A/N: This ficlet was written for the spn_las challenge at LJ, which has a 1000 word limit.
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The prairies of the Midwest are so vast and so flat that it's possible to see something in the distance hours and hours before ever reaching it. So Sam and Dean have a lot of time to think about what's happening in Kidron, Nebraska as they watch it approach.
"It just doesn't seem possible," Sam says. "The earth orbits everywhere. It's orbiting there, too. It's the laws of physics."
Dean pulls his eyes away from the road for a moment to look at Sam like he's the dumbest person on earth. Road's so straight, he could probably drive the rest of the way with his eyes closed anyway.
"Are you actually surprised that the supernatural is breaking the laws of physics?" Dean asks. "Is this a real complaint that I am actually hearing?"
"It just seems wrong," Sam mutters, staring out at the patch of night off in the distance, a stain against the blue afternoon skies everywhere else.
"It is wrong. That's why we're going to do something about it," Dean says. "God, I'm bored. Put on some music, Sam."
Sam finds a mix tape Dean made when he was 13 and they drive the rest of the way to Kidron listening to old-school Metallica and AC/DC.
Kidron is not a ghost town. Dean figured a town shrouded in darkness would be enough to scare everywhere away, and for a moment he's surprised to see how many people are wandering around its streets. Then he realizes that of course people have come here,I of course/I they don't realize the threat. It's been nine hours since the sun should have risen, and Kidron is filling up with tourists and scientists and the army and astrologers and mystics and psychics, staring at the stars. While Kidron's darkness was visible outside the town, now that they're in it, the daylight everywhere is not in evidence. It could be any ordinary night, except that it should be late afternoon.
"Shit," Dean says under his breath, as he narrowly avoids hitting some jaywalkers who are watching the sky instead of oncoming traffic. Sam looks at him, the question clear in his expression. "I mean, we gotta do this fast, before this town turns into an all-you-can-eat moron buffet."
They've only been in town for a couple of hours when they hear about the first attack.
"Pregnant woman was killed and I hear the killer did something horrible to the baby," says the shocked bartender in the crowded bar.
"That's it," Sam says to Dean in a low voice.
"Yeah, I figured," Dean says. "Let's go."
It's not hard to find it. Sam says it's a manananggal, some kind of Filipino vampire. Dean doesn't really care.
"This is just the beginning," it hisses at them, a bit slowed down after having been shot with rock salt. It looks like an attractive woman now, and Dean has to steel himself, remind himself that this is not its true form. "Soon the whole world will be night, and you will have no place to hide from us."
Dean shoots it again.
"Tell us how you did it," he says grimly.
It just laughs, but weakly this time. There's no last breath.
"I think you killed it," Sam says.
"Huh. Salt is effective against Filipine vampires. Make a note, Sammy," Dean says.
The next day, werewolves attack a family of three at eleven thirty in the morning. Vampires make a snack of a whole group of neo-pagans praying at the sun that afternoon.
"Bobby still has no idea what could be doing it," Sam says, snapping the phone closed. "But it's spreading. Just a little so far, but it's steady."
Dean just looks at him across the café table, thinking. "That Filipino vampire thing was telling the truth, then."
"Looks like it," Sam agrees. He frowns. "All this night is making me crazy. I need to see some sunshine before I lose my mind."
Dean ticks off the facts on his fingers. "Permanent night. In Nebraska. We don't know what's causing it. It's spreading. This town is turning into an all-day all-night feeding ground for every beastie that usually hides in the dark."
Sam nods glumly.
"You won't be able to stop it," says a voice behind Dean. He twists around in his chair and looks up to see a small man. Young, smiling, harmless-looking.
"Can I sit?" he asks. Dean exchanges a look with Sam, who nods slightly.
The man takes that as an invitation, and he pulls a chair over from a neighboring table.
"I know who you are," he says with a smile. "Just giving you fair warning."
"You know who we are, who the hell are you?" Dean asks.
The man's eyes briefly glint gold, and Dean stiffens. Werewolf.
"How'd you do it?" Sam asks. "What spell are you using?"
The man leans back in his chair.
"Nothing," he finally says.
"Nothing?" Sam repeats, disbelief obvious.
"We're not doing anything," the werewolf agrees. He leans forward, grins. "We have no idea how it happened. We don't know why it's happening here. We don't know why it's spreading."
"Bullshit," Sam says. "The manananggal we killed said that this was just the beginning."
"No bullshit," the man says. "She was just trying to intimidate you, I think."
"And you're not?" Dean asks.
"If I wanted to intimidate you, I would just go full wolf," he says with a shrug.
"What is it then?" Sam asks in a challenging tone.
"It's the end," the man says simply.
"The end?" Dean asks. Who does this guy think he's fooling? he thinks.
"Well, we don't know for sure," the man admits. "It's just a theory some of us have. No battle, no rapture. Just…nothing. Nothing but darkness."
Dean looks up at the night sky at noon, wonders what that would be like. He suddenly feels exhausted.
Maybe it's better this way.