The year Dean turned twenty, he shot his first man. And his first women. Probably his first child too. Dean doesn't like to dwell on it. Besides, he didn't really count those anyways. Zombies shouldn't really be classified as "people". Or at least that's what he used to tell himself when he woke up in the middle of the night, sweating and gripping the gun under his pillow. He never did stop having nightmares about the zombies; at least not until they encountered the vampires.
The zombies might have been what got his mom, but it was the vampires that did in John Winchester. Their mom had been gone for about two years, bitten at the start of all the zombie shit before they really had any idea what was going on, when they had their first encounter with the blood suckers. It had been like something out of goddamn nightmare. They'd found what at the time they thought was a group of human survivors huddled up in a barn, scrawny and barely alive. The area around them was crawling with zombies, but by then that wasn't an issue for any of the Winchesters. Between John's military training and two years of experience of cutting undead heads off, a handful of zombies trudging around aimlessly didn't faze them.
They had been planning to raid the barn for supplies like rope and any sharp farm equipment that could be used for zombie head-slicing. What they hadn't been expected was the handful of "humans" curled up in a dark corner. Dean knew something was off the moment he saw them; for a second when his flashlight had first swung over them, their eyes seemed to reflect the light like animals in the woods. Before Dean had time to decide whether or not he had hallucinated it, soft-hearted Sammy, who was barely nineteen at the time, had sat down his weapon and was reaching out a hand in an attempt to show them that he meant no harm. Unfortunately for him, the vampires did. John had barely shoved him out of the way in time for Sam to avoid getting his jugular chomped into. John himself wasn't so lucky.
After that night, it wasn't the zombies, or even vampires, that haunted Dean's dreams. It was the dying light in John's eyes as a starving vampire ripped this throat out, his final gaze pinned on Dean with a look that seemed to say as clear as day, "This should've been you. It was your job to protect Sammy". Sometime, in Dean's worst nightmares, between gurgles of blood, he actually said the words, instead of just conveying them with his eyes. These were usually the same dreams in which the following red-eyed zombie rampage incited by vampire-spilled human blood swallowed him and Sam up, instead of them barely escaping, like they had in reality. It still made bile rise in his throat to think that the only reason they had been able to get away that night was likely because the two races of monsters had been busy tearing each other apart over his father's corpse.
He imagines that if John were still alive today, he'd be faced the that same look from that fateful night right about now. He dropped pill box he'd just finished stuffing with silver shavings into his duffle bag with a bit more force then he needed to. He tossed in some of his shittier knives too, letting them fall into the hidden nooks and crannies of the bag that would make them nearly impossible to reach in a fight. That would've mattered, if he had actually been planning on using them.
A timid voice interrupted the mini temper-tantrum he was unleashing on his pack.
"Hey Dean?" Chuck said, voice cracking on the end as his eyes flicked from Dean's pissed-off expression to all the sharp implements in his bag.
Dean sighed, forcing himself to come out of his frustrated meditation on the past for the moment, and focus on the scruffy and nervous man in front of him.
"What is it, Chuck?"
"I heard about your plan to go and get back your brother and everything, so I thought you might could use this." Chuck thrust a plastic bottle of water towards him, a crudely carved crucifix wrapped around it with some twine.
Dean fought the urge to rub his eyes in exasperation.
"We don't even know if holy water works on vampires. Besides, if I get close enough to one to use it, I think I'd rather take my shot at chopping it's head off, thanks."
"Yeah that- that's probably smarter." Chuck stuttered. He seemed not to know what to say now that his "gift" had come up short.
Something bitter nipped at Dean's insides. This could easily be (likely be) the last time he ever saw Chuck. He's a squirrely guy who used to be an introverted writer before the big Z' apocalypse, and who probably only avoided getting infected because he was used to holing up and avoiding other people most of the time anyways. He was shit in a fight, but he did just about whatever task anyone around the compound threw at him in order to make up for it. Overall, he was decent, or at the very least, harmless. What the hell, it wouldn't kill Dean to be nice to him one last time.
He swiped the bottle from Chuck's hands before he could scurry away.
"But it won't hurt to have some as back up." Dean said, trying to sounds nonchalant, as if he didn't think it'd be a cold day in Hell before he'd ever even get around to trying the 'holy water'. If Sam was there, he would've probably snorted at Dean's attempt at kindness and called him a shitty liar.
Dean's jaw clenched.
If only Sam was here to tell him that himself and hadn't gotten his dumbass captured by vampires.
Chuck, mistaking Dean tense anger as something directed at him, begins to look for an escape route.
"I-um, I'll just leave you to it then." He said, jerking a thumb behind him in the vaguely in the direction he intended to flee to.
As he watched Chuck scurry off into the distance, Dean forced himself to relax his muscles that has been coiled tight with tension. There was no sense in running his stores of adrenaline dry before he was even in danger. Dean stood from where he had been hunched over his pack, stretching his back and staring through the wire wall of the parish fence as he did. The sun was starting to sink lower into the sky, meaning that anyone who was still lingering outside in the cooling fall evening was starting to cast nervous glances towards the main parish hall, as if they were afraid the doors would shut for the night without them in it.
Even if their fears were baseless here at the Harvelle compound, Dean understands the paranoia. Before Sam and him had come here, back when they'd traveled alone, they'd hear the tales from other the loners that occasionally shared a camp fire with them for a night or two. Communities of survivors that showed no mercy to the weak, and had no qualms about leaving twilight stragglers locked outside to be eaten by the night. The thought of other humans acting so much like the monsters they were trying to keep out sickened Dean. He and Sam would probably still be bouncing from town-to-town on their own if they hadn't bumped into Joe when they were rummaging through a small-town convenience store for bandages one day. After they got done holding knives to each other and doing the standard skittish dances of survivors that didn't know who their allies were, Dean finally realized where he recognized Joe from. Back in the pre-'Z day, he and Joe had been childhood playmates that chased each other all over the park until their knees bled from tripping in the grass.
Once Joe recognized him, she and her mom, Ellen, were more then happy to invite them to stay in the abandoned parish they had refurbished into a home for wayward survivors. He and Sam had been a bit more reluctant to accept. They were used to only relying on each other, and expanding that circle of trust hadn't seemed very appealing at the time. But then they'd toured the compound and Sam met Jess and proceed to make lovesick puppy-dog eyes at her for the rest of the visit. After that, it hasn't taken long for Sam to start joining in Ellen and Joe's efforts to convince them that this was the best place for them to be. Dean eventually caved, and he was glad he did. Even if there had still been a small scared part of him whispering not to trust an inch of Sam's safety to anyone else, but that part had remained soothed by every day that had passed in relative peace in the Harvelle compound.
Now though, that side of him had risen back up again with a screaming force, and was threatening to consume every other part of him.
He scans the parish yard one last time, drinking in the sight of the makeshift garden and work stations one last time. The sight feels tainted by the absence of Sammy, but he was about to fix that, or die trying.
His eyes sweep over the large plastic bins used as rainwater collectors for the garden before landing on one angry Ellen Harvelle, owner and essential acting leader of the rag-tag group of people that lived on the property. She was currently glaring at him with an intensity that, if it was able to be weaponized, would stand a chance at wiping out the zombie plague for good.
Shit. She knew.
He half excepts her to call out to him from the steps like a disappointed mom. Instead, she remains as motionless as a statue as she waits for him to come to her, which is somehow worse.
Figuring he might as well get it over with, Dean swipes up his duffle from the ground and crosses over to meet her.
"Evening, Ellen."
"Heard about your little suicide mission." Ellen says by way of response, skipping over all niceties.
Dean swears under his breathe. It's not like he told anyone what he was planning, but him sitting out in the open shoving supplies into his bag with a face full of deadly determination right after his brother, well-know as the most important person in the world to him, had gone missing? Yeah, it didn't take a genius to piece that together.
"It's not what it looks like?" He protests weakly, steeling himself against the inevitable.
Ellen scoffs. "Oh really? Because from here what it looks like is you're about to go off half-cocked on a solo mission to save you brother that's going to end with you drained as dry as raisin and no good to anybody. Sound about right?"
Dean's face hardened. "I told you after it happened that I wasn't going to go and try to fight off a vampire army on mine."
"Did you? Because that sure as hell looks like what you're about to do. I think you've scared everyone else into thinking that too. Chuck looked like he was about to piss his pants with fear when he ran inside after talking to you." Ellen pulled a face at that, clearly disgusted with the idea of someone peeing on her floor.
"Look, I know you want to help your brother, but it's nearly dark and there's no where near enough of us here to take on five vampires, never mind how ever many more there at the nest where they took him. And even if we did, we can't go and leave the whole damn camp empty. You know I called for back up from the Gordon's camp, and as soon as they arrive and we've got the light on our side we'll go for him."
"Ellen, you know as well as I do that the chances of anyone one else coming to help us is fifty-fifty at best. I don't care how many times we've traded with them, they're gonna cover their own ass first. And even if they do come, they took Sammy nearly five hours ago. We can't wait any longer. That's already more than enough time to-" Dean cut himself off with a grimace, unable to finish the thought. Sam had to be alive. He had to be.
Her face softened. "You know I love Sam. You and him are like family to me. Pain in the ass family that's always getting into trouble, but family. I don't want to lose you too. So just tell me what's going through that head of yours."
Dean huffed out a breath. It was hard to argue with that. He of all people understood the urge to protect your family. He owed her some kind of explanation, even if she wasn't going to like it.
"Okay, fine. I do have a plan. Here me out, because I know it sounds crazy, but I'm gonna try to get captured by the vamps-"
"What the fu- have you lost your damn mind?!"
Yeah, Dean knew that was coming. "Wait Ellen, hold on, let me finish. You know we've suspected for a while that the vamps are taking people hostage. No one's been finding any bodies in the woods, which used to be the typical MO for vamps. Use 'em and lose 'em. You remember that Adam said that when they took Sam they didn't even go through the throat?"
Ellen skeptical look remained, but she was listening more intently now. "I remember."
The next part was hard to get out, but he had to show Ellen that there was some logic to his thinking. "Yeah, well, think about how stupid that was for them. It took three of them just to restrain Sam and drag him away. That's the only reason Adam got out. Wouldn't it have been smarter for them to just drain him there and grab everyone else? Why go through all that effort if they weren't planning on keep him alive for at least a little while? So odds are he's alive, at least for the next little while. But we don't know how long that's going to last, so I've got to go now. Fastest way to get there is to have them take me straight to the source."
Ellen stared at him in silence for a moment, clearly mulling over how much of this was wishful thinking on the part of Dean's grieving mind.
"Assuming that's all what actually happened, how are you planning on busting the two of you out? If they do capture you and don't eat you on the top, and that's a big if, you know one of the first things they're gonna do is confiscate your bag."
This was the part of the plan Dean was still kinda shaky on. What he did have worked out was, well, a bit gross. "I figured I had a pretty good way to sneak a bit of silver in." Dean said, patting his stomach as he did.
Ellen's eyebrow raised for a second, before it dawned on her. "You didn't."
Dean gave her a faint sarcastic smile. "Sometimes the classic way is the most effective." It hadn't been fun swallowing the small pure silver bullets, and it was going to be even less fun getting them out. But it was the only way he could think of to bring the deadly material with him and guarantee it wouldn't get take from him. "Worst case scenario is that if me and Sam can't get ahold of a gun, we can make them into something else and fight our way out."
"Well, that might not be the dumbest thing I've ever heard, but it's close. There're more ways for you to die in that plan then succeed. Hell, that's barely even a plan."
Dean snorted. "Thanks for the support."
"I'm serious, Dean. I know you boys tend to have blinders regrading consequences when it comes to looking out for each other, but you need to stop and think about how this could all end." Ellen's voice grew more heated as she spoke. "The only reason Sam was out there with so little backup in the first place was because after Jess died all he could think about was hunting, and look where that got him!"
Dean froze. He didn't respond, but he knew his expression must've shown everything that he was thinking, because Ellen's face immediately filled with regret. The anger seemed to rush out of her all at once.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that. But you know what I mean. All I'm saying is that if you're not careful, things could end up a lot worse than they are now."
"The way I see it, things are already about as bad as they can get. For a long time after our father died, the only thing Sam and I had was each other. Now Sam is out there, probably in some hell-hole surrounding by bloodsuckers, with nothing and no one, and it probably going to die that way if I don't at least go try to help him. We've lived our whole lives looking out for each other, and even if I can't save him, you think I'm going to let him die alone?" Dean's voice cracked a bit at the end, and even he couldn't tell if it was from grief or anger. He swung his pack up on his shoulder. "Whatever you say, I'm going. And I'd rather leave on good terms then fight."
The light was getting closer to fading, but Dean could still see the slight glimmer of moisture in Ellen's eyes when he finished speaking. With a look of resignation, she pulled off the radio on her belt and held it out to him. "At the least take this. I know full well they're going to take if off you, but if somehow you manage to get back to your stuff and it still has a charge, give me a beep. It's got a longer range then most of the radios here. I'll keep channel 6 open for you. If you can tell us where you're at, we might have some shot in hell to come help you if things get ugly."
Dean squeezed her hand as he took the radio. He switched it off in order to preserve as much battery as possible before tucking it in his pack. "Thanks Ellen." He pulled her in for a brief hug that, despite everything, did make him doubt his choice for about half a second.
When he pulled away, he took a step back towards the gate. "Hopefully I'll see you soon."
Ellen's face just looked sad. "Goodbye, Dean. Now get going before you lose all the light."
Dean gave her a last smile and wave before turning back towards the gate. No use in delaying any longer. He couldn't risk saying good bye to anyone else, even if he wanted to. They'd want to stop him the same way Ellen had, and he didn't have time for it if he wanted to make it far enough into the woods to be in the same area where the vamps grabbed Sammy before the sun completely set. With one final glance back, Dean pushed through the gate towards the darkness of the forest, letting it close with a clank that he tried not to think sounded much too final.