Feels like Midnight

Such kind reviewers you are! Gives me the warm-fuzzies.

Chapter Four

"You have to help us," the man insisted. "I've been listening. You know more than any of the others. There has to be something you can do."

The man was nearly wild-eyed and Sam had to fight the urge to back farther into the booth.

"Just what do you think we can do for you?" Dean asked levelly and Sam noted his tone was not nearly as conciliatory as it had been toward the waitress.

"Look, you're not the only ones stuck here," the old farmer said a trifle too loudly, then looked nervously over his shoulder.

"Harold Turpin!"

The man spun on his heels and backed away from the booth.

The waitress marched toward them, hands on her hips. "Are you bothering these boys? Didn't your mama teach you any better manners than that?"

"Sorry," the man said, hanging his head. "I was just… just…"

"You were just about to go home," she said, iron in her tone.

"Yes," the man nodded. "Of course. I'll…" he suddenly looked completely defeated. "I'll be back tomorrow." His eyes traveled to the counter. "See you fellows then."

Several of the men on the stools at the counter waved, their eyes more intent on their friend than was strictly necessary or even normal. Sam noted several gazes straying in their direction, then the men turned back to the counter.

Sam had the feeling their most important lead was about to walk out the door. "We should get going too, Dean," Sam said. He put out a hand to help Dean rise and knew just how badly his brother was feeling when he accepted the help without comment.

Dean paled and swayed slightly when he stood and Sam kept a steadying hand on his elbow.

"I'll be fine," Dean whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. "Don't let that guy leave without us."

Sam frowned at the 'I'll be fine' instead of 'I am fine.' If Dean was admitting he wasn't doing so well, then it might be even worse than Sam thought.

"We can just wait here," Sam whispered back. "Give you a chance to rest."

Dean shook his head instantly. "I… You wanna drive?"

"Sure." Sam nodded worriedly and accepted the keys Dean handed over. Moving ahead of him, Sam held the door for the man the waitress had called Harold and waited for Dean to follow him outside.

They could tell the man was purposely lagging behind, allowing them to catch up. They waited for the diner door to close behind them and used themselves as a screen.

"Get in the back, Harry," Dean ordered. "Don't look back inside. Just get in and duck down."

Harold didn't even hesitate, practically throwing himself into the car. Pretty spry for an old guy, Sam thought. He looked to be in better shape than Dean at the moment who was moving around to the other side of the car like he was ancient. Sam waited for his brother to settle himself into the passenger seat and then eased the car out of the lot.

"You don't have to drive far," Harold said. "You just have to get out of sight of the diner."

"He's right," Dean nodded. "No matter how far we drive, we'll never get anywhere. Just go ahead and pull over."

Sam took a quick look in the rear-view mirror and saw Harold nod too. "We've all tried to leave. By car, on foot, tried different routes. We can't get away from the diner. After a while we quit trying. We just ended up right back where we were."

"So, it's not just us? You've all been stuck in that diner?" Sam asked and heard a rumble of agreement from the back seat.

"For how long?" Dean demanded.

The farmer shrugged. "It repeats over and over again. Ever since that night."

Sam blinked in astonishment. "You've all been in that diner since the night of the murders?"

"Technically, I suppose it was a few nights after that. This little girl walked in and once she showed up the rest of us couldn't leave."

"Little girl?" Sam frowned.

"Flo," Dean said with a groan, letting his head fall back against the head rest.

"Who?" Harold asked.

"The waitress," Dean growled. "I knew that chick gave me the creeps. She said she had to get to the diner. That was all she could think of that night."

"But she's in her 50's," Sam reminded them.

Harold leaned forward in his seat conspiratorially. "The rest of us haven't changed, but she got older. Don't know why. When she was little, we used to take care of her around the place. Then she started helping out. When she got older, the regular waitress disappeared one night and she took her place."

"You spend all day there," Sam said, still horrified.

"Oh no," the man sat back again. "Starts at sundown. And we stay for a while… I don't rightly know when it starts over. It just does. It's like you blink and you're right back where you started."

"For 50 years," Sam said.

Harold's eyes met Sam's in the mirror. "All I can say is that I'm real tired of diner food."

"So what do you think we can do?" Dean asked.

"Well, you're doing better than anyone else."

"What do you mean?"

"You remember," the man said with certainty. "That puts you ahead of everyone else that's managed to get themselves caught in our little web."

"There have been others?"

"Oh yeah," he laughed, though without any real humor. "Every once in a while a strange car will drive in. They stay for a while and then one day they just don't come back."

"Any idea why?"

"Nope."

"If we manage to stop this, what does that mean for you?" Dean asked, clearly curious.

"Well…" Harold sat back in his seat. "Best case scenario… I'm guessing, we'll die."

"Pardon me for saying so, but how is that a best case scenario?" Dean asked, clearly appalled. "I've been killed twice in as many days and have no intention of letting it happen again."

"Son," the man said kindly and Sam could tell Dean didn't particularly appreciate the slightly condescending tone, "we've all been locked in that place for years and years. If we're not dead already, we should be. We were old codgers back then and now… well I don't rightly know what we are."

"What do you know about her?" Sam asked. "The waitress."

The old man made a sound and Dean started to turn, wanting to look their passenger in the face. Sam heard the barest hitch in his brother's breathing before Dean remained where he was, settling once again for the mirror in the visor. "Did she die that night too?" he asked.

"I don't know if she's dead or even if she's the real reason we're all stuck there," Harold brushed his hand in frustration over a few stubbles of beard. "We all knew about what happened at the house. It was big news in such a small community. No one knew about the little girl though. She still hadn't been found… not until she walked into the diner on her own."

"So it was her sister who killed herself."

"Yup."

"Does she ever talk about that night?"

"Never," the man answered. His hand stopped in mid-motion where he was still scrubbing at his beard and his eyes widened.

"Do you know why?" Sam followed the man's line of sight and his heart nearly stopped.

"Because I don't like people in my business," the waitress said, leaning in the window beside Harold and bodily yanking him out of the car. In only a few seconds the woman dragged the farmer, who was twice her size, into the corn and they were gone.

Just a little chapter to get them from point A to point B. Got to get them back into that field…