Break the World
A/N: This short AU assumes that Cas never returned in S7 to mess with Sam's crazy, and that the Leviathans were not defeated in the way we saw at the end of S7. Oh and the zombies are only sorta zombies; more like rabid crazy people, actually, not technically walking dead rotting people. That's all. Enjoy!
Break the world I know
I fear I'll never see the light of day,
I need you here and now
Take the pain I hold,
It's crying out to be the end of me,
But I can't hear the sound -Nine Lashes, Break the World
Dean heard the door and schooled his features quickly into a placidity that would mask his pain. Hopefully.
"Dean?"
"In here," Dean grunted, focusing on the maps in front of him. "Good raid?"
Sam snorted, flopping down onto the chair across from Dean. "Yeah. Last time we had a good raid was months ago. We're going to have to move on, soon."
Dean looked up sharply. "Really?"
Sam nodded. Dean cursed, and Sam offered him a bitter smile. "Yeah, I know."
"No other options?" Dean checked.
Sam rolled his shoulders, sighing. Dean noted a wince, but decided to save that discussion for later. "The rabids aren't giving up. You would think that they would run out of people to infect and kill, but somehow they're still carrying on." Sam paused, glancing over the maps spread out in front of Dean. "What's this?"
"Sewer system. I was trying to discover a defendable position underground in case China decides to nuke us again."
"Russia was the last one to nuke us," Sam corrected mildly. "Yeah, somehow I doubt living in a sewer would help."
"Got any other suggestions, genius?" Dean scowled.
Sam gestured placatingly. "I still think we should separate from the group." His eyes darted away from Dean's.
"Why?" he asked slowly. "Are they giving you a hard time?"
Sam shook his head. "It's just . . . difficult. I'm just bitching, ignore me." His smile was tight and dimple-less, as most of them were.
"If you're going to avoid the question, at the very least let me help you with your back," Dean insisted.
Sam conceded with a sigh. "Thanks, man. How's your knee?"
Dean shrugged off the question, gesturing Sam to get on the bed and wheeling after him.
"You stayed in your wheelchair today?" Sam asked into the pillow.
"Yes, dad," Dean mocked. "Shut up and let me help before your back seizes up and you can't move for days."
"M'hero," Sam slurred as Dean hoisted himself onto the bed and began kneading the tight knots out of Sam's back. Sucking in a gasp, Sam arched as Dean hit his lower back. Dean stopped.
"Remember what we said about hiding injuries," he said sharply.
"Mm hm. Don't do it." Sam's eyes slid closed again.
Dean skimmed over the bruises and focused on Sam's upper back. "Rabids catch up with you?" he asked, trying to keep any anger out of his voice.
"I think I fell. Lucifer pushed me," Sam mumbled.
Dean's hands stilled and he had to take a couple deep breaths, just so he wouldn't stand and punch something. Most likely he would then fall over, and that would be a disaster.
"He hanging around today?" Dean asked.
"S'okay, Dean." Sam's hand flopped around until it nudged up against leg, unerringly squeezing at a point that helped the pain from his knee drain away. "M'good. I know he didn't really push me, promise."
"Remember what I've said. You die, I'll make a deal to get you back, and then I'll haunt you for all eternity."
"Empty threat," Sam mumbled. "Stop worrying so much."
"What else am I supposed to do, stuck here?" Dean grumbled under his breath.
"You stay safe. Stone number one."
Dean kept working at Sam's back without another word. What could he say to that?
Getting himself ready for bed was a bit of a production, and despite how embarrassing it was to have Sam always helping him, Dean missed it now. With a grunt, he eased his jeans off—Sam's voice echoing in his head 'it'll be easier if you just wear sweatpants, moron'—and rubbed at his aching knee. Dean pushed out of the wheelchair and fell into his bed in a very ungraceful motion.
Sam mumbled something about the cage in his sleep, and Dean squeezed his eyes closed. This was their life, now.
"Wake up," Castiel murmured. "The least you could do to make Dean happy is get him coffee."
Sam blinked open his eyes and frowned. Castiel hadn't shown up for a while, and he wasn't sure what it meant that he had appeared this morning. His back cracked painfully as he got to his feet. Dean was sacked out on his bed, and Sam crept over, pressing back a smile. Dean was drooling.
Easing the blanket back, Sam carefully began working at the pressure points for Dean's knee, earning him some sleepy grumbling, and then a sigh of relief as Dean stopped moving.
"He's so still, you'd think he's dead."
Sam ignored Lucifer, but briefly settled his hand over Dean's heart. Just in case.
"No hugs before coffee," Dean mumbled.
"Uh huh." Sam patted him affectionately and moved to their small kitchenette. Sam made a face at the amount of water left and decided he could do without coffee this morning. Dean needed it more.
"Wha' time'zit?" Dean called.
"Six. Go back to sleep, Dean," Sam responded. Dean grunted something else before his voice trailed off.
Sam wrote Dean a quick note before letting himself out and blew out a frosty breath into the frigid air.
"The hounds are behind you," Lucifer whispered in his ear. Sam shivered at the baying and took off for his traditional morning run. His crazy tended to work with him, during the bright early mornings when everything was so much more real. Didn't mean they went away, though. Hellhounds were one of Lucifer's favorites.
The compound was silent aside from the hellhounds, and a sudden fear clenched Sam's insides. What if he was all alone? They could have been overrun with rabids last night.
Sam returned to his and Dean's cabin and heard Dean singing a Metallica song obnoxiously loud.
Letting himself in, Sam relaxed as the heat soaked in through the frigid exterior of his skin. Real. Real, comfort.
"Gonna eat breakfast, Sammy?"
Sam hugged Dean from behind, putting up with the token annoyance and complaints from his brother. Real brother.
"I have a raid today," he announced, clearing the table as Dean finished scrambling the eggs. Sam was ridiculously thankful for the chickens their group kept. "Have you been to the storage units lately?"
Dean frowned. "You just went on a raid yesterday."
"Uh huh. And you weren't paying attention when I said that we hardly got anything."
"Ah." Dean swallowed and narrowed his eyes. "Couldn't you let the others go?"
"I have the best aim." Sam popped a few dry saltines into his mouth, willing his saliva to provide enough moisture to choke them down. "You going to train today?"
"Someone has to make sure those kids don't kill themselves." Dean's face was set in his typical I'm-useless-and-I-hate-myself expression, so Sam took a bite of scrambled eggs.
"Hey Dean."
He waited until Dean turned to look at him and then showed him an open mouthful of scrambled eggs.
"And I'm the immature one?" Dean snorted, but the edge of his mouth was pulling up, so Sam was satisfied.
"What do you want?"
"A jacuzzi."
"Dean."
Dean wrinkled his nose. "Dude, just go after what the compound needs, don't worry about me."
Sam waited patiently, staring Dean down until his brother relented.
"Gum. Mint gum."
Sam grinned, big and wide. He could do that.
Dean hobbled over to the entrance, running a weary hand through his short hair. "They back yet?" he asked Han.
"Nope. As you already know. You need to stop asking."
Dean made a face and leaned against a convenient oil drum. "Gotta give you something to do."
Han sighed. Dean smirked. Han was practically a kid, but he was oddly serious and responsible, aside from insisting his name was now Han Solo because 'it's a zombie apocalypse, I might as well be able to pick my own name.'
"Here they come."
Dean didn't relax until he could pick Sam's shaggy main sticking out among the group. He had a body slung over his shoulder, and Dean winced.
"Get Carla," he told Han, limping to the fence and undoing the set of locks.
As soon as he was close enough, Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean, eyes looking at Dean's leg pointedly. Dean kept his gaze on the body over Sam's shoulder, and Sam turned his attention to the more important issues, though Dean knew he would get an earful when they got home.
"Vicky. Open wound at her shoulder and she got some of a rabid's blood in it."
"I can talk," Vicky groaned. "Just put me down already."
Sam gently set her down and skittishly went back to stand next to Dean. Comforting people wasn't his speciality anymore.
"She has her vaccine though," Peter murmured. He flicked a glance back at the open gate and immediately jumped to close it up.
"I need to be locked up," Vicky said jerkily. "C'mon guys, don't wimp out on me now."
"M'sorry, Vicky," Sam whispered. They both knew that the vaccine only worked part of the time. Blood to blood contact was the most likely way to get infected, though saliva would do it as well.
The others bustled around, getting Vicky settled. Dean tugged on Sam's elbow, recognizing a bad day when he saw it.
"What happened?" he asked, the sooner they got it out, the better.
"Found a convenience store that'd already been raided, but the storeroom was locked. We broke in and managed to get some supplies. Guess we were too noisy, though, and Vicky was the first one out of the store."
"Sorry, man." Dean used the hand not gripping his cane to pat Sam's back. Sam's dazed gaze caught onto Dean and he sighed.
"Dean, you need to use your wheelchair."
"It's too muddy," Dean defended.
Sam looped an arm under Dean's shoulders, taking a good portion of his weight.
"Don't you dare try and carry me," Dean growled.
"Uh huh." Sam didn't respond with a joke like Dean had hoped. Any time someone got hurt, Sam got this way.
"Don't blame yourself," he tried next.
"If you promise to use your wheelchair all day tomorrow," Sam returned.
They got to their cabin, and before Dean could do anything, Sam had hoisted him over one shoulder like he had Vicky.
"Dude, what do you think you're doing?" Dean used his good leg to lightly knee Sam in the chest.
"You're not walking up the stairs," Sam said calmly. Dean slumped in defeat, unwilling to tussle as Sam took the front steps one at a time.
"You're lame," he said sullenly.
"Yes, Dean, insults will help mitigate the humiliation of being carried, I know."
Dean didn't give voice to the relief that Sam could use his ten dollar words. At least that was some sign of his crazy not going too, well, crazy.
Sam got Dean settled in his wheelchair and then stood, looking a little lost.
"Hey." Dean reached up and snagged Sam's sleeve. "Did you get me any gum?"
Sam's face split into a smile that Dean had been waiting for, dimples and everything, and he pulled out a package of twinkies from his pocket. "Better."
A/N: This will be a very short chapter story. Just a couple chapters, really. IDK I was just in the mood to write about zombies and this came out. It'll probably happen again in the future and I'll have to change things up so I'm not repeating myself :P
Okay so I'm really not in the mood to watch S9 because I know I'll just get annoyed, but is anyone willing to explain something to me? I've seen a couple pictures of Crowley with a syringe of blood . . . what is that about (or is it unknown atm)?