Chapter Text
It wasn’t even 8:00 in the morning and Dean was under the hood of some shitty ‘80 AMC Concord. Some guy Dean vaguely recognized from town had dropped it off earlier that morning and asked them to fix it up before hopping in his buddy’s car without so much as a thanks. Bit of a dick move, doing that so early in the morning, but hey, sometimes you got places to be.
Dean thought that the car would be better off joining the scrapyard. The carburetor was flooding out, the frame was rusted, and the intake manifold was leaking. If the guy loved his shitty car so much to get it fixed now, he should’ve taken care of it before it got this bad—hell, Baby’s a decade and some older and works perfectly. Still, he’s getting paid to fix it, so he’ll fix it.
Behind him, Bobby is taking inventory as the radio plays a classic rock station. Sam is inside the house, probably reading, maybe answering phones. As Dean reaches towards the distributor cap, the radio cuts out for a moment. Dean glances over, and the static snaps back to sound.
“—uh, we’re getting breaking news from New York City. It’s being reported that a plane has crashed into the World Trade Center. Details are still coming in, but…”
The announcer continues in a shaky voice. Dean straightens, wiping his hands. He turns to Bobby, who is frowning at the radio—then at Dean.
Dean flexes his jaw. “…Dad’s in New York.” There wasn’t really a reason to be worried - New York was huge, and John tended to avoid downtown areas. Even so, Bobby grits his teeth.
“It’s probably nuthin’, but let’s see if the real news has anything better.” With that, Bobby turns towards the house. Dean catches up, walking beside him in silence.
Dean yanks open the backdoor. “Sam! Turn on the news!”
Sam looks up from his book. “What?” But even as he speaks, he’s already reaching for the remote, flipping to NBC.
On screen, the Twin Towers are burning—one of them spewing out a thick plume of smoke. The reporter is on the phone with a woman who is describing her view of the Towers. In the background, sirens wail.
For a moment, they watch the news in silence. Then Dean shakes his head. “We should try calling Dad—maybe he saw whatever happened.”
The phone rings a couple times before going to voicemail. Dean shakes his head, “No answer.” They turn back to the TV.
Minutes pass. The reporters begin interviewing a different woman. Then she cries out, “Oh, another one just hit!” The footage cuts to a fireball exploding from the second tower.
In their little kitchen, a thousand miles away from the smoke, Sam jerks like the impact hit him directly. Dean freezes. Bobby closes his eyes and exhales a curse.
For hours, they sit in the kitchen and watch. They watch as the towers burn, then as they fall. They listen as reporters interview witness after witness and speculate on who, why, and how. Every fifteen minutes or so, one of them will try the phone again. Still no answer. They figure the phone lines are jammed—or that John is too busy chasing theories to pick up, to tell them he’s alive and just as in the dark as they are.