It was damp and cold, and unusually so for early fall. The silence was deafening, the only thing to make noise was the occasional shrill rattle of the tall, barbed chain link fence that surrounded the small compound. The barrier had always been there, but it came in disrepair and took a lot of grief filled hours to mend it strong enough to withstand the threat on the outside. It was the only thing that kept the walkers away from the surviving humans. The compound consisted of a small cluster of metal roofed buildings. Some were more like shacks, in fact. The center building, and also the largest, boasted a small chimney where grey smoke billowed from its shadowy depths. It was where the humans huddled on cold nights such as this one, trapping the heat from the warm fire and the numerous bodies that laid out on the wooden floor with exhaustion. There was always one or two that stayed awake, keeping watch in the dark of the night, ready at any instance to defend the only thing they had left in the desolation of Earth. The humans were getting low on food and supplies, and soon they would have to venture out into the dangerous world outside of their protective gates and for some, that meant never coming back.
The ex-hunter, Dean, took his post outside of the warm building, rubbing his hands together in hopes of some warmth. A fully loaded, semi-automatic rifle balanced on his lap as he fought of the tremors of the damp cold. He cursed under his breath, causing puffs of steam to escape from his terse lips. The only thing that could be worse than sitting out in the cold, was doing it alone. He always either had his little brother or his long time angel companion, Castiel, by his side, to which he relied more on the latter since the angel never had to worry about the unfavourable weather conditions that Oregon undeniably doled out. When the virus spread around the world, it attacked the major cities first, quickly spreading to the farmlands until there were few survivors left. And those who did survive, lived a terrible life. Most would find it unfit for human existence. But those who tried, clung on to the hope that one day, they would be the beginning of a new era. An era where there were no flesh eating zombies to threaten their lives at every turn.
Many hours went by unspoken, as did most nights on watch. Even though they were protected by the sturdy fencing surrounding them, it still seemed dicey to cause too much noise, especially at night. Despite the risks, Dean looked up tiredly at Castiel, who sat motionless against the wall of the building, gun resting on the ground with his finger still on the trigger. "I've been thinking a lot lately, about how we used to hunt. You, Sam, and I. Remember, Cas?" Dean spoke low and raspy, trying to keep his voice down. Cas snorted, turning to Dean with a smirk. "How could I forget?" Dean smiled weakly, looking back to his numb hands. "Do you ever wish-" Cas hushed him, noticing the outline of his jacket was quivering with chills. He pulled off his trench coat and draped it over the freezing man before replying grievously, "There isn't a day I don't." He patted Dean on the back and slumped back down against the building. They didn't say much more for the rest of their post, when Sam and Bobby relieved them in the early morning hours.
Sunrise had come all too soon as Dean woke up bleary eyed to the glare of the bright morning sun seeping in through the window. He felt like sinking back in the warmth of his blankets, dreading the day ahead as it was time for another raid in a nearby town. They didn't dare try the cities, even though they could have stocked their supplies for a few years. It was way too risky even for Castiel, who was immune to the virus. Dean rose wearily to his feet, shrugging his jacket on before waking the others. Not everyone went out on raids, but if you were a good shot or knew a thing or two about survival, you had no choice but to tag along. They went out in a group of two vehicles and one pick-up truck that was armed with a mounted automatic gun and a snow plow on the front. They weaved through the deserted cars that littered the roads, occasionally coming across a walker who was swiftly laid out by a gunshot to the head. The town was about fifty miles away, all the closer towns they had already cleaned out and the group feared that they would soon have to find different shelter because gas was scarce and even more so were the supplies they needed to survive.
Finally arriving at their destination, they jumped out of their vehicles quickly and quietly, scattering in pairs to different stores in the town. Dean took Sam, Cas with Bobby, and Jo tagged along with Ellen, splitting up in opposite directions, canvassing their surroundings for nearby walkers. The safest way to get through a raid was not by the way of guns because the noise brought the walkers in for miles, but rather silent makeshift weapons such as axes, ice picks, baseball bats, crossbows and other creative weaponry. It hadn't taken them long to fill their bags full, silencing the stray walkers as they went, and started back for their cars at the sound of a low, fingered whistle. Dean counted everyone, his heart jumping in his throat when he noticed Cas missing from the group. "Where the hell is Cas, Bobby?" He bellowed to which Bobby replied, "I don't know, he was right behind me!" Dean whipped his head around at the sound of a hoard of zombies that were way too close for comfort. "Get in! Everybody in!" He shout, frantically searching for Cas, suddenly spotting him running towards them, zombies closing in on him from all directions. "Dean! Get out of here! Go!" The last Dean saw of the angel was a walker clinging to him from behind ripping into his neck, tearing flesh away from his vessel. He looked away and breathed "no", tears stinging his eyes as he clambered into the vehicle, roaring off with the rest in tow, the hoard of zombies visible in his side view mirrors. He watched helplessly, until they were no longer visible, trying to watch the lonely road ahead through tear stained eyes.
A loud commotion came from one of the smaller buildings, the one that Dean made his home. It was only one room, with a small mattress in the corner and a sofa chair accompanied by a side table and a lantern. Sam and Bobby were inside the cramped space, wincing as Dean swiped at the table viciously, sending its contents crashing to the floor. "Don't you dare say that, Sam, not now!" He roared, soon giving in to the old chair, nauseated from the pain that suffocated his heart. Sam resigned from trying to comfort his brother, stepping away, overcome with grief and guilt. Bobby braced himself and stepped forward, kneeling down in front of the heartsick boy he considered his son and clasped a firm hand on his shoulder. "We'll go out and look for him tomorrow, son. We'll give him a proper burial." He spoke softly, trying to salvage any sliver of closure in the worst of situations. Cas was the only one he let in, outside of Sam and Bobby. And Dean confided in him, things that he would never dare tell Sammy. God forbid he ever knew he was terrified of what was going to become of them and Cas just accepted it, listening thoughtfully and giving advice where he could. He had become more human than angel since the spread of the virus which had almost taken on five years. Though he still had his powers, he had become much more subdued of his righteous ways, much more capable of expressing emotion. The loss of Castiel took away all the fight Dean had left in him and seeing him get taken away from him by those wretched sons of bitches pushed him over the edge. But even in his absence, he knew it was only right that they laid him to rest properly. Or what was left of him. The thought made Dean cry out in agony.
Bobby was pleasantly surprised to see Dean emerge from his shack, although his appearance was worrisome, making him frown at the sight. "Boy, have you even slept?" It had been two days since the raid, and Dean was looking raggedy with his unshaven face and dark circles under his eyes, but all he could muster up was a heartless shrug. Bobby knew he was wishing he was knee deep in a liquor store somewhere. "C'mon. We got some good food cookin' tonight. And I even got a little bit of whiskey left for ya." Dean's eyes lit up, if only just. But it was enough for Bobby to reel him in, wrapping an arm around his worn shoulders, guiding him to the center building. The sight of all the people he had saved and kept alive all these years made him want to well up and crawl back on his mattress on the floor. There were Jo and Ellen who greeted him with a warm smile, continuing with the preparation of dinner rations. Even a few strangers he took in under his wing, to which they were grateful for, even turning out to be useful in growing crops which Dean never had a knack for. He'd preferred killing things, not growing them. And then there was Sam who was sitting next to Laura, the newest member of their group. She was a sweet girl, beautiful too, if Dean didn't say so himself. Sam had instantly taken a liking to her, the feeling very mutual. It always seemed to cheer Dean up even in the worst of times, and the sight of them together brought a faint smile to his face. At least his brother had finally found some happiness.