There are one hundred-thirty six posters stuck in corner stores, shopping malls, telephone booths, and just about anywhere else he could think of, but it still doesn't feel like enough. Lisa has been missing for three weeks already. That's enough time for Ben to race back from New York and find that Mrs. Patenski-from-next-door’s e-mail is true, enough time for the police to first suspect him matricide, clear his alibi and then give up; enough time for the university to offer him a pass for the year. Enough time for just about anything to happen.

Sitting on the damp bench of a Springfield bus stop, Ben stares at the other sixty-four posters -at his mother's smiling face- and won’t let himself believe what everyone else does. His mother is alive somewhere, and he’ll do anything to find her. If only he had some kind of clue!

Ben claws his hand through his short dark hair in frustration. What the hell are posters going to do? Everyone puts up posters when people go missing, but how many of them are actually found because of it? Frustrated, Ben walks back to his car, tosses the left over poster onto the passenger seat and drives back to his mother's house. His mind is racing the whole time, inventing plans and strategies to find his mom that become more and more grand and unlikely the closer to home he gets. He's still got nothing but determination by the time he gets there.

Claire collapsed onto her bed in the current motel room she was using. This last hunt she was working on was harder than she had anticipated. When she went to the old Rogers house, she expected it to just be a ghost, a simple thing to get rid of. The last thing she was expecting was to find out in the first two minutes was that her ghost was actually a poltergeist. She was thrown into a wall more times than she would admit and her entire body ached.

She dragged herself off the bed, heading into the bathroom to get a nice, hot shower to ease away the ache. When she finished, she got changed into some clean clothes before taking a seat at the small table, pulling her notes on the supernatural closer. She wanted to get far from this town as quickly as she could. She ran a brush through her hair as she scanned the notes. Winchester popped up constantly and she was getting real tired of seeing that name.

A small passage, barely more than two sentences caught her eye and she leaned forward to read the tiny print. She tilted her head curiously before standing up. She quickly packed her bags before heading out to her car and heading out. If what she read was true, than Dean Winchester had a son. A son who may be an asset to her hunting. Her first stop was to see if he still lived in the same house. It was a long drive ahead of her and she wanted to get there as soon as she could.

Ben's eyes ached from too much time spent staring at a computer screen, and not enough spent sleeping. There were at least ten messages on his mom's answering machine; the phone's little message light blinking a constant, impatient red. He should just shut down his computer, take a shower, go to bed, but he can't.

The house is a mess. The kitchen covered in old pizza boxes. The windows and doors practically covered in improvised fingerprint powder (thank-you Wiki How!), There are books on forensics, and criminal detection stacked up all over the place. Ben has learned more about crime scenes and finding clues in the last week than he may have learned about anything in his whole life. Any he still has nothing!

Lisa was taken from her home. He knows that much because Mrs. Patenski had heard her scream inside the house and rushed next door to see what happened. But... there's no evidence! No finger prints, nothing out of place, no footprints or dirt on the carpet. Nothing at all.

Ben cradles his head in his hands and tries not to cry. It's not a masculinity thing; a boy raised by a single mom and yoga instructor tends to have fewer issues with maintaining a masculine front. It's just -he doesn't know- it seems so useless. Why waste time crying when he could be looking for his mom?

He looks back at the computer screen with a scowl; how the hell had he ended up on an alien abduction site? It's so stupid! But... the things they're describing fit his situation...

With a sign Ben heaves himself up out of his chair. He will not resort to alien conspiracies to explain his mother's disappearance. She was taken by someone, not something. End of story.

The house isn't going to give him any clues, he'll have to give up on it. But that doesn't mean there isn't anything to learn. First a shower, then, Ben decides, it's time to ask around. See if his mom was acting oddly, or if anyone had seen anything out of the ordinary.

Claire stifled her sixth yawn after driving for a couple hours. She was so tired, but there wasn't any time to sleep. She needed to talk to this Ben guy as soon as she could. She knew she'd be able to sleep easier if she knew there was someone watching her back. There were only a few more hours left in her drive, so she figured she could make it.

But her eyes fluttered shut as sleep fought at her consciousness, causing her to drift slightly. The blaring of a car horn jerked her awake and she swerved back into her own lane. Okay, looks like she wasn't going to make it. She pulled into the nearest motel, getting a cheap room for the night. She'd catch a few hours of sleep and hit the road again.

She ran her mandatory checks of the room before putting a salt line along the door and windows before collapsing on the bed. She set an alarm on her phone before falling asleep. She didn't even bother changing out of her clothes. That would be something to worry about when she woke up.

Indeed when she woke up, she felt more refreshed than she did earlier. It wasn't by much, but it was something. She changed into some clean clothes before heading out again. With any luck, she'd get to her destination sometime around noon and she'd be able to talk to him over a nice lunch.

((Sorry for taking so long to reply! I had a long car drive to spend the weekend with my grandma, then I was having some troubles logging in.))

The sounds and feeling of old pizza boxes crunching flat under is shoe isn't nearly as satisfying now than when he was a kid. It's almost noon -the sun streaming in through the kitchen window warming his back uncomfortably as he tidies the mess he'd made the last few weeks in a sudden fit of hopeless energy. Ben had spent all morning talking to people. Anyone his mom knew, anyone who might have seen her before she disappeared. No one had anything useful to say, there had been nothing noticeably unusual going on.

Ben's investigation (of sorts) had hit a brick wall, and with nothing better to do he'd started to tidy up. It felt like a huge waste of time, but he wasn't leaving the house just yet. School was almost over for the year, it wasn't like he'd fail if he decided not to finish the semester. Ben stared at the pizza boxes under his foot and prayed for a miracle.

((It's okay. I ended up working until almost midnight anyway! Haha. ))

After a quick breakfast at a crappy diner, Claire continued on her way. She drove in silence, using the time to get all her thoughts in order. When she found this guy, she needed to get what she wanted to say correct so that there would be absolutely no misunderstandings about what it was she wanted. She had plenty of proof in her notes on the supernatural if he ended up not believing a word she said.

She pulled up to the correct street, slowing down considerably to get the right house. Once found, she parked. She checked her reflection in the mirror, taking a deep breath to center herself before grabbing her journal and getting out of the car. She headed up to the door. She only hesitated for a moment before knocking, putting on her most confident face.

((Yay. That's always fun...))

Startled out of his introspection, Ben shuffles, dazed, to the front door. Hand on the doorknob, Ben suddenly feels an overwhelming sense of Not Ready. But also something eager and familiar, like deja vu: an incomplete remembering of what? He doesn't know. He takes a deep breath, exhales, draws in another. Then swings the door open.

It's bright outside, the high noon sun casting a golden halo around the unfamiliar woman standing on his doorstep. Ben knows he looks a mess: dirty clothes, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. The part of him that can never pass up the opportunity to flirt with a pretty girl is embarrassed to be seen in his current state. He gets over it quickly.

"What do you want?" his voice cracks; husky with grief. If this is a reporter so help him...

Claire shifted restlessly from foot to foot, waiting for someone to come to the door. She normally couldn't stand being still for too long, but she knew this was too important to screw up. She needed help, she knew she did and she was certain that this was the guy who would be most likely to help her on her mission. She just needed to remain calm.

She opened her mouth to speak when someone answered the door, but her mouth promptly snapped shut. The guy who answered look, well, like death warmed over and that was saying something. She was tempted to give off some excuse and leave the guy, but knew that wasn't an option. So she was going to preserver no matter what.

She squared her shoulders, quickly rebuilding her confidence. "Ben Braedon? Do you have a minute to talk?"

((So sorry that this took so long! I had a long day Saturday and Sunday and I was supposed to work today, but that didn't happen, so I was using it for a lazy day. I promise I won't take so long again!))

"About what?" Bed crosses his arms, attempting to look as imposing as possible (it usually works, he's a pretty tall guy after all, but he feels like a light breeze could blow him over, never mind what he probably looks like). "I don't have time for reporters, so if you're for an article or something you can get right back in your car."

Freakin' vultures. Ben had thought they'd lost interest after the first week of following him around town, and staking out the house at all hours. Apparently there was at least one more reporter wanting to sell their piece of his nightmare.



((It's okay. I know real-life can be a real drag sometimes. :) ))

A frown flitted across Claire's face for a second before she school her expression in a more professional expression. Her mind was in overdrive though. What could he mean by reporter? Had something happened? She could briefly remember something she overheard at that diner about people disappearing lately around here. That was probably the only thing that could possibly be newsworthy.

She tilted her head curiously, keeping her confident demeanor. " First off, I'm not a reporter." she said, wanting to get that cleared up. "But I'm guessing someone close to you has disappeared recently, with no warning?" She paused for a second, wanting to get her wording right. "I could probably find whoever it is, but I'd need your help."

((I did it again! :( Sorry. It seems like every time I sit down to start on my reply, something comes up and I end up having to put it off. I've had a horribly sad day, so I'm hoping to get some rping in to help cheer me up. :) So, I hope you can forgive me))