Disclaimer – Not my characters, I just use them improperly.

You like? You don't like? Review and tell me why! (Constructive criticism only please, if you don't like the subject, don't read the story.) This takes place after 'Further And Further Out', so you'll probably want to read that first :)

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I'm so glad you're liking it so far! Next update will be on Wednesday, later than usual I know, but I really do need to stop putting off essay writing :(

Chapter 5

"Dean."

Jim's voice was ignored.

"Dean, you can't blame yourself."

Yes, he damn well could. It was his fault. He should have been watching Sam. Shouldn't have left him alone, not ever.

Dean dug his fingers into his scalp, feeling the sore half-moon spots where his nails caught skin. He was slumped over the same booth in the diner, in the seat Sam had been sitting in. The last place Dean had seen him, as if feeling the phantom marks of his brother's presence would somehow draw Sam out, or lead Dean to him. The waitress and manager had retreated to the counter, sending glances full of concern his way now they'd gotten over his threatening behaviour.

"Dean, c'mon, we can't sit here all day. We have to start work." Jim's voice was full of sympathy, and it twisted at Dean's gut until he felt poisoned with bitterness.

"What am I s'posed to do now, huh Jim? Sam's gone. Dad's gone. And I don't have the first clue what to do about it. Hell, I don't even know if it's the same thing that's got them."

Jim reached across the table suddenly, so quick Dean didn't see his hand move until it was forcing his head up to meet the older man's eyes. "You're supposed to do your best. You're supposed to go out there and find your brother and your father. You're not supposed to sit around feeling sorry for yourself."

Dean was surprised at the vehemence in the Pastor's tone, the determination tugging his face tight and stern. He took a breath, trying to swallow down the tears that seemed to be reappearing every few minutes without warning, as if his body was mourning Sam's disappearance independently to his brain.

He took another breath.

"We have to work this out, Dean." Jim continued. "And I know you can do it. I know we can find Sam and your father. It's just a matter of trying."

Dean chewed on his lower lip, letting his hands drop to the table in front of him. His fingers wound together almost of their own accord, and the reminder of Sam, of his brother telling him about the worms in the dirt with innocence shining on his face before sucking on his finger with sudden startling seductiveness…

He nodded once, brusque and tense. "Well, I hope you have faith, Pastor. 'Cause I think we might need it."


Dean's mind ticked over everything, breaking it into bullet point fragments that he could treat as impersonally as if he'd read it in a newspaper; a new case, something new to hunt.

Crop failings.

The disappearance of John Winchester.

Mysterious redheaded woman.

Strange behaviour in the bar.

And finally, Sam's magnificent vanishing act.

He strode up and down the motel room, trying to ignore the mussed bed sheets that spoke all too clearly of his brother. Jim sat on the only chair in the room, flicking through computer printouts and making notes on a scrap of paper.

Dean tried twice to settle on the unused bed, to ease his body down from its adrenaline rush. Unfortunately, the same adrenaline had him on his feet two seconds later, restless and agitated as a caged animal.

They'd left their cell phone numbers and the name and number of their motel room with the ladies at the diner, just in case Sam should come back there. Dean didn't think it was likely, but he'd still been reluctant to leave the last place he'd seen Sam alive and okay.

"Dean, sit down. You wearing yourself out isn't helping Sam." Jim said without looking up from the book spread out next to him on the table.

Dean practically growled in frustration. "I know, but c'mon Jim, we don't have any leads, we don't have anything. How the hell're we gonna find them? Follow the yellow brick road?"

Jim glanced over at him, his face a mask so much like John's that Dean ached.

"I still say our best bet is this redhead."

"Fine then." Dean waved his hands in the air. "You go hunt down the girl. A girl that, may I remind you, I've spent the past three days looking for without shit to show for it."

"Don't swear." Jim murmured absently. "And maybe you've been looking in the wrong places. Who's most likely to remember an attractive woman?"

Dean stopped, turning to face Jim incredulously. "Have you not heard me? I've already asked at the bar. Hell, I've asked at every goddamn bar in this town. Every trucker's diner, every gas station, I've even asked guys off the street."

"Like I said. Maybe you're asking the wrong people."

Dean frowned as Jim stood and began pulling on his coat. The older man was halfway to the door before he turned to look at Dean.

"Well? Are you coming?"

Outside the snow was falling thickly now, trapping them in an hourglass that counted down time since Sam had disappeared. There was already an inch on the ground.


"The diner? The diner, Jim?" Dean could hear the embarrassingly high squeak to his voice, the hysterical edge. Great. Sam was gone and he was turning into a woman.

Jim in contrast was the picture of calm and collected beside him. Hands thrust deep in his pockets, the Pastor walked toward the diner they'd left an hour ago, trudging through the slush on the road. It made Dean think momentarily of his car, parked by the motel room. A tiny shock ran through him when he realised he'd gone a whole morning without thinking once of covering her up or driving her somewhere that offered more protection from the elements.

"Yes, the diner." Jim said, glancing behind him to make sure Dean was keeping up. "Who's more likely to notice a pretty girl than another girl? Who's more likely to gossip and ask questions?"

Dean frowned, opening his mouth to argue. Except Jim's reasoning had a strange logic to it. Huh.

They stepped into the diner, the warmed air hitting Dean's chilled face in a rush. The tinkle of the bell announced them, and both the waitress and the manager looked up in surprise to see them again so soon. The diner was busier now, several customers eating their meals and talking loudly.

The waitress hurried over, her face hopeful. "Have you found your brother yet?"

Dean looked at the ground. "Not yet."

"Oh." She sounded honestly distressed, and Dean wondered at the type of person who could have genuine feelings about a stranger. "Oh, no. Have you talked to the police? I mean, this weather isn't helping, but they might be able to do something."

"Actually, there is something we'd like to ask you." Jim cut in smoothly. "You wouldn't, by any chance, happen to remember seeing a redheaded woman around?"

She frowned, setting the coffeepot in her hand down on the nearest empty table. "A redhead?"

"Yeah, hair about so long, pretty face, tall. She hasn't been in town long." Dean said.

"Well," The waitress looked up, her eyebrows drawn together "Now that you mention it, that does sound kind of like the girl young Ben Ellis has been spending a lot of time with lately. Calls her his girlfriend, but I don't know many that'd believe a woman like her'd go for a sixteen year old." She laughed, shaking her head.

"His girlfriend?" Dean asked eagerly. "Do you have her name?"

"Well, no, I've never asked." The waitress frowned, like not asking names was unusual for her. "Come to think of it, I'm not sure where she's from either. She just comes in a few times a week, with Ben Ellis like I said. I do feel for that boy. Such teasing he gets from the other kids at school." Her face turned sympathetic at the thought.

A harried woman trying to control two young children pushed through the door behind them, breaking up their conversation. The waitress picked up her pot of coffee. Before she could turn back to her work, Jim caught her arm. "I don't suppose you have an address for this Ben Ellis?"


The old man was still walking, and Sam's feet were beginning to hurt from following him. The snow was falling thicker, fat puffs that soaked his hair and made his face ache from cold. They'd passed the town limits half an hour ago, heading into the forestland. The old man hadn't slowed his pace once, seemingly at home in the cold air.

The forest was pretty in the snow, bare trees with branches at stark angles, silhouetted in a white cloak that hid their unnatural decay. Frozen twigs and snatches of grass crackled under Sam's sodden sneakers. It was eerily quiet, occasional creaking branches the only sound to break the still air. Even the birds seemed to have abandoned the place for dead.

The old man walked on, untroubled by hidden tree roots that Sam tripped and stumbled over after him. He hadn't spoken inside Sam's mind since leaving the town, but Sam could feel him watching, even as he walked out ahead.

Breaking through the trees and overgrown brown bushes, Sam could see a wide stretch of dying grassland, rapidly being covered in a sheet of snow. Mountains rose on the horizon beyond it, great bleak juts rising from the earth in a way that made his mind feel small. The low cloud hid the tips from view so Sam couldn't tell how high they reached, whether they could touch the heaven Pastor Jim believed so vehemently in.

He realised he had stopped walking at the edge of the forest, and turned to look for the old man. Except he was no longer in front of Sam, or at his side. Sam spun around in a complete circle, and then spun again the other way in case he missed him. But all he could see was the forest, and the grass, and the mountains. The old man was gone.


Ben Ellis lived on a tidy street lined with identical semi-detached houses, each painted the same white as the snow still falling. Station wagons and saloon cars were parked in each driveway. Dean wished he had the Impala with him to show these people what a real car looked like.

Jim led them up the pathway to the Ellis's house, footsteps muffled and leaving tracks in the fresh-fallen snow. Tiny cat-paws scattered haphazardly across the expanse on the front lawn, the only imperfection in the otherwise pristine stretch of white.

Dean wondered for a second where all the children were, why they weren't playing in the snow. He remembered the first time he saw snow. He'd been six and holding toddler-Sammy's little hands in his own as they stood in the parking lot of a motel somewhere, John keeping careful watch from the doorway of their room. Sam had been giggling for hours, bending and grabbing handfuls over and over until his mittens were soaked and his fingers numb.

Jim was knocking on the door, stamping his boots off on the mat under the porch. A second later the door swung open.

"Yes?" An older woman stood in the doorway. She wore a turtleneck sweater that hung down over her hands, and she shivered a little at the crisp air outside. Seeing the two men at her door one hand went instinctively to her throat, as if she thought they might attack her in the middle of the quiet neighbourhood. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so," Jim began "We're looking for a Ben Ellis, we were told he lives here?"

She frowned, the expression pulling at the soft lines of her face. "Yes, he's my son."

Jim smiled, glancing at Dean as if to say let me do the talking. Dean was happy to leave Jim to it. He didn't think he could tell a convincing lie right now if his life depended on it.

"Ah, good. My name's Pastor Murphy." Apparently that was the magic password, the woman's eyes brightening at the title. Dean could practically hear her defences falling.

"Oh, Pastor, I'm so sorry, I didn't realise. Please, won't you come in? I'll just get Ben, he's probably studying."

Dean took her invitation to apply to him too and stepped in after Jim without bothering to stamp his own boots clean. He found himself in a tiny hallway painted in a shade of sunflower yellow that made him grit his teeth. He stepped away instinctively and almost knocked into a shelf of baby-faced cherub figurines, each posed in rows exactly parallel to each other. Hiding his grimace, he followed Jim into the kitchen.

He peeked in the living room as they passed, blinking sharply at the violent purple of the walls. Apparently this woman thought colour equalled good taste. But it was the picture on the mantle that caught his attention; a young boy of about twelve, puppy fat still clinging to his pink cheeks. An older man, probably the boy's father, had an arm slung about his shoulders, his other hand ruffling the boy's hair. They both had big smiles on their faces.

"I didn't mean to leave you standing on the porch, Pastor. You can never be too careful who you invite into your home these days though, it's such a shame. These street thugs you hear about on the news, I remember when you could go out and leave the front door unlocked without any fear…" Ben Ellis's mother carried on talking animatedly to Jim as she led the way to the kitchen, ignoring Dean so completely he began to wonder if he was even visible to her. "Would you like some tea?"

"I'll have a coffee, if you're offering. Black, no sugar." Dean butted in, ignoring the sharp glares shot his way from both the woman and Jim.

"Mom?" Footsteps on the stairs drew the attention of the room. The woman took a step toward the doorway, her arms wrapping around her waist suddenly.

"Ben, honey. Uh, there's someone here to see you."

The boy stepped into the room, starting at the sight of two strange men. His face instantly darkened.

Dean's first impression of Ben Ellis was computer geek. He'd seen the same pale face, messy hair and scrawny body on his baby brother years ago, back before dad's training had kicked in and started filling out his muscles. The boy from the photo was still visible in Ben's face, but the puppy fat had been trimmed somewhere along the way and replaced with teenage acne and bony cheekbones.

"Who're they?" He said, narrowing eyes at his mother. She took an aborted step toward him, one hand reaching out into the space between them.

"They're Pastors. They want to talk to you, Ben." Dean could see Jim's frown at the assumption that he too was a Pastor, but neither of them corrected the woman.

Ben took a step back, twin spots of colour appearing on his cheeks. "You called the church? I can't believe you, I already told you I'm fine! Why the hell won't you listen to me?"

"Ben, honey, they just want to help…"

"I don't need help! Christ, can't you just leave me alone?" Ben spun on his heel and disappeared from the doorway, thumping back up the stairs loud enough for Dean to track his position without even trying.

Ben's mother looked flushed and upset, sagging back against the kitchen counter like her son's words had physically exhausted her. She flinched at the slam of a door from somewhere upstairs. Pastor Jim went to her side, a hand touching her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Pastors. He's…he's not usually like this. He never used to be…"

Jim shot Dean a look that clearly said act like a Pastor, be compassionate. Except Dean wasn't really so good with compassion, so he took a step toward the doorway Ben had exited.

"Uh, Mrs Ellis, maybe I should go and have a word with Ben? See if I can do anything to…reach him?" She didn't seem to hear the awkwardness of his words.

"Would you, Pastor? It would mean a lot to me. I know he's a good boy really, he just needs some guidance." She took a step forward like she was going to hug him, and Dean took a step back.

"Sure." He put on a big fake grin. "That's what I'm here for. Guidance of the Lord. I'll just…" He waved a hand at the door.

She nodded, looking happier. "Yes, of course. It's the first door on the left, top of the stairs."

It wouldn't be hard to miss Ben Ellis's room, even without his mother's directions. Loud music pounded through the closed door, and while normally Dean was all for some heavy metal to release his anger, the crap emanating from Ben's room made him wince. Some woman wailing in a high voice while the sound of guitars thrashed in the background, and even Sam on his most contrary days wouldn't have pulled this on Dean.

His knock went unacknowledged, or possibly unheard over the strangled woman's death-throes. Dean shrugged and opened the door.

His initial assessment of computer geek was right. The room was dark and smelled of unwashed teenage boy, but the shelves along the far wall were neatly arranged and a whole wall was taken up by a long desk holding three monitors, all on. The books on the shelves were all on birds and wildlife, some as big as the ancient demonology texts his dad kept piled in the trunk of his truck. Ben sat on a wheelie chair in front of one of the screens.

Dean got two steps inside the room before his presence was noticed. The music abruptly cut off.

"Hey, what the hell…" Ben's face was twisted in anger, and Dean held up both hands in a placating gesture.

"Look, I just wanna talk to you…"

"Get the hell outta my room! I don't care who you are or what my mom told you, you got no right to come in here, so take your god crap and shove it!"

Dean allowed a small grin to touch the corner of his lips, shaking his head. "Okay kid, you've clearly got some issues. I'm gonna be gone in a few minutes and you won't ever see me again, but firstly? Don't disrespect your mother like that. One day you might regret it. And secondly, I'm not here to talk about god or whatever you think I'm here for."

He took another step inside the room, shoving hands in his jacket pockets. "I'm here to talk to you about a girl. Tall, redhead, very pretty. I've heard you know her?"

Dean was watching the boy closely for a reaction, any sign of recognition. What he didn't expect was the sudden blanch of the boy's face, or the flinch that followed. Ben shrunk back into his chair, his skinny body seeming to grow smaller. He looked to the side, speaking in a small voice. "I don't know any redheads." His eyes darted to the side, avoiding Dean.

Dean closed the door to the bedroom with a dull thud, watching with something like delight as Ben's eyes widened. "I think you do. I think you know exactly the girl I'm after. And I think you're gonna tell me all about her."


Sam wasn't sure what to do now. The old man had disappeared. The forest behind him was a stretch of confusion almost as tangled as his own mind, and he had no doubt that an attempt to find his way back to Dean would end up with him lost and stumbling and cold.

He huffed out a breath, momentarily distracted by the cloud pluming in front of his face. He did it again, trapping the warm air with both hands. It felt good on his numb fingers, the tip of his nose.

The mountain was good to look at. It made him think of strange things, things he had seen once that had almost overwhelmed him with their strength and enormity. He had a feeling that the mountain was important.

What would Dean do? Lost and alone with a mountain on one side and a forest on the other, what would his brother do? Sam frowned, feeling his chilled face screw up. Dean wouldn't have gotten lost in the first place. Dean wouldn't have followed an old man, wouldn't have promised things without questioning, wouldn't have gone out in the snow without a warm jacket on. God, he wanted his brother. He tried to think of Dean's warm hands stroking his skin, wrapping him in snuggly blankets and petting his hair. It just made him feel colder. He stuck his hands under his armpits, shivering.

Are you ready to know, little one?

Sam replied without thinking, speaking out loud in a dragon's-breath plume of smoke. "Yes."

In front of him, a flash of red dotted the snow-white field. It moved closer, coming toward him without fear. The cold around him seemed to disappear.

Sam stood, watching steadily.

His mind felt clear for the first time in forever, focused, waiting patiently like the ice-cold had pared away all the unnecessary thoughts from his brain.

And suddenly, like an audible click that sounded flat in his head, everything shifted into order. Sam blinked, a tiny gasp of breath escaping his mouth. For months, months, he'd been relentlessly sorting through his thoughts and memories, separating and arranging and rearranging to try and put them in some sort of order. And now they just fell into place by themselves? He was too shocked, too disoriented as if everything in his head had been upturned again in way too short a time, he hadn't even recovered from the last…

Dean. Oh god, Dean.

The fox trotted up to him, stopping a few feet away and sitting on its haunches, sleek black-tipped tail curling demurely around its paws. It looked up at him with cocked head, its green eyes meeting his own. The rediscovered memories fell away, unimportant for now.

The fox blinked slowly. Will you help me?

Sam nodded. Yes.