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The night was quiet. There was no wind, no traffic, not even the creaks and groans of the house settling. Lisa lay in bed, unable to sleep, her mind making patterns in the texture of her bedroom ceiling. The source of her insomnia was an undefineable cold on the back of her neck and the a sense that the bottom had gone out on the world. It felt like the low pressure in the center of a storm.
Somewhere outside her too-quiet house on the too-quiet street the world was ending. Disasters, plagues, and insanity rising like a tide - the news reports more truth than hyperbole. Lisa didn’t quite understand what was going on, but she’s had this feeling since Dean last dropped in on her looking as grim as death itself. She knew it wouldn’t be long before the storm broke on her and her son, that the unnatural quiet couldn’t last.
Unable to stand it any longer Lisa got out of bed and wrapped her night robe around her. If she couldn’t sleep then she could at least put her time to some use. She needed to do an inventory of her first aid kit, and to check how much food she had on hand. Tomorrow she would go shopping, fill in the gaps. In the hallway she detoured to check in on Ben. Silently nudging open the door she froze at the sight of a familiar broad back.
Dean stood by Ben’s bed, looking down at the sleeping boy. Lisa rubbed her eyes, not believing that what she was seeing wasn’t a figment of her tired mind. But he stayed, and her mind reeled. Why was he here? How? Then he turned and it wasn’t Dean. It was Dean’s face, his body, his battered leather jacket, but it wasn’t Dean looking out of those sharp brown eyes. Lisa gasped and fell back, catching herself on the door frame.
There was no malevolence in his eyes, but no warmth either - only a cold alienness. Lisa found her courage and forced herself foward to face the potential threat to her child.
“Dean?” she asked, knowing it wasn’t him. There was no way - the body language was all wrong. She looked closer and saw on his clothes were tattered and stained with blood, healing bruises discoloring his skin.
“Dean is no longer here,” he said with Dean’s voice. He tilted his head to regard her like a bird of prey would. It made her feel small, mortal - the real Dean never made her feel that way.
“Then who are you?” Lisa pressed. She spotted Ben’s baseball bat on top of the dresser next to the door; she carefully reached and lifted it, the solid weight of the bat comforting in her hand. Not-Dean watched her with an air of boredom.
”You don’t need to know that,” he said with a frown, for a moment actually looking like Dean. “He wished that you and your son be protected.”
“From the end of the world?” Lisa prompted, the words leaving her in a rush. She didn’t understand, but that didn’t mean she was stupid, or blind to the state of things. “Who says we want your protection?”
“It’s only the apocalypse,” he said flippantly, “and you will be perserved, and there will be a place for you and your son in the paradise that comes after. That is Dean’s wish. So you will be protected, whether you want it or not.”
Then he vanished before her eyes, air rushing in to fill the void he left, and the quiet once more deafening. Lisa exhaled sharply, and leaned the bat against the wall with trembling hands. For a moment she stood still, listening to Ben’s soft breathing. Then she broke, rushing to his side to gather him up in a tight hug, not caring if she woke him. The gesture was more to comfort herself than anything.
“Mom?” Ben mumbled sleepily. Lisa shushed him, rocking them both back and forth gently. Through his window she could see the silent street, and thought she saw the shadow of wings too broad for any bird passing over the house. Then the beams creaked, a breeze rustled the leaves of the trees outside, and a police car turned down the street on patrol. The battle for the fate of the world had begun anew.