Previously: Hiding a smile behind her mug, she caught his gaze again and said a brief, heartfelt, "Thank you" before launching back into her story, voice trembling at times but firm. Dean listened carefully as she continued, the words triggering half-memories in his mind so that he could almost imagine the events as she described them.

Chapter 5: The World Exploded, Part I.

Although the first day of autumn was still a few days away, the morning light was beginning to make its appearance later and later, so when the Winchester brothers walked into the quaint Michigan diner that morning, it was still relatively dark outside, only the barest hint of the sun beginning to show on the horizon in a spectacular, deep crimson reflected on a few scattered clouds in an otherwise clear sky.

The relatively simple job which had lured them to this backwater town had been resolved the night before: a standard salt and burn that had almost had Dean wishing that something more exciting had happened. He'd almost vocalized the sentiment to Sam once as they were packing up the Impala but thought that his little brother would yell at him for tempting fate, a feeling he shared but nonetheless could not entirely embrace. The next job, he promised himself, would have more edge to it, more for him to do besides watch Sam research for a couple of days and then tell him where to dig.

The plan was to eat and early breakfast to give them more time on the road as they headed toward Bobby's; the older hunter had called them the other day and asked for some help on a case of what appeared to be a whole nest of vampires who'd made the mistake of pausing in a town near the junkyard. The body count was rising quickly, but Bobby didn't think he could handle all of them alone. 'And he shouldn't have to,' Dean thought to himself as he slid into an old, cracked red vinyl booth across from his brother, who was focusing on the menu. The man who had become such a significant figure in both their lives had asked for help, and after all Bobby Singer had done for the Winchester family over the years—including keeping a surreptitious eye on the boys after their dad's death—such a request could not go unheeded.

Glancing around the diner in search of a waitress, Dean took in his surroundings as he always did in a new place, mentally assessing its relative safety or lack thereof. Although everything in the place was old, predating both boys by a few years at least, it was obviously well cared for. Someone had put a lot of time and energy into its upkeep, the solid wood furniture, crafted to resemble traditional log cabin walls, showed evidence of recent varnishing to cover new scrapes. Red and white plaid table cloths, also showing signs of wear but likely newer, lay crisply across the surfaces they protected, precise lines indicating that they had been carefully folded not too long ago. Even the vinyl he was sitting on, though showing its age, was smooth, lacking the sticky or tacky feeling most places like this tended toward.

No staff in sight, Dean made note of the diner's four other patrons, resisting the urge to count the life-size wood carving of a lumberjack standing ominously in the corner, even though his painted eyes seemed to be staring at him. Two older men, Pete and Mike, were sitting across from each other in a booth a few places down the line of windows from the Winchesters, talking quietly over coffee with dirty dishes scattered between them. Across the way at a table with chairs was another man, this one dressed sharply in a suit and tie, with his head half hidden behind the morning newspaper. For a moment, he seemed out of place to Dean, until he remembered the rush of early morning traffic that passed by this hamlet of a town, which was near the beginning of a successive streak of towns on the commuter route to the city about 45 minutes down the interstate. Finally, he could also make out a dark-haired chick in the back corner, locks spilling down across her face which was buried in a book.

A moment later Dean was distracted by the arrival of a tall, thick-chested man with a checkered shirt, blue jeans, and apron, the barest hint of flour dusting the crevices of his hands. "What'll you boys have?" he asked in a deep, baritone voice.

"I'll have a stack of your house special," Sam said as Dean quickly turned to his menu and began looking through it. "Eggs over easy, no bacon. And coffee, black."

No sign of a pad or pencil anywhere, Dean felt absolutely certain that the man wouldn't forget as he closed the booklet and lay it on the corner of the table on top of Sam's as he looked up at the mountain standing beside the table. "The Bunyan flapjacks, coffee, and I'll take his bacon," he said with a smile at Sam, who rolled his eyes skyward, probably sending up a prayer for Dean's arteries.

Nodding slightly, the man turned and headed back into the kitchen he'd appeared from, moving silently across the linoleum floor. "Food'll be out in a bit," he said over his shoulder, pausing before the door to converse with the girl in the corner.

"Mel," he said quietly as his eyes took in the mound of books and papers she had piled next to her empty plate. "You have time this morning to wait on a few tables before you head out? Caroline's late."

She looked from the text she'd been reading to the clock on the wall behind him, doing her best not to meet his eyes. It would be cutting it close, but this was Mac asking her. She'd never been able to say no to the man who'd treated her so well over the past few years.

"For a little while," she said with a playful sigh, "at least through the worst of the rush."

"Thanks."

Taking a minute to pull her things together and shove them into the messenger bag that had been sitting on the booth seat next to her, she disappeared into the back after Mac to get and apron and tablet, never having mastered Mac's talent at remembering orders. By the time she'd done all that, she could see him delivering meals to the out-of-towners who had walked in earlier.

In a surprisingly short amount of time, the boys had their breakfast, which Dean decided was as close to heaven as he was ever going to get. "Dude," he said around a mouthful of pancake and syrup, "these things freaking awesome."

Sam nodded in agreement, face drawn into a slight frown of disgust at the sight of his brother talking with his mouth stuffed that full. Although, he thought he might be getting desensitized to the experience as it didn't gross him out as much as it used to.

"We should try and swing past here more often," Dean continued, ignoring his brother's displeased look. "It's not that far out of the way, and these things are worth a few extra hours on the road."

Behind Dean, the bells on the door chimed as it opened and a group of students came in followed quickly by a man in old, worn clothing and a hard hat, a construction worker. Not two seconds after that, a nervous man in a cheap suit also came through, eyes darting between his watch and the other diner guests every few moments.

Mel suppressed a sigh as she watched the noisy group of students slide into a booth right behind Pete, whose face immediately reflected his annoyance with the situation. She knew that he appreciated the quiet of early mornings just as much as she did, and this group of late-night partiers—she could smell the alcohol wafting off them even from the kitchen door—had just summarily slaughtered that blissful silence in an instant. It didn't help that they immediately began tearing apart anything they could get their hands on, spinning the sugar container around like a top until it toppled over with a crash, throwing granules everywhere, pulling out napkins from the dispenser only to stack them in a messy pile on the table.

She reluctantly approached the table, smiling resolutely at Pete and Mike as they rose from their seats and headed out, sparing her sympathetic glances as they went. Squaring her shoulders and plastering on a smile, she paused just outside of arm's reach and said, "Welcome to Paul's Flapjack House. What can I get for you this morning?"

"How about a little attention, sweetheart?" one of the guys near the window said, almost yelling, as if he'd been at a concert all night and couldn't hear his own voice. His eyes slowly scanned her up and down, causing her skin to crawl, a feeling which was compounded when the others joined it. "Yeah." "Some company'd be nice." "Why don't you take a seat?"

Gritting her teeth, Mel fought to keep the smile on her face to hide her dislike. "Food's the only thing on the menu this morning, so what'll it be? Maybe you need a few more minutes to decide?"

Appearing slightly defeated by her lack of response, a grumbling chorus of assents had her gratefully retreating behind the counter where she picked up the coffee pot and headed over to the other new customers, stopping first at the business suit's table to see if he needed a refill.

His eyes darted up to meet hers momentarily as he nodded his thanks, and she almost took a step back in shock at what she saw. Although he shared the tense lines around the eyes and slight pinched expression that indicated the students were too loud for his taste as well, the pupils of his eyes almost appeared to be going white, rapidly losing their color as if from a sudden onset of cataracts. Mel blinked, and a moment later he was focused on his paper once more, the incident feeling more like a dream than anything else.

The two new customers were much easier to handle, although the man with the nervous twitch was so abrupt in his requests that he stopped in the middle of his order twice and had to be prompted to continue…almost as if he thought he'd given his order already and expected her to leave. Again and again, his eyes darted to the door, and then, just for a moment, his eyes would freeze and focus on it so intently, so completely, she halfway suspected he might be trying to open it with his mind.

Still reeling from the odd encounter with the businessman, Mel did her best to avoid making eye contact with him, which turned out not to be a problem as she seemed to fail to register on his continual scanning pattern, the furtive movement of his coal-colored eyes preventing her from getting too close a look.

Meanwhile, the group of student was becoming progressively louder, laughing hysterically as one of them amazed the rest by tearing the pile of napkins into shreds and throwing them into the air in clumps like snow. Each shower sent the high-pitched laughter louder, and as she quickly stopped by the cute guys' table and refilled their cups with an apologetic smile—the older one breaking his own rather annoyed expression for a moment to smile at her—before heading for the kitchen, intent on fetching Mac to have him resolve the situation, a sudden silence caused her to pause in mid-step and whirl around.

Every one of the students was gaping like a fish, mouths open and moving but soundlessly, eyes wide to the point of bulging in confusion and growing panic. Hands flew to necks, scrabbling for purchase as if trying to loosen a choking hold, but there was nothing there, nothing to explain why six guys were suddenly terrified, faces slowly changing color as Mel realized they weren't getting enough air. They were gasping for breath, but something was preventing them from getting it.

About to take a step forward toward the table, intent on helping them even though she didn't know what she'd do, Mel was again halted, this time by a sound as a chair was sent scraping across the floor, the shriek emulating nails dragged torturously across a chalkboard. Wincing in pain, she turned slightly to face the source and watched as the man in the suit snapped his paper closed and tucked it underneath his arm, pained tension gone from his face only to be replaced with a cold smile that froze Mel to the core, scaring her with the grim intent written on that calm, chiseled surface.

His eyes, having momentarily appeared faded before, were now pure white as if rolled back in his head, but the unerring aim he had as he lifted his free hand toward the seated patrons—Mel being the only one to his back except for Mac, who had appeared at the entrance to the kitchen—indicated he was still seeing clearly. "That is enough," he said softly, the words carrying in the sudden silence punctuated only by the frantic motions of the students, who were thrashing about in earnest now. Fingers slowly clenching into a fist before him, Mel raised a hand to her own throat in astonishment as she abruptly found herself gasping for breath herself, the diner seemingly devoid of air.

Across from her, the two men jumped to their feet and surged toward the man from opposite directions, weapons appearing from out of nowhere.

Before they could do anything, however, one was sent flying into the wall, the impact a sickening thud, as he slid down and lay still. The second never even made it that far as an arm out of nowhere punched him in the face, turning his whole body and flinging it down and away, toward his companion, with its force.

The nervous man shook his hand as if to dispel the force of the blow and turned to the businessman, coal eyes now looking almost completely black as he yelled something incomprehensible. The first barely acknowledged him, flicking a hand as one might to chase away a fly, and while the motion did not propel the twitcher across the room, it did cause him to stagger back a few steps toward the front door.

Mel sank to her knees, eyes riveted to the scene even as darkness began to encroach upon her vision, so she was still watching when the door opened with a deceptively innocent jingle again as Caroline walked in. Only…it wasn't Caroline. She was dressed for work in the standard plaid shirt and denim, hair pulled back into pigtails as she always did in an attempt to project a more "small town" vibe, but her face was utterly still, no hint of its normal grin apparent, and her eyes were black, absolutely black.

In case it isn't clear from the formatting, everything Dean remembers is formatted normally while everything in italics is the story of what happened as narrated by Mel.

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