Title:The Road of the Damned (1/?)

Rating: M. Violence, blood and gore kids!

Pairings: Eventual Dean/Castiel, also Sam/Gabriel. IT WILL BE GRAPHIC, BE WARNED.
Genre: Horror/Drama
Spoilers: This is an AU but I'll be using themes from all season, so let's just go with everything :P
Warnings: This is a horror story. There's gonna be blood, and violence, and monsters oh yes. Canon character death this chapter.

Summary: Post-apocalyptic AU. After what humans called 'Judgement Day', the world hasn't been the same. Between fighting normal monsters and trying to survive what lurks in the darkness, the Winchesters are just trying to get by. But it looks like the world isn't as done with them as they are with it, and two angels might just have the key to restore balance to the force.

A/N: I'm alive! Still working on my D/C Big Bang, but had a jolt of inspiration the other day for this and ta-da, a little side project was born. Dunno how long it's going to be, but knowing me, probably at least 10+ chapters sigh. I'll try and keep it down though ;) So this is going to be an AU post-apocalyptic fic, with angels and demons and humans oh my. Think The Road/Legion/Stakeland and you're good to go :P Let me know if I should continue it!


The hollow slamming of a car door cracked across the empty field, startling a flock of dozing starlings into taking flight. Below their fluttering shapes in the sky, lay a rotting long abandoned warehouse; wood boards peeling from the walls in jagged strips. The windows had been broken years ago, giving the dilapidated building a hollow and gaunt look as the chilled autumn air whistled through it.

A black classic car was parked in front of the building, a metallic cage welded around its windows and roof. As the birds flew overhead, a man looked up from where he had been stowing away supplies in the trunk.

He was rough around the edges, his clothes worn and frayed. His jeans had a splatter of red stained along one thigh, his boots heavily scuffed. He tugged his patched up coat closer around him, turning to look back towards the warehouse.

"Sam!" he bellowed. "Get your ass out here, we gotta move!"

The warehouse echoed with the sound of shuffling boots, and a taller man emerged from the gaping doorway, a shotgun hoisted over one shoulder. Like his brother, Sam's clothes were ratty at best, his jeans slung low on his bony hips.

"Yeah yeah, I'm coming," he muttered, flicking his overlong hair out of his eyes. "Was just making sure we got them all."

Dean snorted at him, slamming the Impala's trunk closed. "We got them. Those vamps won't be bothering anyone else."

Both brothers glanced back towards the warehouse, and it stared back at them accusingly. Its previous tenants had met a sticky end in the early morning. Sam gave an involuntary shudder.

"They'll be here later won't they? Can't believe they really do that. Eat other monsters I mean."

Dean looked grim as he opened the driver's side door, sliding into the warmer interior of the car.

"That's why I wanna be several miles away by the time night falls, Sammy."


They had called it Judgment Day.

Maybe that's what it really was. Maybe God had finally grown tired of humanitie's bullshit and decided to just put an end to it. Maybe they messed with something they shouldn't have. Maybes were fun to think about, but at the end of the day, it happened.

Dean had been five when he caught his first glimpse of one of them. He had been too young to fully understand the worried tones of his parents; too young to appreciate the panicked stories that were aired on the news by flustered news casters. Fear and chaos had spread across the globe like wildfire, and he had been oblivious.

But it had been raining, he could remember that. The ground had squished underfoot as his father had bundled him out to the old garage, still dressed in his pajamas. Sam was only a baby, held tightly and protectively in Dean's pudgy little arms as his father hoisted him into the old pickup truck, his father's face ghostly pale in the dim light of the garage.

He could remember Mary's screams, John's shouts of outrage as a shotgun erupted in the night. He could remember how quiet Sam was, not stirring even a muscle, even as something crawled onto the hood of the truck; its eyes gleaming and hungry. Something that had only existed in bedtime stories and lurked in the shadows of his closet when he wasn't looking, was suddenly real. It smeared red across the window, deep gruff chuckles of glee forced from its terrible mouth as it anointed the truck with his mother's blood.

He couldn't remember much after that. Only that his father had gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles went white, and he drove and drove until Dean thought they'd reached the end of the Earth. Maybe it would have been better if they had, had just driven off the edge and been done with it.

The years after that were the hardest. They had to adjust to a whole new world, one where danger was just around every bend, lurking in every shadow. John took care of them as best he could, but there were close calls, nights spent awake as terrible creatures screamed in the night only meters away.

Dean had grown up in this world. He was this world. John had trained him for one purpose, and one purpose only.

And that said purpose was currently daring to put his giant man feet up on his precious baby.

Dean scowled, reaching over to swat at Sam's feet unhappily.

"Dude, how many times? Not on the upholstery!"

Sam grumbled to himself, rearranging his large frame more comfortably into the dip of the seat. "I've got a cramp! That one vamp kicked me in the calf. I'm going to have a bruise the size of the moon."

Dean rolled his eyes, but his back throbbed in sympathy. The fight had been a hard one. The alpha, a skinny blonde female, had been the worst. Judging by the look of her, hacking her head off with a machete had been a mercy.

"Quit your whining, Samantha. We're alive, and with the job done, can get our well-earned reward."

Sam's stomach gave a happy gurgle, and he glanced down at it, patting his belly through his grimy shirt. "I gotta say, I'm looking forward to that the most. Never thought I'd actually say that about Spam."

A middle-aged farmer living in an old farmhouse had begged the Winchesters to help him dispose of the vampires. The creatures had been sneaking into his barn and feeding on the already poor excuses he had for cows. The farmer promised them ammo and canned goods in return for the vampires' death. Food was sparse, ammo even more so, and the Winchesters said yes. It was a job they were used to doing, clearing out the lesser monsters that threatened groups of survivors.

The family business, John had called it.

The Impala purred down the empty road, spindly bushes swaying towards her from the edges of the cracked road. Most of the surrounding fields had been farmland before, but now had been abandoned to nature. Weeds grew wild, a tentative new sprig of a tree here and there. The grasses spread out as far as the eye could see, and Dean scanned the horizon expectantly.

He could see the first tell-tale signs of darkness, the slight brush of black against the pale blue sky, and he slowly pressed his boot more firmly down on the gas. The farmer had an old gas pump back at his farm; they could afford to burn a little more.

Sam pressed his forehead against the passenger window, fingers idly tracing patterns against his thigh.

"We're gonna have to stop at Bobby's soon. It's been almost three months, Dean."

Dean was still eyeing the smudge of black on the horizon. "I know. I meant to try and get word to him through Rufus, but then we got involved with that whole Wendigo thing, remember?"

Sam laughed, and it was enough to pull Dean's attention towards him. Sam didn't laugh that much these days.

"I remember you, flat on your ass in a bog, covered in slime," Sam grinned, and Dean found himself smiling back. "And then that girl…what was her name…Anna, screaming about evil eyes and whores, then slapping you."

Dean squared his shoulders, smirking at the road. "What can I say? I have a way with the ladies."

"Apparently."

The silence they fell into was comfortable, familiar. The metal cage John had fixed over the car years ago, rattled against the windows. In the back seat, canned food clicked against each other, guns and knives shifting in the trunk. The car was their home, and all they had ever known.

As Dean coaxed the Impala over a slight hill, two figures appeared in the distance. Immediately Dean was on the alert, scanning the surrounding grass and bushes. Ambushes weren't uncommon in these parts, rogue groups of humans or monsters attacking travelers. There were even rumors of cannibals here in the mid-west; stories that made even Dean shudder and double check the locked car doors at night.

Sam leaned forward as he noticed them, eyes lighting up. It was two men, one shorter than the other. They were barefoot, feet dirty and bloody as they hugged grimy tattered pieces of clothing around them. Probably victims of an ambush.

Or the bait.

Sam turned to him expectantly. "Dean-"

"No."

Sam's face changed, eyes sparking with anger. "But they might need our help!"

"Or they might slit our throats," Dean shot back angrily. "If we're lucky."

The two men had heard the car, and turned. They were dirty; the smaller one had a wicked looking cut across his forehead, clotted black in the dimming light. He stuck out his thumb in a gesture Dean hadn't seen for a long time, a forced smile in place. The taller one, with a mess of dark hair, merely watched the oncoming car with a sharp gaze.

"Come on Dean…"

"I said no."

He made a point to rev the car harder, pushing the Impala past the two men hurriedly. The taller one watched them pass by solemnly, no hint of either sadness or anger in his eyes.

Sam turned in his seat to watch them. "You are such a dick. They look harmless."

Dean deliberately ignored his rearview mirror. "One word, Sam. Ruby."

That shut his little brother up. Sam turned back around abruptly, slouching low in his seat.

Ok, now he felt like a massive dick. Ruby was a sore spot between them, and likely always would be. A pretty brunette, they had picked her up somewhere in Georgia, helping her escape a group of angry looking men. She had said they had wanted to rape and eat her, and like the idiots they were, they Winchesters believed her. Sam especially.

Turns out the men had been chasing her away from their small settlement of families. Ruby wasn't exactly what she had said she was. Luckily Dean remembered enough Latin, and Sam had actually paid attention when John had taught them exorcisms, and they had banished the bitch. Only seconds before she managed to bury a very wicked looking knife in Dean's heart.

So excuse him for being a little suspicious of hitchhikers.


They pulled off the road when the sun finally slipped below the horizon, parking the Impala beneath a small tree in the cover of some tall scrubby bushes. They'd have to wait until morning to make it to the farm.

Sam watched as Dean carried out their nightly ritual; tracing ancient letters and symbols around the Impala in the dirt. A few splashes of holy water, and hopefully the barrier would hold long enough if some unwanted visitors came knocking.

Sam sighed as Dean ducked into the car to pull out a dented can of beans. "Let me guess, no fire tonight."

His brother shot him a dark look. "No fire. I'm not taking any risks after those vamps."

Sam reluctantly followed Dean around the car, both settling on the Impala's hood. They shared the can between them, using an old fork that had seen better days. Sam prodded at his portion unhappily, legs folded beneath him.

"I hate cold beans," he muttered, as if the words would somehow magically transform his meal into a juicy burger. "They're just…bleh."

Dean took the can off him, fork scraping against the sides as he dug in. "Yeah well, I hate when you eat cold beans. Like a freaking rotten egg sauna in the car the next day."

Dean hooted in alarm as Sam shoved him, the taller Winchester grinning as he managed to catch the can just as his brother toppled over the edge. He sniffed haughtily, delving into the can with more flourish than before.

"Guess I better get eating if you want your eau de egg in the morning."

Dean just shook his head with a wry smile, admitting defeat.

After their meager meal, they settled in the car for the night; Sam stretching out in the backseat as Dean wriggled into the passenger side. Sometimes if the weather was good and the area clear, they would risk sleeping outside, tracing the stars and sharing stories from the past.

But Dean felt uneasy tonight. The air was too still, the birds and insects too quiet. Not even a cricket dared sing tonight, and that never meant anything good.

The seat beneath Dean's back was grooved, perfectly molded to Sam's mammoth frame, and it took him a few minutes to shift into a comfortable position. The leather creaked, rough wool blanket scratching against the bare skin of his arms as he tucked it closer around himself. His boots had been thrown in the back somewhere, and he wriggled his toes happily, absently noting yet another hole forming in the heel of his sock.

"'Night, Sammy," he murmured, closing his eyes.

Sam shifted around in the back, yawning widely. Something rattled in the trunk. "Night, jerk."

Dean grinned to himself. "Bitch."


He had been dreaming of death again.

Strange creatures spewed forth from the dark recesses that man had long forgotten, chasing him down bloody roads and fields until it was all he could see, all he could taste; blood and rot and evil.

He woke up with a gasp, sucking in deep lungful's of air as he stared wide eyed out the front window. Sam's soft snores echoed around him, the interior of the car warm and comforting. Slowly, Dean leant back into his seat, checking the doors out of habit. Everything was locked and in place, and Dean allowed himself to relax slightly.

Out beyond the car, the night was pitch black, no light filtering through the vegetation Dean had hid them in. Warily, the hunter held his breath as he scanned the darkness. He was a light sleeper these days, something must have woken him up.

His stomach churned nervously, the stale taste of cold beans sharp in his mouth. He could feel the darkness looking back at him, freezing the hair along his arms and the back of his neck. Slowly, carefully, Dean reached beneath his seat, fingers closing around the air warmed metal of a revolver. Sam snuffled something in his sleep, rolling over noisily. The Impala creaked on her wheels, metal squeaking against metal. Dean froze, gun halfway towards his lap.

Something outside in the darkness, moved.