Sam suppressed a shudder, Lord knew Dean would hone in on that like some werewolf on steroids and trained as a medic. It was pretty boring watching Dean change a tire, and his brother was right. Not everything in the world was out to get them, even though it often seemed that way. Sometimes a nice lady stranded with a flat tire and some kids was nothing more than that.
Wandering closer to the guard rail, Sam caught sight of a parking pass on the car's front windshield. It was bright neon orange, nothing special, but the numbers leapt off the pass and blazed into his brain, 02221112. Shaking off the odd feeling growing inside his chest, casting another glance at Dean, Sam moved closer to the guard rail. He saw the woman's stance relax somewhat, having them both so close to the car and her kids made her nervous.
The sky, everything around them was mired in an odd, lifeless gray. It wasn't so late in the day the sun should be setting, but the dingy cloud cover and chilly rain made this little section of the world dreary and colorless. Drawing in a deep breath, sighing softly, Sam turned his attention more to the valley beyond the rail, the mountains rising up beyond the valley.
He'd always found the Smokey Mountains fascinating. The way mist and steam rose up, giving the absolute impression of smoke. It was cool, mesmerizing. Tops of pine trees peeked from the billows of 'smoke' wafting off the valley floor, not the least impeded by the crappy, dreary, wet weather. Today everything was mired in shades of gray, though Sam had been in this area before, knew in the sunlight it would be a breathtaking picture steeped in brilliant, deep color.
0 2 2 2 1 1 1 2
The numbers, large and white, flew from the base of the cliff. Sam's voice failed completely. Frozen to that spot, he couldn't move, couldn't call out to Dean. He was having some sort of breakdown for sure. Then it all disappeared, washed out in vast, gray nothing mist. The numbers swirled around his head, fluttering like bizarre birds before vanishing into the gray.
Fighting down nausea, choking on acrid, foul bile Sam reached for the guard rail but his fingers skimmed through nothing but air. Nothing. He was surrounded by nothing. The sounds of Dean changing the tire, even his brother's deep voice, swallowed up by the nothing. Unable to breathe, yell, move, anything, Sam was completely paralyzed in a world turned to a void of gray.
Without warning, the world dropped out from under his feet—like a plane dropping out of the sky—sending Sam tumbling off to nothing. Gray nothing. His mouth opened to scream for help, to warn Dean to run from the encroaching nothing, but no sound came out.
Sam was swallowed by the nothing.
Fingers grabbing Sam's jacket, not being able to remember for sure, and hoping with everything in him, that Sam's jacket wasn't open. Digging in farther with his fingers, trying to make sure he grasped shirts, skin and muscle if need be, Dean gripped with enough force to cause his arms to cramp. Throwing his weight back, feet sliding on the gravel roadside, Dean scrabbled back, yanking Sam toward him at the same time.
Flipping Sam around to face him, Dean's hands darted under Sam's shoulders, fingers now clutching the muscles of Sam's sides. Dean backpedaled, taking his stunned brother with him. Hands falling onto Dean's shoulders, eyes wide, face pale and shiny from mist and sweat, Sam gulped in a shuddering breath, held it and gulped again as if he'd been unable to breathe then his airway cleared so suddenly, it took time before he knew he could again.
"Deeeeaannn." Sam's voice trembled and slithered out. His head jerked from side to side, eyes not really focusing well.
Dean shook him harder than he intended, shouting, "Sam." Another shake. "Sammy! What the hell are you doing?"
There was no vacant stare, no pain-lined features on Sam's face. No vision. At least not like he'd ever had before, that Dean saw immediately, knowing the signs without giving them much thought. Sam might be the guy having the visions, but Dean was the guy who dealt with them on more than one level.
Releasing his brother long enough to shove him back, away from the cliff edge, Dean hit Sam's shoulders, forcing him back more steps when he stopped, eyes wide, arms hanging limply at his sides, staring at Dean. "Get your ass in the car. Now!"
"Dean…I…" Water dripped off Sam's bangs, sliding over the material of his jacket, the length of his arms.
"In the car, Sam." Dean snarled, turned Sam and shoved him at the Impala.
Stumbling, Sam stopped two feet from Dean, eyes darting around, head turning to look back at the drop off, then at Dean. He looked beyond confused and disoriented.
"Sam, car, now!"
Sam got himself to the car, fumbled at the door handle for a minute before disappearing inside. Turning back to the woman, she watched them, eyes wider than before if that was even possible. Pulling air deep inside his chest, Dean pinched his nose between thumb and forefinger for a minute, stood there doing nothing but concentrating on inhaling and exhaling.
"Is he okay?" Her voice was breathless, barely getting to him through the rain.
"Y-yeah." Dean forced a small laugh. "Too many hours in a car, and not enough food. Low blood sugar." He mumbled, sprinting back to her car. In record time he finished changing the tire. Wiping hands on his thighs, straightening, "There you go." Quick look to the Impala, to Sam sitting in the front seat, "You know where I can get my brother…" His voice cracked, betrayed him—get it together. "He just needs a hot meal, somewhere to spend the night around here?" He was talking too fast, knew it, didn't care. He wanted away from this patch of road, now.
Suddenly she smiled at him, apparently deciding neither of them were axe murders. "Thank you so much. I couldn't really afford the tow truck." A small shrug and nervous laugh. "I'm Kathy Irvine. You can follow me to town if you'd like. There's a diner there, food is actually pretty good. I work there."
Dean collected his tools, his nerves and his thoughts, nodding, one hand wiping over his face. "Thanks, that'd be great. We need a break." Throwing another look at his car, trying to appear casual, lighten the mood, "Obviously."
After depositing everything into his trunk, Dean slid gratefully into the front seat of the Impala. The instant his weight caused the car to dip it also caused Sam's mouth to start running.
"I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry. I don't know what…I'm sorry."
Dean stared at him for a second, caught off guard. Sam flinched away from the sound of the car door shutting as if he'd been hit.
"I didn't, I'm so sorry. Dean?"
Reaching out, hand resting on his brother's shoulder, he was sure to keep his voice calm. "Sam, stop. It's okay. Just stop." Pulling in a ragged breath, his heart rate finally normal, and the trembling of his hands quiet, he started the car, pulling back onto the road, following Kathy's car. "What did you see? What was it? Some kind of vision?" And I know damn well it was no vision Sam.
Sam shook his head, "I don't know what it was. No vision. Nothing, saw nothing."
That pissed Dean off. He'd put up with most anything from Sam, except being lied to. Hitting the steering wheel with one hand, lips curling to a snarl, "Dammit, don't hand me that bullshit Sammy! You goddamn tried walking off the edge of a goddamn cliff. Don't sit there and tell me it was goddamn nothing. It goddamn was sure as hell not NOTHING." He shouted the final word so loudly he wondered if Kathy and her children heard him too.
"I didn't see anything, Dean. Everything around me turned to nothing…fell away, vanished. I didn't move, the world just stopped existing and went away, right out from under my feet." Sam's fingers wound in his hair, his words came out in such a rush it took Dean a few seconds to process what was being said.
Eyes sliding to Sam then back to the road, what he saw frightened him right down to the core. Sam was rocking slightly, and shaking so badly his teeth clattered together. His breathing nothing more than desperate, ragged pants. Dean loosened his grip on the wheel, moving his right hand to rest on Sam's wrist, pulled his hand out of his hair.
"Sammy." He made sure to keep his voice soft and low, but firm. "Look at me." When Sam's eyes flickered to him, then out the window, then down to his knees, Dean tightened his grip. "Sam." That time Sam's gaze settled obediently on Dean and held. "A few deep breaths there, dude."
Sam nodded, swallowed harshly and bit his lower lip. Dean was driving the still slick road, trying to follow Kathy's car without flying off the road's edge, all while making sure one freaked out little brother didn't try jumping out the window. Maybe I needed just a few more challenges. When Sam relaxed enough to sit back against the seat, Dean let go of his wrist, patted his chest a few times, and resumed driving with two hands.
"Just take it slow and tell me what happened."
"I…um…I was just looking at the mountains and everything, and Dean I do mean everything went gray. Except some numbers, I saw numbers. But it wasn't a vision, nothing hurt. I wasn't watching it; I was part of it, living it. It was like the whole universe disappeared, turned to gray nothing."
"Except for some numbers?"
"Yeah."
"What numbers?"
"The same ones as on the parking pass of that lady's car."
"Kathy."
"Huh?"
"Her name is Kathy. So you saw numbers on her car, then in your vision too?"
"It wasn't a vision, Dean." Sam's voice rose, "I don't know what it was, but not a vision."
"Okay, call it what then?"
"The world didn't exist."
"So you decided to step off?"
"No! I never moved, Dean, I swear. The ground…it just…left. The ground left."
Dean was surprised by the amount of relief he felt when the town's lights came through the thin fog. "How's this for a plan? We get some eats, a place to stay, get warm, dry and hole up until this storm passes and we're out of here." We've got things to do.
"Sounds good." Much to Dean's delight Sam relaxed further.
"And you stay away from anything with a drop off until we figure this out. Seriously, you don't even go near a street curb."
Sam smiled weakly at him. "That sounds good too."
Malcolm's Kitchen…Cutter's Landing, Tennessee
The small town of Cutter's Landing sat nestled in the mountains. Cutter apparently settled where his drunken ass landed, Dean decided. After giving him directions to the diner, Kathy thanked them again, turning to the left, going home. Dean's rumbling stomach not so politely informed him dinner was first on the agenda. Sam didn't protest. Dean could hear his brother's complaining stomach from the other side of the car. Inside Malcolm's Kitchen was warm, filled with wonderful smells and heaping plates of steaming hot meals. A jukebox sat in one corner, happily chiming out a large variety of music.
Dean's eye roll at some of the songs drifting across the diner and to them earned him a very patient smile from Sam. By the time food arrived Sam seemed completely himself again, other than a bit more quiet, maybe a touch paler than normal. Further questioning produced no further details, and provoked Sam to annoyance, so Dean dropped it. Near the end of the meal Dean could see his brother was totally drained, having a hard time keeping his eyelids from drooping, himself from falling asleep right there in the booth.
Sam jerked straighter when the jukebox suddenly cranked to a high enough volume the noise of the diner, the general murmur of a crowd of talking people was washed out. We could sell it out together, seems tomorrow's overdue…They both turned in time to see someone scurry from the kitchen, hit the out of control jukebox, adjust some dial, bringing the rebellious machine under control and back down to background music. Dean rubbed the back of his neck, stifled a chuckle when Sam rested his chin in his palm, elbow propped on the table.
"Time to go find a room, I think Kathy said there was—"
…Midnight at the lost and found, lost souls in the hunting ground…again the jukebox blared loud enough to drown out everyone, including Dean. He sighed, shook his head a bit. Sam at least was kind enough to offer him a sympathetic smile, dimples and all. Downing the rest of his coffee, Dean leaned back, watched with barely concealed amusement as someone again chastised the jukebox, dampening the volume all the while watching Sam try to put together enough brain cells to eat and not fall asleep.
No sooner had the jukebox been left to its own devices when it blasted them once more…Belly up and bury, boy, all the hurt you feel today.
Hangin' on barely, hitch a ride away…Another chuckle got past Dean's lips when the thing was finally unplugged.
"Think he's writing them for the other side." He grumbled, but the joke was lost on Sam, who was having serious issues staying awake. Dean turned, searching out their waitress, he smiled at her.
Sam coming to life when the check arrived threw Dean for a loop. Snatching the paper from Dean's fingers, Sam gaped at it.
"Dude, either pay it, or give it back so I can."
"The same numbers." Sam held the paper out to Dean.
Dean shook his head, "Twenty-one bucks for dinner, so what?"
"Twenty-one dollars and twenty-two cents. Receipt number one two zero one."
"Twenty-one twenty-two and twelve zero one." Dean nodded wisely. "Heavy. So what?"
Sam sighed, "When I had my...whatever it was, the numbers I saw, same numbers just in a different order."
"You gonna go pay that?"
Sly grin spreading over Sam's face, he pushed the paper back toward Dean. "You touched it first."
Rolling his eyes, Dean headed off to pay the bill, watching Sam wait by the door, watching him. Sam, Dean knew, had been slapped in the face one too many times the past few months with the prospect, real or imagined, of losing Dean. He'd repressed too many recent events; it was making him edgy, maybe overly susceptible to his imagination. He considered maybe the abyss Sam nearly jumped into was in his head.
Smokey Mountain Inn…
Twenty minutes later they were checked into the town's one small motel, Smokey Mountain Inn, and Dean stood blissfully under the spray of hot water. Leaving the bathroom warm, refreshed and drowsy Dean padded across the room. The only light came from Sam's laptop, open on the table. Sam left it on, probably so Dean could see whatever was on the screen. Stopping by Sam's bed, Dean pulled the blankets over his sibling's shoulders. Sam mumbled something sounding like an exorcism, rolled on his side, burrowed under the blankets and settled back to sleep.
Halting next to the table, Dean stood with towel hooked around his neck, fingers twined in its ends, reading the page loaded on the computer. Shaking his head after a minute, "Why do you read this crap, Sammy?" No wonder the kid had nightmares.
It wasn't bad enough Sam had to research every freaky thing they came across; he had to read through this sort of junk to do it. Snorting softly, he shook his head, computers predicting the end of the world, how was that even vaguely credible, even in their world? Dean couldn't imagine how this was important in any way, but still diligently saved the page to Sam's favorites before shutting down the laptop. Wonder if demons even own computers…naaa too hot in Hell, one would melt.
Dark descended; Dean still heard the wet blobs falling from the sky hit the window and motel room door. Switching on the radio… Midnight at the lost and found, lost souls in the hunting ground…Dean's hand slapped at the off switch, "Does this town only have one friggin' song?" He grumbled, giving a quick look to Sam, still sleeping peacefully. So much for music. He tossed the towel in the general direction of the bathroom, slipped gratefully between clean sheets, pulled the warm blankets to his chin and dropped into sleep.
The next sensations to filter into Dean's brain was grumbling sounding considerably like Sam's voice, a thunk of something against the table, then the clink of glass touching down almost gently onto some surface. Sam muttered something else right before Dean heard the distinct sound of a duffel smacking the floor. Cracking one eye open, Dean moved the blankets far enough from his face to peer into the room. Hazy light filtered through the window, turning to the clock on the nightstand between their beds Dean saw the numbers were gone, the digital face black. He blinked at it stupidly for a few seconds before turning his head to look around the room. Other than there were no lights, everything seemed fine.
"Power is out." Sam grouched; scooping Dean's discarded towel off the floor and flipping it over his shoulder. "Shower."
"Hmm." Rolling over, readjusting his blankets, "Hope Malcolm uses gas to cook with, 'cause damn you need some coffee, kiddo." Scratching at his chest, "Me too."
Normally they would have walked the few blocks to the diner, just to check out the town. But this morning the air was still damp and cool, a fine mist wetting everything down. The radio fired to life right along with the engine, first scratchy static, then it blasted them without warning…it's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine…Dean's hand beat Sam's by a mere hairsbreadth to the dial.
"Dean, you turned the radio off yesterday when we were following Kathy here." Sam pulled his fingers away as if stung by the dials.
Not really having a response or explanation as to why a turned off radio played music, and bad music at that, Dean swallowed the niggling feeling he was getting, put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot to the street. He was somewhat amazed his car even allowed reception of whatever radio tower broadcast such stuff.
"These people need a decent mechanic." Sam turned to look out the window as they drove by yet another car with its hood up. "Looks like the power outage is pretty widespread. No lights anywhere."
"You'd think a town this close to the Tennessee Valley Authority wouldn't have blackouts." Dean shrugged, "At least the jukebox at the diner has been cut off too."
Malcolm's Kitchen…
Happily they discovered Malcolm's Kitchen did indeed have gas stoves. Savoring warm coffee, waiting for their breakfast, they took a look around. There were more people than the evening before, but Dean supposed that was expected with most of the citizens having no power.
"Thanks again so much for helping me yesterday." Kathy appeared at their table. "It's a zoo in here today, no one has power. I needed a break." She set two glasses of juice down for them. "I asked your waitress to not give you a check, but she's a bitch and will, so make sure I ring you out."
"You don't have to do that." Sam said.
"Yes, I do." Reaching out, her fingers tapped Sam's shoulder softly, "You feeling better? You didn't look so good yesterday and scared the daylights out of me."
Dean was inclined to agree with her.
Sam flushed, his eyes dropped to the table. "I do. Thanks."
Taking pity on his shy little brother, Dean figured the least he could do was flirt a bit with the pretty lady offering them a free meal. "How's your kids, okay? Peter's a great boy."
"Thanks. He is."
"Car running okay now? 'Cause if you need anything else handled…" Dean grinned mischievously, ignoring how Sam's boot jammed into his shin.
"It's the most bizarre thing, it wouldn't start this morning. Lots of people are coming in saying the same thing."
"Our car is fine, but I can stop by on our way out of town, take a look, check under the hood, wiggle some wires. Give her a good going over."
Kathy laughed softly, "I bet you could." Another tap to Sam's arm, "I hope you feel better."
"Thanks." Sam smiled up at her. Arching an eyebrow and shaking his head at Dean after she'd gone.
"What?"
"Looks like you're losing your touch."
"She didn't say no, Sam."
"Didn't say yes either, Dean." Sam always seemed to find it important to point these things out. Time to change the subject.
"Whatever." Dean scanned the small diner once more. "Wonder what's up with the cars." He took a good look out the window to his right, eyes scanning the mostly empty parking lot. "Sam, all the cars parked out there, I'm guessing someone drove them here?"
"Yeah, so?"
"None of them are newer. In fact all of them, cars, trucks, just like ours, pretty old."
Sam stopped eating, shoved two fingers between the blinds; thrust his face closer to the glass, head turning to see as far as possible in either direction. "You'd think a place like this would have a generator, at least for the coolers." He mumbled more to the window than to Dean.
"We do, it's not working either." Their waitress slapped a piece of paper onto the table. "Need anything else?"
"No thanks." Dean watched her go before turning the small slip over, glancing at the total, then the receipt number. Feeling totally stupid when he released a bigger than necessary breath of relief, the total read fifteen, forty-four. The receipt number three-four-nine-eight-eight. He felt Sam's eyes on him, watching, waiting. Dean watched Sam's fingers wind in his napkin for a few seconds, watched as his brother shredded it to bits.
He felt more than saw Sam straighten in his seat, eyes riveted to Dean, hands suddenly too still when Dean's jaw clenched tight. A muscle along his neck jerked and tightened uncomfortably, Sam sucked in a harsh breath. The diner was overwhelmingly too small, too hot. Dean wanted out of this town.
Holding the paper between two fingers, Dean flipped it around so Sam could read it. Having handwritten their bill, the waitress scrawled a series of prices haphazardly over the paper, it had to be a coincidence she'd lined them up just so.
"No such thing as coincidence." Sam whispered, voicing Dean's thoughts. His gaze met Dean's steadily; his hands now rested on the table, clasped too tightly together, fingers threaded through one another, his knuckles were white.
Has to be.
Two point twenty-one times two. Off to the side was the total, four-forty-two. Directly under the first set was eleven point zero two, off to the side she'd written five-fifty one times two.
22121102
Same numbers, different order. Dean wanted to run, run like he'd never wanted to in his life.
"We have to check this out." Sam croaked at him.
Dean nodded, he meant to say no way, grab Sam, drag him to the car and speed out of there doing about ninety. Instead he mutely nodded his agreement.
"Still think I'm crazy?"
Eyes popping to Sam's face, "I never once said that."
"You thought it."
"No, Sam, I didn't. Not for real."
"Maybe you should." His brother's voice was so soft, so laced with pain and fear and things Dean couldn't even identify made his heart ache, his stomach turn. "Four two's, three one's and a zero, same numbers, different order." Sam sat quietly, watching Dean for another minute before speaking again. "Think it is related to cars and generators not working?"
Run, run, now, get out NOW. While we can, run! Dean sat staring at the paper in his hand while his mind whirled, his brother melted down in the booth across from him, the world swirled and spun. Yeah, a little too late for that now, pal.
The door to the diner slamming open so fast it bounced off the wall behind it jolted Dean back to the here and now. A man shouting followed immediately on the heels of the door banging around. He and Sam both looked in the direction of the shouting man.
"Nutjob." Sam grumbled.
"Now, Sammy, not very compassionate, I thought it was—"
"Gone! All gone, it's gone!" The man shouted. In one hand he carried a rifle though it pointed at the ceiling. "No one left but us!"
A rumble of voices coursed through the diner, most eyes turned on this man.
"Nutjob." Dean agreed.
"Ernie Adaey, what are you talking about, it's just a power outage." A heavy man in white, wearing a cap and apron, the cook Dean surmised, came out of the kitchen, confronted the new arrival.
"I'm talking about war, or invasion, I don't know what. I'm talking about the rest of the world."
"What about it?"
"Gone." Ernie waved his free hand in one large sweep. "It's gone, all gone. No one left but us. The world is gone."