A/N: Big thanks to everyone who has commented and/or is following this story. I love to hear from those reading my stories, so, be a good person today, and review, review, review! It's right up there with recycling, and rewinding your vhs tapes before you take them back to the video store.

What? No one rents vhs tapes anymore? Well Dean still uses cassettes, and he's cool, so if you review and rewind your tapes, you'll be cool too.

Anyway, on to the chapter, and just a reminder, previews for the next chapter can be found at the bottom.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, or Polar Pops.


We have to leave Bobby's house. Staying there depended on having an angel up our sleeve, and our angel is broken. Nobody says it out loud, of course. Not even New Guy. New Guy's name turns out to be Yeager, by the way, and Yeager is not that bad.

He helps me get one of the vans from the junkyard working, and then we're off. Yeager, Bobby, and Chuck are in the van, and Cas and I follow in my Baby.

As we pull onto the road, my eyes land on the cell phone car charger that Sam got for the Impala two years ago. God, that's going to be useful. At least as long as the cell signals are still working.

"Where do we plan on going?" Cas asks from the passenger seat, snapping me out of my thoughts. He's not really interested, I can tell. He's been practicing asking stupid human questions for the past couple days.

"To the Island of Misfit Toys," I answer automatically, because that song has been stuck in my head all day. That reminds me to pop a new tape in the cassette player, and Metallica is like washing a bad taste out of my mouth.

I'm pretty sure that Cas is giving me his good ol' WTF stare, but I keep my eyes on the road. "We're heading south," I finally tell him. "Until we run into something nasty. Then we head elsewhere."

When Cas doesn't respond, I spare a glance at him. The ex-angel is sound asleep against the window with the seat belt pulling at his bent neck.

"Well you are just going to be a big ball of fun," I say, watching the passing streetlights cast shadows over his face. Then I notice that the car has drifted too far to the right, and I focus again on staying on the road.

With another thought, I turn the music down. Cas doesn't really notice.


We do run into something nasty. Of course.

It's zombies. Of course.

They pounce on the van while we're at a gas station in Nebraska. We knew that we were going to have to change direction soon—the towns we passed through were getting more and more deserted where infection has come and gone—but gas is kind of important.

We would not have stopped, though, had we known that about seven Croatoans had been infected there and were still hanging around. I didn't know. I wanted to blame Yeager, because he was leading the pack and all, but he couldn't really have known either.

The first one to come at the van is still wearing a gray uniform. For what, I don't know. I don't know if he worked at the gas station or if he was just passing through when he got infected. And the first thing I think when I see the thing is, damn it, we almost made it to Kansas.

How stupid is that?

Cas is already opening my glove compartment and pulling out my gun. He hands it to me, and I'm about to tell him to back me up, but then I remember. So I say, "Stay in the car," and slam my door shut behind me.

Yeager has already killed the one in the uniform, but two are on the hood of the van and I can see more coming out of the gas station. I shoot three in the head before they can get close, but I miss the fourth. It tackles me, and my gun skids across the pavement.

The next few seconds are a blur of sharp panic, because I can't see past the Croatoan on top of me and what the hell is Yeager doing and holy crap Bobby and Chuck are still trapped in the van and, oh yeah, zombie apocalypse.

Insert a long string of curses I currently do not have time for.

I can hear shots go off, and I'm hoping that's Yeager finishing off the Croatoans that are attacking the van, because, hello, I could use some help over here. Then something suddenly slams into the Croatoan, and it's off of me.

I sit up, wondering why Yeager didn't just shoot the thing, but then I see that the person who just body-checked a zombie is not Yeager.

"Cas, no!"

Cas is trying to pin the Croatoan's shoulders to the pavement, but he doesn't have enough weight behind him to do it. The Croatoan is clawing at him, trying to get at his throat, trying to draw blood…

I'm stuck trying to decide if I should drag Cas away or waste time looking for my gun. So I settle for standing there like an idiot and yelling, "Cas, get off the zombie! Get off the zombie!"

Yeager has noticed the commotion by now, and he points the gun at Cas and the Croatoan. "Need a shot, guys," he calls, and Cas takes that as his cue to drop to his side. The Croatoan latches on, though, sending them both into a roll until the Croatoan is looming over Cas, lashing out—

And then its head explodes as Yeager fires a final shot.

Cas pushes the body off of him, wiping at the splattered blood on his face. I jog over and yank him up too roughly. Cas winces, but lets me pat his chest and shoulders, looking for cuts. "Are you okay?" I demand.

"Fine, Dean."

"Son of a bitch. That thing didn't—"

"Dean."

"—didn't draw any blood or—"

Cas sends his eyes skyward before knocking my hands away and shoving past me. I watch him walk to the Impala while he wipes his sleeve—well, my sleeve, my borrowed shirt—over his face again.

We're going to have to find him more clothes. My wardrobe is not going to last between the two of us.


We've been forced to head east, and I have been forced to show Cas how to shoot a gun.

It is not as fun as I'd imagined.

"So…" I look around at the wooded area we're half-camping out in. Really, we're just pulled over and sleeping in the cars. Nobody feels comfortable sleeping under the stars anymore. "Um, shoot that Polar Pop cup."

Cas raises his gun, shoots, and misses.

Six times.

"Okay, new lesson." This was so much easier with Sam, for some reason. "Say you're trying to shoot me. No—no, not—do not point the thing at me, damn it, just… Okay, say you're trying to shoot that tree…"

Cas hesitantly points the gun at the tree. I nod when he glances at me. "Okay, now you're keeping your gun on it. Him. Croatoan, zombie, whatever. Hold the gun… Yeah. But you're way too close. You wanna stay out of arm's reach, or the else the tree can… erm, I mean…"

Cas sighs and lowers the gun. "We can do this later," he suggests.

"No, we cannot do it later. If we run into Croatoans again, I don't want you going at them like a damn linebacker. Have I mentioned that you're an idiot, by the way?"

"Yes, Dean." There's some sarcasm leaking into Cas's voice, but I ignore it.

"Good. Gun up. And back the hell off the tree, that's how you get your gun taken from you, and for the love of—"

"Need a hand?"

I whip around, and there's Yeager. If I peek through the trees I can see Chuck and Bobby hovering by the van. They're both staring at us.

Yeager steps up beside me and puts his thumbs in his pockets. "Why don't you take a break?" he says to me. "I'll handle this for a while."

I'm about to tell him to shove it, but then I look at Cas. His hands are shaking on the gun, and he won't look at me anymore. So I grumble, "Go for it," and walk off.

"You all right?" Bobby asks me when I lean against the hood of the Impala. Chuck wisely keeps his mouth shut.

I cross my arms and draw a circle in the dirt with my boot. "Whaddayamean?"

Bobby gestures to the woods where Yeager has taken over teaching Cas how to shoot a tree to death. "You've been yelling at Cas for the past twenty minutes," he points out. "You know better than that. Probably done such a number on his nerves that he'll never shoot straight."

"I've been yelling at Cas for two years," I correct him. "And it's not like he was gonna shoot anything, anyway."

"You're underestimating him."

I'm about to come up with some snide retort, but then I hear two shots fire from the woods. All is quiet, and then a minute later Yeager and Cas come pushing through the trees. "Check it out," Yeager says, holding up the remaining pieces of the Polar Pop cup. He claps Cas on the shoulder. "Got it in two."

Cas's face is blank when he hands the gun back to me. I take it, and offer him a forced smile. "Way to go, Buddy," I say.

Cas looks up at me like he can still see right into my soul, and I blanch. "Dude," I protest, because I didn't do anything to deserve this stare-down. Then Cas breaks eye-contact and admits, "Yeager shot it."

I look at Yeager, who shrugs, sheepish. Bobby takes off his hat just to swat Yeager with it, muttering, "Idgit."

"Let's get back on the road, huh?" is all I can think to say. "I'm starving."

We don't find a stocked convenient store for another four hours. I don't know if that's a good sign or a bad one.


We find a deserted liquor store when we pass through Missouri. There's not much left in it, but nobody really cares. We were just looking for a secure place (that isn't my backseat) to sleep for the night, and it was this or a Wal-Mart.

Motels have too many entrances, too many windows, and we gave up on them days ago.

Chuck has disappeared in the back of the store, and I yell at him to stay close, because I haven't gotten to scope out the area yet. He comes back a minute later with a bottle of whiskey in each hand, and I immediately go from scolding to, "Bless you, oh prophet of the Lord."

Chuck and Yeager think that's funny. Cas does not.

"Bobby, get in here, Chuck found dinner," I call out to the van. He's still looking around the parking lot for signs of threats, and oh yeah, I'm supposed to be doing the same thing in the back. So I bring Chuck with me to find the back door so that we can make sure nothing is hiding in the dumpsters.

Once we're all satisfied that nothing is lurking around waiting to eat us, we sit in an almost-circle near the cash registers so that we can pass bottles around.

Everybody seems to forget that Cas has never had a drink before, and he only ate half of his bag of pretzels two hours ago. So when half an hour later Cas gets up without a word to stumble outside, nobody really worries about it.

Then we hear the van start up.

"Balls," Bobby growls at the same time when I leap up and say, "You left the keys in the van?" I don't wait for his answer before sprinting outside to investigate.

I find Cas in the driver's seat, playing with the radio.

"Uh, Cas?" I lean through the open window.

Cas ignores me, wrinkling his nose at the whiny static.

"Cas."

Cas gets to a string of southern gospel stations that have somehow managed to stay on the air, and he promptly stabs through them. "Where's that song?" he slurs.

"What."

"Th'song… the one about the lady named Betty. The one that gets on your nerves, but you keep it on sometimes because I like it."

I bite back a "that's what she said," because that would just lead to an overly-literal argument that I'm not really in the mood for. "You're drunk," I announce instead.

"Irrelevant." Cas pauses on a Miley Cyrus song, tilting his head and beginning to hum along.

"Oh, for the love of…" I push off of the door. "Try not to freeze out here. And turn the engine off," I tell him, and then I go back inside.

When I get back to the loose circle, I see that Yeager has finished off one bottle and is now holding it protectively against his chest. "Guys, when I die…" he starts.

"Quit bein' so damn morbid," Bobby says.

I sit down next to Chuck, snagging the second bottle from him. Meanwhile, Yeager has resumed his monologue.

"I just… guys, look. Guys." Yeager waves his bottle in front of him, then notices that he's let the bottle get too far away from him so he hugs it close again. "You can't let me be a zombie," he says. "If you even think I'm infected, I mean… just… I can't be a zombie, guys."

"I am too sober for this conversation," Bobby declares, and I pass him the full bottle.

"Dean understands," Yeager blurts, staring at me. "You get me, right?"

I stare back, and I can't respond, because I'm not drunk enough for this, either. So I turn to Chuck. "You got any drunken last requests to make, Prophet?" I ask, nudging his knee with mine.

"Nah." Chuck leans against the counter, folding his arms behind his head. "If I get infected, just let me flip. I'd be a super bad-ass Croat zombie."

We all laugh at that, and I murmur, "Croats. Yeah, that's what they are."

That leads to a very interesting but mostly incoherent conversation about the monsters we've gotten to name in the past. Turns out Yeager discovered a sub-species of Wendigo in Mexico that he named "Marilyns" because they reminded him of an ex girlfriend he had once.

Chuck then tries to end the argument with, "How about I'm a prophet of the Lord so I named all of them, so I win." And that's when Cas chooses to join us again.

Cas barrels in, hops over Yeager, and drops to his knees beside me to announce, with an expansive wave of his hands, "Dean, Dean, country music understands me."

There is a beat of silence.

"That is fantastic," I say, and then I push on Cas's chest to gain a foot of personal space. Unfortunately the movement is too much for Cas, so he topples backwards onto the floor and stays there.

Bobby, Yeager, and Chuck burst into hysterical laughter, and I don't join in until Cas props himself up on his elbows with a wide grin splitting his face.

Then I laugh for a very, very long time.


A/N: Anybody who can guess what song Cas was talking about in the van gets a gold star and my official stamp of approval.

Next Chapter: "Lessons from God and Avatar and Dean Winchester" Dean remembers Sam, and Castiel remembers licorice. We got yer angst right here folks, coming right up!