Anthem of the Angels Chapter 1, a supernatural fanfic

Anthem of the Angels

White walls surround us
No light will touch your face again
Rain taps the window
As we sleep among the dead

Days go on forever
But I have not left your side
We can chase the dark together
If you go then so will I

There is nothing left of you
I can see it in your eyes
Sing the anthem of the angels
And say the last goodbye

Cold light above us
Hope fills the heart
And fades away
Skin white as winter
As the sky returns to gray

Days go on forever
But I have not left your side
We can chase the dark together
If you go then so will I

There is nothing left of you
I can see it in your eyes
Sing the anthem of the angels
And say the last goodbye
I keep holding onto you
But I can't bring you back to life
Sing the anthem of the angels
Then say the last goodbye

You're dead alive

Breaking Benjamin

The two of them walked side by side in the center of the road. Not a single car had passed them in hours. Croats couldn't drive. Croats could only go crazy and kill or infect each other and finally die of unnatural causes...like a shotgun blast to the face. Dean stopped momentarily to move the sling attached to his shotgun from one weary, aching shoulder to the other while Sam resolutely put one foot in front of the other, determined to make it to their destination before nightfall. The Croats were even scarier in the dark.

"Wait up, Sammy," Dean called out when his younger brother began to outpace him and running up to fall into cadence with him Dean assured him again that the place they had been heading to for the past month was just around the bend.

"You said that at the last bend in the road," the younger brother said morosely, his gaze staring dead ahead.

The two of them had been through hell together and Dean worried that the changes in his brother were sending him down a dark path, away from everything they had ever held sacred, away from each other. "Okay, fine. If the freakin' church isn't around this next bend, I say screw it. We'll head for the coast. A little sand, a little sun," he promised falsely looking up into the mid-morning sky. A sky darkened by the ever-present clouds of doom, as he had come to think of them, the air filled with the ever-present smoke and stink of decayed and burning bodies even as far out into the country as they now traveled.

Sam looked askance at his brother. There wasn't any sun any more or sandy beaches or ocean waves. Only boiling seas, black, burning sand and death. He desperately wanted his brother to stop lying to him because it only made him look stupid. But he would go on pretending to believe that things were going to get better because, despite every brave thing he had done to keep everybody safe, Dean had lost everyone but him.

They walked on again in silence, Dean's footfalls heavy on the asphalt, his breathing labored by the heavy load he carried on his back. Gasoline, salt, wooden stakes, consecrated iron and a Colt Combat commander, plus all the ammunition for it and the shotgun he could carry.

Sam carried all the food they had been able to scrounge at the last farmhouse not overrun by Croats. He shifted his load and sighed, his eyes now only on the road before him as he counted out each step in his head, a trick he used to go one mile further than the day before.

They shied away from cars on purpose. Croats couldn't drive, only the uninfected could and they didn't want to bring any undue attention to themselves because, if their information was right, the church they were searching for was the place where it would all end.

Rounding the bend in the road Dean came to an abrupt halt and smiled, his green eyes sparking for the first time in months. "What'd I tell ya, Sammy boy," he said turning to see his brother's reaction, There's a fence."

Sam simply stood and stared at the ornate wrought iron fence leading to an entrance a quarter mile up the road. Weeds grew in abundance almost obliterating it and the opening and if they hadn't been looking for it they might have passed it by. But when they stood in front of the gate, torn from its hinges and hanging crookedly, they could see hundreds of footprints and dozens of tire tracks leading inside.

"Oh man," Dean said, "This has got to be the place. Look at all the traffic."

Sam looked at the wrought iron sign high up in the center of the archway and read the words aloud, "Megiddo Cemetery," then turned to his brother, disappointment in his eyes, "This isn't a church, Dean."

"Well, no...but it's a cemetery so there's bound to be a church. It's gotta be up that road," Dean said pointing up the dirt road bisecting the fenced property.

The road seemed to head uphill and large trees blocked their view but, once they were past them and well on their way, the grave markers became more prevalent as did the stench of death and Dean knew something wasn't right. Not one bird sang in the trees nor did any crickets chirp in the overgrown weeds. The evil that gripped the land had evidently made its way to Megiddo Cemetery and most likely to the small white building that rose up at the end of the road they traveled, a building surrounded by deserted cars apparently abandoned by the throngs that had made their way to it just days before.

As they walked on Sam noticed the bodies first. It looked as if someone had started burying a few of them but there were so many that it would have been an impossible task. Even without the sun the bodies rotted but the blackened skin and putrid viscera drew no swarms of flies or carrion eating crows. Vultures also gave the dead a wide berth as did the coyotes and mad dogs that normally chewed on infected flesh scattering bones to the four winds. Nothing moved and there was no sound except for two pairs of boots as the two of them plodded up to the entrance of what now looked like a small house.

Sam dropped his backpack onto the ground and closed his eyes and heaved a heavy sigh while Dean sloughed off his backpack and squatted to rummage through the contents. He came up with a handful of 12 gauge shells filled with consecrated iron that he stuffed into the pocket of his army jacket and a plastic jug. "Here, Sammy," Dean said rapping his brother's arm with the holy water as he assured him, "It'll be okay."

"What happened here, Dean?" Sam wanted to know; "There was supposed to be a church, not a house and a thousand corpses."

"Okay, Rob Zombie," Dean quipped trying to lighten the mood but failed miserably when he drew not even a lame smile from his brother. Taking one more look around to be sure the dead stayed that way, Dean signaled for Sam to follow close behind him and they entered the building.

Although austere and ordinary looking on the outside it was indeed a church with rows of pews, some broken and overturned, laid out in a chevron leading away from the alter and when his eyes adjusted to the gloom inside Dean saw the name emblazoned in fancy script with gold paint on the header above them. "Saint Michael's," Dean said aloud and Sam jumped at the sound of his brother's voice, so loud in the eerie silence.

"This isn't right," Sam reiterated.

Although Dean was loath to believe they had come all this way for nothing he was afraid his brother might be right. "Just stick close and don't step in anything. There might be corpses in here, too, Rob," he warned and this time Sam did snicker.

It looked as if the church had been empty when the disturbance had started. The only bodies they had seen were those outside the doors but as they made their way to the altar with the prostrate bleeding Jesus hanging just above it Dean heard someone or some thing take in a raw, raspy breath. He planting the butt plate against his shoulder and raised the shotgun to eye level as hed stepped around a pile of splintered pews.

There in the dimness a man sat with his back against a wall splattered with blood like a perverse Jackson Pollock canvas. He held onto another man, the latter's head cradled in his lap, and looked up at Dean and blinked owlishly, obviously surprised to see him.

Seeing no threat Dean lowered the shotgun and squatted down in front of the pair, his fingers gently touching the carotid artery of the man held so tightly, so lovingly, by the other. He felt nothing but cold skin and rocking back on his heels he said, "Hey man, your boyfriend's dead."

The man leaning against the wall smiled, huffed a feeble laugh and said weakly, "He's my brother."

"Dude, I'm sorry," Dean apologized and looked over his shoulder to make sure Sammy was right there with him. He was surprised to see his brother staring up at the crucifix and called out, "You still with me, Sammy?"

"This is all wrong," the younger brother said again, his eyes glued to the image of Christ, "This is were all of it was supposed to end…the sickness, the dying, all the evil."

"Listen, Sammy, it'll…"

"Stop it, Dean! Stop lying to me!" Sam shouted and, as his brother and the other dude watched, he couldn't help himself and to his shame and embarrassment he started to cry like a baby.