The morning sun glared through the smudged windows of a roadside diner, lighting up the vinyl booths and the stale smell of burnt coffee.
Henry sighed, sliding his phone back into his jacket pocket. Madison and Bela had been blowing up his screen all morning, demanding to know when he was coming home.
He'd just fired off the same vague reply to both: Got a massive, world-ending mess to clean up. I'll be back when the apocalypse is handled.
Across the table, Dean shoved a forkful of syrup-drenched pancakes into his mouth and pointed his fork at Henry. "Hey, Henry. I got a question for you."
Henry didn't look up from his black coffee. "No, Dean. Keep it to yourself."
Dean stopped chewing, offended. "Excuse me? Why?"
"Because," Henry said, setting his mug down, "your questions almost always involve hookers, sex, or something incredibly stupid. So, no."
Dean dropped his fork on his plate with a clatter, wiping his mouth. "Do you really think that little of me?"
"Yes," Henry said, deadpan, gesturing to the other side of the booth. "If you don't believe me, ask Sam."
Sam didn't look up from his laptop, taking a bite of dry toast. "He's right."
"Unbelievable," Dean muttered, leaning back, arms crossed. "For the record, I was not going to ask about hookers. I was about to ask a highly tactical, apocalypse-related question."
Henry raised a skeptical eyebrow, leaning forward. "Alright. Prove it. Let's hear this tactical masterpiece."
Dean leaned over the table, checking the waitress wasn't listening, and lowered his voice.
"If the Devil's walking the Earth in some poor bastard's meat suit, does he still have to pee? Because if he does, we could ambush him in a dive bar bathroom. That's a vulnerability."
Sam closed his eyes and exhaled slowly through his nose, rubbing his temples.
Henry just stared at Dean for a long moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling his phone back out. "Like I said. Incredibly stupid."
Before Dean could defend his tactical bathroom ambush theory, the sharp trill of his flip phone cut through the diner chatter.
Dean checked the caller ID, wiping syrup off his chin. "It's Bobby." He flipped it open. "Hey, Bobby. Tell me you got good news, because my morning is already shot."
Even from across the table, Henry and Sam could hear the gruff, gravelly voice crackling through the cheap speaker.
"I need you boys on the road," Bobby said, voice tight with urgency. "My old hunting buddy, Rufus Turner, just hit the panic button. He's holed up in a town called River Pass, Colorado. Says the whole place is swarming with demons."
Dean frowned, dropping the joking tone. He met Sam's eyes. "Wait. Demons? Like, a full-scale invasion?"
"That's what the man said," Bobby snapped.
"And you know that stubborn son of a bitch. Rufus would rather swallow glass than ask for help. If he's calling for backup, it means he's drowning out there. Get to River Pass and deal with the black-eyed bastards, or whatever's tearing that town apart."
Dean grabbed his jacket, sliding out of the booth. "Alright, we're on it. Are you meeting us there?"
"No, I'm up to my neck in my own apocalypse over here," Bobby said, sounding exhausted. "You three are gonna have to handle this one on your own."
Dean hesitated, scratching the back of his neck, glancing at Sam, who winced, then at Henry, who took a slow, expectant sip of coffee.
"Speaking of apocalypses..." Dean muttered, bracing himself. "Hey, Bobby? Did we happen to mention the actual Apocalypse started? Like — Lucifer's officially out of the cage?"
Dead silence over the line. For three seconds, the diner felt entirely too quiet.
Then a string of creatively violent curses exploded through the phone, loud enough that a trucker two booths over turned to look.
"Are you kidding me?!" Bobby roared, peaking the phone's mic. "You dumb idjits! Can you three not keep your damn hands to yourselves for five minutes without breaking the whole world?!"
Dean pulled the phone away from his ear, wincing as Bobby kept going. "Yeah, sorry, Bobby! We'll call you from Colorado!" he yelled over the tirade, snapping the phone shut to cut it off.
He let out a breath, looked at Sam and Henry, and tossed a crumpled twenty on the table. "Well. He took that pretty well."
Henry stood and grabbed his jacket. "Let's go. And for the record, Dean — vessels don't need to use the bathroom."
Dean froze halfway out of the booth, staring at him. "Wait. Seriously? That means you don't have to pee?"
"Yes," Henry said plainly, pushing the diner door open. "Angels don't exactly require plumbing."
"Wow. That is great," Dean said, eyes widening with jealousy. "That is the greatest superpower I've ever heard of. Do you have any idea how much time we could save on road trips if I didn't have to pull over?"
Sam pushed past him, rolling his eyes, heading for the Impala. "Dean, you're the one who stops every two hours for chili dogs and pie. It wouldn't save us a single minute."
"Hey, a man's gotta eat, Sammy!" Dean yelled after him, jogging to catch up.
*****
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