Author's Note: I flipped a coin: heads for this - the apocafic I've always wanted to write and will soon learn to hate - or tails for a continuation in the Supernatural/Firefly crossover I was working on. This won, obviously. And I have no idea where I'm going with it. So... sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.
----
Was a long and dark December
When the banks became cathedrals
And the fog became God
Priests clutched onto bibles
And went out to fit their rifles
And the cross was held aloft
- Violet Hill, Coldplay
----
The world actually ended on a Wednesday, Dean remembers.
At the time, though, he thought it was a Tuesday. At least until he looked down a day later and found his watch cracked and stopped on 12:16 A.M.
It was never anything out of the ordinary for a hunt to keep them out late, and that one - the last one, Dean remembers - was no different. It was a series of killings in a church in Fucking Nowhere, Alabama. All signs pointed to a haunting, an easy salt and burn of a man that research turned up buried in the basement. They would be in, out, and halfway to another nowhere by morning.
Dean remembers that any suspicions he had of the hunt were oddly suppressed by the soft glow of the candles lit along the walls of the church. Prayer, Dean recalls, for the people turning up dead in the otherwise quiet town. The small flickering lights were the only guidance thought the otherwise dark church, flecks catching in the dulled shovel Sam carried.
Dean remembers how normal it was, right up until she showed up.
Even constantly alert, just like they were trained, they never saw it coming.
Dean lost time between being on his feet and being slammed against the wall. A table of candles was knocked over at his feet, quietly extinguishing themselves in thin streams of smoke that rose to the ceiling. Dean's first thought was fucking ghost or something close to it. He had reached for the shotgun that had been in his hands a second before, quickly finding himself unable to move in the slightest.
Sam, after Dean searched mindlessly for him for a few seconds, was in the same predicament across the room. Dean could barely see him in the shadows, but for the light coming in through the stained glass window above his head.
Dean remembers how it cast a stark and violent light over both his brother and their visitor, her white eyes cutting through the dark like knives.
"Bitch." Dean bit out, and Lilith smiled.
"Is that any way to greet an old friend, Deano?" She replied, the smile widening to the point that it twisted the face she wore, inhuman and wrong. She was in an older body; a redhead with more makeup than needed and a figure that would have had Dean crawling to her under different circumstances. Instead, Dean felt sick to his very core.
"Got tired of playing tea party?" He asked humorously, hiding behind a front and trying to push the blind panic to the back of his mind.
Lilith shrugged at that, running her hands over her hips. "A girl's gotta grow up someday. After all," she said as she turned her eyes to Sam, "I'm here for something much tastier."
It was all Dean could do not to lose his calm when she reached a hand out towards his brother. "Don't you touch him." He said, danger behind his calm tone.
"And what are you going to do about it?" She snapped, still smiling. "You're all the way over there, Mr. Tough Guy."
"I swear to--"
"Who?" Lilith took a step away from Sam, sneering at Dean. "I'd like to know who you'd swear to. God?" The word seemed to burn in her mouth, coming out sharp and too rough. "Cause believing in Him has gotten you so far."
When Dean didn't answer, Lilith just shook her head. "Where are your angels now, Dean?"
She turned her back to him and Dean strained against his invisible bonds. He yelled something when she placed a hand on Sam's forehead, covering his eyes. He saw Sam struggle, try to get away with no avail.
"I know it now." Lilith leaned in close, whispers that echoed off the walls. "All of these seals, and the one I need is right in front of me. And to think I tried to kill you, Sam."
Dean watched as Sam just stopped, his breath catching as if he were in pain. Dean's mind pinpointed to only one thing as he fought, nonosampleasegodno.
Dean never forgot how Lilith looked over her shoulder, eyes white and brighter than Dean had ever seen.
He never forgot her smile, the way her warped voice formed, "I'll see you downstairs, Dean."
He never forgot how Sam screamed in a way that Dean never heard before as it followed him down into the darkness.
----
Dean groaned inwardly as he ran a gloved finger over a hole forming between the fabric of his boot and the sole. It would be the third pair he destroyed, and getting this pair was hard enough. Looking for a pair his size this time around would be even more difficult.
A cold draft passed through the trees, seemingly targeting the small hole and somehow making it feel a lot bigger. He cursed out loud.
Dean Winchester, standing out in the cold wilderness, hunting demons, and complaining about shoes.
Perfect.
"Cold, sir?" Dean cast a quick glance at Cody, at whom he rolled his eyes and muttered something about where the wind could take the cold and shove it.
"Sir?"
"I said I'm fine, kid." Dean replied finally, straightening up and doing his best impression of warm. Cody gave a lopsided smile, buying it, and moving to go on ahead of Dean.
Cody had turned twenty days before, and looked every bit of it through that smile. He was way too young to be out here, Dean thought. Where he made objection, others denied it, believing in kids growing up fast in this world to survive. It hit close to home with Dean, considering his training at an even younger age than anyone here. But Cody...
Cody was shaggy haired and skinny, with a sweet smile and a mindset that belonged in college, not out here in the wilderness with men who had seen too much.
Dean would never admit the root of blind protection he felt for the kid, not now when it was buried behind months of denial.
"Winchester." Came a voice somewhere off to his side, low but traveling easily through the silence. Hopkins stood beside a tree that leaned to far to its side, gun held ready against his chest. His eyes were on Dean, but his attention was everywhere else. "Stop bitching and move your ass." Dean nodded, but said nothing.
They had been out there since the early sight of the sun, morning light still soft through the dead, frozen trees around them. Fresh snow covered the ground from that night, filling the tracks he evening guard had left behind. Passing the men that morning, Dean knew that this weather was probably springtime to them if their red, raw hands gave anything away. Dean had a job to do; no room to complain.
They had reported footprints that hadn't belonged to any of the guard. The trail was quickly lost to the flurries that followed but for speckles of blood that led to nothing. It would be a straggler from another colony, the night guard had warned, but everyone knew better than to take footprints lightly. It had been quiet for months, but even an unidentifiable shift in the trees here or a noise there was enough to send the entire town into a panic.
Considering what was out there, Dean didn't blame them.
Hopkins he was used to. Having Cody there, though, set Dean completely on edge itself.
Never too careful.
The motto of the new world.
Hopkins was returning a glare Dean seemed to be giving him. Dean grinned instead and Hopkins kept walking, his finger on the trigger of his gun. It was nothing new.
Hopkins was one of the men who had seen too much. He was living in Knoxville, Tennessee the night Dean watched the world end in Alabama. Dean doesn't know the gory details - hell, after seven months of being beside him everyday, he doesn't even know if Hopkins is a first name or a last name - he just knows that he looked the devil himself in the eye and that his family, his wife and his little girl, didn't live to see the world for what it was today.
Dean considered them lucky, and made sure to keep it to himself.
As big of a dick as Hopkins was, Dean trusted him, even if the feeling wasn't mutual. Hopkins was a good man who followed his instincts too much, but was smart enough to hold his own as a hunter, even this late in the game. He was smart enough not to trust a man with the last name "Winchester."
Hopkins had done his research and figured Dean out pretty fast. Neither of them advertised it. Hopkins knew, and Dean knew he knew, and they left it at that.
A noise that sounded like something besides snow falling off of the trees had all three of them alert at once. Dean raised his gun to mirror Cody and Hopkins, listening, waiting. It happened again, a combination of a thump and a strangled scream. It wasn't far off, somewhere off to the north, and Dean knew from Hopkins waving his hand for them to follow to be careful. They moved soundlessly through the snow, the early light guiding them.
As they got closer, Dean could swear he could hear voices, but he couldn't make out the words. Another yell filled the silence, this time sounding like a trapped animal. Hopkins went his own way as Cody pressed himself up against a tree trunk. Dean hid behind his own just a few feet from Cody.
Holding his breath and his gun close to his chest, Dean peeked around the trunk.
Down a small snow-covered slope from where Dean stood, there were three figures. One huddled in the snow, jeans torn and wearing only a thin, long-sleeved shirt. The face was hidden by too much hair, but Dean could clearly see it was a man. He was huddled over, arms protectively around him as if he could curl up and hide from the two others who stood over him. A man and a woman, dressed equally as unprepared for the weather and black eyes visible even from a distance.
"It took us a while to find you." The woman continued in a low, hissing voice. "I'm surprised you made it this far with Him reeling around inside of you."
"I don't know what the fuck you did, boy," the man said, his voice equally as menacing, "but you'd better fix it."
The man crouched down, his hand fisting in the other's hair and twisting. The hunched man cried out, but didn't beg. Didn't plead for his life, as if he had faced down demons before.
Whatever the possessed man was going to do Dean would never know, as he suddenly jerked forward with gunshots that rang out. Red blossomed on his chest just as Hopkins burst from his hiding place in the trees, his gun raised and firing again.
Dean flung himself from cover as well, sliding easily down the slope. Behind him, he could hear Cody start an exorcism. Something basic they had all been taught the moment they joined the guard, but enough to get the job done.
The woman shrieked inhumanly, her attention immediately on Dean. "You." She hissed. She cast a quick glance to the man on the ground, right before she threw her head back and laughed. Dean put a bullet between her eyes, shutting her up and giving him enough time to pull his knife from its sheath.
She died in a burst of light, demon and any human left alike, the knife driven to the hilt into her stomach.
The other demon, who had Hopkins up against a tree in a choke hold, dissipated in a cloud of violent black smoke as Cody finished the exorcism. The body dropped, lifeless.
Hopkins sucked in a greedy breath and groaned, reaching an arm around his side. Dean watched for a moment, but offered no help.
Cody joined them down the slope, immediately kneeling down beside the still hunched man. Dean came forward a few steps, but watched instead as Cody placed a comforting hand on the man's shoulder.
"Hey. They're gone. Are you okay?"
The man lifted his head up, eyes meeting Cody's for a second before they turned on Dean.
All of the air in Dean's body suddenly seemed to be sucked out. He couldn't catch his breath, couldn't breathe right and... and...
No.
The man's eyes didn't falter as he unfolded himself sightly, wide and almost panicked as Dean's. Almost.
When Dean took a step back, the man reached out a needy hand. "Dean..."
No. That wasn't his voice. It wasn't.
Everything seemed to slam back into real time all at once, and Dean realized he wasn't the only one who recognized him. Hopkins was beside Dean in an instant, injuries forgotten, gun raised like it would do something useful. "Cody." he said in a tone that was the complete opposite of calm.
Cody looked up. Twin sets of wide eyes kneeling in the snow looked back at them, Cody's hand still on the man's shoulder. "He's really warm. I think he needs--"
"Get the fuck away from him."
Cody opened his mouth, ready to question, and Hopkins all but yelled, "NOW!"
Cody lifted himself to his feet and stepped back, cautiously raising his weapon to match Hopkins. The guy in the snow seemed unphased by everything going on around him, his attention completely on Dean as he whispered his name again.
The knife in Dean's hand shook.
"You motherfucker." Hopkins said in a low, dangerous voice Dean knew too well to take lightly. "You've sunk this low to pick us off?"
The man did look at Hopkins at that, confusion only just visible in his expression. Dean knew it, like when research was too deep and he was working to solve it.
Hopkins suddenly had his flask of holy water in his hand was flinging the contents at the man within a few seconds. Dean watched as the water sizzled on his cheek and he cried out in pain, bringing a hand to the fresh burns already appearing. Hopkins stepped forward and brought the butt of his gun down across the other cheek.
Dean didn't realize he was moving forward and barking out a concerned yell until Hopkins was rounding on him, pressing his gun right to Dean's chest.
"Don't you even, Winchester." He growled. "You know damn well as I do what he is."
Dean found unchanged hazel eyes when he looked back down, unspoken words hanging heavily in the air, and he couldn't help but think otherwise just for a second.
He's not your brother anymore.