Disclaimer: Ben & Ned belong to Brian Jacques. The plotline for this story is based heavily on a song by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra called "Old City Bar". I don't think I can lay claim to anything, except Natalie and Jerry, and maybe old Hiram. And the bar crowd, of course. NYC belongs to America . . .

NEON STAR

The snow was light and fluffy, dancing through the chill air. It came down thick enough to muffle the bright lights of the city, coldly comforting in the near-midnight darkness.

The thick-furred black dog shook himself, sending droplets and flakes spattering on the youth walking beside him. The towheaded boy was warmly wrapped in a bulky coat, heavy boots keeping out the cold slush. He glanced at the dog as the animal pranced happily in the swirling flakes. The boy's breath was a hot column of steam, and he was fascinated by the shapes and patterns that swirled into the air.

A particularly high jump on the part of the Labrador, however, was sufficient to get his undivided attention, and the youth laughed. The concrete beneath his boots was filthy, despite the cleansing snow. The night was deep and cold, here in the inner city. Garish yellows, reds and greens glared impassively from above as brightly-colored signs gleefully advertised the worst of humanity. It was a strange place to see such a pair, but they were paid no mind by the residents of the sidewalks and alleyways. For once, innocence was a protection. It was Christmas Eve, after all.

As they passed a bar window, Ben stared thoughtfully at the sign. Ned slowed, looking curiously at him.

"Thirsty?" the dog teased gently.

Ben grinned. "Not for that. I just had a feeling . . ." The tiniest of shivers down the spine, a familiar sensation that led to a smile on each of the two young faces. They knew who sent the feelings that led them to help others, and the knowledge in itself was a source of family and happiness. They welcomed any message, however subtle, which Gabriel sent them. It reminded them of home – one that was not tied to a place, but a person.

"Me too," Ned confided. They slowed then, leaning against a wall in sight of that neon light, trying to figure the feeling out.

The snow started falling more heavily, sticking to the slush and the pavement of the road, undisturbed. It was nearly midnight, and there were no cars out on the road. The boy and dog waited, patiently, watching the heavy white flakes fall through the air. In only a few minutes, the swirling snow had covered the world around them in a clean, thin coverlet. The thin, filthy street was magically transformed into a boulevard lit by glowing neon, garish shades softened by the snow into beautiful hues. The colors reflected onto the snow, in an aurora of light that melted and danced over the pure canvas lining the sidewalk. The music from the few gaudily lit stores and bars was dampened by the snow, leaving them in a cocoon of muted light and humming silence.

Ned's ears pricked up. "D'you hear that?"

It was a few moments before the boy was able to detect what the dog's keen ears had already picked up.

The faint noise of footsteps crunching the new-fallen snow came from further down the street. Peering through the tumbling flakes, Ben blinked. A tiny frown creased his forehead as he absently brushed the chill snow from his hair.

Across the street, a slim figure was making its way toward the place where Ben and Ned were standing. Leaning against the frozen brick of a broken-down building, the two watched, the feeling inside them growing ever stronger. As the person came closer, Ben could see that she wasn't properly dressed. Her coat was too thin for the freezing cold of New York City in December. Her hands were tucked under her arms, her head bent against the blowing wind. Long, dark hair was tangled from the wind and coated with snow. She didn't have a hat, or a scarf or gloves. Ben could see her shivering; great, convulsive shudders that gave away how long she had been in the cold.

"What d'you think we should do?"

Ben glanced down at Ned, stormy blue eyes sober as he once again regarded the girl. She had reached the street-corner directly across from them, and had taken shelter in a phone-booth there. It was never a question of whether or not they would help her, but how.

"I . . . don't know," the boy quietly answered his friend.

The girl eagerly reached for the phone. Ben saw the hope drain out of her when she realized that the cord had been slashed. She slumped against the glass, gently dropping the receiver back into the cradle. Though her back was turned to them, Ben didn't have to see to know that an expression of dejection had crossed her features.

"Let's go," Ned decided. He'd apparently had enough of watching, and intended to do something about it. Ben nodded decisively.

One hand on the Lab's ruff, the two crossed the street, taking care not to slip in the ice and slick snow that was steadily piling higher on the pavement.

The girl jerked in surprise when he knocked on the glass of the door, whirling in fright. When Ben saw her face he knew that she could only be a few years older than him, possibly a student. But what was she doing down here?

"Hello," Ben began, with a friendly smile.

She had relaxed when she saw the boy and his dog, but at the sound of another human voice her face tensed up again. Her answering smile was tight. "I'm sorry," she began. "Did you want to use the phone? I'm afraid it's broken."

Ben shook his head. "My name is Ben," he responded lightly. "And this is Ned." The dog panted happily, giving the girl his most encouraging doggy grin. Her smile became more genuine at the sight of the dog, wagging his tail like a pup. "We wanted to know if there's anything we could do to help you."

Suspicion flooded her eyes, though she kept her face calm. "Why would you want to do that?" The words were bitter, and angry.

"She doesn't trust us."

"Why should she?" the dog asked him. "This isn't exactly the nicest place in New York."

"We'll just have to show her, then."

Ben smiled a little. "It's Christmas," he pointed out softly. One hand petted Ned's head rhythmically. The dog whined lowly, and the girl softened.

"It is, isn't it," she murmured. Almost as if against her will, her hand came up, held out for Ned to smell. The dog sniffed her fingers, then licked them, and the last of the fear left the girl.

She shook her head. "My ma would have my head if she heard the way I was talking to you," she commented. A sad smile graced her face, and she petted Ned gently. "Hello, Ben. My name is Natalie. This is a fine dog you have here."

"Smart girl," Ned licked her fingers once more, smugly. "Knows quality when she sees it."

"You great furry fraud!" Ben cried indignantly, unable to keep a smile from his own face.

"Aye," he agreed aloud. "Ned's a good friend to have 'round."

Natalie laughed, a puzzled smile crossing her face as the dog nodded in agreement.

Ben saw her expression, and grinned. "It's just his collar – it itches him when it gets cold out. Isn't that right, boy?"

Ned nodded, and Natalie giggled.

"It is cold," she sighed.

Ben cast her a careful glance as she scratched Ned's head, ignoring the happy noises the dog was making in his thoughts. "I was wondering about that. Natalie -" he hesitated, then continued at her sidelong look. "What's wrong?"

Natalie gave him a flat, blank smile. "Nothing you need to worry over, Ben."

The towheaded lad tilted his head to the side, considering. "But that's what friends do."

"Friends?" Natalie left off petting Ned, brushing her bedraggled hair out of questioning eyes. "You barely know me."

"That doesn't mean I can't be your friend, and want to help you," the youth insisted.

They were standing in the freezing snow, more flakes coming down to settle in the folds of clothes, in hair and fur. Ned shook himself, giving a great doggy sneeze.

Something in the youth's honest words seemed to prick Natalie's heart, and Ben was unhappily surprised to see tears shining in her eyes. He rummaged in his pockets, and came up with a clean, crumpled handkerchief. "Natalie?"

She accepted the white kerchief with a sad smile, shrinking a little further back into the shelter of the phone booth as an icy gust of wind blew past. "Thank you," she murmured.

"Please, Natalie, let us help you," Ben pleaded. Ned's sorrowful eyes entreated her, and she smiled a little, gazing at the dog.

"I don't think there's anything you can do," she murmured.

"At least tell us," Ben answered quietly. The depth of sorrow in her voice tore at his heart.

Natalie nodded, slowly, and opened her mouth. Softly, she began to speak. She was a student at NYU on full scholarship. The dorms had closed for winter break, and she had been planning on going home to South Carolina for Christmas. Her flight had been cancelled due to weather, and she had spent the last of her money on a cab to the apartment of friends, only to find their home locked up and empty. They had gone traveling for the holidays.

She said, her voice turning quiet with grief, that her father had been overworked since her mother had died, and had recently fallen ill. Money was tight, and her paltry on-campus salary went straight into tuition. Her savings account didn't have enough to get her home; and now, she couldn't even get back to the airport.

Ben smiled encouragingly at her, giving her hand a squeeze. In the back of his mind chimed an idea, and a familiar sensation that sent a thrill of happiness through him. Ned rubbed himself against the tall girl's leg, and she petted him soothingly.

Ben cast a considering glance back at the neon sign that he had been so concentrated on before, and grinned. "Natalie, stay here with Ned. I've got an idea."

Bemused, the girl watched as the youth quickly made his way across the street, headed for a dilapidated old bar. Her eyes widened when she saw him go in, a surprised breath catching behind her teeth. "Oh, Ben, be careful!"

Nine o'clock, Christmas Eve. Jerry stared around the bar in pitying disgust. It's more full now than it has any right to be.

Ensconced behind the bar, he was wiping down glasses. He nodded and grunted as he did so, trying to project interest to the man who was moaning his sorrows out for the barkeep to hear. Still, Jerry was infinitely more interested in the time; he'd be closing before midnight tonight, to get home to Sara and the kids. Besides, Frank's story hadn't changed since last night.

A lot of the people in the bar were old regulars, many of them with nowhere else to go for companionship. He could spot Jethro talking with Bobby in the center of the room, the two of them arguing politics again. Al had shown up a mere half-hour ago, and was already on his fourth, a dreary smudge of humanity lurking at the far end of the bar. Ronnie had his latest girl on his lap, both of them giggling and wrapped up in each other in the middle of the room – both knowing that the relationship wouldn't go any further than upstairs, if that. In a side corner, midway between the bar and the window, sat old Hiram. He'd been a musician once, before life had taken its toll. Now, he was just another broken-down dreamer.

Jerry winced.

The rest, he didn't know so well; faceless bits and pieces of mankind that blew through his bar, and his life, only every so often. But there were too many people here, with their wishes and disappointments crowding the air. The holidays drove in the drunkards, and those looking to become so, faster than any other time of year. But he couldn't deny that they were all connected to one another, if only through shared sorrow and misery.

He wanted to go home, to a place filled with love, not desperation.

A chime caught his attention, and he sighed. If it was Tom Selager, they were in for a rough night – the man was downright . . .

Jerry didn't manage to finish the thought.

A kid had just walked into the bar.

He frowned. He took pride in his establishment – it was clean, served good beer cheaply, and he didn't put up with any crap. But it wasn't a place for children, and the young boy who had just walked in couldn't be more than fourteen, if that. Blonde hair poked out from under a woolen hat, and the boy pulled the garment off, leaving the golden strands to shine messily in the faint light.

From the disgruntled and puzzled looks that were being tossed around, Jerry knew that he had to get the kid out of here. It wasn't one of the regulars' kids, come to drag their dad home – he knew all of them too well for his own peace of mind. It was clear that no one knew who this kid was; he had no reason to be here. So why, on this night of all nights, was an innocent such as this wandering around the City alone?

He came straight up to the bar, then, and as Jerry opened his mouth to tell the kid to take a hike, the boy spoke.

He was oddly confident for his age, and despite the youth and reserve in his tone, his voice carried. He looked earnestly at Jerry as he spoke.

"Did you know," he asked quietly, "that someone is lost, just outside?"

In that snow?

Jerry peered through the swirling flakes, and could barely make out a figure across the street. So what? It's not my problem.

But as he peered more closely, he could see the long dark hair, out by the payphone that had been busted by some punks a week back. He was reminded of his daughter, Meghan, who was almost sixteen. He shuddered at the thought of his baby wandering these streets, alone in the cold.

"She can't get home," the youth said lowly. He looked around him, blue eyes clear and compassionate. Few met his gaze, but Jerry noted old Hiram staring, with something like surprise.

Almost of his own volition, his voice came to him. "Not that I care," he began, rubbing forcefully at the glass in his hand. "But how do you know this?"

The boy shrugged. "I just noticed . . . . I mean, if one could be home -" he hesitated, a little tense as he glanced around. His eyes took in the people scattered all around with compassion beyond his years. He relaxed. "If one could be home," he softly repeated, "they'd be already there."

Jerry was surprised that this boy could understand them so easily.

He denied it, but the bar had become a home to some – like old Hiram, who was still gazing at the boy in astonishment. The clamor had been muted tonight, but Jerry had seen a smile on each familiar face crossing the threshold this evening. It had been like a welcoming return.

Jerry felt a flash of pity for them, then, and for himself. But moreover, he glanced back outside, to the girl who was standing inside the cold phone booth, and knew that someone, somewhere, was worried for her. As worried as he was when Meghan was out late, or when the twins didn't get in until after dark.

Glancing around the bar, he saw that most were still ensconced in their alcohol and misery, if they had ever been pulled from it at all by the boy's appearance. They used the liquor to drive out the chill of loneliness. Good – then they wouldn't see what he was about to do. The absolute last thing he needed was to let his patrons think he was well off enough that they didn't need to pay their tabs on time.

Moving to the till, Jerry opened the cash drawer with a soft chime, and pulled out the bills. A coupla hundred bucks – enough to get someone where they needed to be, maybe. It wasn't much, but it was all he had. Some nights the bar didn't break even, and it wasn't by any means the most lucrative of businesses. Maybe he was being a fool, and maybe he was being hoodwinked by a two-man con, but he couldn't just ignore it.

He pulled on his coat, hiding the cash in his pockets, and walked up to the kid. The boy had watched all of this with keen eyes, and he smiled at Jerry. The barkeep caught his breath at the innocence in that face.

A few minutes later he was following the boy out into the snow, counting this among the more stupid things he had done this year, but doing it nevertheless. When he got closer, he could see that the girl was only a few years older than his baby, and he felt a pang of sorrow for her. At her side, hidden from view of the bar by the phone booth, was a large black Labrador. The animal waved its tail happily on seeing them.

The boy spoke quietly to the both of them, for the girl – Natalie, he learned – was unable to hide her distrust. Jerry was glad of that, at least – it just didn't do for girls her age to be walking down these streets unaware of the dangers of the city. But when the story came out, it was the work of a moment to pull out his cell phone, and call a cab.

The three stood quietly in the falling flakes, and the yellow cab came up to them, maneuvering slowly and carefully through the snow. The plows and salters hadn't come this far yet, and there was a good three inches or more on the ground. It was bitterly cold, and Jerry felt a rush of relief after putting the girl in the cab. He gave her the remainder of the money as well, and when she looked up at him with surprised eyes, he simply said, "Merry Christmas, Miss."

"Thank you," she spoke directly to him for the first time, and he was surprised by the gentle southern drawl. "God bless."

He smiled back, and then caught the cabbie's eye. "JFK," he told the man, and the driver nodded briskly. Closing the door, he stood and watched the taillights glowing gently against the falling snow, waiting for the taxi to disappear from sight.

It was a few moments later, with a start, that he remembered the boy and the dog. But when he turned to look, there was no sign of the two. The wind and the snow fell gently across the street. Though he should have felt alarm, there was only peace whispering in his soul. He stood for a moment, the beginnings of a quiet belief building in his heart.

Somehow a little different from moments before, Jerry turned to head back to the bar. He paused at the door, glancing out down the street. For a moment, he thought he saw the outline of two figures. The wind blew hard, then, and the snow blocked his sight. But nevertheless he found a smile on his lips, and words to murmur to the quiet world around him. "Merry Christmas."

Fin

A/N (2): If you want the lyrics to "Old City Bar", drop me a line; I've decided not to try the goodwill of ffnet by posting it here. If you've never heard of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra, I highly recommend their music. Happy Holidays, all!