Author's Note: Thanks for all the feedback guys! Just an alert: time is going to be a little wonky in this story. Last chapter took place around the beginning of season seven. Feel free to ask questions if my writing is confusing. Please listen to the songs as you read!

Playlist for the chapter: Bargain – The Who, Run to the Hills – Iron Maiden, Harden My Heart - Quarterflash

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Lisa vs. The Dark

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Dean sat in the Impala, engine idling outside a small mom and pop grocery store in Michigan. Kevin, Sam, and Kevin's mom were inside the Quickie Mart getting supplies for the road while they waited for Garth. Castiel sat next to him, hands shoved deep in the pocket of his trademark trench coat. Dean liked their silences; Cas didn't say anything and Dean didn't feel like he had to spill his guts.

He didn't feel like that with Sam. It was like there was this barrier between them. Dean knew perfectly well what that barrier was. It was the hell of Purgatory and the mysterious woman, Amelia.

He resented the fact that Sam didn't look for him, but even more he resented the fact that his brother had been able to let him go, to find the apple pie life when Dean couldn't.

When Sam had been in Hell Dean had stayed with Lisa and Ben. He'd wanted so bad to let himself belong to them, to be their support system, a husband and father figure. Dean had never belonged to them though, not completely. He had wanted to, so very badly, but the thought of his baby brother in Hell had tortured him.

Apparently Sam hadn't had the same issues.

Dean sighed. If he really thought about it, the fact was that he was jealous. Sam could let the Hunter side of himself go and Dean couldn't. There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't think about Lisa and the kid. Sometimes he'd hear a woman laughing and turn expecting to see her. He'd hear a kid rocking out to AC/DC or Def Leppard and expect to see Ben.

He couldn't get his happy ending, but Sam had found his. It wasn't fair.

Dean could see the outline of his brother through the clouded window of the Quickie Mart. It was hard to miss him, Sam was gigantic. He was currently arguing with Mama Tran, jabbing a finger at whatever it was in her hand. Dean snorted. Probably saying no to whatever weird scheme she had in mind this time around, like trying to buy an entire frozen chicken to cook in a cramped little hotel room. He reconsidered. Not that all her and Kevin's ideas were bad. The holy water super soaker was actually a great idea. He wished he'd thought of a demon repelling squirt gun sooner.

Chipper conversation caught his attention as someone walked past his car.

Dean glanced up and his heart stopped. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, the worn leather creaking under his white knuckled grip. Castiel looked over at him, questioningly, then his gaze followed Dean's.

A woman with long, wavy dark hair holding the hand of a small boy walked past them into the Quickie Mart. She was laughing as she flicked mud out of the squirming kid's hair.

"Is there anywhere that you didn't get mud on you?"

"Mom, quit it!"

"Yeah right. C'mon kid, let's get you cleaned up. You can't sit in the car like that."

He saw her face as she passed his window. It wasn't Lisa and Ben, however much it looked like them. The woman was a little on the short side, the boy too young.

Dean and Cas watched the two walk into the store, unaware of the scrutiny.

"Have you thought about going back?" Cas asked. "Once this is all over?" There was no point in beating around the bush; they both knew what was on Dean's mind.

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and found he was unable to look the angel in the eye. "I can't. Lisa deserves so much better than me. I think we've pretty much proved that the only thing I can give her is death and heartbreak."

Cas didn't say anything. It wasn't like he could. The stark reality was that the demons had targeted Lisa and Ben simply to get at Dean. There was no other way to look at it. As long as Dean was in their lives, they would be in danger. They were his weak spot. He couldn't protect them twenty-four seven; that much was painfully obvious.

Dean slumped in his seat, sticking on his aviators. Using sunglasses to hide a face was a silly human habit, and Dean knew that it wouldn't fool his self appointed guardian angel, but what the hell.

Besides, it was a good time for a nap.

He crossed his arms and tucked his chin into his flannel shirt. "I'm gonna take five. Wake me up when they get out. Or when Garth shows up. Whatever."

Dean closed his eyes, and passed out into bliss and darkness.

He knew he was dreaming, mainly because he was happy. No, that wasn't the right word for it. Sammy was still in Hell. He was content. More or less. Dean was on his knees with his head under a kitchen sink, tightening a loose pipe.

"Now that's some plumber ass. Rawr."

He startled so fast he banged his head on the underside of the counter. Lisa was standing behind him in her hospital scrubs, looking apologetic.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." She ran her hand gently over the back of his head, feeling for a bump.

Dean curled back into her hand, eyes sliding closed in pleasure as she ran her fingers through his short hair, scraping her nails gently along his scalp. He remembered this day. It had been one of the good ones where he hadn't been such a mess, drowning his sorrows in an alcoholic stupor. God he'd been an ass. He cringed now to think about what a nightmare he'd been for her and Ben. He didn't deserve either of them.

Still, that quiet Friday had been bliss. Lisa had gotten off work early, Ben had stayed late at school for baseball, and so they'd had the entire afternoon to themselves.

It suddenly occurred to Dean that since it was a dream, he was going to have to eventually wake up. Lisa was looking down at him with a small, gentle smile, and brown eyes shining, but she wouldn't be there forever. Soon she would be gone. He'd wake up in the Impala with a cold, bleak, and lonely road ahead of him.

Dean stood and held her fiercely to him, registering her small gasp of surprise. "Thank you, Leese, for everything," he whispered. "I never said it enough to you."

Lisa pulled back a few inches and cupped his cheek. "Baby, what's wrong? Are you feeling okay?"

He nodded, not able to bring himself to speak. Lisa searched his face as though she could read there what was bothering him. She bent forward and pressed her mouth to his, branding him with her kiss. Dean slid his hands under her bottom and set her down on the counter top His tools clattered to the floor when she shoved them off to make room for her butt. He let out a ragged moan when her legs curled around his hips, pulling him flush against her cotton covered core. Dean settled between her thighs like they were made for him.

The pleasure almost burned him but he welcomed the heat. Maybe if he burned hot enough he could still feel it when he woke up.

.x.

Lisa Braeden found herself in the occult section of the library. It had been a solid two years and four months and six days, and she was at her wit's end. The various book titles ran together in front of her eyes, and try as she might she couldn't focus on them. She wondered half hysterically that if she started screaming, would anyone hear her? She knew what the answer was: there was no one to save her. Not her parents, not a lover, not any of the friends she kept pushing away, nobody.

A goth kid rounded the corner, took one look at her face, and decided he didn't want to stay in the aisle with the crazy lady any longer.

Lisa knew she looked like hell.

She hadn't been eating much the past few months, and since today was her day off and she was just too tired for anything else other than a shower, brushing her hair had been optional. She'd raked her fingers through it this morning and called it good. Unfortunately it had dried in clumps, and along with the bags under her eyes and her thinning face, she looked like the Wicked Witch of the West. Sans green tinted skin.

Her phone rang, The Black Key's song Howlin' startling the stillness of the library. Lisa jumped, clawing it out of her pocket to turn it off.

She didn't bother to check the screen. It was either one of Ben's teachers wanting to know where he was, one of the doctors in charge of her son's case calling with bad news, or one of the moms she was in PTA with calling to tell her they thought she was abusing her son.

If she thought about it, she could see why. In the last year Ben had stopped eating, stopped sleeping. His grades hadn't just dropped- they were nonexistent. Her son was a wraith. He didn't scream in the night anymore but when Lisa stopped outside his door, she could hear him whispering. It scared the hell out of her.

She rested her head against the bookcase. What the hell was she even doing here? Just because every doctor had exhausted every possibility, and her life was falling apart, did not mean that she needed to blame something supernatural.

There was no such thing as monsters, right?

Her phone buzzed once. Lisa glanced at her new text and wasn't really surprised to see that June's name was flashing dimly on the screen. She slid her thumb across the screen to unlock her phone.

Thought i heard ur phone. not sayin hi is a dick move, whr u at?

Lisa tapped out a quick response. In ur spooky section. hobble fast.

June's reply made her smile. Hang tight, I come bringing coffee.

Lisa decided it would probably be rude to make June walk all the way to the back of the library with her old injury still giving her grief. The wounded vet's knee was getting better, but over taxation was an ever present issue. She glanced back at the shelves and decided she was being stupid. There was no such thing as magic or monsters. Ben had a problem with a scientific solution, and she wasn't helping him by chasing fairy tales.

June was just coming around the desk with two steaming mugs of coffee when Lisa made it up to the front.

June sank back into her chair with a laugh when she saw Lisa. "I wasn't really looking forward to a full library trek anyway."

Lisa grinned. "And there was a hoard of cougars reading Fifty Shades of Grey out loud in the circle cushions anyway. Good luck getting through them with your sanity intact."

"That's nasty." June looked like she'd swallowed sour milk. "Ugh, now I'm going to have to get up. They can't be reading that crap out loud. What if some impressionable young tot hears them and gets scarred for life?"

"I thought Ben was innocent until I found a wealth of Busty Asian Beauty porn mags under his bed."

"Hah! That must have come as a shock to you as a mom," June said.

Lisa shrugged. "Not really. I knew the bomb was going to drop eventually. It could have been worse, like hoarding girls' underwear or something."

"Ew. So what did you do to shock your parents?" June asked.

Lisa considered the tawny Colombian blend contents of her library mug. "I was a stereotypical good girl growing up, got straight A's in high school, did sports- I was the kid that did all of the after school clubs mainly cause I liked showing off. I actually got a full gymnastics scholarship to Purdue University."

"I'm sensing a 'but' here," June murmured.

Lisa gave a short bitter smile that was more of a tensing of the lips than anything. "My parents died in a car accident. I dunno, it was like I just kind of broke inside. I stopped going to classes and started hanging out at bars, looking for something to fill the hole that had opened up in me. If it was smooth, savvy, and wearing leather, than I slept with it. I probably dated the entire biker population of Indiana."

"Then what happened?"

"The best thing that could have happened to me: I got pregnant with Ben. It all turned around after that. I got my act together, went back to school, and graduated with a degree in physical therapy and herbal medicine," Lisa said, reaching for the coffee pot sitting on the desk.

"Who's Ben's father, if you don't mind my asking?" June asked, holding out her mug for a refill.

"I don't mind," Lisa chuckled, "He's-" Lisa stopped and frowned, wracking her brain. That was odd. For some reason she could no longer see Ben's father's face, or even recall his name. The harder she tried to remember the more she felt like she was losing. Her temples actually began to throb after a while.

"I-I can't remember," she whispered, horrified. It was too much, after everything else. Lisa burst into tears.

"Oh geez I'm sorry." June sounded equally appalled as she quickly pulled her physical therapist turned best friend into a hard, fierce hug. "I didn't mean to drudge up bad memories."

"It's okay," Lisa sniffled. "I'm just tired. I don't know why I can't remember."

June handed her the tissues. "Blow. Then have more coffee."

Lisa blew her nose in a loud honk that had library goers turning around with bewildered expressions. "Woops."

June chuckled. "Nice."

"So how did you get here?" Lisa asked.

"I drove."

"Smartass. You know what I mean."

June chuckled. "Yeah, I couldn't resist. Well I was in an out of foster homes as a kid. My parents were both junkies and couldn't take care of me. I was in so much trouble with the law when I turned eighteen that a judge gave me the chance to either go to jail or join the military. I chose the military."

"Was it tough?"

"Oh yeah. I was a little shit and my DIs knew it. Basic was hell, but it gave me the boot in the ass I needed. I made something of myself, learned that even though I grew up on the streets, and that even if everyone thought I was the Ojibwe Indian brat that couldn't stay out of trouble, I could still mean something. My life could have value." June's voice had gone guttural and quiet. Lisa could tell that they were both deep into the rough, turbulent waters of memory lane.

"What happened with your knee, if you don't mind my asking?" Lisa said softly. "They told me you were wounded in action, but no details."

June set her coffee mug down carefully. "We're not supposed to talk about it. I can't say much, just that I was with the US Marine Corps Special Forces Op-Com and we needed to get someone out. It didn't go like we hoped. Half my team died, one of the packages died, and I got a knee full of shrapnel."

"Shit," Lisa said quietly.

June shook her head and raised her coffee mug. "I hope you and Ben make it, I really do. To youth lost."

Lisa tapped her mug lightly against June's. "Yep."

.x.

When Lisa got home it was dark. The subdivision her house was on was quiet and a tad chilly, which was exceedingly odd for a supposedly summer night.

Her breath rose in a cold plum in front of her face.

Lisa was glad she had chosen to drive to the library, instead of walk to the bus stop. The bus was cheaper, but it was a stressful crush of bodies. Taking her car wasn't saving her any money ,but it did save her a good deal of her sanity. As she scrambled up the front walk Lisa felt the hairs raise on the back of her neck, like there were eyes on her. She turned as she got the door open. Across the dimly lit street, over the small river of curling heavy mist, there was only one house with it's lights still on.

Old Man Weaver was standing in his large bay window, watching her.

Lisa offered him a thin, shaky smile. Old Man Weaver was a skinny, cranky old man that spent his time screeching at little kids who strayed too close to his lawn and threatening to shoot joggers whose dogs pooped on his sidewalk. Normally he was harmless, but for some reason, tonight he gave Lisa the willies.

From this distance and in the dim light, his eyes looked all black with no whites. She shivered.

He smiled wide at her, showing yellowed and crooked teeth.

Lisa scrambled inside her house and slammed the door, only feeling safe after she slid home the deadbolt and closed all the blinds. The house was quiet and dark and still. Ben's bike was in the driveway so he'd either skipped school again, or had never left the house. Either way he was home and safe. That was all that mattered.

"Ben?" she called, tossing her keys on the table in the entry way. "Have you eaten yet? I'll make Chicken Parm."

No answer. Lisa frowned, and began a systematic check of the house. Ben was home, his school things were laid out on the kitchen table. She wandered into the living room, which was silent. The television was dark and cold when she laid her hand on it. Same for the Xbox and PS3 that sat on the shelf underneath.

"Ben?" she called again, softer this time. "Sweetie?"

There was a low creak at the front door, the sound of footsteps on the porch. Lisa froze, fists clenched so tight that her nails dug into her palms. The front door clicked and whined as it slid open. Lisa's heart turned to lead in her chest; she knew she locked that door. Why the hell was it opening? Her eyes slid closed and she took a shaky breath. Why couldn't she move? She should be moving, someone was in her house, and she had to do something-

Soft footsteps shuffled on the carpet behind her and she turned, lead heart falling into her stomach.

Old Man Weaver stood in front of her, oddly tall and steady on his knobby knees riddled with pins and arthritis. He swung his arms and cracked his shoulders, elbows, and all ten fingers. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to run but she was frozen where she stood. The lead in her heart seemed to have welded her to the floor. Weaver smiled wide at her and she could see the tobacco stains on his teeth and the shine of his spit. He cocked his head to the side as if saying, get it now? Lisa didn't get it, whatever it was. Then she noticed that his eyes really were a shiny all encompassing black, the kind of black that swallowed entire solar systems, even light, letting nothing escape.

Lisa turned and bolted for the stairs. She could hear Old Man Weaver coming after her. She was in good shape from all of the yoga and jogging she did, but the thing coming after her was unnaturally fast.

She hit the stairs at a dead run, but a bony cold hand closed around her ankle like a steel vise. It yanked. Lisa fell, hard, nails leaving white lines in the wooden stairs as Old Man Weaver dragged her backward.

"Let go!" she screamed, slamming the heel of her foot into his face.

The thing wearing Old Man Weaver's skin smiled at her around blood and broken teeth. Lisa screamed again, loud and high, hoping that someone, anyone would hear her and come rescue here. There was no one, though. It drug her back sharply so that she banged her chin on the last step and Lisa tasted blood. She clutched at the rail slats and the edge of the banister, but it was like her measly human body was nothing compared to the impossible strength of the thing hunting her. Long fingers tangled into her wavy hair and lifted her up, straight off of her feet, leaving her sneakers to dangle helplessly in the air. Lisa's hands tried to pry his fingers off but they wouldn't budge. Her scalp burned and tears sprang to her eyes. Old Man Weaver lifted her close to his face.

"Give us the boy." His voice was like a thousand people whispering at once, and his breath smelled like rotten eggs.

"Over my dead body," Lisa snarled. Whatever this thing was, she was not going to let it get her son. Not if she could help it.

It smiled again, and this close to it Lisa was able to see that her kick had dislodged Weaver's jaw so that his teeth closed at an awkward angle. Spit and blood lolled out of the slack part of its mouth, collecting in the loose folds of skin. It was disgusting and Lisa dry heaved when it brought her closer.

"If you insist," it said lazily, and flung her.

There was a tearing at the back of her skull and Lisa went flying, all the way across the room to hit the opposite wall with a hard crash. She heard a low pop in her left shoulder as she hit the floor and she cried out. It felt like someone had rammed a poker made out of dry ice into her shoulder and twisted. She tried to get up and her body screamed at her. Lisa collapsed. Her limited field of vision allowed her to watch the bare and ugly feet of her attacker pad closer and closer, making soft shushing sounds on the wood floor.

'You cannot just lay here and die. You need to do what needs to be done to save Ben. Get UP bitch. Get up get up get up,' Lisa growled in her head.

She kept her face slack and frightened, submissive. Ben was depending on her to make it out of this. Those feet stopped in front of her and the toes curled, the cracking joints sounding loud in the quiet house.

"Just give us the boy," that soft awful voice continued, "And we will let you go. You are young, meat suit, you can have more sons."

Lisa closed her eyes like she was considering it, took a deep breath as she collected herself, then she kicked out hard in a move that shattered Old Man Weaver's already frail ankles. The monster in the man went crashing to the ground with a surprised roar. Lisa forced herself to her feet in a wordless scream of rage, pain, and parental desperation. She stomped down on one of Old Man Weaver's arthritic knees as she skirted around past him. The creature didn't make a sound when she hit him again but skittered around like a beetle trying to regain his feet.

Old Man Weaver got to his feet and with his broken bones, he didn't get all the way up but moved to block the stairs in a chilling, spider-like caper.

Lisa ran to the kitchen, hearing the scrabble of his nails and the slap of his feet and hands and knew he was following her.

"Give it up, human, you cannot win. Why do you struggle against the inevitable?" It giggled.

Lisa began yanking things off of the counter and throwing them in her mad dash around the kitchen, trying to slow it down in any way she could so she could get back to the stairs and to her son. A dishtowel full of silverware went flying; the forks and knives crashed and clattered loudly when they hit the floor. A tub of peanut butter exploded against the wall with a wet splat, a large canister of iodinated table salt-

Lisa stopped and whipped around in surprise at the painful bloodcurdling howls Old Man Weaver was suddenly making.

His long fingers were clawing desperately at his face as the salt burned his skin like it was acid. He stumbled towards her blindly, then stopped sharp at the line of spilled salt at his feet. Lisa stared at it in shock. The salt was actually burning him, and it looked like the monster couldn't even cross it. Lisa tore open one of her cupboards suddenly fervently glad that she'd gone to Costco the week before, and that she cooked and baked a lot. As such she had a large backup canister of industrial sized cooking salt. She snatched up her five pound Morton can of salt, shaking it liberally over the floor behind her as she went.

The Weaver Monster didn't follow her to the stairs but its angry screams certainly did.

Lisa took the stairs two at a time, alternately crawling and running as she stumbled up and away. She held the salt can awkwardly in her bad arm, using her good one to navigate the stairs. Her cut palms left streaks of blood on the walls that looked black in the dim light.

Ben's door was open, moonlight spilled out of his room to spatter into the hallway in sliver white speckles, dappled because of the trees outside. Lisa exploded into the room to find her son crouched into the corner, so small, while a writhing tower of black smoke boiled up from the floor to the ceiling, curling in on itself like black fire, and back down to the floor again in a repeating cycle. It was talking to him in that eerie voice, and Lisa realized that she'd been fighting merely a piece of it downstairs while it tormented her son upstairs.

"You are special, Benjamin. You are a vessel that will not break, will not burn out. You are destined for glory. Say yes to us and you will never die. You want your father, don't you? We can find your father for you, something your mother never did."

"Hey!" Lisa shouted.

Ben's eyes, which had been glassy and wide, seemed to clear and he looked towards her, desperation stamped all over his young face. The smoke seemed to know that she'd broken whatever hold it had had over Ben and it bubbled towards her angrily.

"Stay the hell away from my kid," she snarled, and sprayed salt with her good hand in a wide arch that had the black smoke writhing and screeching in apparent pain.

Lisa darted across the room while the smoke was otherwise occupied and grabbed Ben's arm with her bad one, gritting her teeth against the pain. "Get up!"

He lurched wobbly to his feet, banging into her. Lisa supported him as best she could while still holding onto the salt, her only weapon.

"Out the window sweetie," she said, pushing him towards it.

"Not the stairs?" he mumbled, slurring his words.

"No. There's something evil on the stairs," Lisa answered, shoving open his bedroom window. "Aim for the decorative shrubs, they should help break your fall."

The old Ben sparkled underneath the worn, tired one. "I think I know how to sneak out, mom."

"Go kiddo, get out," she said and pushed at him gently.

"What about you?" He didn't budge.

"I'm right behind you. Go!"

Ben scrambled out the window and Lisa turned to face the smoke. The smoke appeared to have gotten a hold of itself and was seething towards her in long grasping tentacles of black. Lisa drew a hasty line of salt in front of the window and the tentacles crashed against it like waves against an invisible jetty. The smoke roared in angry frustration, many voices screaming at once in various pitches and tenors. Lisa didn't wait around to find out how it was going to solve this new problem. She flung herself out the window, pausing only to toss the salt down to Ben and use her good arm to catch the edge of the roof so she didn't hit the peony bushes as hard.

She scrambled to her feet, not bothering to pick the bits of pink flower petals and leaves out of her hair. She took the salt from Ben, hissing into his ear a terse "Run."

They scrambled across the cold wet lawn and out into the street. Lisa didn't bother trying to take the car, she for damn sure wasn't going back inside for her keys or phone.

Instead they cut across lawns and driveways, dodging cars and skirting silent houses, heading for the one place Lisa felt they could be possibly safe.

.x.

When June Matheson answered the loud pounding at her door, she hadn't expected to see Lisa standing there, wild eyed and covered in blood and sweat, smelling like sulfur and clutching a can of table salt like it was the holy grail. Ben stood next to his mom, a tiny wraith in an AC/DC t-shirt.

June opened her door and mom and son bolted inside, slamming the door closed before June could shut it gently.

"What in the hell is going on?" June asked incredulously, putting her hands on her hips.

"It's going to sound weird, but you have to believe me," Lisa begged, "I didn't know where else to go."

"Tell me."

"Something got in my house. I don't know what it is, but it's strong and salt hurts it, and it's chasing us."

June studied Lisa's face, sensing that she was going to have merely seconds to decide if her friend was telling the truth or not. Her eyes flicked passed Lisa to her front window. Black smoke was crawling along the ground, licking into her neighbors' houses as it came towards her home.

What the hell?

June fell back into the mode that had supported her for most of her adult life. This was a situation she understood well: an enemy had them grounded and under fire, and she had to get her team out safe.

"Ben take the rest of your mother's salt and start drawing a line around the inside of the house. If it can't cross salt, hopefully that will keep whatever the hell that is from coming inside. Lisa come with me," she ordered.

June limped to her pantry, forcing her bum knee to man up and go faster. She was suddenly glad that she'd prepared for a natural disaster. As such she had barrels of foodstuffs on hand, and more importantly a massive barrel full of salt. As June threw open the door to the pantry revealing the motherload she noticed Lisa's arm was hanging at an odd angle.

"Hold still. This is going to hurt." June didn't give Lisa time to react; it would just have allowed her brain to process the pain more. She grasped Lisa's hand and elbow, and gently but quickly rotated the ball of the humorous back into place.

"Oh my god," Lisa hissed, massaging her sore shoulder. "That freaking hurt!"

"It's all over now." June turned toward the pantry and began tugging the salt barrel out. "Help me with this."

Together the two women began dragging the salt barrel into the living room where Ben was just finishing up half of the house. Lisa grabbed a decorative vase off of a side table, dumped the poppies and water out, and began using it to scoop up salt.

"Ben, find another jar and help your mom. I'll be right back," June ordered.

She was glad she only had a one story house. When she'd been wounded in action and had to retire, the military had bought her a small house with only a ground floor so she wouldn't have to navigate any stairs. June wasn't sure whether the smoke assaulting her home could get in through the theoretical upstairs if they only salted the bottom, but this way they didn't have to find out.

She went straight to her gun locker. The military hadn't allowed her to keep her service weapons when she'd retired, but June had liked them so much she'd gone out and immediately bought copies along with some friends to keep them company. Guns were her thing, she was good at them. Going down to the range every weekend made her forget that she was wounded, and reminded her that she could still be deadly. Her mind quickly cataloged their resources. She had a black Mossberg 12 gauge shot gun, an M40A1 Sniper Rifle, several Glock handguns, and a copy of her old service weapon: a cameo tinged M240 machine gun that fired a three shot burst and all the ammo to go with them.

Salt hurt their enemy, so how could she fix her weapons to accommodate that knowledge?

She made her own bullets, and filling shotgun shells with buckshot and salt was the first thing that came to mind. June picked up a brass casing for her sniper rifle. Maybe she could put salt between the gunpowder and the bullet itself when she cast? Nah, if it didn't misfire the salt would just burn up when the primer hit the gunpowder. They'd have to use the shotgun for now.

She began filling shotgun shells with salt as fast as she could, which was exceedingly fast due to movements well practiced over time. Lisa, after finishing up a double row of salt around the entire house, sat next to her and carefully studied her motions. After a while Lisa picked up her own shell and began to clumsily imitate her. June corrected her quietly when she made a mistake, never stopping her own work.

"Mom," Ben whispered, "Come look outside. They're all just standing there."

Lisa got slowly to her feet and June followed, confused. They? Who was they?

'They' turned to be her neighbors: whole families of fathers, mothers, and children, standing in the street and on her lawn with eyes the color of pitch. Nothing moved outside, those multitude of eyes embedded in slack faces watched the house unblinking.

"What are they waiting for?" Ben asked.

"They can't get in-" Lisa realized.

"-So they're waiting us out," June finished.

"What do we do?" Ben said, a little wild, "We can't wait here forever."

"How did this even happen?" June wondered, half to herself, "Is it brainwashing? Are they sick?"

"I don't know and I don't care," Lisa snapped, drawing Ben close to her side. "They are not taking my kid from me."

Ben pulled gently away from her and faced his mom with tears in his eyes. "I don't think we have a choice, mom."

"What are you saying?" Lisa sounded like someone had sucker punched her in the stomach.

"They said you'd be safe, that if I said 'yes' to them, whatever that means, that they would let you and everyone else go. No one else would be hurt." Ben gripped his mom's hands, searching her face, trying to make her understand.

June felt ill. It was happening all over again. Her team was going to be defeated, and her package was going to be lost. Ben and Lisa were under her protection and she was going to fail.

Silent tears frustration and pain were streaming down Lisa's pale, bloodless cheeks but she nodded. She got gingerly down on her knees so she could look her son in the face. "I am going to find you Benjamin Braeden. Whatever it takes I will save you. Do you understand me?"

Ben nodded and hugged his mother tight. "I love you mom. I'll save you first, but don't take your time coming after me."

He squared his thin shoulders and opened the front door. Lisa and June watched helplessly as Ben walked down the front steps to stand on the walkway, feet spread and looking like he was about to take on the Devil. Maybe he was, June realized.

"My answer is yes!" Ben shouted. "Now let my mom go!"

Black smoke billowed out of the neighbor's eyes, noses, and mouths, leaving them to drop into limp and smoking piles where they'd stood. That smoke curled upward, looking almost purple against the black of the night sky. It collected its many tendrils and then plunged down towards Ben, funneling into his mouth.

The smoke disappeared and all was quiet. Then Not-Ben turned to face the house, a wicked and triumphant smile on his face.

Lisa ignored Ben's now shiny black eyes and spoke directly to her son. "I'm coming for you, baby. Hang tight."

"Of course mommy dearest," he smiled his voice not one single sound, but a vast multitude, "We expect nothing less. That's why you have to die."

June thought it was bad when he was talking, but when Ben opened his mouth and screamed it made her ears ring and the front windows shattered. Glass littered the floor and wind began to spread the salt lines across the floor. Soon they wouldn't have any protection left.

"Can you ride a bike?" June asked quietly.

Lisa frowned, eyes never leaving her son's. "What like a motorcycle?"

"Yeah. I have a Harley Super Glide sitting in the garage." June gestured to her knee. "It was supposed to be an incentive to get better, but it doesn't look like I'm getting out of here."

"Don't say that," Lisa said fiercely, finally looking at her. "We are getting out of this alive, and I am getting my son back."

June shook her head and smiled, tired. "It doesn't work like that Leese. There's no way both of us can get out, and you have to save Ben. If I let him in the front then the back should be clear to let you get out the garage. I got saddle bags with the bike and my gear is hanging up on the wall. We're about the same size, but you may have to get new chaps. Take as much salt as you can carry, and the guns and their manuals. Keep the weight even. I'll take the guns apart for you so they'll fit, and you can read the manual and put them back together later."

Lisa studied her friend's face and then sighed, defeated. "Yeah, I can ride. One of my ex-boyfriends taught me back in college."

June grinned. "Never thought I'd say this, but thank God for skeevy ex's, right?"

Lisa laughed but it was a high, thin sound that suggested she was about to fall to pieces. June pulled her weapons apart and put them into small cases which she handed to Lisa. Then she tugged her friend into a hard hug.

"You got this," June said. "Ride hard and don't look back."

They made it to the garage where the white motorcycle was sitting. June helped Lisa fill the saddle bags and strap them on. Then she pointed out the fuel gauge and reminded her how many miles she could go before she had to fill up with gas, while Lisa pulled on a black leather armored jacket and chaps. June's Harley boulder boots were a little big, but with extra socks they'd fit just fine. At least they were road worthy. June helped tug out Lisa's yoga hoodie so that it didn't bunch awkwardly under her armor, and then fastened her white helmet for her.

The helmet squashed Lisa's cheeks a bit, giving her a comical chipmunk look.

"If you drop the bike and need to pick it up again, grab it by the crash bars and the seat and push, don't try to pick it up using the handle bars," June said.

Lisa nodded, fastening her gloves. "I know. I hate this," Lisa said fiercely, "I feel so helpless. First Ben, then you-"

"Don't even think about it that way," June said firmly, "This is my chance to make up for my letting my team down."

Then she left Lisa in the garage and hobbled down to her basement where her gas water heater was located. The monster in Ben would figure out their ruse soon, she would only have seconds to make sure Lisa had a clean getaway.

June stood next to her water heater in the dark, listening for the tell tale roar of the motorcycle.

.x.

Lisa left the visor open. She hadn't been on a motorcycle in years so her heavy and frightened breath would fog up the plastic face shield.

She sat on the seat and acquainted herself with the bike, feeling the leather creak under her butt. She knew that she didn't have long, but she took what little time she did have to dredge up old skills. If she messed up she would get seriously hurt, and if she got hurt Ben was as good as dead.

Lisa turned the key and the green light on the panel in front of her informed her that the bike was in neutral. She pressed the starter switch and the motorcycle roared to life, settling down to a soft purr.

At the same time she heard the front door explode and Ben calling her name in his eldritch new voice.

Lisa stomped on gear shift and squeezed the clutch, and the bike clicked into first gear. Then she hit June's garage door opener.

Lisa didn't wait for the door to finish rolling open. She opened up the throttle and roared out into the street the moment she could fit under the door, swinging clumsily around bodies. It got easier the farther she went. Her muscles were remembering their old skills, how to lean, press, where to put her weight to get the Harley to do what she wanted.

Lisa had barely gotten to the end of the street, five houses away, when June Matheson's small house exploded into a massive fireball.

.x.

To be continued...

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