Disclaimer: Will never belong to me, no matter how many times I saw pretty please.
A/N: Time shifts during this chapter. It goes from Dean talking to the recruits and then to being out in the field and back again. Didn't really like doing the end bit, his my favourite character but needed to do a hurt Dean piece to explore the changes in him.
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"So you're the new recruits?" Dean huffed. "I bet it seems like an exciting gig after being cooped up for so long; going out seeing the sights … well it's not. The ruin that the world has become, you thought it was bad before now it's hell."
He stared down hard at all the people who were gathered in front of him. He would memorize the faces and basic info, which he would later file away but beyond that nothing; too many friends he had seen come back in body bags. He was resolved to never have that happen again.
"You'll think you'll know more by going out. But the truth is no, you won't. You'll be in the dark about most things that happen around here as you are now. There aren't just those blood drinkers running around the place, there are demons you haven't even dreamt of … most of them, mind readers. When you go and there, keep your mind as blank as possible. Best rule I've found; live in the moment, don't want anything. Cause that will only be used against you."
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The truck rolled heavily over the uneven ground while occasionally bouncing up, giving more reason for the new recruits to be startled. Occasionally, the jeep would make grunted noise, scary any local wildlife one hundred metres in all directions.
It had been a while since they had last been outside the compound, seen what had happened to the city; what their old world had become. They had watched with horrified awe as the broken city had been revealed through the forest. Meanwhile Dean had just sat back rechecking the weapons, ignoring the sight that held the others so captive.
He missed the Impala. Missed the smell of fresh paint, clean upholstery and the smooth ride beneath him, as he steered holding onto the warm wheel. He had kept the car out the front the compound. The exact place it had died after the long journey to the safety of the compound. He hadn't bothered having it repaired, there was no use for a car like that now … and it was just a reminder of how he hadn't appreciated things. How he had failed everyone he had ever loved, every one he had ever know, and that's why he kept it. So he wouldn't forget.
A lurch snapped him back to the present. He had to watch out; he was needed to scan the surround area once they got to a certain point. He had driven for the most part when the first patrols had started but one day, a group of the blood drinkers had attacked. Jumping on the back of the vehicle, the people behind were trapped. With sickening thuds, people's bones were crushed either by the attackers or by being thrown off the moving vehicle. All the while he had heard the horrible slurping sounds of the blood being forced out of their bodies. A noise, which had followed him in dreams months after the final scream, had died.
He scuffled over, kneeling down to the position, which would have the best vantage point. Picking up the rifle he looked for the scope, scanning the area. This was the beginning of one of the hot spots; he noted some movement in the distance. Squinting he looked discreetly to his sides watching the people, curious to what their reaction would be to the people.
There were sharp intakes of breath, gasps and people stilling them at the bloodied people running towards them. Afterwards they all made movement to their weapons, a quick reaction that pleased him. The immediate reaction would wean over time; these people would be the ones that could prove to be useful … if all of them survived.
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"You survived the outbreak. So you know what the basics are. But I hope you've gone over the papers you were told to read. Put your hands up if you haven't read it," Dean ordered.
Silence filled the small damp room. Tension thickened, people glanced around nervously before one individual raised their hands. Soon afterwards, close to several people had their hands raised from twenty-one. The watched in stunned silence as Dean started laughing humourlessly.
"All of you, with their hands up, you're not coming. Not now, not ever. You weren't able to do a simple task you were told".
Groans and the beginnings of protest interrupted Dean; the murmur bring the room to life. Suddenly Dean stood up, sliding the chair out from under him and began pacing around. Feet hitting the wooden boards, he growled loudly, cutting short the noise.
"You were told what to do. You chose not to. You've proven yourself unreliable. That's the main thing that we need when we're out there fighting. To know that the people around you know what's going on and they have you're back" he informed. "Now all you, get out NOW!" he yelled, pointing to the door.
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"This is going to be different than what is usually done, normally we go deeper but today we're going to stay on the outskirts" he informed, bringing their attention back to him. "You'll get a feel of the fighting skills you've developed in practice. Except this time no one is going to yell 'time out'."
The figures running to him seemed to glide over the landscape, unfailing and certain in their strides. A fearsome flock that consumed everything is in its wake. Though like life, not all we're equal in death. Although they ran easy than the average human, there were still those that lugged behind the rest.
Leaping out of the jeep, Dean saw movement from a tree behind him. A single figure emerged. Young blonde woman in a floating white dress. She would have been extremely beautiful, if not for the blood flowing down her mouth, blood staining her dress. Sudden nausea hit Dean, as she turned to face him front on; a huge chunk of flesh that was presumably bitten from her face, the cause of the feeling.
Lifting his gun, he fired some shots into her stomach. The slight frame was pushed backwards with each shot, though she'd keep moving forward in between each one. A macabre dance. Watching his fascinating, he threw the gun to the ground and unsheathed the sword that was strapped across his back, hidden underneath jacket. With one smooth movement, the sword flew beheading the figure in front of him.
He watched in disinterested as the body crumbled to the ground, while the head flew before suddenly hitting the ground and rolling metres away. Wiping the blade, he turns sharply around at the people in the jeep.
"Remember, disarm and injury these sons of bitches before they get the chance to get you. I for one don't fancy shooting all of you," he warned, before turning back to the approaching enemy.
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"It's easy to make mistakes when you know what you're doing … and when you don't things get worse. Now I could stand up here in front of you and lie easily; tell you that everything is going to be okay but it won't. At best not all of you are going to be able to fight like you need to … at worst, not all of you are going to make it back alive."
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Upward swing. Downward swing. Duck. Punch. Kick. Throw.
Each movement Dean made he focused heavily on. As if thought alone could make it that much forceful. Each punch though felt foreign too him, as it was partial absorbed by the standard gloves they wore. In hand-to-hand combat, the smallest scratch could be deadly.
He listened to the sound of gunfire and steel meting flesh. As the numbered slowly dwindled a perverse happiness filled the atmosphere. Surviving was all that mattered, and this had been the most active form that all of the people had come across in a long time.
They all walked back to the parked jeep. The people forming their groups and patting each other on the back, congratulating themselves. No one had died. And no one had been infected. Luck like this wouldn't last long, but for now, these people lived in their delusions. And Dean walked alone.
The attack he had born witness to from the safety of the front seat haunted him. The attack itself was bad. But what happened afterwards was just plain evil.
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"Once you pick up a gun and come out those gates; things are going to change. Cause once you go out there and see what happens, you can't pretend and can't go back to your sheltered existence".
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They had all made promised to be carefully. They knew what would have to happen if things went wrong. All of them had promised that they wouldn't make a fuss, that as Dean put it there would be no chick flick moments.
How wrong the group had been. They'd seen the world and the darkness had taken everything from them, or so they thought.
Dean watched the figure beneath him writhe about in pain. Tears rolled down their face through clenched eyes, cleaning their bloodied face. Grunting noises filled the area, and wild animals darted off scared by what they heard.
The gun in Dean's hand was beginning to look all to friendly and for one moment he thought about using it on himself after … this, was done.
This was not the best death. The person before him deserved something quick and simple. Not this, the infection would fill him and their would be that agonizing hours when he would be him, and suffer for the knowledge of what the blood was doing. Dean had hoped it would be different. Because if anyone could fight this by sheer stubbornness, this would be the guy. But things don't work that way. Stories end at Happily Ever After, because it's good to go out on a bow. No one wants to know that things will never end happily.
"I don't wanna die Dean" Bobby begged from the floor.
Tears remained fixed in Dean's eyes as he stared at the begging figure. Something caught in his throat as he looked at his father-like figure. The attack had been planned by Sammy … by Lucifer wearing the Sammy suit he reminded himself forcefully. He couldn't answer him, because there was nothing that could be said, even if he could remember how to talk. There would be no last mainly awkward hug, or a kiss on the check goodbye. Any contact would lead to Dean being infected as well. All Dean could do was cock the safety on the gun.
BANG!!!