We will drown in the deep rivers of blood...

[sendmyscourge]

At exactly midnight on October 26th, 2009, something that's been lying in wait since Flagg's death earlier in the day grips Chicago tightly. It's been building to this moment all day, a sharp feeling that most will dismiss as anxiety from the television broadcast. It's just leftover trauma- nothing more, nothing less

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[thehandsomeone]

Dean hasn't noticed any of the rivers running blood crap, because he managed to get out of the Luna by midnight. It is, however, just about that time when he gets to the Impala and slides in, sticking the key in the ignition and waiting for that familiar purr.

And, nothing. Nothing at all.

Midnight in Chicago is not the best place to have a panic attack about your favorite worldy possession dying on you. Dean does not fucking care.

[wegotwork]

Sam, meanwhile, is back in their room, getting ready to brush his teeth. That's when he turns the faucet on and starts to hold his toothbrush under. And it turns pink, and then red, and then it's everywhere, and he jumps back, the toothbrush clattering into the sink. He watches it flow for several seconds before he fumbles to turn the faucet off.

And then he immediately grabs his cell phone.

"... Dean? We've got a problem."

[thehandsomeone]

It takes Dean a couple times to flip his phone open, what with his hands actually shaking and all after a few pointless minutes of staring under the hood of the car only to discover she's still, of course, in perfect condition.

When he does, though, he barks out his reply. "No fucking shit we've got a problem, Sammy. The Impala - she's -"

And then Dean is kind of out of breath again.

[wegotwork]

"Dean?"

Sam frowns, pressing the phone a little closer to his ear, then checks the phone itself to make sure he hasn't lost connection - but even that is starting to go quickly.

"Dean, I don't know how much longer the signal's gonna last, but the water here? Kinda just turned into blood."

[thehandsomeone]

"Great," Dean mumbles, more to himself than Sam because the connection's fading fast, cutting off every few words.

But Dean pretty much gets the gist, though, and he doesn't know if it's related to the car or not, but - it's definitely time to get home.

"I'll be home 's soon as I can, Sam," he says, then shuts his phone and shoves it back in his pocket. He takes one long, pained look at the Impala, then turns from it and starts walking back to the Conrad.

[wegotwork]

Sam reaches to turn the faucet back on, experimentally. Still blood. He fishes his toothbrush out and tosses it in the trash can. No way is he sticking that back in his mouth again.

He sits on the edge of the bed and waits after opening a beer - which, thankfully, has remained immune to the whole thing.

[thehandsomeone]

Luckily the hotel's not too far from the bar - which was the bar's initial appeal. Dean makes it back in one piece, although Chicago's nosier than usual at this hour, probably from other people freaking the hell out. The walk helps Dean work off some of the rage (and panic) about the Impala, and he's relatively okay when he reaches the room.

"So," he says when he sees Sam, "this town's reached a new low."

[wegotwork]

"Yeah."

Sam takes another sip of beer, but he doesn't miss a beat before offering the half-empty bottle to Dean.

"How bad is it out there, exactly?"

[thehandsomeone]

"Bad."

Dean downs the beer in one gulp. He sits down next to Sam.

"Power's down everywhere. Whole place reeks."

[wegotwork]

Sam makes a face.

"Great."

In the time it's taken Dean to get here, he's been doing some thinking.

"Water turning into blood, city-wide power outage. Dean, this could be some end-of-the-world stuff we're looking at here."

[thehandsomeone]

Dean's been thinking the same thing, of course. Although he's been a bit sidetracked.

"Dude," he says, tossing his boots in the general direction of the door, "the Impala's busted. Of course it's some end of the world shit."

[wegotwork]

"Is that what you said on the phone? I couldn't hear much before."

Of course, that was also because Dean had nearly hyperventilated in addition to the crappy cell phone service, but he's not going to get into that part now.

Sam sighs. "Well, the Bible mentions water turning into blood, as the first of many plagues."

[thehandsomeone]

"She wouldn't start," Dean says, nodding vaguely. He's still pretty broken up about it.

"Oh, come on," he snorts, "the Bible? You kiddin' me?"

[wegotwork]

"What else could it be, Dean?"

Realization dawns.

"The last plague, Dean - it's the death of the firstborns."

[thehandsomeone]

"Man, I don't know. The usual bad mojo."

Although Dean has to admit, this is bad even for Chicago. Sam's next statement gives him pause, but he tries to brush it off.

"C'mon, Sammy. That won't happen."

[wegotwork]

"Dean."

The name is seemingly hollow in the back of Sam's throat. It's way too easy for him to remember Hell now, the way he'd felt when he knew time was running out and there was nothing else he could do to spare his brother from that fate.

"If this is the way things are going, it's gonna. Unless we can stop it, you --"

He cuts himself off.

"No. We're going to figure out a way to stop this."

He stalks up from the bed and plunks himself down at the dinner table, immediately opening up his laptop -

- before he remembers everything's out.

"Damn it," he mutters, and shuts it hard.