I know it's late, but we got into Estes Park, checked into the cabin, and then I had to write a tutorial on blending in photoshop for someone who asked for help. Then I had to update this story on a mesage board, LJ, and here. Sorry it's late... but it's still Monday :) Anyway, this is one of my favorite chapters. Hope you enjoy it.


Chapter Seven

The Circle Of Life

The trio- family- pulled into a small town in Illinois as the sun began its descent below the horizon. "Look," Dean said, taking his hand from Ben's shoulder long enough to point through the windshield at a small herd of deer that was wandering through the deserted streets. "More deer."

He looked over at Sam, who was sitting in the front passenger seat, head leaning against the cool glass of the window. Ben had been sandwiched between them, leaning heavily against his father.

"Like 'I Am Legend,'" the boy stated. "The people are gone, so the animals come out."

Dean nodded. "Just what I was thinking." He grinned as he heard his brother's stomach growl, realizing that he himself had barely eaten anything that day. "Hey, what do you guys say we stop off here, grab a bite, and settle in for the night?"

"What are gonna eat, Dean?" Sam asked, "nobody's working the McDonald's drive-through anymore."

"You really are lucky I think ahead, you know that? Packed some food before we left Bobby's. It's not a Big Mac, but it'll do."

"Where are we gonna sleep?" Ben asked. "Not like the motels are open."

Dean sighed and looked out across the road at the silent town. Wind rustled through the trees, blowing old newspapers through the streets. Everyone was dead. Everyone. Not just sitting inside their houses, waiting out the demonic plague, but actually dead.

It was almost as if the realization of what had happened suddenly hit full-force, shocking the hunter enough for him to stop the car and simply stare at the barren town. The Impala's other passengers both turned to him, wondering what was wrong. Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, wondering when the last time he'd shaved was. It didn't really matter in the long-run, he supposed. Not like anyone was really left to judge him on his looks.

"I think it just hit me," he muttered, looking over at his family, all he had left, all there was left for all they knew. "All those people…"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Well, uh, we can look for a motel, grab a room key, and let ourselves in. We'll have beds, tables, air conditioning."

"How long until the power goes out?" Dean asked.

His brother shrugged. "No way to tell. Depends on how fast it spread, where people crashed their cars, and how much juice the plants have got. Maybe a week? Two?"

"No TV, no radio," Dean glanced at Sam and grinned. "No internet for Geekboy. So sorry."

Sam smiled as the awestruck quality left his brother's voice. "All right. We find a motel, snag ourselves a room, eat, sleep, be merry, and head on back to Bobby's place tomorrow. Sound like a plan?" His brother and nephew nodded. "Good. Let's go."

Dean started the car back up, easing his baby through the town, keeping his eyes open for more deer and the tell-tale signs of a motel. A large sign with most of its lettering peeling from the wood caught his eye and he turned into a crowded parking lot on the outskirts of the town.

"What the Hell?" Dean muttered as he stopped the car in front of the motel office. The parking lot was packed with cars, one or two still holding some rotting passengers.

Sam unlocked his door and opened it, stepping out into the heat of midwestern August, his nose wrinkling at the slight smell that hung in the area around the cars. "I'll go see if there are any keys left." He closed the door and trekked across the asphalt lot, hands in his pockets, head down, suddenly feeling guilty.

He was surrounded by dead people, people that had never done anything wrong, people that hadn't deserved to die. And he had lived. He had lived because his family was cursed, possibly evil, and connected to demons. Yeah, he was so much more deserving than everyone else in the world.

He pushed open the door to the office and was immediately hit by a wall of the most powerful smell he'd ever had the displeasure of whiffing. The air in the office was stale and hot, having been trapped in the small room since the death of the owner.

It didn't take Sam long to find the source of the smell. The motel's clerk was sprawled across the front desk, his fingers dangling over a map of the area that had been tacked across the front. His mouth had been stuck in a silent scream of agony, his eyes wide open and crusted over, his skin bloated and purple with heat and death.

Slowly, the hunter stalked toward the front desk, looking over the body to see the wall behind it. There should have been keys hanging on hooks- the hooks were there, at least- but the board was barren.

Sam glanced back out the front window at the Impala in the parking lot. He couldn't imagine people wanting to die in motel rooms, but supposed that it was better than the middle of the road.

Sighing, Sam left the office, guilt for not giving the man behind the desk a proper burial, or at least a proper cremation gnawing at his stomach. He crossed the parking lot and opened up the car door. "No keys."

"What?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "No keys. There was a space for 'em on the back wall, but they were all gone. Either someone else had the same idea we did, or the people traveling to see family took all the rooms and never got a chance to leave."

"So we're sleeping in the car?"

The younger man folded himself back into the Impala. "Unless we can find another motel, that's what it looks like."

Dean sighed. "Great." He started up the car, replacing his arm around his son's shoulders in an awkward attempt at comfort, and headed back out onto the road.

The next motel was about five miles out of town and displayed a sign that boasted its title as the last run-down flea-bag pit for the next sixty miles. The parking lot was full, as it had been at the last motel, and Dean didn't even bother with it, just kept driving.

The sun dipped even lower before the family had reached a suitable spot to pull off the road and spend the night. The campground they found off the side of the road was old, apparently abandoned, and grown-over with foliage, but it was out of the way and seemed a safe spot to stop for the night.

Dean navigated the car over a dirt path that wound through the grounds, finally pulling onto the grass when they were out of sight of the road. "No electricity," he said, looking around at the grass and trees. "No water hook-up. No bathrooms. No wonder this place went under."

"It was probably used for tent camping," Sam pointed out.

"Again," Dean said, "no wonder it went under. Who sleeps in a tent anymore?"

His brother grinned. "The people that can afford to not sleep in their cars."

"Funny. Just for that, you get to grab the food."

Sam opened the door and slid out of the car, grabbing the keys as Dean tossed them to him. He walked around to the back and popped the trunk, digging around until he found four sandwiches in plastic baggies and a few water bottles. He grabbed them, slammed the trunk, and walked back around to the front of the car, stopping as something caught his eye.

"What is it?" Dean asked, watching as his brother bent to inspect something on the ground.

"Looks like a track," the younger man said, "but nothing dad ever taught us about. Like a cat or something." He stood back up and folded himself into the backseat of the Impala. "A big cat."

"ABC?"

"What's that?" Ben asked, disentangling himself from his father's arms and grabbing the food and water offered to him by his uncle.

"Alien big cat," Dean explained. "Not the ET kind, the illegal kind."

"Cryptozoologists believe that there's evidence of black panthers wandering around the fields in America and a few other countries they aren't native to," Sam explained, "hence the 'alien.'"

"But mostly it's just been proven to be a regular old house cat set up against a backdrop that makes it look bigger than it is," Dean added. "Probably nothing to worry about. Someone's pet or a stray."

Ben nodded, unwrapping his sandwich and taking a bite. "So, monsters, huh?"

Dean grinned, grabbing his own dinner from Sam and settling back. "Yep. Monsters."

"Did they do this?" the boy asked, "did they… kill everyone?"

The brothers glanced at each other before Dean nodded, seeing no reason to lie to the kid, especially not if Meg had been right and an army was coming for Sam. "Yeah. The, uh, the demons did it."

Ben's eyes widened. "There really are demons, then?"

"Yeah. They're real, and they're mean and stubborn and the most evil things you could ever meet."

"Does that mean that angels are real, too?"

Dean paused, unsure of what to say, unsure of the truth. "Yeah," he said softly, looking down at his sandwich. "Yeah. They are."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean stumbled through the weeds and back to the car, nearly losing his way twice in the dark. He pulled the car door open, wincing as it squealed on its hinges, and slid back inside.

He was thankful for the protective hulk of the Impala, the way it shielded him from the unnatural quiet of the night. There were no voices, no scufflings of people, no campfires. There were only animal sounds and death smells permeating the still air.

The hunter locked the door and leaned back against it, trying to get comfortable in the confined space after his much-needed pee break. He was surprised when the small lump leaning against the passenger side window sat up.

"Sorry," Dean whispered, "didn't mean to wake you."

Ben shrugged. "I was awake."

"Nightmare?"

The boy shook his head. "No. Just couldn't sleep." He waited for Dean to get comfortable before crawling over the seat and curling up beside him. "It's creepy, you know?"

"Yeah. Like 'The Stand.' You ever read that?"

"No. Too big. Saw the movie, though."

"Sci-Fi?" Dean asked. Ben nodded. "Yeah. Effects kinda sucked, didn't they?" The boy nodded again, smiling. "Book's way better. Long, but better. Creepy. The chapter about how it spreads, that's bad; the worst, though, is the one about the people left behind, the ones who aren't major characters. Don't think they show it in the movie."

"What happens?"

"There's this guy who lost everyone, a wife and a busload of kids, and he's running and has a heart attack. A woman panics and blows her own face off by accident. And there's this kid, four or five years old, goes walking in a blueberry patch or something, falls down a well, and breaks his legs. He can't get out."

"You're right," Ben muttered, snuggling up a little closer, "I did get lucky."

Dean wrapped an arm around his son. "That's still not the worst," he whispered. "See, I got to thinking afterward, and I wonder what happened if a baby was immune?"

"Like in 'The Andromeda Strain?'"

"Exactly," Dean said, "only without anyone to rescue 'em."

"Thanks for coming to get me."

"Don't mention it."

"I didn't believe mom when she told me. But then you came and I remembered Mr. Irving and Jamie. It's hereditary, isn't it?"

Dean blinked. "Man, you are too smart to be my kid."

Ben smiled. "Blood doesn't lie."

"And a blood test without blood from the potential father wouldn't prove anything," the hunter muttered, finally catching Lisa's only slip in her paternity claim.

"Makes sense."

Dean looked down at his son and held him close. He had to marvel at the way the kid was dealing with everything, had to wonder if he was taking the Winchester way out and just bottling everything up, or if he was just really well adjusted. "Try to get some sleep, ok?"

"Ok," Ben said, closing his eyes. He fidgeted a little, squirming to get into a more comfortable position, and opened his eyes again. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Where do you think mom is?"

A large lump suddenly formed in Dean's throat, blocking his ability to breathe, to think, to reply. He coughed, trying to clear it. "Um… what?"

Ben shook his head, curling back up against the hunter's chest and closing his eyes. "It's stupid. Never mind."

"No," Dean finally managed to gasp out, "no, Ben, it's not. For what it's worth, I think she's in Heaven."

The boy opened his eyes and stared up at Dean with the kind of innocence the hunter had always wished he could have again. "What do you think it's like? Heaven, I mean."

Dean sighed. "I think it's beautiful," he said softly, glancing into the backseat to make sure their conversation wasn't disturbing Sam. The ginormitron was still out of it, curled up into a little ball in the cramped space, one arm hanging over the side of the seat. "I think that everyone you ever loved is there waiting for you, and you never have to hurt or want for anything. I think it's peaceful."

Ben nodded. "Yeah. I hope so." He yawned, the long day finally starting to catch up to him. "What do you think Hell's like?"

That lump was back in his throat, bringing memories of chains and hooks and screams of pain with it. He closed his eyes, trying to think of something happier, but all he could see was Sam, whole and bright and good, ripping out hooks, grimacing at something so broken and beaten and demolished that even his soul showed the extensive damage. "I don't know," he said, "and I hope you never have to."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean was surprised to wake up without the oddly comforting weight of a nine-year-old on his chest. He sat up and looked around the car. Sam was still curled up in the backseat, drooling all over the leather. Ben was nowhere to be seen.

He figured the kid had woken up first, decided he'd had to pee, and gone to take a leak out in the bushes. He'd be back soon.

The hunter stretched out across the seat, bringing his legs up for the first time and trying to work out all the uncomfortable kinks. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling, waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

Slowly, Dean shifted position until he was sitting up straight. Something was wrong. He could sense it, the way he'd always been able to sense those things, the way he'd been able to tell that Sam needed help after dropping him back off at Stanford.

Something was very wrong.

He unlocked the door and slid from the car, again wincing as the door creaked open and shut. He checked to make sure he was armed, his fingers dancing over the warm metal of the gun that never left the waistband of his jeans, and set off through the campground, keeping his eyes and ears alert.

There was no noise, human or otherwise, permeating the area. That, Dean had learned from experience, was a very bad sign. He watched the ground as he walked, careful to avoid any stray twigs or dry leaves that might make his presence known. From behind a near-by bush, he heard a whimper.

Slowly, carefully, the hunter snuck around the bush in question and stepped into a clearing to find his son standing stalk still, staring straight ahead. "Ben," he whispered, "what is it?"

Ben pointed toward the line of dying trees, his movements slow and calculated, scared. Dean followed the boy's gaze to see a large mountain lion watching them, its eyes never leaving his son.

"Hey!" He yelled, hoping to scare the large cat away. The cougar turned its head in Dean's direction and smiled- actually smiled- its dark eyes turning pure white.

The cat turned back to Ben, still smiling, and pounced. Dean didn't have time to think, to draw his gun and shoot, to do much more than scream his son's name and watch as the big cat flew through the air toward the boy. His heart sped up in his chest, panic flooding his system, making rational thought impossible as something dripped from his nose and the cougar changed direction mid-leap, sailing into a large tree and hitting the trunk hard enough to break it in two.

Both Winchesters stared at the fallen cat as it staggered to its feet, glaring at Dean with a mixture of hatred and confusion. The white gaze was enough to snap Dean out of his panicked stupor and send him across the short expanse to grab his son, pulling the boy into his arms. He sprinted back toward the car, always aware of the sound of heavy breathing behind them.

The Impala gleamed in the sunlight ahead of them, and Dean found himself wishing that he'd thought enough to leave the door open. As if prompted by his musing, the door closest to them swung open, providing a means of escape for father and son.

Dean dove into the Impala, barely noticing as the door slammed shut behind him, and reached up to start the car. The keys were already in the ignition, engine growling before he got his hand anywhere near them.

He pulled himself up into a sitting position, gathering Ben into his arms and assessing the boy for physical damage as the car's tires squealed and the Impala pulled out of the campground.

Panting hard, the hunter ran a hand over his face, bringing it away bloody, and set it on the wheel. "What the hell was that?" he whispered.

"Mountain lion," Ben replied, "but they're not native to the area. Must've been an ABC."

Dean nodded, keeping the boy close to his chest as the car swerved, apparently of its own accord, away from the campground and Lilith's latest host. He hadn't been talking about the cat, had barely even registered the fact that there was one in light of the events that had followed its appearance.

In the back seat, Sam sat up, shaking his head groggily. "Why you driving so fast?"

Dean looked at Ben and shook his head. Sam was already freaking out about the possibility of a demonic army coming after him, millions of souls getting stuck in Hell, and all-out war breaking out. No need to worry him more with stories of flying cats and possessed cars. If that was even what they were.

"Just want to get to Bobby's as fast as possible," Dean said, trying to keep his voice level. He drew another hand across his face and found it to be clean. No signs of a nose bleed. No evidence that something might have happened. Good. "Go back to sleep, Sammy. We're ok." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "We're ok." Ok.