's big F-250 King Ranch, but instead a Chevy Impala rolled into the lot, her driver—a guy with longish hair—leaning to look out the window at the crowd behind the gates. Ben turned his attention back to the game, feeling weird for staring around at people so much. Halftime started, and the electric chords of some rock song started as the band prepared to play. Ben watched the Chevy's tall driver pass him quickly, he walked briskly to the stands, but was stopped by a security guard. Ben could see the man looking exasperated as the rent-a-cop gave him a lecture, but the man whipped out a badge and ID and showed it to the guard.

FBI is here, Ben thought, interesting.

Ben turned back to watch the entrance, and saw Cody and Mason making their way towards him. Mason had made a half-assed attempt at blending in by wearing a KU t-shirt under his usual tan Carhartt jacket, though he still wore his Wyoming Cowboys hat. Cody didn't even try—he was wearing the same rebel flag Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt he wore the night before. Cody grinned at him as he approached, Mason just scanned the crowd.

"We've got what we need for this, but it's gonna be tricky picking the thing out of the crowd." Cody said, clapping a hand on Ben's shoulder. Mason was looking ahead towards the stands, at the Chevy-driving Fed.

"Hey, Cody, look who we've got." Mason nodded towards the Fed, Cody looked in that direction.

"Well shit." Cody said, suddenly looking troubled.

"Who is he?" Ben asked. "Is it bad that the feds are involved?"

"Sam Winchester is about as much a fed as we are. We worked with him and his brother on a vamp hunt a few years back." Mason said.

Vampires? God—give me a break. Ben began to wonder if it was a smart move working alongside these guys after all. How long until the crazy wears off on him?

"Well—that's good he's here, right?" Ben watched Sam Winchester finish his conversation with the security guard, then move to go under the stands.

"Lately, a Winchester on the scene means it's something either really big, or really evil." Mason explained.

"Prob'ly both." Cody added, and then started towards the stands. "I'm gonna go ask him what's going on."

"Right there with you." Mason said. "Ben, I need you to stay here and keep an eye on this exit. If you see anyone suspicious leave, follow him." Mason tossed Ben the keys to the truck.

Ben nodded, not wanting to challenge him, and moved to a spot where he could see as much of the crowds as possible. He glanced behind himself and craned his neck to see the Chevy Impala – probably a late 60's, early 70's model—sitting in the far back of the parking lot. A fed probably wouldn't have to park all the way back there, so apparently that Winchester guy was like Cody and Mason. A hunter. But did they honestly expect him to believe that they ran around the country in their spare time hunting monsters and demons? Maybe they believed it, but Ben couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that those things that go bump in the night are real. If monsters were real, it'd be in the news all the time, right? Like, Vampire Mafia at War with Werewolf Gang in Central Chicago. And if demons were real, there would be legitimate evidence of exorcisms, preachers' daughters' heads spinning around, stuff like that. But there isn't. So there aren't. Right?

Ben didn't have long to wonder about it, because Cody came running back soon enough, Mason not with him.

"Sam and Mason are going to stake this place out. Things just got a helluva lot more complicated. Come on, boy, we're leaving." Cody didn't stop, just grabbed Ben's arm as he passed, dragging the kid along with him.

"What's going on?" Ben said, removing his arm from Cody's grip, jogging a little to keep pace with the taller man.

"It's the other Winchester—Dean. He's possessed, and he's the one going around killing women."

Cody explained that it made the job more difficult because the thing would have knowledge of advanced hunter tactics, and that Sam was going to have to be directing the hunt a bit more than Cody liked. Sam was holding something back, and Cody could tell, and that infuriated him. Cody thought it was dangerous to not have all the context behind a hunt, especially when it came to demons, but Sam insisted that he didn't have anything else.

In any case, the hunters quickly realized that if the demon was at the stadium, they'd never find him, especially if he knew he was being hunted, and didn't want to be found. They decided to call it a night, and to keep the scanners running, just in case anything comes up. Until then, Cody and Mason were frustratingly out of ideas, and Sam was holding back information.

That night, Ben collapsed into his dorm bed, his roommate groaning at the late hour, quickly falling back asleep. Ben stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, and finally fell asleep himself.

He was 11 or 12 again, standing in his old house's garage. He tossed a baseball back and forth in his hands, the ball arching slowly like only something in a dream would. He didn't know why, but he felt like he was breaking some rule, and he glanced behind him, nervous, at the garage door, as if he was afraid of getting caught. He looked back into the garage, a car sat in the middle of it, covered by a tan tarp. Whatever car it was had hard lines, sharp angles, that wide hood that screamed muscle. Ben stepped forwards slowly, set the ball down, reached forward, and pulled the cover off the car. A gleaming black Chevy Impala—1967, he remembered someone explaining to him. He crept forward and peered inside. The creamy leather seats were worn but not abused, in the back was a cardboard box filled with small rectangular boxes—cassette tapes. A little green army man crouched at the ready, crammed in the right hand side rear ashtray. Ben moved down the streamlined side of the muscle car—being careful not to touch it-and noticed the trunk was slightly ajar. This was too much for his curiosity, and he lifted the hatch, the trunk was empty. Or so he thought. There was a false bottom, and Ben used his other hand to struggle to lift that hatch as well. He stared, stunned, at the biggest collection of weird stuff and weapons he'd ever seen.

Ben woke to his phone ringing.

*Next time:

The demon possessing Cody released his invisible hold on Mason, who fell to his knees, coughing. The other demons looked around, as if unsure what they should do, and held in place by the shock at what the kid just did. Sam was released by Dean's hold, his demonic brother entirely distracted.

"I won't be like you," Ben rasped, blood beginning to stain his teeth. "I won't be a monster."