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 :)

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I really enjoy hearing what you guys think :) Next update should be on Thursday…

Chapter 8

They were in a house. They were in someone's bedroom, without their permission, and all the lights were off and dawn was only half an hour ago and there was steady breathing emanating from the bed two feet away.

Sam really hoped no one woke up with a sudden desperate need to piss.

It wasn't like he was a stranger to breaking and entering, but usually it was office blocks or warehouses or shops they broke into. It wasn't an innocent family house, and it wasn't at a time when anyone could wake up and catch them and call the cops. And what excuse would he use? Me and my pet fox here, we were looking for a ball in this nice teenage boy's bedroom while he slept?

The fox was currently sniffing around under the bed, hindquarters waving in the air. The sight made Sam want to laugh, laugh until he shook. But he promised. He'd seen his dad's truck parked outside the motel as they walked through the town. The fox had kept its side of the bargain, so he would keep his.

Did you find it? Sam asked silently.

The fox twisted around under the bed until its nose poked out. No.

Uh, not to be rude or anything, but why do you even need me here if you could break into the house and get this ball yourself?

The fox paused for a second, face turning to the boy sleeping peacefully in his bed. It belly-wriggled out of the small space, shaking itself to get rid of the dust sticking to its red coat.

Because the boy took it. I cannot take it back unless it is offered to me. It is against my nature. It fixed Sam with sharp black eyes that shone in the dull light of dawn filtering through the single window. Outside, the clouds were dark, swollen and pregnant with snow.

Sam frowned. He looked over at the boy, at the boy's room filled with computers and books. It could have been his own dorm room, back in his first year at Stanford. Back before he'd gotten over the pain of leaving his dad and Dean, he had barely gone out. Losing himself in a book for a few hours had been his only respite.

He didn't want to have to hurt this boy, who kept a picture of his mom and dad on his bedside table next to a glass of flat Pepsi.

We should check the other rooms to be sure. The fox said. Sam paused for a second, looking hard at the picture of a smiling family. He turned back to the fox and nodded once, brusquely.

Let's go. They'll be waking up soon. We should make this fast.

The only other bedroom was occupied by a woman, sleeping hunched over on one side of the bed as if she was afraid to stretch out onto the second pillow. Sam watched her for a second, feeling sick and perverted for being here. The fox slipped in through the crack in the door, ignoring the woman. Sam waited outside for it to finish its scouting.

The rooms on the lower level were painted in garish colours; purple and yellow and fuchsia so bright it made Sam blink, even without a light on. The fox didn't seem to notice, and he wondered if it could even see colour, or if it could only see in black and white like a dog. Now wasn't really the time to ask, he felt.

He rummaged through cupboards and drawers, mindful of the noise he was making. A heavy bronze statuette shaped like a lion fell off a wobbly table and hit the floor with a thud, muffled by the thick carpet. Sam froze, his eyes darting toward the doorway, but no one appeared to scream and call the police.

He huffed heavily. I don't think it's here.

The fox appeared in the doorway to the living room, its tail bristling out behind it. It has to be! I need the ball!

Sam approached it hesitantly, bending to face it. I'm sorry.

He reached out a hand, slowly. The fox's ears flattened against its skull for a second and then sagged down. It make a tiny whuffing noise like a sigh. Sam carefully brushed fingers along the fine-boned head, scritching behind the ears a little. We'll find it. I promised, didn't I?

I need the ball. It said, plaintive this time, like an exhausted child.

Sam stroked along the line of its spine in gentle motions. It's okay. We'll find it. A creak from upstairs made them both freeze. We should go. We can come back later if we need to.

The fox took one final, almost despondent, look around the living room before nodding.


A soft thud woke Ben Ellis from a troubled sleep. He blinked up at the dark ceiling, his head still wandering in dreams where redheaded women snarled at him like animals.

The air smelled strange around him, like drying grass. He frowned, sitting up in bed. There was nothing out of place in the room. Nothing moving.

A door closed somewhere downstairs, a tiny click of a lock breaking the silence of the sleeping house.

Ben was on his feet in a second, lunging across the room to his cell phone. His heart was pounding and his fingers fumbled at the keys. He forced them to work, taking deep breaths to try and calm his wavering vision.

Mom.

The thought had him chewing on his lip, eyes fixed on the closed door of his room. If he opened it, what would he find? An image assaulted him, vivid in his mind; the redhead standing there in the hallway just waiting for him to open the door, her mouth spotted with blood like a vampire, bared teeth in a sick smile. His mom lying dead on the carpet behind her, sightless eyes open, accusing. He clenched his jaw and tore his eyes away, focusing on the phone. Dean. Dean had promised to help him. Dean would come if he called.


"Okay, so we at least have a lead now, right?" Dean said, looking expectantly over at his dad and Jim. He held the glowing ball in one hand, twisting it in the dim light thrown from the bare bulb above his head.

"No, we have a ball. A ball that this – whatever – apparently wants, but still, just a ball." His dad said, rubbing a hand over his face.

Dean pursed his lips, dropping the ball onto the empty bed with more force than necessary. His dad was right, something in him conceded. It wasn't a lead. It wasn't going to bring Sam running back. But it was something, at least. More than they had before.

Jim let out a heavy breath. He looked exhausted, Dean realised. John wasn't faring much better, despite the week of sleep he must have had. Both men looked ready to drop.

"Dean, we shouldn't get our hopes up too much. You know we can't do anything with that ball until we figure out what we're dealing with and what exactly it wants, right?" Jim said, his forehead creased.

"Jim…"

"No, Dean. I know how much you want Sam back; we all do. But we need to know more…"

Jim's voice was cut off by the trill of Dean's cell. Dean picked it up, frowning when he saw Ben's name appear on the screen.

"Ben? What's up, man, it's like four in the…" He was cut off by Ben's urgent whisper.

"Dean? Dean, god it was in my house! She was here, she…I don't know if she's gone…"

Dean tightened his grip on the cell phone, glancing over at Jim and John who were both watching him with alert eyes, all tiredness gone from their faces. "Ben, wait up a sec. The redhead? She was in your house?"

"Yes! God, what if she hurt my mom? Oh God…"

"Hey, hey, calm down, okay?" Dean sat on the bed and started pulling his shoes on one-handed as he talked "Look, just sit tight, we'll be there in ten minutes. Don't move, okay?"

"Okay. Just…hurry. Please."

Dean flipped the phone closed, reaching for his jacket. "Ben's in trouble. It showed up at his house." He looked up to see Jim and his dad were already by the door waiting.


They pulled up outside Ben's house in record time. John insisted on driving, despite Jim's protests that the truck would skid on the ice, spin out of control and they'd all die a horrible flaming death. Privately Dean agreed with the Pastor's assessment, but when his father's eyes had fallen on him for the deciding vote, he hadn't been able to stop himself sticking up for the man. He knew his dad and as much at the man tried to hide it, Dean had knocked his confidence by walking out earlier. Sam would have mocked him and hit him around the head for it, but Dean couldn't help the way he was wired; to obey his dad's orders and follow his lead. To fix up the hurts they caused each other the best way he knew how.

He maybe regretted it a little now, stepping out of the backseat and rubbing his head where he'd knocked it on the side window on a tight corner. His stomach was churning like he'd been on a rollercoaster. John flashed a look in his direction and Dean quickly pasted on his game face to hide the nausea.

The house looked quiet from the outside. No lights were on, nothing moved.

Jim silently passed him a handgun. Dean took it, thumbing off the safety.

"C'mon, let's move." John said without taking his eyes off the house.

The snow crunched underfoot, loud to Dean's ears. He wondered if whatever-it-was could hear them coming, was waiting for them inside the door. The sky was gradually gaining colour, grey clouds suffused with filtered dawn. It lit up the street, and anyone awake at this hour would probably be wondering about the three men sneaking up the Ellis's front lawn with guns held at their sides like a bad SWAT team imitation.

John was first to the door, rattling the doorknob. Jim stood to one side, eyes fixed on the little pathway around the side of the house.

"Dean, get us in." John murmured, the sound barely carrying further than the mist of breath. Dean slid onto the porch step beside his dad and dropped to his knees, searching his pockets for the lock picks. John stood watch as Dean fumbled at the door with numb fingers. He should really remember to wear gloves.

The lock clicked with a soft noise and Dean swung the door open, his gun aimed into the hallway.

Nothing moved. The hall looked exactly as it had yesterday; same sunflower yellow walls, same rows of tiny porcelain fairy ornaments. They seemed to be staring at Dean, their faces rapt and frozen in ecstasy. He frowned hard at them for good measure and moved slowly through the house, gun held in both hands and pointed at the floor.

Behind him he could hear his dad and Jim slipping in. The door closed with a gentle bump.

The living room door was open to his left, the kitchen straight ahead. He paused, back against the wall. John slid silently past him, nodding for him to carry on into the kitchen. Dean bit his lip, nodded back woodenly. He could hear Jim tiptoeing up the stairs to search the upper floor without waiting to be told. Of course John had briefed the other man before they came in. And of course, Dean hadn't been let in on the plan. His part only involved searching the kitchen apparently, why would he need to know that beforehand?

Taking a deep breath, he moved on. No time to argue now, not that he would.

The kitchen appeared to be empty, washed dishes stacked neatly on the countertop and chairs tucked under the table. Dean checked the door leading into the backyard, found it locked.

Nothing. No place for a full-grown woman to hide, unless she was a contortionist in her spare time. Dean let out a sigh.

John appeared in the doorway, his gun held in one hand. "Anything?"

"Nothing here."

Two sets of footsteps on the stairs had them both tensing before Jim's low voice broke the sleeping quiet. "Just us. Nothing upstairs."

Ben stepped into the kitchen first, clad in black sweatpants that hung baggy on his legs. His face was milk-white and terrified. Jim followed him in, one hand on his shoulder.

"I heard her, something was definitely here!" Ben started in a voice that sounded too loud in the enclosed space. Dean raised a hand to cut him off.

"Hey, hey, we believe you. No need to talk us into it. But she ain't here now, so why don't you sit down?"

Ben looked up at him, his lower lip shaky. He stared for a long moment, until Dean felt uncomfortable and broke the gaze.

"Why was she here?" Ben said, quietly now.

"My guess? She wanted that ball." Jim said, a deep frown creasing his features.

"But I don't have it anymore! I gave it to you guys!"

John reached out a hand and awkwardly patted the boy on the shoulder. "Maybe she doesn't know that. But either way, it doesn't matter. We'll take care of it." Ben seemed to breathe a little easier at the assurance.

"Why don't you tell us what you heard?" John said, steering him into a seat with an authoritative hand. Taking charge of the situation, like he always did.

Dean huffed quietly to himself. "I'm gonna go search outside, see if there's anything around." He didn't wait for an answer before walking out. Ben's eyes were boring into the back of his jacket and he felt absurdly humiliated.

He'd promised. He'd promised the boy that nothing would happen to him, that he'd take care of it. Dean stepped out the front door, closing it carefully behind him. He let out a long breath, watching absently as it billowed out in a cloud that hung in the frigid air for long seconds before dissipating. Should've known better, he thought scornfully, should have known better than to make false promises, considering I'm already inches away from breaking the one I made to Sammy.

Dean stepped off the low front step, dropping to sit despite the layer of snow covering it. He put his head in his hands, staring blankly at the plain white stretch between his booted feet.

The sound of the door opening brought his head up.

"Dean? You okay?" John took a step outside, catching his eyes for a second before lowering himself to sit beside Dean.

Dean didn't look up. "I'm fine, dad. Just…worried about Sam, is all."

"Son, what I said before – you know I didn't mean anything by it? I wasn't trying to imply that you can't take care of your brother." John paused, looking off into the distance like there was something to see there "You…you take better care of Sam than I could. Than anyone could."

"Yeah well, it didn't do much good, did it? Sam still got…got taken." Dean said bitterly.

The hand on his shoulder was a surprise. He looked up to see John's face, as steady as his grip. "Son, we'll find Sam. We will. Him being taken, it wasn't your fault anymore than it was Jim's. You were both there, and neither of you saw anything. What we're dealing with; it's smart. But we'll beat it."

Dean nodded, unable to speak. He searched his dad's eyes, looking for anything that said he might be putting on a brave front, hiding his feelings. John smiled softly at him, patting him on the back. "And maybe when we get Sam back, I'll come spend a few days at Jim's. Sam can show me those flowers he kept going on about."

Dean choked out a strangled laugh. "Okay, now I know you're just trying to make me feel better, dad."

John shook his head, a half-smile on his lips. "Well, maybe we can leave out the flower part." He sighed, his face turning serious. "Dean, I know I upset you before. I just – I want us to be family again. Close, like it was when you boys were little."

Dean closed his eyes, feeling the chill of the wind chap at his mouth. God, he'd waited for years to hear that come from someone other than himself. Family. The three of them, together.

Except it didn't feel as sweet as he'd expected it to. Didn't feel right.

"Are you gonna stop hunting? Be around more, at least?"

There was no hesitation in his father's voice. "Yes. Dean, I promise. Unless something big comes up…"

Dean snorted, a big fake smile cracking his face. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

"Dean, I mean it…"

He turned to face his dad, his lips pressed together hard. His chest ached like he'd swallowed a chunk of ice. The most hurtful thing was, he was pretty sure his dad did mean it. Would set aside time to see his boys with the best of intentions. But something would come up and they'd get a call from Louisiana, or Texas, or Long Island, saying he'd been delayed this weekend, maybe next week.

Something big always came up.

He softened his voice, swallowing around the chunk. "I know. I know you do, dad. But you don't need to worry. Sam and me, we'll be okay. I'll take care of him. And," he paused, looking his dad in the eye through a sudden haze of tears "When you do visit, it'll be good. Nice, to see you."

John was frowning, the fine lines creasing his eyes pulled deep as canyons. He opened his mouth, shut it again without saying anything. Dean looked blankly out into the expanse of snow covering the front lawn, just now catching the first rays of morning slipping beneath the clouds. From the corner of his eye he saw John swallow hard and start to talk again.

But there was something, something catching his gaze and for a second Dean just stared. Prints, deep in the snow. Leading to the porch where he was seated. The light illuminated them, making the dips and valleys sharp contrasts of shadow. There was another set of the same footprints leading away from the house.

He stood, walking over to the clearest of the imprints.

They were made by sneakers. Men's sneakers. And beside them, neatly spaced and almost elegant, lay a set of paw prints.