Ray had eyes on the leaky roof, and he was wondering about Flat-Earthers. People from before the Storm that flooded internet forums with discussions on how we were all being duped and tricked and the government and all the major airlines were in on this huge conspiracy trying to convince us that the Earth was round, when really it had edges and a great wall called the Ice Wall in Antarctica.

He had spent hours -- in this past world with amenities like internet and worldwide electricity -- going through message boards and forums on the Flat Earth Theory, reading about it, watching videos, listening to podcasts... everything.

He didn't believe a word of it, naturally. But the people fascinated Ray. The individuals who dedicated their lives to shutting their eyes so hard they denied something as trivial as the Earth being round and managed to scrape and manufacture evidence from the most mundane of things like plane routes or pictures from mountain tops, like alchemist turning flat boring metals into gold. Everything was a new reason to doubt the system. There was nothing that couldn't be turned into more proof that we, the sheeple, were being deceived, and that they were right.

A loud thud rang over Ray's head outside. A dragging sound and then, a moment later, Ray raises his head to see a metal chair emerging from the edge of the alley's roof just outside. It banged against the sidewalk pavement, rolled down climbed a feet into the air again with the wind before disappearing from sight.

A muted flash of light bathed the street in white outside, followed by the roar of its thunder a second later.

Ray rested his head back on the floor and sighed. It'd require some Flat-Earther levels of denial to believe another Fall wasn't coming now.

"Bed's too bourgeois for you?"

Ray turned back. Dean's face followed his feet down the steep stairway, a slice of pizza in his hand.

"Thought you were sleeping," Ray said.

"Wyatt. Snore. Impossible."

Dean threw himself on a chair by Ray's side, eyes out the glass doors. "So, looks like this new Fall thing's for real, right?"

Ray pulled himself up to sitting position. "Looks like it."

"How long do you think we'll hold?"

"Us two?" Ray scoffed. "Like five minutes. I don't know how we managed to survive the first one, to tell you the truth."

"I mean the place," Dean said. "Our place."

Ray looked around Desmond's Pizza. "Oh. I don't know."

But even as he spoke he could feel the soft rattling of the floor and the walls that had been a constant for the past days. It was gradually growing stronger. He knew Dean felt it too, and Wyatt too, probably, but none of them talked about it. The rattling was a constant reminder of their limited time in that place and of the fact that, Dean's wish to preserve his father's legacy and the place where he had met Vanessa notwithstanding, they'd have to abandon headquarters soon. That or be crushed to death when the place finally collapsed.

"It's a funny thing, isn't it?" Dean said, eyes on the sprayed glass doors framing the wild night outside. "The end of the world."

"Funny. Horrifying. Abhorrent. Whatever."

"A year ago my biggest problem was getting into USC," Dean continued. "Then six months ago Vanessa... well..." he paused. "Suddenly USC seemed like the stupidest, most unimportant thing in the world." Dean turned to Ray. "And now the world's literally ending, so, technically, Vanessa doesn't matter anymore as well. Isn't that funny?"

"I don't like your definition of funny, Dean," Ray said, then he got up and went to bed.

Dean sat alone facing the rain outside, the pizza slice growing cold in his hand. He heard Ray's steps behind and then over his head, then the squeaking of the floor as his friend lay down in bed. Wyatt's snoring paused for a second, but then resumed as consistent and motor-engine-like as before.

The rain hammered, stronger now – the wind was now so harsh that raindrops reached the glass doors of the pizzeria, painting it in a beady coat of water despite the distance from the sidewalk and the open skies.

Reflected on the glass, Dean saw the lonesome table under the back window. Eerie and silent in the middle of two wooden chairs. He stared.

He saw Vanessa there, the night they met. He remembered sitting behind the counter and watching her approach from the alley. She came in by herself and found the table by herself and sat herself down. She was beautiful and bold in a Euro-style wool beret and an oversized Evil Dead III T-shirt. Dean remembered thinking she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he remembered stopping Rodrigo, the waiter, on his feet by the shoulder and whispering, "I'll take her order," and then a second later, already in front of her with the pad and pen in hands, regretting that decision, because he had always sucked at flirting, especially when the girl was as pretty as that one was.

"Hi," Dean finally said, with a smile at her. "Is it just you?"

"Yes," she said. Her smile was pointy and thin and gorgeous, and Dean was panicking more than slightly.

"Okay... do you need a few minutes to decide, or..."

"I'll have two slices of whatever the best-selling pizza of the house is," she said, with confidence. "And a Coke."

That was the kind of girl Vanessa was: the kind of girl who entered a pizza place by herself, sat down and ordered the 'best-selling pizza of the place' like it was the most common thing in the world.

Dean was in love before dessert. And it was just as she finished dessert and was getting ready to leave that it dawned on him that he had to say something soon or he'd never see that woman again in his life. And he had to see her again. She ate random pizza by herself and she wore Evil Dead III t-shirts. He could have let her go if it was Evil Dead I or II. But it was Army of Darkness. He had to say something.

But what? What could he say? He couldn't just flat out ask her on a date without even knowing her name, could he? He supposed he could find her personal information via her bank account if she paid by credit card, but that seemed a rather psychotic-stalker-ish approach.

She was getting up now, and Dean still had no idea what to say when she approached, leaned her elbows on the counter and smiled. "There you go." She produced her credit card.

"Oh," Dean said. "O-okay. Did you enjoy the pizza?"

"Yes, thank you."

He took her card. She smiled. He tried desperately to come up with something smart to say.

He had nothing.

She tapped on the counter as the machine processed, scanning the place with curious eyes.

"So... you like Sam Raimi?" Dean blurted, finally.

She looked down at her shirt. "No, not really. I got this at the Salvation Army. I can't afford clothes, I'm sort of a recovering heroin addict."

"Oh, God. I'm so sorry, I just –"

"I can't even read, actually. What does it say?"

"I mean, I didn't mean to – it's a horror film. Bruce Campbell is a... he kills zombies and –"

The credit card machine beeped and spit out her receipt, and she laughed. "I'm screwing with you. Ash is like my third favorite cult horror film anti-hero."

"Oh." Dean snorted and tried to play down his embarrassment with a smile. "Yeah... I-I got that."

She smiled back at him, and he held her eyes, and then they were quiet.

This was it. He had to say something. He just had to. This was his only opportunity to –

"So... can I have my card back?"

"Oh!" Dean looked down at the card and receipt he was still holding and offered both to her.

"Here. Thank you for coming."

"Cool. Bye." She winked at him and turned back, and Dean watched her make her way toward the glass doors in silence, hating himself for not saying anything.

Just under the neon sign outside the door she stopped, held still a second, then turned back. She marched towards him, slapped the counter and said, "You looked like you wanted to ask me out just now. Did you?"

"What?"

"Just now, when we were waiting for my card. It looked like you wanted to ask me out but couldn't really sum up the courage. Right?"

Dean chewed on the word for a good seven seconds before coughing a shy, "Yes."

"Okay." She smiled. "Do it, then."

"Do... what?"

"Ask me out."

"Huh... are you going to say yes?"

"You won't find out unless you ask."

Dean remained quiet. What the fuck do you say to something like this!?

"Come on, dude, stop being a sissy and just ask."

He bit his lips. Finally, he looked up and pulled a deep breath and... "Okay. Do you wanna go out with me tonight?"

"Tonight? Sorry, I'm busy."

"The weekend?"

"Can't. I have a boyfriend. I was just fucking with you."

"Oh. Thank you. That felt good."

She laughed again. "You're an easy target. I'm Vanessa, by the way."

And then Dean shook her hand and took her number, and before she was completely out the door he was already convinced he'd be watching her walk down an aisle toward him one day.

He never did.