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The town was hollow; there was no better way to describe it. Wind whistled through the half-cracked doorways and down the streets, beside the upturned cars and beneath every fencepost and shattered lamp-post. Paint had long since been stripped away from the wood, large chips of white and grey scattered across porches and artificial grass. Every footstep sent an echo out into space, as if it were calling out for someone, something, to respond in this empty town. The most ominous part was that there weren’t even ghosts hanging over the shoulders of the town; there were no signs of life, as if they had just stood up, trashed the town, and left. Of course, that wasn’t far from the truth.
Sam dug his toe into the gravel through the small gap in the front of his shoe. It was freezing outside, but it almost felt like a relief after so much time spent traveling in the heat. The cold meant scavenging for new clothing and new shoes. The cold meant he could find another big sweater to sleep in. If they were lucky, he even had a chance at picking up another book from a library he’d never have to return, at least, until the cover inevitably broke off from overuse. Even in the empty town, Sam couldn’t help but grin, looking up at the bright sky that seemed to promise him exactly what he wanted: a big, fluffy sweater and a nice, long book to spend hours in.
“What’chu grinning at, Sammy?” His older brother asked, his head turned to the side in order to address Sam from his position in front of him. Dean, newly fifteen, had grown a lot over the years, almost filling in the leather jacket that had hung off his shoulders like a cloak since they were young, shooting up like a sprout. He was almost two feet taller than Sam, and acted like it too; his confidence had grown right along with his legs. Sometimes Sam wondered how he could be so sure of himself while the world was so adamant on kicking him down.
Sam, in contrast, had been eleven for a couple months, and still couldn’t reach the top shelves of most houses to grab the salt. His head barely peeked over the counter, and half of the time his scruffy hair hung over his eyes, which limited him to whatever was closest to the ground. “I can feel the gravel through my shoes.”
Pausing his walk, Dean squatted down to look at Sam’s shoes. Sam wiggled his toes, some of which clearly contrasted against the greying black of his tennis shoes, before glancing to see Dean’s eyebrows crease across his forehead. There was a moment of silence before Sam figured he needed to say something to prevent Dean’s lips from turning permanently pale. “What are we doing here, anyways? This town is… empty.”
Dean’s face cleared a bit, but there was still some tension in his forehead. “Well, I sure hope so. I chose this town for a reason.”
“No, but… Empty, empty. It feels wrong.”
“It’s fine, Sammy, it’s just a couple of empty buildings. I won’t let anything bad happen to you, right?”
Sam nodded silently, fingers wearing away at the fraying strings of his sleeves as he glanced around at all the empty houses. They seemed so new, unlike many of the towns they passed through, with their rickety doors that had holes chewn through them and porch steps that fell through when you stepped on them. Just looking at them, Sam knew that these steps wouldn’t do the same, and he couldn’t help the creeping anxiety down his neck at the thought. He didn’t trust this town.
They continued their trek through the town, scuffing feet and laboured breaths interrupting the permeating silence. Sam knew they were looking for the fanciest houses in the town, ones that could still hold within them treasures such as clothes and working facilities, before doubling back to dig through the houses that looked like they would hold all the canned and boxed food, and then finally leaving through the front of the town, the same way they entered, because Dean only knew which way to walk from there. It was a schedule they had followed since they figured out where to look for the best items in these abandoned cemeteries of a life that no longer existed. Sam was hoping, this time, there would be something other than mac-and-cheese in the houses. He shifted the strap on his shoulder and, not for the first time, considered “losing” what was inside. He was sick of Dean’s specialty, franks n’ cheese.
The white picket fences slowly morphed into street lights until they were in the middle of town, broken down fast food places and abandoned cars littering their sight. Sam stared up at brick walls covered in art and wondered, for a moment, how people could stay in one place long enough to do something like that, before he slammed into the back of Dean. A little “oof” escaped his mouth as he squinted up at Dean. His brother was staring at something. Sam followed his line of sight to a building across the street, with a large red cross inside of a white circle. He tilted his head and asked, “what’s that?”
“An emergency room,” Dean responded as he began to walk towards it. “It could have supplies we need, more than anything else.”
Sam followed after him, eyeing up the doorway. The wood of the door, a wet-darkened oak hammered with mismatched nails and littered with wooden chips waiting to dig under your skin, was different from the rest of the exterior, which was a pristine white that seemed like it hadn’t degraded at all, but rather, maintained the same sense of flawlessness that had made Sam flinch away from the porches. The only exception were the windows, which had been boarded up at some point with the same wood that covered the doorway. Some of the glass was still intact, but the majority was shattered, creating a hazardous zone right in front of the doorway. All the same, Dean stepped forward and jiggled the doorknob, expecting nothing less than a locked door, which he received. Sam watched as Dean grinned and yanked a small metal tool from his pocket, looking all the world like a smug tiger cub who had bested their father in a wrestling match. He always tried to show off this skill, as if it were something he had come up with, and that he could only do. Sam, for the most part, let him have his moment, only snickering a little bit when Dean pushed the door open with a little cheer of “yes!”.
Immediately fluorescent lights flooded their vision, contrasting harshly with the muddled sunlight covered by the ever-present winter clouds outside. Sam slammed his eyes closed and took a step backwards, overwhelmed by the site before him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen artificial light; he’d surely been seven or so, before all of this happened, before power lines were the first to go and generators the second. After what felt like a full minute had passed, Sam blinked his eyes open, squinting at the hallway through the harsh light. The hallway was so brightly white, between the pristine tiles to the eggshell walls. After years of browns and yellows and greens, it seemed almost supernatural to experience, as if he had accidentally stumbled upon the gateway to heaven. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hadn’t entirely crossed that idea out.
The pair silently ventured into the hallway, Dean’s hand subconsciously hovering over his waist, where Sam knew their sharpest knife lay. Dean had insisted Sam was too young to be holding weapons, which Sam had vehemently disagreed with, and they had argued about it until Dean finally conceded that Sam could hold the smaller and duller knife as long as he kept it tucked safely in the side pocket of his backpack. At the moment, Sam was slightly grateful he had stuck his ground, because the nerves shooting up from his heart and down his arms made his fingers twitch to grab it. There were two doorways that lay ahead, one directly across from them and one halfway down the hall which was left slightly ajar. This too, felt familiar, just as routine as the route in which they took through towns; it was inevitable that the brothers would have to defend themselves against the hostile people that hung around their former lives. Still, something felt off, like that overhanging darkness that seemed to cloud Sam’s senses every time they crossed paths with those things was absent. The whole town seemed to hang over the pair of them with bated breaths, waiting for the penny to drop.
Dean placed his hand against the wood of the door, glancing back at Sam as if to make sure he was still there. Sam took in a shallow breath through his mouth, determined to keep himself quiet. They stared at each other as noises echoed out of the room, faint but noticeable. Dean jerked his head towards the door, and then, without letting out a noise, mouthed out “one…. two….. Three”. The pair burst through the doorway, knives pointed inwards toward the middle of the room.
Sam hadn’t been in very many hospitals in his life, but the room seemed to be what he imagined a hospital room would be: a couple of white beds stretched across the room, various gadgets and medical tools piled on tables and in cabinets, and linoleum floors that seemed to reflect the fluorescent lights with the same brightness. However, what disturbed the scene was a figure looming in the middle of the room, seeming to just stand there with no intent. It’s hazy eyes glanced up at the two brothers and it tilted it’s head, opening its mouth as if to say something. A choking sound was all that came out, and Dean took that as a cue to lunge forward and swipe his knife at it. It’s long, black hair swished to the side as it dodged out of the way, and Sam winced as Dean’s stomach slammed into one of the bed’s metal poles. He quickly dropped the backpack and dug out the knife, flipping it open as he crouched, waiting for Dean to give him a signal. Dean, once again, jerked towards the figure, slashing the knife forward like a pirate would with his sword. The knife nicked against the figure’s arm, and it screeched, but it continued in pursuit of it’s attackers before ramming directly into Dean’s front. Sam’s brother went skidding across the floor into the opposite wall, and Sam sucked in a breath as his eyes scanned the top of Dean’s head.
The figure then turned toward Sam, who stood up and pointed the knife towards it. He straightened his posture and attempted to appear intimidating, but he knew his eyes betrayed his fear. This one was stronger than any that they’d met before, and Sam didn’t think he would size up; he planted his feet, took a deep breath, and then duck down to charge against the figure.
Immediately, it lashed out, pushing him backwards before he could even catch it with the knife, causing it to go skidding across the room. Sam stepped backwards in fear as the figure approached him, causing him to trip and fall against the floor. The figure stepped forward, and then procured something from behind it’s back- The knife Dean had been holding.
Sam attempted to scramble backwards, palms slipping against the cold tiles, but the figure crouched down and grabbed at his ankle. It’s head tilted sideways once again, and it looked at him with cold eyes as it drew a line across his leg, causing him to cry out and kick his free leg against the figure, vision going blurry as it filled with tears. He heard movement come from somewhere in the room, but all he could focus on was the burning pain radiating from his leg. Something dripped against the cut, making it sting, and he cried out once again. The pain seemed never ending, and if it had swallowed up the whole town and left only the worst parts of it, until it was abruptly interrupted by a loud “bang!”.
Sam peeled open his eyes to see Dean, arm outstretched, the barrel of a gun pointed at the wall over his head. The figure collapsed to the left of Sam, and he scrambled away from the body, crying out in pain as his leg protested the movement. Dean was by his side in a flash, the gun hitting the floor in his rush. Sam cradled his knee to his chest and sucked in a breath, trying to calm himself down.
“Sammy.” Dean grabbed his leg and turned it to look at the cut, which was a bright red and dripped down on the pure white floors. “Did it bleed on you? Did it?”
Sam bit down on his lip in an attempt to keep himself from sobbing, but it heaved out of his chest anyways, rushing up his throat and through his skull as it echoes across the empty room. He scooted forward and clinged to the front of Dean’s shirt, before jerkily nodding against his brother’s chest.
Dean’s arms instinctively wrapped around Sam. “It’s okay, Sammy, it’s gonna be okay.”
“No.” Sam shook his head. His eyes opened long enough to take in his cut, before he slammed them shut once again. “This is- this is like… like with dad, right? You’re… You’re gonna have to….”
Dean squeezed his shoulders. “No. Sammy, no, I’m not going to… shoot you.”
“You have to!” Sam wrenched away from Dean and looked at him with wide eyes. “If you don’t I- I’ll end up… I’ll…”
Dean’s face was wrought with emotions. Sam felt so small in that moment, dwarfed by the room and by the size of what lay ahead. He was terrified. He didn’t want to…. He grimaced and dug his nails into his jeans. Dean’s eyes flickered back and forth between the gun, which was laying just a few feet from the pair, and Sam, who tried his best to look brave. He didn’t feel it at all.
Dean took a deep breath, and then another, before he shoved the gun away, letting it hit against the wall. He looked into Sam’s eyes. “Here’s what we’re gonna do: We’re gonna lay here, and we’re gonna watch the sunset, and we’re not gonna worry about anything else. Alright, Sammy?”
“But, Dean-” Sam’s eyes widened. “You’re still okay, it didn’t get you, you can get out of here, before I-”
“I’m not leaving you.” Dean half smiled at him, filled with pain and fear. Guilt crashed over Sam in waves, but a small glimmer of warmth and comfort made its way into his chest. Dean’s arms wrapped around Sam’s shoulders, and helped him stand up on his good leg. “Never. So let’s go look at that sunset.”
The brothers, one with hunched shoulders and one limping on one leg, made their way out of the building and onto the street, where the beginnings of orange and red were overcast upon the town. Sam glanced around the empty streets and sucked in a deep breath, before tilting his head backwards and looking up at the sun on the horizon, leaning into his brother’s side. The fear intermingled with a strange sense of hope. Maybe, somewhere out there, a different version of them were still fighting years from then, and maybe, they’ll be happy by the end of their story. Sam took a deep breath, taking in the sight of the pink and the orange and the dark blue, before closing his eyes to embrace an easier darkness.