Important Note: This is a crossover between Dead Island (owned by Deep Silver) and Supernatural (created by Erik Kripke). The SPN characters do not follow the same plot of Dead Island, but they do meet up with them briefly. This story is owes a lot to my good friends Liz and Caroline for their input and insight.

As FF formatting is different from AO3, minor time breaks will be noted with a double dagger symbol (‡) between, and longer with the long-line break. I've also messed with the game lore a bit to suit the story's needs, but not by too much. I'm also fairly well versed in zombie lore, which is one of my few (albeit useless) strong points, so hopefully that much flows well. As always: if you see anything out of place, point it out to me, and constructive criticism is always welcome!

‡

‡

‡

Dean has a thing for blondes and Asians, so it doesn't surprise his brothers in the least when he heads for the nearby outdoor bar and slides onto the stool next to the lonely, handsome blond with the great ass, nursing a cheap beer by himself.

Dean waves the bikini-clad bartender over and points to the same beer the man is drinking from, waiting until he's got one in hand before he speaks. "You look like someone tried to take a bite out of you," he keeps his voice low enough only for the other man to hear over the loud dubstep coming a little ways up the beach, making it difficult for him to enjoy himself.

"A bite would've been preferable. No, I'm on a day pass." The man drawls out. It's obvious that he's had a good few by this point. His thumb rubs against the lip of the bottle. "I work in the city as a nurse. I came here with someone, but he seems far more interested in other things – or people." He tips his head towards a small group of people rubbing themselves against each other, and all but two are female.

Only one of the other men is remotely attractive, though, and Dean figures that's probably the guy's date. "What about yourself? You're on vacation, I assume."

"Yeah. Celebrating my little brother's graduation. I'm alone, though." He gives the shorter man a smile worthy of an awards show. "You from the island?"

"No. Originally a small, unremarkable town called Smeatering, close to Scotland. But my parents died when I was eleven, and I was adopted by a friend of theirs from the US. I came here when I was old enough through an enrichment program and just kind of forgot to leave."

"Because of the city?"

"Because of the resort," Dean nods and taps his fingers on the bar as the other man takes a long drink. "There might have been a man involved at the time, but he's long gone."

He doesn't sound like he wants to talk about it, so Dean doesn't pressure him. Instead, he slides off his bar stool. "I'm Dean," he offers his hand, and it isn't an invitation to shake. The other takes it and lets Dean pull him to his feet. "Both of my brothers are busy, too."

"Balthazar. Pleasure to meet you." He grabs Dean's beer as well and hands it to him. "Are you in the hotel or the bungalows?"

"Bungalows. These ones, at the end of the dock, on the left." Dean gestures to the Diamond District bungalows; they're the nicest offered, and Dean paid through the nose for two of them so Adam could have some freedom and they didn't have to listen to him blasting hard house all day long. "My family's kind of, uh, privileged."

Balthazar smiles at him and lets Dean lead him down to the bungalow. He's never visited these ones, figuring they couldn't have varied much from the ones on the beach or farther up the hills. "I don't normally get to come to the resort. It's been extremely busy in the city these past few weeks."

"Really?" Dean pulls him as close to himself as he can, slipping a hand around his hip but not keeping the grip too firm; he wants Balthazar to know if he was uncomfortable, he could pull away when he wanted. "But you live on the island. I thought it was fairly peaceful...?"

"Oh, no, not in the city." Balthazar sighs and their pace slows down to enjoy the long stroll. "I mean, the people are great, but it's got the same issues any big city has, in abundance. A shitty system with zero actual ability to help, gangs, corruption. Plenty of sweet people, but it's crime ridden and dangerous. Most tourists keep to the coast and wealthier parts for a reason."

Dean nodded, taking this in. "So do you work at a hospital, or clinic?"

"Neither, really. I came as a volunteer for Humanica in 2006, during the big typhoid outbreak they had, and then just kind of never left. I work in the villages, mostly, for a few weeks or months at a time. Sometimes I go to the hospital they have if it's particularly nasty." He sighs wistfully as the pull to a stop outside of Dean's bungalow. As Dean fishes for his keys, Balthazar moves to the end of the dock to look out at the smooth waters. "I might go back home soon, though, to see my family. I miss them. I haven't seen any of them in any way that wasn't a Skype chat since I was 21."

Dean leans next to and wraps his arms around him. "It's a damn fine sight," he muses. "Far nicer to share it with someone else."

"There's a storm coming." Balthazar closes his eyes and breathes the salty air in. His smile is silver from the light and reflection of the moon, as beautiful to Dean as the view is. He's not that drunk, but he lets himself get lost in the fantasy of spending a lot more time with the younger man; it would be nice to have a fling while he was vacationing. "The calm before the storm is always terribly beautiful."

"You're terribly beautiful." Dean offers, and when Balthazar turns his head to him to reply he catches his mouth in a kiss; he lets his left hand move up to the other's face, caressing his cheek and carding through his hair, while his right arm hooks itself around his waist and pulls him in close.

‡

Dean is shocked awake by a wash of cold air over himself and a lack of weight on his naked chest. He looks to the dim light of the open bathroom door where Balthazar, who is getting dressed, is shivering ever so slightly due to having just showered. Dean pulls himself up and looks at the clock; the red numbers read 1:30. "Not a fan of cuddling?"

"Cuddling, I love." Balthazar buttons his pants and moves back towards the bed, towards Dean. The older man opens his arms and let the other crawl to him and snuggle against him for a few minutes. "Walk of shame not so much. But I got called in, so it wouldn't matter either way. Emergency in the city." He lets out a sigh and turns his head to kiss Dean's neck. "I would rather be staying, believe me."

"That sucks." Dean pulls away to yawn, then pulls back to give Balthazar a deep, slow kiss. He tastes like mint, the cheap beer, the salty air and Dean himself; it's a beautiful combination and in that moment Dean wants nothing more than to kiss him forever. "How long until you have to head back to the villages?"

Balthazar straddles Dean's waist, making sure to grind himself against Dean as he does. "A few more weeks," he lets his hand rest on the bigger man's firm chest. "I could come back, if you like. See you again a few more times."

"Oh, I'd love for you to come back," Dean grins and leans up to capture his mouth in a kiss. "Don't get me wrong, the girls are lovely to look at and fool around with, but a fling might be nice. For both of us, even." Balthazar nods in agreement as Dean gives his ass a good squeeze. "Besides, I kinda like you in this position. We could try it next."

Balthazar rolls his eyes. "You're a pig," but he kisses him again anyway. He opens the bedside table drawer and rummages for a few seconds before finding a marker; he doesn't grab a slip of paper, though, instead moving to kneel back on the bed where he writes his name and cell number on the right side of the other man's neck. He makes sure the lines are thick and dark, difficult to wash off. He kisses Dean's throat before pulling back and tapping where his lips had touched. "If I had lipstick, that'd have been far more satisfying. I'll see you soon, Dean Winchester." Dean grins as Balthazar gets up. He lays back down and watches Balthazar leave from the room, his hips swaying while clutching his keys and phone in one hand. Oh, yeah; he'd definitely have to give him another call.

It's a twenty minute walk from the Diamond District bungalows to the lowest level of the car park, and Balthazar can't get a hold of anyone. He manages a single phone call to the secretary who grumbles that there is no way she's going in, and one that actually gets picked up and then quickly dropped at the hospital. It doesn't help that the beach is completely devoid of life or the sounds of multiple car crashes coming from the main road. Balthazar's going to have to take the backroads, which he hates. He doesn't even know what's going on, but it's probably a group of stupid entitled tourist dickwads causing chaos over a lack of beer or something. The Royal Palms was popular for more than just it's five-star rating: it coddled it's stupid, entitled guests to no end.

That didn't mean all the guests were bad. Balthazar had certainly enjoyed Dean's company and couldn't wait to see him again. That didn't mean he hadn't had his fair share of posh bastards making grabby hands or trying to solicit him like he was a hooker. Of course, the private bodyguards did help – Purna, his favorite, was employed by the hotel and hated it even more than he did. Few things were more satisfying than seeing the guy or girl who thought it was okay to grab your ass get kneed in the crotch.

Balthazar curses as he tries to start the engine again and as, again, it merely turns over. He slams his hands against the wheel. "Are you fucking kidding me?" He growls, grabs his phone and keys, and slips from the vehicle; this was fucking stupid. He'd already tried to call his boss but got nothing, tried again and again, and finally gave up. He weighs three options: call or hail a ride with a friend or cab, catch a ride with a total stranger, or go back to Dean's bungalow. The last option seems to be the most tempting but is also the most likely to result in him not getting paid and maybe even fired, so he settles on heading to the front desk to ring a cab service.

The parking lot is large and unnervingly empty as he walks; he clutches his keys with his right hand, slipping them through his fingers just in case. He isn't defenseless by any means, but he's smaller and slighter and the last thing he needs is to be overpowered by some drunk entitled tourist who wants his ass or his wallet. He's already made sure the latter item was left behind in Dean's bungalow, anyway; Dean is, after all, quite the treat, and he can't wait to see what pans out for them, if anything.

An ill feeling suddenly settles itself in his stomach and he feels faint, the hairs on his arms standing up. He unconsciously picks up his pace and glances up, seeing a man jogging in his direction still several cars away. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with the guy, and he's certainly not looking at Balthazar – he's looking behind and beyond him, in fact, toward the bungalows – but the feeling doesn't ease and Balthazar becomes worried he's going to throw up. He puts his left arm across his chest and grips his right, trying to steady his nervous shaking. Turning back and going back to Dean is starting to look more and more tempting the more he thinks about it.

A sudden growl behind him drags Balthazar from his thoughts and he whirls around. A woman, young and pretty and wearing an American Flag bikini, hovers nearby; her red hair is in a disarray, hanging limp and out of its ponytail, blood crusting most of her face and dripping down onto her breasts. There are bite marks over her shoulders and her ear is hanging off the side of her head. Balthazar's nurse instincts kick in, prepared to ask if the woman is okay, when he catches sight of her eyes – pink and dead, and clearly not sporting colored contacts.

He barely has time to utter "Oh, my god," before she's lunged at him. Her head twists wildly as she screams and he struggles to push her off. He easily has half a foot and 50 pounds on her, but the woman is superhumanly fast and strong and pins him to the hood of a car before throwing her head forward and sinking her teeth into his shoulder.

He lets out a shriek of pain almost as loud as hers had been and kicks up, but it does nothing. It takes another person's hand – the jogger, Balthazar recognizes his plaid shirt- in her hair to pull her away from him and as Balthazar slumps down off the car, holding his bleeding shoulder, the person who had slams his attacker's head into the pavement. "Jesus Christ," he mutters, rubbing his arm. The pain is horrible, unlike anything he's experienced before, and the man is at his side in an instant.

"Are you okay? Let me see," the man holds his cell phone up to look at the damage and hisses. "Fuuuuck, fuck. Here, take this," he slips his plaid shirt off, bundling it up and holding it to Balthazar's shoulder. "Do you have a car nearby? Can I take you anywhere? I can't seem to get into the hotel."

"I can't get it to start," Balthazar manages as the ridiculously tall man pulls him to his feet. "I got a call, I was supposed to head into the city an hour ago but I can't get in touch with anyone." The man nods and starts to lead him back to the cars, slowly and keeping an eye out. "What was wrong with that woman?"

"I don't know. I saw a few like that on the beach. I don't know what's wrong with them." He keeps Balthazar close, under his arm, and leads him to a large truck a few spaces down from his own. The stranger helps him into the passenger side before going around and getting in. "I'll take you to the lifeguard tower, there's always someone in there. I'm Sam, by the way."

"Winchester?"

Sam gives him a curious look. "How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess. I'm Balthazar."

"You must've met Dean."

The corners of Balthazar's mouth twitch at the memory of the man. "At the bar, yes. I think I remember you."

"He has a thing for blondes. Do you want me to tie that off for you? Just in case." Balthazar nods a second time and turns himself around towards Sam. The bigger man quickly wraps his shirt around Balthazar's shoulder, tying it off as tight as he can without creating a tourniquet. Then he turns back around, starts the truck and gestures to the radio. "I'm going to call my brothers real quick," he says as he pulls out out of the parking space and begins to carefully drive to the main road. He keeps the headlights off, though, knowing it might not help but wanting to draw as little attention tot hem as he could. "Try to find a news station, please."

Balthazar fiddles with the stations as Sam calls Dean first, then Adam. Dean doesn't pick up but Adam does, and the call is quick but serious: block off the dock, lock the doors, stay low and unnoticeable. Any damage they cause protecting themselves can be paid off later, if necessary. It's after he hangs up that Balthazar manages to find an emergency broadcast.

Sam grips the steering wheel tight as he listens. It sounds surreal, like they're being prepped for the coming monsoon – stay low and stay away from windows. Board all doors and windows, collect water in containers, follow standard emergency procedure. But the messages are increasingly darker, and Sam's stomach knots up. Do not approach or try to help injured persons, do not attempt to leave and reach loved ones. If you are approached by an infected individual, attempt to outrun them. If they cannot be outrun, subdue or trap them by any means necessary. Do not attempt to reason with them; contact emergency authorities as soon as possible.

"Christ," he whispers, reaching over to plant a calming hand on Balthazar's shoulder. "This is like a horror movie. Are you okay?"

"Panicky, but it's normal." Balthazar replies. He's prone to panic sometimes, it's only natural. "It hurts a little less now. Thank you, by the way. You probably saved my life." Sam smiles at him and gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Will your brothers be okay?"

"Yeah. Dean never travels without weapons. It's a bitch, but he does it somehow. Adam's a smart kid. I can bring you back there if there's no help in the city, I know some minor first air."

"I'm a nurse," Balthazar replies with a smile. "I can walk you through it, if you like." Sam nods pulls the truck to a stop at the intersection. "I'm going to turn the headlights on their lowest power, alright? Try to stay low. Keep your door locked."

Balthazar does as he's told, makes sure he's buckled in before he slinks down as far as he can in his seat. The road is empty until they reach the road that passes by the gas station and almost get sidelined by a bus.

"Shit!" Sam's control over the truck slips for a moment and Balthazar puts his arms over his head to protect himself. As soon as Sam has control over the truck someone rushes the front and he doesn't have time to stop before he runs him down. Sam manages to pull the truck to a stop before looking back at where the man landed, asking, "Do you think he was alive?"

Balthazar glances back. "Well...he was when he got here." The man is already climbing to his feet and, worse, others are joining him; someone tries to climb into the bed of the truck and Sam immediately peels off, knocking them loose. "Oh, god, we're gonna die."

"We're not gonna die," Sam flips the high beams on and picks up speed, figuring there's no longer a point. "We're gonna be fine. We're not gonna die." He hits another person, this time an obviously older woman who tries to rush the front like the man did. "Okay, okay, everyone else on this road might die, but we're not gonna die!"

"You and your brother are the worst. Oh, god." Sam lets out a chuckle. "Do you know how to reach the city?"

"Uhhhhhh," Sam licks his lips, then admits. "No, sorry. No idea."

"We are going to die."

"We are not going to die! You stop that!"

"My brothers are paying for all this," Adam says nervously as he pours champagne into two tumblers. They're the only glasses he could find in the bungalow. Kevin doesn't reply, and when Adam turns around to check on him, he's got his knees tucked under him and is flipping through Adam's record collection. "I really like music. Uh...I, uh, when I found out there'd be a record player in here, I wanted to bring my albums with me. Not all of them, not my really favorite ones. Just, you know..." His voice wavers in strength as he speaks before dying off completely as he passes a tumbler over to Kevin. He's not looking to score, not with someone barely out of high school and two years younger than he is, but it's nice to not be alone.

"Cool," is all Kevin says, smiling at him as he takes the offered glass. "Not entirely my type of music, but cool nonetheless. You're a big record collector?"

"Yeah." Adam sits down next to him and keeps his hands to himself. He's not a virgin, but Kevin is painfully attractive and that drives Adam nuts. "I'm a big fan of Lisa Lashes. But I listen to other styles, too, I just really like her. More than Pin-Up, that is."

"Right," Kevin nods. "I have no idea who those are, but right." Adam smiles with him and relaxes a bit. "So, you said your brothers are paying for this?"

Adam nods. "That's right. I went traveling for a year after high school, but I got accepted to Stanford. It's Sam's alma mater, so he's stoked. I'm terrified. Dean and Sam are proud, though."

"What's Sam do for a living?"

"He's a lawyer." Adam fiddles a bit with the hem of his shirt. "I don't think I want to be a lawyer, though. I don't think I'd make a good lawyer, y'know? I don't know what I want to be yet."

Kevin sets his glass down and reaches for Adam's hand. "Why don't you be a DJ?" Adam quirks a brow . "I know it doesn't pay much. Maybe you could just do it through college, see if you like it? You know a lot about music, and most colleges have their own radio stations..."

"True." Adam manages a smile. "I don't know many that play hard house."

"You could start a trend. People do it all the time." Adam looks down at his hands in his lap. "You don't have to be wildly successful just because your brothers are."

Adam's head shoots up, eyes wide. "How do you know my brothers?" He asks as Kevin lets out a laugh somewhere between a conspiratory giggle and amused chuckle.

"The Winchesters? Either you guys make guns or you're the youngest son of the genius John Winchester of Winchester Home Security. Kind of a big deal."

"Yeah, well," Adam crosses his arms and moves back a fraction of an inch, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. A question burns in him, and he doesn't want to ask, but he has to. "Did you know that when I talked to you on the beach?"

"No. There wasn't enough light there." Kevin picks his glass back up and takes a sip easily. "I didn't recognize you until we got in here and your older brother stopped by to check on you. Which...it's still pretty cool, to be honest. Your family has a lot of money and a lot of opportunity. You could literally do anything you wanted, couldn't you?"

Adam's smile returns. "Except for take over a small island nation or win a cute boy's affections."

Kevin reaches over and pinches Adam's cheek playfully, then goes to sit up on his knees and kisses him. "Affections can easily be won with better music and a milkshake. My pants are a little harder to crack than my smiles."

Adam laughs and kisses him back. "What have you got against hard house?" He asks, then kisses him again. Kevin doesn't get a chance to answer, though; he's cut off by loud banging on the door.

The smaller boy quickly gets up and goes to answer it. Adam gets up as well."That might be my brothers, wait up." He moves ahead of Kevin and tries to peer out of the crack in the door. It's too dark to make out who it is, but it's two people and one of them has a person in their arms. "Please," the one banging on the door begs, smacking it frantically. "Kevin, please, I know you're in there! She needs help! There might be more?"

Adam glances to Kevin as he unlocks the door, mouthing 'more?'. He gets a questioning look back as he steps aside to let two boys – one white with floppy, sandy colored hair pulled into a small ponytail and the other darker brown with tightly braided cornrows. He doesn't recognize either, but he dores recognize the woman in Cornrows' arms, as the bartender that he'd flirted with badly to get the bottle of booze he and Kevin were sharing.

Adam peaks outside quickly to make sure no one else is out before shutting and locking the doors. "Is she okay? Jesus, where did those bite marks come from?"

"Dunno. Redheaded girl. She had bites all over her titties and shit," Ponytail says as Cornrows lays her down on the couch. The bartender lets out a groan and tenses up before losing strength and relaxing. "She walked around it. You know how they're circular? She just, she stumbled up behind her and jumped on her and bit her shoulder and shit. And she just kept biting her, and then we hear screams coming from down the beach. We couldn't leave her, man, everyone else was running!"

"It's okay," Adam hands the bottle of hooch to Cornrows as Kevin heads to the bathroom; he returns with the stack of clean towels that had been on the bottom shelf. "Did you see anyone else following you?"

"No. No, there were a few classmates but we ran. We had no other choice." Adam puts his hand on the kid's shoulder. "My sister was out there. I have to go back to her."

"Wendy was in the hotel," Kevin reminds him. He's beside the girl, cleaning her wounds up. "Adam, do you have a first aid kit?"

"Under the sink," Ponytail goes to fetch it for him. "I'm gonna go check on Dean, see what we should do."

The girl suddenly lets out a wail and flails her arms out. "No! No!" She jerks her head around to look at Adam. "No! They'll get you! Oh, god, oh god it hurts, it hurts, it hurts." She's sobbing by the time she finishes, hands going up to cover her face. It's hard to see in the low light of the bungalow but her wounds already look disgusting and infected, covered in sand as they are and still bleeding. Kevin's trying, but there isn't much someone can do with towels and a first aid kit.

Cornrows tosses a phone on the chair near Adam. "Emergency services told us to dump her outside and barricade the door." The bartender lets out a loud wail at that. "They didn't even say why. What the fuck?"

"We'll barricade the door," Adam agrees with that part. He feels his own phone vibrating and pulls it out as he says, "But we are not dumping her outside." He retreats into the kitchen as he answers, partially for privacy but mostly to escape the bartender's watery, repeated thank you, thank you, thank you. "Sam? Where are you? Everything's going ass up and-"

"Yeah, I know, I know. I'm, I found someone. He's hurt, some crazy redhead in the parking lot bit him. We're heading into the city; Dean won't pick up, so I'm guessing he's still asleep. Adam, I need you to listen to these instructions very carefully, okay?" Adam answers in the affirmative only after he grabs a marker and finds a surface to write on; in this case, it's the counter. He hopes the marker is washable.

"Okay: build a barricade. Do not block the doors, you might need to escape. Aim for the piers; make sure there's more than one, cram as much junk as you can between the railings. The bungalow across from yours is empty, I know it is; whatever the fuck is going on, the hotel can just charge us after this is all over for whatever damage. Keep inside, stay low, fill containers with water; just do like Dad taught us, do like Dean's drilled into your head. Dean will come to you when he wakes up in the morning. Keep an eye on his bungalow, keep the lights off, and do not make a lot of noise, okay? And don't leave. I will come back."

"I understand," Adam glances back at the three teenagers and the bartender with a frown. Kevin is having a heated, quiet argument with Cornrows, while Ponytail has taken to looking after the bartender. "There are other people in here. There's someone, she got bit. The bartender, I think."

"Shit," Sam sighs deeply, then asks: "How bad is she?"

"She needs an ambulance. Emergency services told us to put her outside."

"What the fuck?"

"Yeah. I don't, I don't know." Adam scrubs a hand through his hair. "She might be okay, we have a first aid kit and these guys seem to know what they're doing. We'll get started on the barricades. Please come back, Sam."

"You know I will. I love you, kid."

"Love you, too." Adam lets his older brother hang up, his heart racing furiously as the gravity of the situation starts to set in. He doesn't want to think about what's going on, doesn't say it; instead, he heads back to the kids in the room, to relay the news to them.

Dean groans as he rolls over in bed. He's got a slight headache from drinking, but nothing a little Tylenol and some water won't cure. He rolls over and reaches for his phone, surprised to find an unrecognized wallet beside it. He sits up, picks it up and leafs through it, smiling when he realizes it belongs to Balthazar. He reaches for his phone, then, checking his alerts; it was loaded with twenty missed calls and several texts, from Adam and Sam alike.

"Shit," he throws the covers back from the bed and hastily begins digging for clothes. He listens to the messages as he does; most implore him to pick up, but the latter ones tell him to stay indoors, to stay quiet and to call Adam, and not Sam, when he wakes up. That order comes from Sam himself. All the texts are basically the same thing, and when he's wearing pants and a t-shirt, he does just that.

"Hello?" A quiet, shaky voice that is definitely not Adam answers. "Is this...Dean?"

"Yeah, who is this?"

The voice lets out a relieved sigh. "I'm, I'm Kevin. Adam's asleep. We were taking watches in shifts." The kid sounds terrified. "I, I can wake up him..."

"No, it's okay. Can you give me a rundown of what's going on?" He peeks out the window, but barely sees anything; the bungalow across from him has its doors wide open, and down the dock, past his brother's bungalow, is a barricade tightly packed and piled high.

"People are going out of their freaking minds," Kevin squeaks. Dean feels bad for him. "They've gone all Cannibal Holocaust and started eating each other. Sam, Sam called and he's in the city, he wants you to come over to Adam's bungalow as soon as possible and call him."

Dean lets out a sigh and nods even though Kevin can't see. "Alright. Stay quiet. I'm coming." He waits for Kevin to reply with a soft and terrified 'okay' before hanging up and searching his room. He grabs his wallet, and Balthazar's, then grabs a small rucksack he had brought along for certain situations like terrorist attacks or serious storms. His father had instilled in him the need for survival and that need was going to help out more than just himself if he could help it.

Dean pops some Tylenol and drinks half a bottle of water as he goes over his supplies; Sam might balk, but Dean had made him and Adam prepare bug-out bags as well. Sam had kept his in the truck and hopefully had it on him now. Adam had followed Dean's example and brought the thing everywhere. He triple checks his list before moving onto his next mission: making his way to Adam's bungalow. He throws some of his foodstuffs from the kitchen into another bag and grabs the machete he'd sent over before they'd arrived. Maybe he was overreacting, but if Sam and Adam's messages and Kevin's warning were true he was going to need it.

Dean doesn't see anyone on his short walk down the pier, but he does make the mistake of peering over the barricade. Slumped over the front is a body, gender and race now unknowable from the amount of flesh that had been torn off. Several yards away stands two women swaying from side to side. Dean drops down before either can see him and crawls the rest of the way toward's Adam's bungalow door, electing to take his time crawling towards the side that faces his own before opening the door.

Adam is asleep in bed but he starts when he hears someone enter the room. He has presence of mind not to lash out immediately at Dean and jumps out of the bed to go to him, pulling him into a hug. "Jesus, it's good to see you."

"Not Jesus, but good to see you anyway." Dean pulls back first, and sets all but the machete down. "Is everything good? Anyone hurt?"

"We're all that's left." Adam gestures between himself and living room. "Me and Kevin and one of the bartenders. The rest ran out. The girl is bit, she's not doing too well." Dean nods and follows Adam to the living room area where Kevin is curled up on the seat by the door and the bartender who'd served Dean and Balthazar the night before is stretched on the couch. There's a bite on her ankle and her thigh, and one on her upper arm; her short, dark hair is gritty and matted to her face. Each bite sight is bandaged neatly but the area around it looks gross and the woman's skin is grey. "Her name's Rebecca. Two guys carried her in here then went out to look for others. That was three hours ago."

"They're not back?"

"They didn't make it off the pier." Kevin answers, chewing his lip nervously. He has Adam's bowie knife in hand, while Adam reaches for a paddle by the door. "They were classmates of mine."

To his credit, the kid doesn't cry despite sounding like he might, and Dean crouches down in front of him. "Do you have a phone you can call someone on?" Kevin shakes his head.

"I gave it to Derek. Neither of them, Carlos or he, had one, so I thought it'd be safe if they had one when they went out. And...well..."

"Now they're walker chow." Dean finishes for him and fishes his from his coat pocket. "Call your parents, kid. I'm here if they need an adult to talk to, alright?" Kevin nods and thanks him three times before he calls his mom, tears now flowing as free as his words as he spoke in hurried, hushed Vietnamese.

Dean stands up straight and turns to Adam. "Have you managed to get in touch with Sam?" Adam nods and they head to the bedroom, where Dean grabs the bag of food and sits on the bed. He opens it and searches, pulling out pre-wrapped sandwiches and some water; he gives one to Adam. "Is he okay? Where is he?"

"In the city. He found a guy, they're at the church." Adam rubs the back of his neck and looks at his food. "He met him in the parking lot, saw him get bit. But it's weird. I think the bites spread it, and he got bit on the shoulder, like higher than Rebecca, but that had been like eight hours by the time I talked to Sam. Rebecca got bit two hours ago and it took her like 45 minutes to start rambling and shit. I don't think she's gonna last."

Dean nods and starts eating, needing the energy. After a few seconds of silence, Kevin tiptoes into the room to give Dean his phone back, and accepts a sandwich and water in return, as well. "You okay, kid?"

Kevin nods. "My mom," he closes his eyes, breath shaky again. "She's terrified. She's trying to find help now. I don't know if it'll work. I told her not to call just in case, told her it was dangerous, but...god, she's never sounded so terrified."

Dean scoots over and pats the bed. Kevin sits down next to him and instinctively pulls his legs up, carefully opening his food. "You know how to fight, kid?"

"A little." He says, and Dean is a little pleased to see he hasn't lost his knife. "I don't know much, though."

"I can give you a crash course after you eat. Not much to it."