Detour Ahead - Part Two
Jan. 25th, 2011 03:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
glasslogictitle: Detour Ahead (2/2)
author: glasslogic
artist: melanth0
wordcount: 13,468
fandom: SPN/L4D
pairing: None
rating: R, but mostly for implied violence
warning: Technically this would be around the end of season 4 and completely AU for L4D, but there shouldn't be anything in here I would call a spoiler for either of them.
disclaimer: I have no rights to any of the copyrighted characters/material in this fic, and I make no profit from it.
The first hint of movement in the room jolted the Winchesters awake. The night had been an uncomfortable affair. It wasn’t too cold, and it was certainly dark and quiet enough, but the constant damp reek of the place and the occasional distant moaning howl or shriek made it impossible to forget the circumstances. They split the can of Spaghetti O’s tossed their way without complaint and Sam handed out granola bars as a gesture of goodwill. No one seemed very talkative still, thoughts obviously preoccupied. Maybe on their missing companions. Sam and Dean were surprised when they packed up everything in the room that was portable, clearly planning to move out.
“I thought this was some kind of way station for people traveling. ‘Leave a penny, take a penny’ type stuff? You guys just seem to be in the ‘take’ frame of mind,” Dean observed.
Coach yawned in Dean’s direction. “Not much traffic anymore, and not a lot of resources either. We used to leave ammo and food stock, but you boys are the first humans we’ve tripped over in... more than two months now, I guess. Can’t afford to throw away supplies when no one’s coming for them.”
Sam frowned. “Even as much of a panic as people must have been in, you said the virus spread across the county in a matter of weeks and people turn in a matter of hours or days?”
“Or minutes,” Francis muttered, giving them another suspicious look. Dean had the impression he was just waiting for one of them to lunge for his neck.
“Or minutes,” Sam agreed, “but if that was the case, I would think there would be plenty of supplies around. People couldn’t have consumed everything that fast, and if there are only a handful of humans still alive...”
“There are still lots of supplies,” Zoey replied, “but people took them and hid them away when they still thought they had a chance. What’s hidden the best is what we need the most: good water, medicine, weapons.”
“Food that’s light and portable,” Nick grimaced, hefting the bag Zoey had stocked with canned goods the day before. “And what rock have you guys been under that this is news?”
“We were cryogenically frozen to preserve our awesome genes, but we thawed out when the power cut off and now we’re playing catch-up,” Dean explained impatiently.
Nick, Coach and Francis all blinked. Zoey rolled her eyes. “They’re crazy, but harmless. And stop whining, Nick. I carried that thing at least five miles yesterday and I didn’t see you turning your nose up at the contents.”
“But you’re a girl,” Nick gave her a winning smile, deciding to ignore Dean’s explanation, “it’s your job to provide for the menfolk.”
“Make sure you mention that to Rochelle when we run into her again,” Coach suggested, stuffing a blanket into the top of his own pack. “I’m sure she’ll be interested in your perspective.”
Nick snorted his opinion of that.
“I wouldn’t mention it,” Francis said seriously, as if the suggestion had been a real one, from where he was standing in the open door shining his light down the tunnels to check for company. “She kneed me in the balls for asking her how long she thought we should wait before we started working on the population problem.”
“Francis!” Zoey gasped, appalled.
“What?! Louis and Nick started it, I was just trying to include her in the conversation. You know, team-building and that crap you keep bitching about.”
“Yeah,” Nick drawled, “but we were having a theoretical discussion on the current state of things, you implied she needed to start popping out babies and you’d be happy to give her a hand.”
“It doesn’t sound like it was a hand he wanted to give her,” Dean said dryly.
“You shut up!” Francis snarled.
Coach stood up. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. There’s not going to be any rebuilding, and there certainly won’t be babies.”
“Why not?” Francis asked, puzzled.
“They’ll get sick,” Zoey told him with gentle exasperation. “Some might not, but most will. And can you imagine trying to run from the horde with a baby? It wouldn’t be right, Francis.”
He rubbed at the back of his head and looked a little sheepish. “Yeah, all right. It was just talk, though; I didn’t mean anything by it. She didn’t have to hit me.”
“She did,” Nick grinned. “She really, really did.”
Francis growled wordlessly but didn’t comment.
They finished packing up the safe room and then Dean and Sam followed as their new allies led them carefully about half a mile away and up a good-sized hill. From there, they climbed a few descended levels of fire escape until they reached the roof of a short office building that, despite its squatness, gave them a good vantage over the city.
“Okay, guys,” Dean said, when they had reached the roof, “we’ve played along -- now what the hell are we doing here?”
Coach pressed a pair of binoculars to Dean’s chest and motioned out towards a low, flat-looking building a mile or two in the distance. Dean gave it a look and then a low whistle before handing the binoculars off to Sam.
“Why are they all gathered around it like that?”
Francis spit in disgust. “Because someone fucked up. Probably Ellis. Damn clumsy hayseed probably tripped over a fire alarm or something.”
“I didn’t notice you having any concerns about his coordination when he shot that Hunter off your ass last week,” Nick snapped.
“Guys.” Zoey had the weary tone of someone who had heard the same general argument a few too many times. “It doesn’t matter who did what, what matters is what we do now.”
“We leave their asses behind and get the hell out of dodge!”
Zoey glared at Francis. “Anyone else have an idea?”
“I don’t know why you always pick on me, “ Francis grumbled. “Everyone is thinking it, I’m just saying it out loud.”
“There’s a reason you’re the only one saying it out loud,” Coach rumbled. “And I’m not willing to cut them loose without at least getting a closer look. Most of the zombies are clustered up around the west end. If we cut through the downtown area and come up near the parking garage, we should be able to avoid the horde completely.”
Nick grimaced.
“Downtown sounds like Tanks to me,” he said reluctantly.
“How many cigarettes do you have left, Nick?” Zoey asked casually.
“Most of a carton, why? I’m not sharing, so if you’re thinking of picking it up, you can go scavenge your own smokes. These are my special imported one-of-a-kind babies. I was damn lucky to find the first box, and it will be a cold day somewhere hotter than Hell before I find another one.”
“You have that carton with you?” she asked pleasantly.
“Ran out of room; I stuck it in Ellis’s...” Nick’s voice trailed off with an expression of dawning horror. He started swearing with enough creativity to widen even Dean’s eyes.
“Guess that means we’re going in,” Coach said with satisfaction.
“They went after guns and ammo you said?” Dean asked.
“Yeah.”
“Good. I’m feeling the need to pick up something more aggressive than a bat.”
Sam just sneezed.
~~~~~~~
To approach the mall from the safer side took two days of backtracking and circling through the downtown area of the city.
It was a nightmare journey for Sam and Dean, and they were deeply disquieted by how commonplace their companions seemed to find everything. The everyday backdrop to the shambling monsters that had replaced the human population, the sheer horror of the situation -- no matter how much the Winchesters prided themselves on being able to handle anything life, or death, threw at them, they hadn’t had enough time to really swallow the magnitude of this world, and were finding it hard to choke down even in small chunks.
The relentless pace and constant alertness was exhausting, and an unfortunate introduction to a Hunter had left Dean with deep and aching wounds across his chest. But what had him really concerned was Sam. What had started as a few sneezes had gradually progressed to a cough and some trouble breathing. Dean was pretty sure his brother was running a fever too, but any time he tried to check, Sam glared and shoved him away. After two days of steadily worsening conditions, Sam was lagging behind the group. The wary looks and narrowed eyes of their new companions were all the answers Dean needed to the questions he was terrified to ask.
“Sam.”
Sam looked up from where he had collapsed on a windowsill. His eyes were red-rimmed and his skin was chalky under the flush from the eight flights of stairs they had just climbed. He met Dean’s eyes for only the briefest of moments before looking down again. Dean could hear the wheeze of his breathing from three feet away and his own chest was tight as he dropped down to sit beside his brother.
“How are you holding up?”
Sam smiled, and it was genuine if exhausted. “I’m kind of hoping Cas comes through for us. Soon.”
“Yeah,” Dean swallowed
“How are you doing?” Sam’s voice was even, but Dean knew what he was really asking.
“I’m okay, Sam. I feel... fine.”
Sam let his body slump a little so he was leaning against Dean. Through the fabric of their shirts, Dean could feel the unhealthy heat of Sam’s skin. Silence hung between them. Up the hallway, the others were talking quietly and taking stock of their ammunition. The mall was within two blocks now, and once they started moving, there was unlikely to be another good chance to take a break until they had either rescued their comrades or abandoned the effort entirely.
Sam glanced up the hallway. “Man, and I thought our lives sucked.”
Dean turned his head to follow Sam’s gaze and his chin brushed his brother’s hair. They were filthy, and tired, Sam was sick, and every time he thought they had hit rock bottom, somehow things got worse, but in that split second, life was... okay.
Then Francis stood up and pointed a gun in their direction and it was business as usual.
“What the fuck?” Dean snarled, standing up in front of Sam protectively.
“He’s already dead! And I don’t plan to be the one standing in front of him when he decides to take a bite. If you want to be that person, then why don’t the two of you crawl on back to wherever you came from and have a nice, short life together!”
“He just has a cold, Francis,” Coach said in a reasonable voice, stepping up beside him. “If he was sick like that, he would have turned weeks ago. Just like everyone else. All of us still human are going to stay that way until we drop dead, and then we won’t be standing back up. Leave the poor man alone.”
“That ain’t no cold and you damn well know it!”
“Then we can shoot him once he turns, Francis!” Zoey stepped around him to stand next to Dean, arms crossed and frowning.
Francis snorted. “Says you. Who was it that shot our helicopter pilot -- while he was still flying the damn thing?”
Zoey growled and Nick joined them. “He wasn’t flying us anywhere once he died.”
“No shit,” Francis snorted.
“Look,” Nick continued, “if Sam turns into a zombie, we can have a race to see who shoots him first, but until then he’s not hurting anything by tagging along.”
“He’s slowing us down!”
“How about if I take this bat to your kneecap?” Dean snarled. “You think maybe then you might have some trouble keeping up yourself?”
Francis opened his mouth to spit something back, but Coach caught his eyes with a meaningful look and Francis shoved the gun back into his belt and spat onto the dull brown of the industrial carpeting.
“Fine then. But I warned you all, and he better not walk anywhere near me. Let’s get moving. I fucking hate waiting.” He stalked off, muttering.
Zoey hung back while the other two hurried to catch up with Francis. Dean was still bristling as he hauled Sam to his feet and waited while his brother made another attempt to cough up his lungs, the noise muffled as best he could in the wadded fabric of a flannel Coach had found for him scavenging a house the day before. Sam seemed barely aware of how close he had come to death, it was taking everything he had just to keep going.
“Don’t mind Francis,” Zoey suggested quietly. “He’s scared. It’s amazing how we can adapt, but you get so used to one horror, and then you guys bring back old fears.”
“What fear are we bringing back that I’m supposed to let that go?!” Dean demanded.
Zoey gave a meaningful look to where Sam was finally standing upright again, trying to breathe shallowly enough to not set off another coughing fit.
“We’re supposed to be carriers. Safe from turning into one of... them. That’s what the scientists insisted when they had us locked up like dogs in a kennel. Whatever else we have to be afraid of, that wasn’t supposed to be on the table anymore. So Sam getting sick, it makes us think that maybe we aren’t as safe as we thought we were.”
“You won’t get it,” Sam wheezed out.
“You did,” Zoey shot back.
And there it was, laid flat.
Dean set his jaw and glared at the wall, swallowing down the desire to scream. They weren’t even supposed to be there. They sure as hell weren’t supposed to be catching the mother of all zombie plagues. He was going fucking slaughter Zachariah when next their paths crossed.
Sam shook his head but didn’t argue with her. Dean counted to ten very slowly and then drew a deep breath. “We need to catch up.”
Zoey gave him a measuring look and he met her gaze steadily. He had no doubt she could see the rage and frustration he was barely keeping leashed, but she said nothing.
“What did you mean about being in a kennel, and the scientists?” Sam rasped.
“Not all monsters eat flesh,” she said simply, then started down the hall.
~~~~~~~
“Someone set off the fucking fire alarm.” Nick stated the obvious in a voice of total disgust.
Francis grunted. “Told ya.”
“Yeah, Francis. You’re a real prophet of disaster.” Coach shook his head and leaned against a wall. “Anyone want to suggest a plan of action?”
Reaching the mall from the office building had taken less than an hour once they started moving again. They had encountered few zombies and none of the special infected, but instead of having a relaxing effect on the group, Dean noted that it seemed to only make them more paranoid and suspicious. Something worth emulating.
“Maybe they are all on the other side with the regular zombies,” Dean suggested.
“And maybe that’s where your brain is too,” Nick hissed back.
They made their way through the parking garage until they found a plain metal door that was unlocked, but from ten feet away, it was already obvious what was keeping the rapturous attention of the local zombie population.
“Shouldn’t that thing have run out of juice by now?” Sam muttered.
“Emergency generators.” Coach sighed. “This city is full of all sorts of generators the likes of which you wouldn’t have even imagined before. And batteries, and who knows what else is powering some of this junk now. I can tell you no one wasted any emergency equipment on keeping any burger stands going.”
“Because he’s looked,” Nick drawled.
“Everywhere,” Zoey added.
Coach’s expression was wounded. “You people claiming you would turn your nose up at a fine piece of seared meat with a thick, fresh bun and all the trimmings?”
“No,” Nick retorted, crouching and peering cautiously around a corner. “Only that if you’re going to keep your eyes peeled for something everywhere we go, clean water and first aid are higher on the priority list.”
“You’re priority list. Aren’t you here for cigare--” Coach’s next words were cut off by a massive, fast-moving blur that slammed into him hard enough to rip him off his feet and carried him through the balcony railing and down into the shadows of the floor below.
“What the fuck was that!?”
“Charger,” Nick said tensely. Zoey was already running for the escalator. Francis didn’t bother, hopping down through the break in the railing onto the flat surface of a kiosk below and firing a few rounds into something only he could see.
“Let’s go.” Nick waited with thrumming impatience while Dean got Sam back up. “We may as well see what the damage is. Those gunshots have told everything in the area where we are, so it’s definitely time to move.”
Sam wasn’t up to leaping off ledges and Dean wouldn’t leave him, so the two of them took the stairs and were the last to reach the group on the lower level. By that time, Nick and Francis were winding a wide bandage around Coach’s chest while Zoey kept a wary watch on the heavy shadows of the mall interior. Other than the flashing red lights tied into the alarm system, the only light in the mall came from regular skylights set into the ceiling. The reek of death was strong, a constant reminder that no matter how peaceful it seemed, monsters walked here still. As if what had just happened to Coach wasn’t reminder enough.
“I need to breathe,” he grumbled, as Nick tied the bandage off tightly.
“What you need to do is try not to get hit in the chest for awhile. Unless you like bone shards digging into your lungs.”
“What happened?” Sam asked, slumping down onto the edge of the same planter Coach was seated on.
“Got charged.” Coach shrugged a little, testing the pull of the bandage around his ribcage.
Dean frowned. “I would have thought hitting the ground that hard would have done more than crack a few ribs. Death springs to mind.”
“I’m not sure they’re just cracked,” Coach grimaced, touching his side gingerly, “but I got off lucky this time. Damn thing landed on its feet, then dragged me over here to slam me into the ground a few times. Guess this padding turned out to be good for something after all.” He smiled at Dean, but even in the dim light, Dean could see that it didn’t reach his eyes.
Not that that was surprising. They bantered and acted like they had some place to go, some reason to keep fighting, but everyone he and Sam had met since getting tossed into this reality had shadows in their eyes that would only grow deeper every day until they died. And that day in all likelihood was not far off, with little hope of any recourse.
He offered Coach a solemn salute.
“Let’s keep moving,” Zoey insisted in a low voice. “It’s too quiet around here.”
“Where’s the gun shop?”
“Upstairs, on the other side.”
“Naturally,” Dean sighed.
~~~~~~~
They were stopped in an arboretum area and the survivors were clustered together, having some kind of frantic, whispered argument. Dean wasn’t interested. Even he knew what the occasional roars and pounding thuds coming from up ahead meant. A Tank was in the mall ahead, and the only sane thing to do was run.
But they weren’t running. Yet.
“Sam, you need to hold it together for a little while. Then we’ll get you someplace safe where you can rest and--”
“I don’t need a safe place now, Dean. We both know... We know.”
“Fuck you, Sam! You aren’t supposed to be able to get this crap.”
“I don’t think immunity to demonic plagues and immunity to zombie plagues are the same thing. How are you feeling?”
“Shitty,” Dean snapped. “Thanks for asking.”
Sam frowned at him and Dean scowled at his boots. Sam already looked like he had more than one foot in the grave. Dean entertained some violent thoughts about scientists and angels, and spared a few unlovely ones for Castiel, who needed to hurry his slow angelic ass up already and bail them the fuck out before Sam decided to try the other white meat.
Nick waved them over.
“You go ahead.”
“Sam, get the fuck up.”
Sam shook his head. “You go,” he insisted. “I’ll still be here when you’re done.”
Dean glared at the top of his bowed head as if he could will him into standing, but after a moment, he stormed over alone to find out what the plan was.
~~~~~~~
“Why are we doing this again?” Dean hissed, twenty minutes later. “We haven’t seen any signs of the others.”
“Two reasons,” Nick breathed, not taking his eyes off the gigantic, misshapen zombie rampaging down the opposite side of the walkway from where they were crouched behind a counter. “One, we need guns, and the best source of those is in that store over there, and two, we need ammo, and the best supply is in that store over there.”
“What about the rest of your team?”
Nick’s expression darkened at the reminder. “Oh yeah, and my cigarettes. We definitely need those too. And Zoey also has some deranged attachment to Ellis, Louis and Rochelle and wants to see if they’re still kicking around somewhere.”
“Francis seems to think you might have some interest in Ellis’ continued survival too,” Dean needled, having picked up that tidbit from Francis’ anything-but-subtle digs.
“Are you really fucking your brother? You guys seem awfully close,” was Nick’s casual reply.
Dean scowled and shut up.
“Watch this.” Nick pointed over to where Francis was creeping around a corner. The Tank turned his back and Francis flung a piece of dislodged masonry over the rail so that it skittered across the floor into the darkness of a lower-level corridor. The Tank bellowed in outrage and turned all of its attention towards the sound, leaped down to the lower floor with a ground-shattering thud, then crammed its massive bulk into the hallway, chasing the echoes of the rock’s landing. The instant it was out of sight, Nick grabbed Dean’s arm and the two of them hurried to the gun store.
Once in the store, Dean swore sulfurously under his breath; it took only the briefest of glances to know there were no guns left to be found. There was ammunition, but what hadn’t been looted was scattered in handfuls across the floor. Nick didn’t waste his breath; he dropped to his knees and began scooping handfuls of it into his bag. Dean followed suit, figuring there would be more time for sorting later, but he was interrupted before he had covered even the bottom of the bag by a low whistle. Both he and Nick jerked their heads up. Across the arcade, a security door recessed into the wall the Tank had been battering had been shoved open and someone was waving a frantic arm to catch attention.
Dean realized immediately who it must be, but before he could ask Nick what he wanted to do, a dull, moaning sound reached his ears from back the way they had come. Nick grabbed his arm again. “They picked up our scent and followed us in.”
“So how are we going to get out?!”
Nick flashed him a grim smile. “Better hope they have pipe bombs in that safe room.”
“Pipe bom--”
Nick almost ripped his arm out of the socket hauling him to his feet before Dean could pursue the question. They both darted across the exposed walkway towards the door.
From just outside the room, Dean could see that it had been painted red at some time, but under the Tank’s relentless assault, almost all of the color had been beaten off. Nick was dragged into a quick hug by a petite black woman while Dean took a quick survey of the room. One man was already loading bullets from Nick’s bag into a spent clip and the other was looking at Dean with wide-eyed surprise. Dean flinched as a bench flew up from the shadows below and slammed into the wall only feet from his head. He spun only to be shoved into the room by the breathless arrival of Francis and Zoey, who crowded in behind him and pulled the door shut, slamming the heavy bar lock home.
“Where’s Sam?!” Dean yelled.
“Dean--” Zoey began.
Dean felt the world go bright and staticky around him. “He didn’t...”
“He’s… Dean… we’ve all seen it before, so many times. He doesn’t have any time left, and he can’t run. There are zombies pouring in behind us, and the Tank--”
“He told us to leave him,” Francis cut in bluntly. “Which was the right call; he’s walking carrion. Better luck in the next life.”
Dean slammed him up against the wall before anyone could stop him. “You left him out there!”
“Dean--”
Dean shoved Francis aside and wrenched the door lock out of place.
“I don’t know who you are, man, but if you go, you’re gone. We won’t open that door again as long as the Tank is out there. We’ve been pinned down three days now, it has to get bored soon. But probably not soon enough for us to bail your ass out of trouble, got it?”
Dean nodded in grim understanding at the man who must be Louis from the descriptions he’d been given during the two-day hike to reach the mall.
Zoey grabbed his arm. “Dean--” Whatever was in his eyes must have told her pleading was pointless and she finished with, “I hope you guys get... back to wherever you came from.”
Dean flashed her a hard smile and vanished back into the deadly shadows of the mall.
~~~~~~~
The reek of death was even stronger than it had been before, almost gag-worthy in its intensity, and Dean could only imagine the size of the horde that must be approaching to turn the air ahead of them so rancid. The Tank could be heard snuffling around downstairs like it was sniffing for something.
There was only one place on the lower level that offered any kind of shelter and Dean took a page from Francis’ book and hopped the railing to land on the low, flat roof of a kiosk. Not even the thud he made distracted the Tank that was prowling in the shadows. The rumbling growl turned into a triumphant roar just as Dean touched tile with his booted feet. He gripped his bat tightly and ran towards it, desperate to reach its prey first, though what he would do when he got there was still unformed in his mind. Die, he supposed. And then, if there was any justice in the world at all, he and his bat and his brother would get to spend a few minutes in Heaven in a small room with the fucking angel that had sent them to this hell.
Or maybe Zachariah could spend some time in a small room with the Tank.
That would be okay too.
A tree was knocked clean out of the planter by one swing of the Tank’s fist, roots and all, and Dean threw himself aside to escape it. From his new vantage, he could see Sam huddled against a vending machine, knees tucked to his chest and arms wrapped around them. Dean crawled over to kneel beside him and grabbed his shoulder.
“Sam!”
Sam slumped over bonelessly onto the floor at the movement. His eyes were shut and his breathing rapid. Sweat stood out on his skin, but it was icy to Dean’s touch. From the corner of his eye, he could see the Tank lift the entire tree and turn in their direction. Dean pulled Sam half onto his lap and bent over him, grabbing one of his hands. He couldn’t escape the Tank while carrying Sam, and possibly not at all. If they were going to die in this shithole reality, they could damn well do it together.
“Hang on, Sammy,” he whispered into dark, sweaty hair, just in case there was some part of Sam that could still hear him.
He felt the whoosh of air as the Tank lifted the tree above them and drew what he expected to be his last breath. Sam’s fingers tightened around his own just as the Tank’s scream of triumph threatened to shatter his eardrums and...
...the scream changed in pitch. Higher and thinner, and the low moaning of the approaching zombies changed to the rustle and murmur of a restless crowd. The light seemed different too. Sam’s fingers around his own tightened like a vice and then he was pushing against Dean, struggling to sit up. Dean’s eyes flew open and he looked up to meet the shocked gazes of people standing in a loose circle around them.
Normal people, human people.
He glanced up to where the battered safe room door had been and saw that now it was just a plain metal door set between two shop fronts underneath a cheerful banner advertising discount shoes.
The screaming had stopped, but while the people in front still looked stunned --no doubt unused to people appearing out of thin air-- someone who had missed the suddenness of their appearance and was just now getting an eyeful started giggling.
Dean looked wildly around until his eyes locked on Sam’s own confused but clear --thank god-- gaze, and then gave him a good look-over. Sam looked... fine. He was wearing his jeans and t-shirt, unbloodied and intact, and his bare feet looked oddly pale in the brightness of the mall lights. Dean’s feet were bare too; he was wearing the t-shirt Sam had given him what seemed like forever ago, and the silky black boxers he was really starting to hate.
“Dean,” Sam hissed, “we have to get out of here.”
Dean heartily agreed. He hadn’t spent most of a week struggling to survive in a zombie-infested apocalypse to cool his heels answering awkward questions from a mall cop. The crowd moved out of their way as they made their escape.
Fishing bus fare out of the fountains near the bus stop in his underwear was not the most dignified thing Dean had ever done, and the glare he had given the bus driver daring him to comment on their appearance might have been a little overkill. But the relief he felt when they finally got off at their stop and approached their motel room door was immense. A newspaper left on the bus let them know that whatever had happened, whatever they had been through, here in their own world it was the morning after they had fallen asleep. It was impossible not to look at the perfect normality of the world through the bus window and not wonder how the people left behind with the starving dead of their entire world were faring.
The motel room door was locked and their keys were inside, but it only took a quick look around and then a hard wrench of the handle to get them in.
Once there, Dean ignored everything in favor of reaching under his pillow to retrieve his gun. He kissed it with as much emotion as he had ever kissed a woman and didn’t take his eyes off of it as he dragged his filthy clothes from a week ago on without a thought, then tucked the gun into his belt where he could feel it’s reassuring weight. Already, the traumas of the week seemed to be fading like a horrible nightmare, and Dean was torn between letting it go gratefully or clinging to memories he had earned.
Every trace of the agony of the week had vanished like fever dreams. Sam didn’t have so much as a sniffle, and even the deep lacerations the Hunter had left across Dean’s chest existed only in his memory.
“Grab your crap; we’re leaving.”
Sam groaned and didn’t even raise his head from the mattress where he had slumped as soon as they had secured the door behind them. “Dean...”
Dean tossed Sam’s duffle bag onto his chest and rattled his car keys. “I’m not kidding, Sam. I’m not spending five more minutes in this city. We’re leaving. You can sleep in the car.”
“You need sleep too.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Dean snapped. Their eyes locked for a second; Sam looked away first and packed his things without further protest. Dean jogged down to turn in the key.
They met back up at the Impala and stowed their stuff in the trunk. Dean turned the key in the door just as the wind blew an empty water bottle across the parking lot. They both tracked its movements, the familiar label the same as the bottles they had recovered from the drugstore, worlds and time away from the midday sunlight shining down on the traffic in the street.
“Are we going to talk about this, Dean?”
“There isn’t anything to talk about, Sam. As far as anything here is concerned, it was a bad fucking dream.”
“And what if that’s our future,” Sam hissed. “What if--”
“It isn’t,” Dean cut him off flatly. “You saw the papers; by now, they were already months into it. It isn’t happening here; it won’t.”
“You don’t know that! It could start next week!”
“Well, if it does, you won’t have to worry about it for long now, will you?”
Memories of his brother’s labored breath and the unnatural heat of his skin as the plague killed him struck Dean like a blow and he immediately regretted his words. Sam set his jaw and turned away.
Dean threw the Impala into gear and pulled onto the Interstate, determined to put as many miles behind them as possible before his body gave him no choice but to stop.
“It won’t happen here, Sam.”
“You don’t know that.” Sam’s voice was low and uneven.
“I do know that.” Dean’s smile was sharp and his eyes were fierce. “And do you know why? Because in the grand scheme of things, with angels and demons and God and the devil himself -- you and I just aren’t that lucky.”
author: glasslogic
artist: melanth0
wordcount: 13,468
fandom: SPN/L4D
pairing: None
rating: R, but mostly for implied violence
warning: Technically this would be around the end of season 4 and completely AU for L4D, but there shouldn't be anything in here I would call a spoiler for either of them.
disclaimer: I have no rights to any of the copyrighted characters/material in this fic, and I make no profit from it.
The first hint of movement in the room jolted the Winchesters awake. The night had been an uncomfortable affair. It wasn’t too cold, and it was certainly dark and quiet enough, but the constant damp reek of the place and the occasional distant moaning howl or shriek made it impossible to forget the circumstances. They split the can of Spaghetti O’s tossed their way without complaint and Sam handed out granola bars as a gesture of goodwill. No one seemed very talkative still, thoughts obviously preoccupied. Maybe on their missing companions. Sam and Dean were surprised when they packed up everything in the room that was portable, clearly planning to move out.
“I thought this was some kind of way station for people traveling. ‘Leave a penny, take a penny’ type stuff? You guys just seem to be in the ‘take’ frame of mind,” Dean observed.
Coach yawned in Dean’s direction. “Not much traffic anymore, and not a lot of resources either. We used to leave ammo and food stock, but you boys are the first humans we’ve tripped over in... more than two months now, I guess. Can’t afford to throw away supplies when no one’s coming for them.”
Sam frowned. “Even as much of a panic as people must have been in, you said the virus spread across the county in a matter of weeks and people turn in a matter of hours or days?”
“Or minutes,” Francis muttered, giving them another suspicious look. Dean had the impression he was just waiting for one of them to lunge for his neck.
“Or minutes,” Sam agreed, “but if that was the case, I would think there would be plenty of supplies around. People couldn’t have consumed everything that fast, and if there are only a handful of humans still alive...”
“There are still lots of supplies,” Zoey replied, “but people took them and hid them away when they still thought they had a chance. What’s hidden the best is what we need the most: good water, medicine, weapons.”
“Food that’s light and portable,” Nick grimaced, hefting the bag Zoey had stocked with canned goods the day before. “And what rock have you guys been under that this is news?”
“We were cryogenically frozen to preserve our awesome genes, but we thawed out when the power cut off and now we’re playing catch-up,” Dean explained impatiently.
Nick, Coach and Francis all blinked. Zoey rolled her eyes. “They’re crazy, but harmless. And stop whining, Nick. I carried that thing at least five miles yesterday and I didn’t see you turning your nose up at the contents.”
“But you’re a girl,” Nick gave her a winning smile, deciding to ignore Dean’s explanation, “it’s your job to provide for the menfolk.”
“Make sure you mention that to Rochelle when we run into her again,” Coach suggested, stuffing a blanket into the top of his own pack. “I’m sure she’ll be interested in your perspective.”
Nick snorted his opinion of that.
“I wouldn’t mention it,” Francis said seriously, as if the suggestion had been a real one, from where he was standing in the open door shining his light down the tunnels to check for company. “She kneed me in the balls for asking her how long she thought we should wait before we started working on the population problem.”
“Francis!” Zoey gasped, appalled.
“What?! Louis and Nick started it, I was just trying to include her in the conversation. You know, team-building and that crap you keep bitching about.”
“Yeah,” Nick drawled, “but we were having a theoretical discussion on the current state of things, you implied she needed to start popping out babies and you’d be happy to give her a hand.”
“It doesn’t sound like it was a hand he wanted to give her,” Dean said dryly.
“You shut up!” Francis snarled.
Coach stood up. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. There’s not going to be any rebuilding, and there certainly won’t be babies.”
“Why not?” Francis asked, puzzled.
“They’ll get sick,” Zoey told him with gentle exasperation. “Some might not, but most will. And can you imagine trying to run from the horde with a baby? It wouldn’t be right, Francis.”
He rubbed at the back of his head and looked a little sheepish. “Yeah, all right. It was just talk, though; I didn’t mean anything by it. She didn’t have to hit me.”
“She did,” Nick grinned. “She really, really did.”
Francis growled wordlessly but didn’t comment.
They finished packing up the safe room and then Dean and Sam followed as their new allies led them carefully about half a mile away and up a good-sized hill. From there, they climbed a few descended levels of fire escape until they reached the roof of a short office building that, despite its squatness, gave them a good vantage over the city.
“Okay, guys,” Dean said, when they had reached the roof, “we’ve played along -- now what the hell are we doing here?”
Coach pressed a pair of binoculars to Dean’s chest and motioned out towards a low, flat-looking building a mile or two in the distance. Dean gave it a look and then a low whistle before handing the binoculars off to Sam.
“Why are they all gathered around it like that?”
Francis spit in disgust. “Because someone fucked up. Probably Ellis. Damn clumsy hayseed probably tripped over a fire alarm or something.”
“I didn’t notice you having any concerns about his coordination when he shot that Hunter off your ass last week,” Nick snapped.
“Guys.” Zoey had the weary tone of someone who had heard the same general argument a few too many times. “It doesn’t matter who did what, what matters is what we do now.”
“We leave their asses behind and get the hell out of dodge!”
Zoey glared at Francis. “Anyone else have an idea?”
“I don’t know why you always pick on me, “ Francis grumbled. “Everyone is thinking it, I’m just saying it out loud.”
“There’s a reason you’re the only one saying it out loud,” Coach rumbled. “And I’m not willing to cut them loose without at least getting a closer look. Most of the zombies are clustered up around the west end. If we cut through the downtown area and come up near the parking garage, we should be able to avoid the horde completely.”
Nick grimaced.
“Downtown sounds like Tanks to me,” he said reluctantly.
“How many cigarettes do you have left, Nick?” Zoey asked casually.
“Most of a carton, why? I’m not sharing, so if you’re thinking of picking it up, you can go scavenge your own smokes. These are my special imported one-of-a-kind babies. I was damn lucky to find the first box, and it will be a cold day somewhere hotter than Hell before I find another one.”
“You have that carton with you?” she asked pleasantly.
“Ran out of room; I stuck it in Ellis’s...” Nick’s voice trailed off with an expression of dawning horror. He started swearing with enough creativity to widen even Dean’s eyes.
“Guess that means we’re going in,” Coach said with satisfaction.
“They went after guns and ammo you said?” Dean asked.
“Yeah.”
“Good. I’m feeling the need to pick up something more aggressive than a bat.”
Sam just sneezed.
~~~~~~~
To approach the mall from the safer side took two days of backtracking and circling through the downtown area of the city.
It was a nightmare journey for Sam and Dean, and they were deeply disquieted by how commonplace their companions seemed to find everything. The everyday backdrop to the shambling monsters that had replaced the human population, the sheer horror of the situation -- no matter how much the Winchesters prided themselves on being able to handle anything life, or death, threw at them, they hadn’t had enough time to really swallow the magnitude of this world, and were finding it hard to choke down even in small chunks.
The relentless pace and constant alertness was exhausting, and an unfortunate introduction to a Hunter had left Dean with deep and aching wounds across his chest. But what had him really concerned was Sam. What had started as a few sneezes had gradually progressed to a cough and some trouble breathing. Dean was pretty sure his brother was running a fever too, but any time he tried to check, Sam glared and shoved him away. After two days of steadily worsening conditions, Sam was lagging behind the group. The wary looks and narrowed eyes of their new companions were all the answers Dean needed to the questions he was terrified to ask.
“Sam.”
Sam looked up from where he had collapsed on a windowsill. His eyes were red-rimmed and his skin was chalky under the flush from the eight flights of stairs they had just climbed. He met Dean’s eyes for only the briefest of moments before looking down again. Dean could hear the wheeze of his breathing from three feet away and his own chest was tight as he dropped down to sit beside his brother.
“How are you holding up?”
Sam smiled, and it was genuine if exhausted. “I’m kind of hoping Cas comes through for us. Soon.”
“Yeah,” Dean swallowed
“How are you doing?” Sam’s voice was even, but Dean knew what he was really asking.
“I’m okay, Sam. I feel... fine.”
Sam let his body slump a little so he was leaning against Dean. Through the fabric of their shirts, Dean could feel the unhealthy heat of Sam’s skin. Silence hung between them. Up the hallway, the others were talking quietly and taking stock of their ammunition. The mall was within two blocks now, and once they started moving, there was unlikely to be another good chance to take a break until they had either rescued their comrades or abandoned the effort entirely.
Sam glanced up the hallway. “Man, and I thought our lives sucked.”
Dean turned his head to follow Sam’s gaze and his chin brushed his brother’s hair. They were filthy, and tired, Sam was sick, and every time he thought they had hit rock bottom, somehow things got worse, but in that split second, life was... okay.
Then Francis stood up and pointed a gun in their direction and it was business as usual.
“What the fuck?” Dean snarled, standing up in front of Sam protectively.
“He’s already dead! And I don’t plan to be the one standing in front of him when he decides to take a bite. If you want to be that person, then why don’t the two of you crawl on back to wherever you came from and have a nice, short life together!”
“He just has a cold, Francis,” Coach said in a reasonable voice, stepping up beside him. “If he was sick like that, he would have turned weeks ago. Just like everyone else. All of us still human are going to stay that way until we drop dead, and then we won’t be standing back up. Leave the poor man alone.”
“That ain’t no cold and you damn well know it!”
“Then we can shoot him once he turns, Francis!” Zoey stepped around him to stand next to Dean, arms crossed and frowning.
Francis snorted. “Says you. Who was it that shot our helicopter pilot -- while he was still flying the damn thing?”
Zoey growled and Nick joined them. “He wasn’t flying us anywhere once he died.”
“No shit,” Francis snorted.
“Look,” Nick continued, “if Sam turns into a zombie, we can have a race to see who shoots him first, but until then he’s not hurting anything by tagging along.”
“He’s slowing us down!”
“How about if I take this bat to your kneecap?” Dean snarled. “You think maybe then you might have some trouble keeping up yourself?”
Francis opened his mouth to spit something back, but Coach caught his eyes with a meaningful look and Francis shoved the gun back into his belt and spat onto the dull brown of the industrial carpeting.
“Fine then. But I warned you all, and he better not walk anywhere near me. Let’s get moving. I fucking hate waiting.” He stalked off, muttering.
Zoey hung back while the other two hurried to catch up with Francis. Dean was still bristling as he hauled Sam to his feet and waited while his brother made another attempt to cough up his lungs, the noise muffled as best he could in the wadded fabric of a flannel Coach had found for him scavenging a house the day before. Sam seemed barely aware of how close he had come to death, it was taking everything he had just to keep going.
“Don’t mind Francis,” Zoey suggested quietly. “He’s scared. It’s amazing how we can adapt, but you get so used to one horror, and then you guys bring back old fears.”
“What fear are we bringing back that I’m supposed to let that go?!” Dean demanded.
Zoey gave a meaningful look to where Sam was finally standing upright again, trying to breathe shallowly enough to not set off another coughing fit.
“We’re supposed to be carriers. Safe from turning into one of... them. That’s what the scientists insisted when they had us locked up like dogs in a kennel. Whatever else we have to be afraid of, that wasn’t supposed to be on the table anymore. So Sam getting sick, it makes us think that maybe we aren’t as safe as we thought we were.”
“You won’t get it,” Sam wheezed out.
“You did,” Zoey shot back.
And there it was, laid flat.
Dean set his jaw and glared at the wall, swallowing down the desire to scream. They weren’t even supposed to be there. They sure as hell weren’t supposed to be catching the mother of all zombie plagues. He was going fucking slaughter Zachariah when next their paths crossed.
Sam shook his head but didn’t argue with her. Dean counted to ten very slowly and then drew a deep breath. “We need to catch up.”
Zoey gave him a measuring look and he met her gaze steadily. He had no doubt she could see the rage and frustration he was barely keeping leashed, but she said nothing.
“What did you mean about being in a kennel, and the scientists?” Sam rasped.
“Not all monsters eat flesh,” she said simply, then started down the hall.
~~~~~~~
“Someone set off the fucking fire alarm.” Nick stated the obvious in a voice of total disgust.
Francis grunted. “Told ya.”
“Yeah, Francis. You’re a real prophet of disaster.” Coach shook his head and leaned against a wall. “Anyone want to suggest a plan of action?”
Reaching the mall from the office building had taken less than an hour once they started moving again. They had encountered few zombies and none of the special infected, but instead of having a relaxing effect on the group, Dean noted that it seemed to only make them more paranoid and suspicious. Something worth emulating.
“Maybe they are all on the other side with the regular zombies,” Dean suggested.
“And maybe that’s where your brain is too,” Nick hissed back.
They made their way through the parking garage until they found a plain metal door that was unlocked, but from ten feet away, it was already obvious what was keeping the rapturous attention of the local zombie population.
“Shouldn’t that thing have run out of juice by now?” Sam muttered.
“Emergency generators.” Coach sighed. “This city is full of all sorts of generators the likes of which you wouldn’t have even imagined before. And batteries, and who knows what else is powering some of this junk now. I can tell you no one wasted any emergency equipment on keeping any burger stands going.”
“Because he’s looked,” Nick drawled.
“Everywhere,” Zoey added.
Coach’s expression was wounded. “You people claiming you would turn your nose up at a fine piece of seared meat with a thick, fresh bun and all the trimmings?”
“No,” Nick retorted, crouching and peering cautiously around a corner. “Only that if you’re going to keep your eyes peeled for something everywhere we go, clean water and first aid are higher on the priority list.”
“You’re priority list. Aren’t you here for cigare--” Coach’s next words were cut off by a massive, fast-moving blur that slammed into him hard enough to rip him off his feet and carried him through the balcony railing and down into the shadows of the floor below.
“What the fuck was that!?”
“Charger,” Nick said tensely. Zoey was already running for the escalator. Francis didn’t bother, hopping down through the break in the railing onto the flat surface of a kiosk below and firing a few rounds into something only he could see.
“Let’s go.” Nick waited with thrumming impatience while Dean got Sam back up. “We may as well see what the damage is. Those gunshots have told everything in the area where we are, so it’s definitely time to move.”
Sam wasn’t up to leaping off ledges and Dean wouldn’t leave him, so the two of them took the stairs and were the last to reach the group on the lower level. By that time, Nick and Francis were winding a wide bandage around Coach’s chest while Zoey kept a wary watch on the heavy shadows of the mall interior. Other than the flashing red lights tied into the alarm system, the only light in the mall came from regular skylights set into the ceiling. The reek of death was strong, a constant reminder that no matter how peaceful it seemed, monsters walked here still. As if what had just happened to Coach wasn’t reminder enough.
“I need to breathe,” he grumbled, as Nick tied the bandage off tightly.
“What you need to do is try not to get hit in the chest for awhile. Unless you like bone shards digging into your lungs.”
“What happened?” Sam asked, slumping down onto the edge of the same planter Coach was seated on.
“Got charged.” Coach shrugged a little, testing the pull of the bandage around his ribcage.
Dean frowned. “I would have thought hitting the ground that hard would have done more than crack a few ribs. Death springs to mind.”
“I’m not sure they’re just cracked,” Coach grimaced, touching his side gingerly, “but I got off lucky this time. Damn thing landed on its feet, then dragged me over here to slam me into the ground a few times. Guess this padding turned out to be good for something after all.” He smiled at Dean, but even in the dim light, Dean could see that it didn’t reach his eyes.
Not that that was surprising. They bantered and acted like they had some place to go, some reason to keep fighting, but everyone he and Sam had met since getting tossed into this reality had shadows in their eyes that would only grow deeper every day until they died. And that day in all likelihood was not far off, with little hope of any recourse.
He offered Coach a solemn salute.
“Let’s keep moving,” Zoey insisted in a low voice. “It’s too quiet around here.”
“Where’s the gun shop?”
“Upstairs, on the other side.”
“Naturally,” Dean sighed.
~~~~~~~
They were stopped in an arboretum area and the survivors were clustered together, having some kind of frantic, whispered argument. Dean wasn’t interested. Even he knew what the occasional roars and pounding thuds coming from up ahead meant. A Tank was in the mall ahead, and the only sane thing to do was run.
But they weren’t running. Yet.
“Sam, you need to hold it together for a little while. Then we’ll get you someplace safe where you can rest and--”
“I don’t need a safe place now, Dean. We both know... We know.”
“Fuck you, Sam! You aren’t supposed to be able to get this crap.”
“I don’t think immunity to demonic plagues and immunity to zombie plagues are the same thing. How are you feeling?”
“Shitty,” Dean snapped. “Thanks for asking.”
Sam frowned at him and Dean scowled at his boots. Sam already looked like he had more than one foot in the grave. Dean entertained some violent thoughts about scientists and angels, and spared a few unlovely ones for Castiel, who needed to hurry his slow angelic ass up already and bail them the fuck out before Sam decided to try the other white meat.
Nick waved them over.
“You go ahead.”
“Sam, get the fuck up.”
Sam shook his head. “You go,” he insisted. “I’ll still be here when you’re done.”
Dean glared at the top of his bowed head as if he could will him into standing, but after a moment, he stormed over alone to find out what the plan was.
~~~~~~~
“Why are we doing this again?” Dean hissed, twenty minutes later. “We haven’t seen any signs of the others.”
“Two reasons,” Nick breathed, not taking his eyes off the gigantic, misshapen zombie rampaging down the opposite side of the walkway from where they were crouched behind a counter. “One, we need guns, and the best source of those is in that store over there, and two, we need ammo, and the best supply is in that store over there.”
“What about the rest of your team?”
Nick’s expression darkened at the reminder. “Oh yeah, and my cigarettes. We definitely need those too. And Zoey also has some deranged attachment to Ellis, Louis and Rochelle and wants to see if they’re still kicking around somewhere.”
“Francis seems to think you might have some interest in Ellis’ continued survival too,” Dean needled, having picked up that tidbit from Francis’ anything-but-subtle digs.
“Are you really fucking your brother? You guys seem awfully close,” was Nick’s casual reply.
Dean scowled and shut up.
“Watch this.” Nick pointed over to where Francis was creeping around a corner. The Tank turned his back and Francis flung a piece of dislodged masonry over the rail so that it skittered across the floor into the darkness of a lower-level corridor. The Tank bellowed in outrage and turned all of its attention towards the sound, leaped down to the lower floor with a ground-shattering thud, then crammed its massive bulk into the hallway, chasing the echoes of the rock’s landing. The instant it was out of sight, Nick grabbed Dean’s arm and the two of them hurried to the gun store.
Once in the store, Dean swore sulfurously under his breath; it took only the briefest of glances to know there were no guns left to be found. There was ammunition, but what hadn’t been looted was scattered in handfuls across the floor. Nick didn’t waste his breath; he dropped to his knees and began scooping handfuls of it into his bag. Dean followed suit, figuring there would be more time for sorting later, but he was interrupted before he had covered even the bottom of the bag by a low whistle. Both he and Nick jerked their heads up. Across the arcade, a security door recessed into the wall the Tank had been battering had been shoved open and someone was waving a frantic arm to catch attention.
Dean realized immediately who it must be, but before he could ask Nick what he wanted to do, a dull, moaning sound reached his ears from back the way they had come. Nick grabbed his arm again. “They picked up our scent and followed us in.”
“So how are we going to get out?!”
Nick flashed him a grim smile. “Better hope they have pipe bombs in that safe room.”
“Pipe bom--”
Nick almost ripped his arm out of the socket hauling him to his feet before Dean could pursue the question. They both darted across the exposed walkway towards the door.
From just outside the room, Dean could see that it had been painted red at some time, but under the Tank’s relentless assault, almost all of the color had been beaten off. Nick was dragged into a quick hug by a petite black woman while Dean took a quick survey of the room. One man was already loading bullets from Nick’s bag into a spent clip and the other was looking at Dean with wide-eyed surprise. Dean flinched as a bench flew up from the shadows below and slammed into the wall only feet from his head. He spun only to be shoved into the room by the breathless arrival of Francis and Zoey, who crowded in behind him and pulled the door shut, slamming the heavy bar lock home.
“Where’s Sam?!” Dean yelled.
“Dean--” Zoey began.
Dean felt the world go bright and staticky around him. “He didn’t...”
“He’s… Dean… we’ve all seen it before, so many times. He doesn’t have any time left, and he can’t run. There are zombies pouring in behind us, and the Tank--”
“He told us to leave him,” Francis cut in bluntly. “Which was the right call; he’s walking carrion. Better luck in the next life.”
Dean slammed him up against the wall before anyone could stop him. “You left him out there!”
“Dean--”
Dean shoved Francis aside and wrenched the door lock out of place.
“I don’t know who you are, man, but if you go, you’re gone. We won’t open that door again as long as the Tank is out there. We’ve been pinned down three days now, it has to get bored soon. But probably not soon enough for us to bail your ass out of trouble, got it?”
Dean nodded in grim understanding at the man who must be Louis from the descriptions he’d been given during the two-day hike to reach the mall.
Zoey grabbed his arm. “Dean--” Whatever was in his eyes must have told her pleading was pointless and she finished with, “I hope you guys get... back to wherever you came from.”
Dean flashed her a hard smile and vanished back into the deadly shadows of the mall.
~~~~~~~
The reek of death was even stronger than it had been before, almost gag-worthy in its intensity, and Dean could only imagine the size of the horde that must be approaching to turn the air ahead of them so rancid. The Tank could be heard snuffling around downstairs like it was sniffing for something.
There was only one place on the lower level that offered any kind of shelter and Dean took a page from Francis’ book and hopped the railing to land on the low, flat roof of a kiosk. Not even the thud he made distracted the Tank that was prowling in the shadows. The rumbling growl turned into a triumphant roar just as Dean touched tile with his booted feet. He gripped his bat tightly and ran towards it, desperate to reach its prey first, though what he would do when he got there was still unformed in his mind. Die, he supposed. And then, if there was any justice in the world at all, he and his bat and his brother would get to spend a few minutes in Heaven in a small room with the fucking angel that had sent them to this hell.
Or maybe Zachariah could spend some time in a small room with the Tank.
That would be okay too.
A tree was knocked clean out of the planter by one swing of the Tank’s fist, roots and all, and Dean threw himself aside to escape it. From his new vantage, he could see Sam huddled against a vending machine, knees tucked to his chest and arms wrapped around them. Dean crawled over to kneel beside him and grabbed his shoulder.
“Sam!”
Sam slumped over bonelessly onto the floor at the movement. His eyes were shut and his breathing rapid. Sweat stood out on his skin, but it was icy to Dean’s touch. From the corner of his eye, he could see the Tank lift the entire tree and turn in their direction. Dean pulled Sam half onto his lap and bent over him, grabbing one of his hands. He couldn’t escape the Tank while carrying Sam, and possibly not at all. If they were going to die in this shithole reality, they could damn well do it together.
“Hang on, Sammy,” he whispered into dark, sweaty hair, just in case there was some part of Sam that could still hear him.
He felt the whoosh of air as the Tank lifted the tree above them and drew what he expected to be his last breath. Sam’s fingers tightened around his own just as the Tank’s scream of triumph threatened to shatter his eardrums and...
...the scream changed in pitch. Higher and thinner, and the low moaning of the approaching zombies changed to the rustle and murmur of a restless crowd. The light seemed different too. Sam’s fingers around his own tightened like a vice and then he was pushing against Dean, struggling to sit up. Dean’s eyes flew open and he looked up to meet the shocked gazes of people standing in a loose circle around them.
Normal people, human people.
He glanced up to where the battered safe room door had been and saw that now it was just a plain metal door set between two shop fronts underneath a cheerful banner advertising discount shoes.
The screaming had stopped, but while the people in front still looked stunned --no doubt unused to people appearing out of thin air-- someone who had missed the suddenness of their appearance and was just now getting an eyeful started giggling.
Dean looked wildly around until his eyes locked on Sam’s own confused but clear --thank god-- gaze, and then gave him a good look-over. Sam looked... fine. He was wearing his jeans and t-shirt, unbloodied and intact, and his bare feet looked oddly pale in the brightness of the mall lights. Dean’s feet were bare too; he was wearing the t-shirt Sam had given him what seemed like forever ago, and the silky black boxers he was really starting to hate.
“Dean,” Sam hissed, “we have to get out of here.”
Dean heartily agreed. He hadn’t spent most of a week struggling to survive in a zombie-infested apocalypse to cool his heels answering awkward questions from a mall cop. The crowd moved out of their way as they made their escape.
Fishing bus fare out of the fountains near the bus stop in his underwear was not the most dignified thing Dean had ever done, and the glare he had given the bus driver daring him to comment on their appearance might have been a little overkill. But the relief he felt when they finally got off at their stop and approached their motel room door was immense. A newspaper left on the bus let them know that whatever had happened, whatever they had been through, here in their own world it was the morning after they had fallen asleep. It was impossible not to look at the perfect normality of the world through the bus window and not wonder how the people left behind with the starving dead of their entire world were faring.
The motel room door was locked and their keys were inside, but it only took a quick look around and then a hard wrench of the handle to get them in.
Once there, Dean ignored everything in favor of reaching under his pillow to retrieve his gun. He kissed it with as much emotion as he had ever kissed a woman and didn’t take his eyes off of it as he dragged his filthy clothes from a week ago on without a thought, then tucked the gun into his belt where he could feel it’s reassuring weight. Already, the traumas of the week seemed to be fading like a horrible nightmare, and Dean was torn between letting it go gratefully or clinging to memories he had earned.
Every trace of the agony of the week had vanished like fever dreams. Sam didn’t have so much as a sniffle, and even the deep lacerations the Hunter had left across Dean’s chest existed only in his memory.
“Grab your crap; we’re leaving.”
Sam groaned and didn’t even raise his head from the mattress where he had slumped as soon as they had secured the door behind them. “Dean...”
Dean tossed Sam’s duffle bag onto his chest and rattled his car keys. “I’m not kidding, Sam. I’m not spending five more minutes in this city. We’re leaving. You can sleep in the car.”
“You need sleep too.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Dean snapped. Their eyes locked for a second; Sam looked away first and packed his things without further protest. Dean jogged down to turn in the key.
They met back up at the Impala and stowed their stuff in the trunk. Dean turned the key in the door just as the wind blew an empty water bottle across the parking lot. They both tracked its movements, the familiar label the same as the bottles they had recovered from the drugstore, worlds and time away from the midday sunlight shining down on the traffic in the street.
“Are we going to talk about this, Dean?”
“There isn’t anything to talk about, Sam. As far as anything here is concerned, it was a bad fucking dream.”
“And what if that’s our future,” Sam hissed. “What if--”
“It isn’t,” Dean cut him off flatly. “You saw the papers; by now, they were already months into it. It isn’t happening here; it won’t.”
“You don’t know that! It could start next week!”
“Well, if it does, you won’t have to worry about it for long now, will you?”
Memories of his brother’s labored breath and the unnatural heat of his skin as the plague killed him struck Dean like a blow and he immediately regretted his words. Sam set his jaw and turned away.
Dean threw the Impala into gear and pulled onto the Interstate, determined to put as many miles behind them as possible before his body gave him no choice but to stop.
“It won’t happen here, Sam.”
“You don’t know that.” Sam’s voice was low and uneven.
“I do know that.” Dean’s smile was sharp and his eyes were fierce. “And do you know why? Because in the grand scheme of things, with angels and demons and God and the devil himself -- you and I just aren’t that lucky.”
End
This fic is really short for me, and also written a little fast (because I am a slacker *shifty*). If you enjoyed it, please comment and let me know!
(feel free to let me know if you didn't enjoy it too - just try and keep it constructive...)
This fic is really short for me, and also written a little fast (because I am a slacker *shifty*). If you enjoyed it, please comment and let me know!
(feel free to let me know if you didn't enjoy it too - just try and keep it constructive...)
