So I'm a little early but I'm currently out of town and not sure what the heck I'll be doing tomorrow. I've got a second here and now, and I don't wanna be late with another post, so here we are. Edits are last minute, so feel free to point out any mistakes you might see (just...nicely =P).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ CHAPTER 11 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Dean. Where the hell are my socks?"

Dean's standing next to the sink in the public bathroom of the hotel (and how fancy, that this hotel has a bathroom just inside the lobby. Not something they're used to.) and he can hear Sam shuffling around on the other side of the stall, no doubt looking for said socks. Dean closes his eyes and pictures them curled up in the corner of Sam's duffle bag. Without a doubt, that's where they still are.

Dean clears his throat, means to say something funny and ends up not saying anything at all. Sam sighs, letting that be his answer. "Of course," Dean hears him mutter under his breath.

"The guy's not gonna be looking at your freakin' socks," Dean says, finally. "Come on Sammy. Today."

Dean casts his eyes to the floor and catches a glimpse of one of Sam's white-socked feet sliding into a shiny, brown shoe. He blinks, directs his attention to the bathroom mirror across from him.

And there's Ben.

"Shit," Dean half-yells, flinching away from the kid's sudden appearance just a few feet to his left. Ben looks confused, maybe a little stricken, standing frozen in the middle of the bathroom. Alarmed by his brother's outburst, Sam practically knocks the stall door off on his way out, gun raised.

"Wha…?" he starts to ask, then grimaces worriedly when he sees Ben. He tucks the gun back into his pants and leans back into the stall, snatching up the plastic bag filled with his other clothes. "Ben, what are you doing here?"

Ben unfreezes enough to shake his head. "I...I'm not sure. One second I was back at the house and the next…" he gestures vaguely to the space around him. Dean lays a comforting hand on his shoulder, pats it twice.

"Ben, I'm so sorry. I wasn't even thinking I just... I got too far away."

Ben swallows hard and locks his jaw, and Sam almost gasps aloud at how much of Dean sits in the expression.

"You just left?" Sam asks, immediately regretting the judgement in his own voice, especially when Dean glares at him.

"I...you needed…" Dean huffs. "I mean, yeah. I called out to Lisa, said I was leaving…"

Sam bites his lip. "Okay, we'll talk about your manners later, I guess" He turns his attention to Ben, who finally seems to have regained his bearings and now looks more annoyed than anything. "Ben, you good?"

Ben nods. "M'okay." The kid takes in his surroundings. "What are you guys even doing here?"

"Interviewing a...possible suspect," Sam says. Truth be told, they have no idea what Phil is right now. He could very well be no one, and this could all be a colossal waste of time. Sam figures they'd better figure it out, either way. "We'll drop my clothes in the car, and then we'll go say hi to Phil."

Ben rolls his eyes and shrugs, and not too many minutes later, the three of them are standing in front of Phil's hotel room door. Dean raps twice on the wood and waits. Phil answers fairly quickly, chain unlatched, but he keeps the door between himself and the strangers in front of him.

"Uh, hi," he says, a little nervously. "Can I help you folks?"

"We're hoping so," Sam says. "Mr. Moorhead, is it?"

Phil nods, shifting on his feet. "Yes that's correct."

"Mr. Moorhead, we'd like to discuss some inconsistencies with your taxes over the last few years. Do you mind if we come in for a moment?"

Phil gives a startled half-smile, shaking his head a little in disbelief. "I can assure you I'm a good ol' tax-paying citizen, my friends. Would gladly invite you in, but can I first see some identification, if you don't mind?"

The brothers nod, pulling out the rarely used IRS cards. Phil examines them for a moment and shrugs. "I've just bought some tea. Come on in and we'll sort this out, whatever the problem may be."

Phil turns his back, letting Sam, Dean, and an invisible Ben walk through the door. Sam closes it softly behind him, and the hunters take a seat at the two stools beside the kitchenette when Phil gestures to them. Ben looks around for a moment.

"I'm gonna snoop around, see if I can find anything weird," he says, taking off towards the bed that sits off to their left. Dean gives an imperceptible nod in Ben's direction. The room is far nicer than any of the hotels the brothers have stayed in, and Sam watches somewhat enviously as Phil begins to boil water on the small stove, reaching to grab three crisp, white mugs from the cupboard above his head.

"I've got chamomile and green tea, whichever you like," Phil says, setting the mugs on the counter in front of them.

Sam senses Dean bristling beside him. "Ah that's not really necessary," Dean insists, eyes roaming around the room. "We just have a few questions and then we'll be out of your hair."

Phil smiles, rubbing a hand over his balding head. "Don't have much of that left anyway," he jokes, clearing his throat uncomfortably when the line doesn't warrant a response from either Winchester. Ben, on the other hand, snickers from where he kneels beside the bed, reading through some papers on the bedside table. "Well, ask away," Phil continues after an uneasy pause.

"Right," Sam says, clearing his throat also. "So, Mr. Moorhead. Your income changed fairly drastically a little over a decade ago, correct?"

"Ah, yes," Phil is back to smiling. "Yes, I had quite a spell of good fortune about...oh gosh...twelve years ago now? But I promise you fellas, everything's been reported. Taxes paid, everything in order." Phil smacks his hands lightly on the counter. "Obviously this isn't my home residence, so I don't have the paperwork with me, but I'm sure I could track it down for you if you need it. I'm still not quite sure what you want, you see…"

"Mr. Moorhead, we're actually kind of curious about how this good fortune came about," Sam interrupts.

Phil's smile morphs to one of perplexity. "You uh…" he pauses. "You want to know how I got rich, essentially?" he chuckles lightly. "I gotta ask: is this a personal question or a professional one?"

"Strictly professional, sir," Sam assures.

"For me it's a little personal," Dean interjects.

Sam shoots him a glare, but Dean ignores him. He smiles at Phil. "I mean, come on. We're numbers guys, obviously," Dean continues, gesturing to himself and Sam. He tries to keep his eyes on Phil, even as Ben starts moving back into his line of sight, beelining for the kitchen where Phil is standing. "This is what we do," he says while Ben stares curiously at the boxes of tea sitting beside the stove. "But you? Phil, my man, that's quite a jump you made in not a lot of time. So...how the heck did you do it?"

Phil puts his hands up in mock surrender. "Look guys, I'm not sure what you think I…"

"Just answer the question, please, sir," Sam presses. "We'd like to be on our way."

"Stock market, is all I can say," insists Phil. The water begins to boil, so Phil breaks eye contact for a moment to shut off the stove. He gestures to the two boxes of tea, raising his eyebrow in a question.

"Green, please," Sam answers.

Dean grimaces. "No thanks."

Phil shrugs, pouring the water into two mugs. "Did some research, started investing," he continues. "Got lucky."

"Very lucky," Sam affirms, taking the tea Phil offers him and dunking the bag into his mug.

Phils shrugs, dunking his own tea. "I do feel the need to ask: am I being accused of something?"

"No, Phil, not at all," Dean says, voice dipped in honey the way he never really talks. And then his tone shifts into something just a little more urgent, just an edge of danger tinting the words. Sam's not sure if Phil even knows what he's sensing in that tone, but it's obvious it has an effect on him. "But just...come on. That can't be it. There's gotta be more to this story. I mean, we've heard the whispers around town. You're a bit of a celebrity back there."

Sam flicks a look over to Dean, but it gets ignored. And despite the fact that Ben has now moved to stand almost directly behind Phil, examining his fading hairline and the beginnings of a beard, Dean's entire focus rests on the man in front of him. And the man in front of him is starting to sweat. Just a few beads glinting on his forehead, but it's enough for Sam to know they've got him.

"Yes, well. You know how people talk," Phil chuckles. It is not the same lighthearted laugh from before.

"Phil. Level with us," Sam cuts in. In the back of his mind, he's thinking about how easy this part still is for them. Falling into step like they haven't missed a beat, let alone an entire album's worth of songs in this past year. But they are still a well-oiled machine, cogs losing rust. "You're a Journalism major. How do you suddenly become the dude from Limitless practically overnight?"

Dean raises his eyebrows at that, lips pursed in surprise and a little bit of amusement at Sam's reference. Sam shrugs in his direction, eyes still on Phil.

"That was a good film," Phil says, pointing at Sam.

"Eh. Had its moments," Dean says.

Sam doesn't say anything else. Now it's just a waiting game. Both Winchesters stare Phil down, letting those first few beads of sweat drip down along his forehead. Finally, after a long, tense moment broken only by a sneeze from Ben that goes unheard by Phil, the man sighs.

"Okay. Look," he starts. "Will you promise that this doesn't leave this room? As professionals, can you just agree to keep this amongst yourselves? You say you've talked to some people, so you know this town already thinks I'm a little cuckoo."

Sam nods. "Of course, sir," he says at the same time Dean says "Completely confidential."

They're waiting to hear about a demon deal. They're waiting to hear about Phil at a dark crossroads in the middle of the night, a box filled with his picture and some yarrow. Phil smiles sheepishly, almost embarrassed.

"It was my dog."

Sam tries to keep his features blank. Beside him, he feels Dean swallow a snort before it can make its way past his lips.

"Excuse me?" Dean asks.

"Pepper," Phil says, nodding urgently. "Pepper was my advisor, in a way."

Dean stares at Phil blankly. "Yeah, you're really gonna have to elaborate."

Phil clears his throat and begins speaking as though explaining algebra to an eight year old. "I was on my computer one day, trying to break into the stock market like I said, and suddenly Pepper comes running into the room, ready for his walk. Only he gets a little too excited, and he smacks my keyboard with his nose. Accidentally buys me a stock with this company called Prestige. I was pissed, obviously, but then the damndest thing happened. Turns out it was a good move. Made me a nice little chunk of change. So I started…" he pauses, takes a sip of his tea. Behind him, Ben moves so that he's standing beside Dean, elbows resting on the counter. He looks incredibly amused. "Pepper became my guide. He'd point to things on the screen, with his nose of course, and I'd buy them. And he never once steered me wrong."

Neither Sam nor Dean is quite able to come up with a valid response. Sam's mind is whirring, still processing the ridiculousness of what they're listening to. But Phil sounds so genuine, and now there's a new look on his face: grief.

"My dear Pepper passed away just four days ago," he explains, sniffling a little. "I lost it, I really did. That dog saved my life. My family's life. So I ran. Rented a room here. I just. I needed to be alone for a while."

"Oh my god," Ben snickers. "This guy thinks his dog was a stock market expert?"

"Shhh," Dean hisses, then freezes. Phil is staring at him strangely, so Dean turns the sound into a somewhat over-acted sneeze.

"Bless you," Phil and Sam say at the same time.

"Thanks. Sorry," Dean nods, taking the tissue Phil has offered to him. "So that sucks. About your dog, I mean."

"Yes, it certainly does," Phil agrees. And then his tone becomes a bit lighter. "Would you like to see a picture? Of Pepper?"

Twenty minutes and approximately four hundred pictures of the giant Great Dane known as Pepper later, Sam and Dean finally make their escape from Phil's room, Ben guffawing behind them.

"That guy is terrible," Ben bursts out the moment the door has closed behind them. "Like...terrible. I think I hate him."

"Seems alright to me," Sam smiles, amused. "A little nuts and maybe too intense about his dog, but hey."

"A little nuts? Sam, the guy had a yearly photoshoot with the damn mutt. I'm surprised he didn't make a calendar," says Dean, rolling his eyes. They start moving down the hall, back towards the parking lot.

"It's not a sin to love your dog, Dean," Sam counters. He thinks of Riot, briefly.

"I say you guys kill him, just in case he's evil," Ben says as they reach the lobby doors, tone matter-of-fact.

Dean raises an eyebrow, pauses with one hand on the door to get a better look at Ben. "Ben. We can't just go killing people based off of an unspecified 'I hate him' hunch."

Sam reaches into his back pocket for Lisa's car keys. "Well," he counters, twirling them around his finger, "wouldn't be the first time."

Dean pushes through the doors, calling back over his shoulder. "That feels like a personal blow."

"It is," Sam confirms, ushering Ben through the entryway before he exits the hotel. "Dean, you work on ninety percent instinct. The other day you said we couldn't go into a bagel shop because the font on the sign was stupid."

"No one uses Comic Sans professionally, Sam. There's no place for it," Dean insists. They've almost reached the car. "And anyway, instinct is the reason I'm still alive."

"Now that feels like a personal blow," Ben interjects with a laugh.

Dean freezes beside Lisa's car, fingers wrapped around the door handle. His expression hardens.

"Too soon?" Ben asks timidly. Sam grimaces, opening the door to the driver's seat.

Still outside the car, Dean turns to face Ben, a sad smile on his face. "It'll always be too soon, kid."

He hops into the passenger seat, and Ben follows suit, sliding into the back. He doesn't bother opening the car door first. Sam pulls out of the hotel parking lot, maneuvering them back onto the road.

"Oh shit," Dean curses. Sam looks over to see him staring down at his phone.

"What is it?" he asks.

Dean ignores Sam, twisting around to look at Ben. "Ben, when you...left. You said it was abrupt, right? Like you wouldn't have had time to tell your mom that you were about to pull a disappearing act?"

Dean's thumb sweeps over his phone screen while he talks, and Sam catches a glimpse of thirteen missed calls from Lisa.

"Oh shit," Ben reiterates, not needing to see Dean's phone to understand what's happened. Dean dials quickly and puts the phone up to his ear, shooting a stern glance at Ben.

"Watch your language," he mutters, but his entire body stiffens a moment later when Lisa picks up. He doesn't even get the chance to say anything. .

"Dean. Dean, he's gone," she rasps into the phone, and there's no doubt she's crying. "He's gone. One minute he was here and then...and then…."

"Lis, it's okay," Dean soothes, cutting her off. "We've got him. He's here with us. Hold on. Hold on…"

He puts the phone on speaker, reaches over the backseat to put it next to Ben.

"Ben, tell your mom what happened," Dean instructs, thrusting the phone towards him.

Ben doesn't take the phone from Dean, hands clasped tightly in his lap, but he speaks into it. "Hey mom," he says. Lisa lets out an overwhelmed breath, sobs becoming even more pronounced.

"Ben," she rasps.

"I'm sorry, it just happened!" Ben says, talking too fast. "One minute I was there with you, and the next I just kinda got zapped to where Dean was. I'm so sorry, Mom. I didn't know…"

"Okay, honey," Lisa sniffs, cutting him off. "That's okay. I'm just so glad you're...it's okay. Are you on your way back? Are you coming back now?"

"Yeah," Ben nods into the phone, his own tone more relaxed now that his mom seems to have regained control of herself. Sam steps on the gas a little bit. "Yeah, we're coming back now. Mom, I'm sorry."

"Okay," Lisa says again. "Okay, I'll see you soon then. I love you. I love you, Ben."

"I love you, Mom," Ben says without hesitation. There are a few tears shining in his eyes, but he just takes a few deep breaths and nods at Dean to take the phone back. Dean obliges, taking it off speaker and jamming it back up next to his ear.

"Lis, I'm sorry. I didn't think…"

"See you back at home," Lisa mutters. The line goes dead.


Enjoy the rest of your week!