𝘖𝘶𝘳 𝘋𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 - 𝙎𝙪𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙡 (ON HOLD)

Twenty Five

One week, two weeks, and three weeks drag by in Rufus's cabin. In typical Winchester style, neither brothers talk about their grief and drown their feelings in alcohol. Zoey tries her best- feeding them real food, going out and buying groceries, forcing Dean to get off the couch, away from the tv, and take a shower. She talks with Sam at night, sometimes, when they sit outside and stargaze. They never talk about anything particular just useless things. One morning, Bobby's old phone rings and Sam's gathering a duffel bag.

"Dean, you know, um... I wonder if-if we... I mean, should we be telling people? I mean, people he knew." Sam sat down with a beer.

"How long ago did I give Frank these numbers?" Dean ignores him, "It's been a few weeks, right? What, is he nuts, or is he just being rude?"

"Probably both. Dean, I-I got to ask you a question."

"Unless, of course, something happened to him. He can't get to the phone because a Leviathan ate his face."

"Yeah, also a possibility."

"We should go check on him."

"Dean, do you want to call Bobby's people or not?"

"W-why is- why is that our job?"

"Because who else is gonna do it?"

"I'm not calling anybody. If you want to, you go right ahead."

"I don't want to call anybody. You kidding me?"

A phone in one of the duffel bags rings.

"Well, I'm not getting it." Dean says, going outside while Sam answers it. Zoey sighs, picking up the list that Dean had made. He crossed off Zip Code? Lock? V-Mail Password? Bank #? She put it back down, eyeing the board of research on Dick Roman that he was obsessed in since Bobby's death. As Sam bid her goodbye, letting her know that he had a hunt, Dean texted her and told her he was on his way to Frank's. Zoey stared at the freshly pinned newspaper article on the board, "Biggerson's Recalls Contaminated Meat: Customers Report Illness After Eating Turducken Slammers"

"This can't be good. Well... hi. Frank... we're amongst friends here. Okay, acquaintances."

"That's just what a Leviathan would say."

"Frank. I'm not a Leviathan."

"Oh, sure. You're not a Leviathan. Dick Roman's not a Leviathan. Gwyneth Paltrow is not a Leviathan."

"Okay. You know what, Frank? I think you've been doing a little too much research."

"They're anywhere, anyone. Who's to say this ain't the day they come for old Frank who knew too much?"

"They bleed black goo, right? You want to see what I bleed? Oh! Whoa, whoa, whoa! Let's take the guns out of it, okay? See? Red-blooded American. Now... Your turn."

"Oh! Whoa. Look, I'm obviously not-"

"Fair's fair, douchebag. Yeah. I'm glad we could share that together."

"Grab your gun, come with me. For God's sake, don't make any noise."

Zoey's sleeping, she misses both updates from the boys. She fell asleep in front of the tv, unable to keep her eyes open, drifting off while sitting on the old couch. She finds herself surrounded by darkness, the sound of dripping water the only thing heard. She looks around, focusing for any kind of movement in the background, but it's too dark. She can't see anything. Suddenly, muffled voices surround her and a piercing pain in her eyes make her drop to her knees. She feels the familiar warm liquid drip down her nose, staring at her bloody fingers in confusion, flinching at the pain that seems to mimick her heartbeat. She forces herself to listen, struggling to get back on her feet, when she hears the voices a little clearer. There's more than one and they're all repeating the same thing: "You can't hide from us. You can't hide from us. You can't hide from us." As Zoey screams out, not able to take the intensifying pain anymore, she's brought back to consciousness, seeing Sam's worried face in front of hers, "Zoey! Zoey, wake up! Zoey! You there? Zoey, you okay?" She bats his hands away, feeling a dull headache, looking around with sensitive eyes, "Wh-what? What are you doing here?"