The Impala rumbled through the expansive desert. Sam glanced fearfully at his older brother; the whoops of the war boys were way too close. "Come on Dean, Fang it!"
"I'm already fanging it as fast as she'll go!"
Sam glanced behind them again, hazel eyes wide with fear.
Dean bounced them over a sand dune with a curse. The Impala creaked in protest and Dean cursed again. "I know Baby, I know!" He patted the dashboard.
"Don't damage the black car bad! I want it!" Shouted a war boy.
"Like hell!" Snarled Dean throwing a flaming Molotov out the window towards the speaker.
Three cars full of war boys closed in to fill the place their fallen comrades' vehicle left.
"Damn it! Sam make another one!"
"Dean! What the hell were you thinking getting so close to the citadel in broad daylight!?" Sam shouted as he did what he was told. Once the rag was lit, Dean lobbed it out the window again.
"Shut it Sammy!" I didn't think we were going to be caught!"
"Oh yes, A loud black car won't draw any attention from a well defended fortress! If we die I'm haunting your ass!" Sam crawled half out the window and fired a round from an ancient shotgun. His aim was true and a lancer fell from his perch. Sam reloaded and shot again, cracking another car's windshield. He had to duck back into the car to avoid a lance thrown in retaliation and just barely avoided the flames of the explosion.
Dean locked the gas down so he could load another gun.
Sam was able to get one more shot off before a lance took out the front tire. The Impala veered off sharply before burying her front end into a sand dune.
Dean and Sam struggled out of the car but there were too many war boys to fight off. Dean shot one more before the pair were dog piled and silenced with the butt of a gun to their face.
Crash was a war boy who had survived far too many battles and explosions for his age. He had once been an Imperator, but quickly fell from grace for his boys going out soft instead of shiny and chrome. War boys considered Crash cursed and believed he was actively denied Valhalla. One of the things they attributed to this were his dark blue eyes, most war boys had brown eyes. War boys with blue eyes seemed to have a hard time dying glorious. Most just burned out quiet, Valhalla's gates closed to them. Blue eyes were just too soft.
The only other war boys who had survived as many deadly encounters as Crash were Ace and the Unlucky Nux. Because of his repeated survival, Crash became well acquainted with wounds and how they heal. The only work he could find was under the wing of the organic mechanic and he began helping put broken war boys back together. Truth be told, as cursed as he seemed to be, the boys would rather be helped by Crash than spend one more minute than they absolutely had to with the Organic.
Crash studied the two ferals in front of him. Compared to most ferals drug in from the desert, they were almost shine to look at. Oher than their injuries from their run in with the war boys, they were shockingly healthy. No lumps or bumps, no obvious deformities or missing limbs, they looked strong. He wished the war boys hadn't been so rough with them, one was nearly dead from being drug behind the vehicles. These two had much more value as blood bags than like this, but the boys claimed the ferals were too dangerous to haul in the cars. The pair had taken out two vehicles and seven war boys.
Crash tisked and looked them over. The tall one would be fine but the other? They could only wait and see.
They were both universal donors, which was excellent news. Properly contained, these two could save a lot of war boys. Crash began cleaning their wounds and stitched up what he could. The tall one woke after only a few hours of care. He was quickly chained and muzzled. He snarled and shouted at the smaller feral. Crash learned the smaller one's name was Dean and the only way to calm the large feral was to chain him close to Dean. Crash tilted his head in curiosity as the large feral continued to rage at him. This would be interesting.
It took two days for the other to wake up.
"Awake at last!" Crash smiled and stared when he noticed the color of the feral's eyes.
Green.
Green like the color of growing things.
"Who the hell are you?" the feral growled.
"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." Crash said seriously.
The rage left the feral's eyes and was replaced by a slight amusement. "Is that your full name or…?" A wry smile formed on the feral's lips.
Crash tilted his head in confusion. "No my name is Crash…"
Drums echoed down the tunnels from outside. Crash stood taller. His heart beat faster to the rhythm of the drums and his warrior blood coursed through him. He gave a sad little sigh, he was no longer welcome on war parties anymore. He watched the war boys rush past him and the sickly. One war boy, Nux he thought, asked what was going on. It was a question the two ferals echoed.
Immortan Joe's prize breeders had been stolen.