Disclaimer: Supernatural ain't mine.

Warning: Systematically insulting America with stereotypes based on the directions on a compass. Prostitution is legal in Nevada, with regulations and blah, blah, blah. Vague spoilers for season 7, but nothing that would ruin season 7 for you.

A/N: Once in a while, I will borrow some quotes from the show. Some quotes will be written the same, word for word, while others will be rearranged so they make sense within the context. The reason why I am doing this is because this story may be an AU, but all of the elements and rules of Supernatural still apply. I want to show the parallelism between the real version and this AU, as well as tie in some of the events from the real Supernatural (even if the events go down a bit differently because the circumstances are different). Rest assured though, this is in not just a repeat of the real Supernatural. After all, if you wanted a repeat of the show, you'd re-watch the show. Which, by the way, you should because Supernatural is amazing.

Read, enjoy, review! :D


The Impala eats up road like Dean eats up burgers. Fast and without chewing- which is actually pretty much exactly true, if gas guzzling is equated to chewing. What that means is that Dean got an angelically pimped ride and now his baby is a lean, mean, grace-eating machine. Of all the things Castiel could be putting his energy into, you bet your ass one of them is Impala maintenance. Seriously, it's the end of the world and the gas prices are worse than that.

For this exact, maybe just a little bit convoluted, reason, Dean is free to go where he wants and is unhindered by pesky "laws of physics" (laws are for square and Dean is a rebel for life, viva la whatever).

Right now, Dean is going west, where the girls are tan and the coast is littered with the remains of a million bottled waters and Starbucks cups. He's pretty friggin' sick of the South, where the Center is and there are, if he's being generous, about two people with good sense. Hicksville after Hicksville, moonshine, too much wildlife, and Dean is done.

There's also the fact that he heard some new age demon activity is burbling up in Nevada. Having been previously attacked by a demon and its cult of Flamers, Dean's more than ready to slice up some bitches.

And then there's the fact that prostitution was legal in Nevada before the end of the world. He can only imagine the opportunities now.

Everything's coming up Dean.


Absolutely nothing is going Bobby's way.

Now, Bobby ain't much for complaining, but if you reach the point where you're over forty and are living in a tree, you know you're life ain't heading in the right direction.

Okay, so that's not entirely accurate. Technically, Bobby is supposed to be occupying a tent, which is still in its spot twenty feet away and to the left of the tree he's in. However, he's spent three days in this tree, so at this point, he figures he might as well switch mailing addresses.

Here's what happened.

He had just finished a hunt involving a haunted bush and a weepy ghost who was still upset about how "the hottest guy in my high school totally, like, dumped me in front of my cool friends." Long story short, she died after going into the woods for a night of drinking away her troubles and then being attacked by a wild animal. It had, apparently, looked "so ca-yute and totally had the same spiritual vibe as my cat, Mittens, except it was way big."

The salt-and-burn case didn't take long, but it was late afternoon and he figured he might as well spend the night in the woods. After all, what would be the harm?

Right.

In the middle of the night, he had heard hollering and came out of his tent just in time to see a tall, gawky boy running in his direction. Behind the kid was a group of eleven flamers.

So here he is, three days later and thinking that at least he's found the perfect pine coffin. Also, there's the boy. Who is still alive and kicking. Literally, he just has these sporadic kicking spasms. The idgit had ran through a bramble bush, which seems to have had lasting effects; something to do with the kid trying to shake off all of the thorns covering the lower half of his body.

Bobby's beginning to think the kid is used to these sorts of experiences. Bobby on the other hand, he's pretty sure that if the Flamers don't kill them, the kid will talk him to death.

At this moment, this very serious moment where life and death are at standstill and waiting to see who wins, the kid is telling Bobby about his first hunt (and oh yeah, the kid's a hunter).

"So then I realized it was either him or me. Man, I felt terrible when I had to kill that S.O.B."

Bobby really wishes he weren't here right now. This kid is the saddest sack of sad Bobby's ever met and he's known a lot of hunters in his time. Worse, the idgit seems to think that Bobby being trapped here means that the kid has Bobby's attention, while his silence only serves to encourage the kid.

"Yeah, man. I mean, not my proudest moment, but it happened."

The kid just confessed to having killed the tooth fairy. It sort of makes Bobby want to lean backwards until he falls out of the tree.

All in all, the only possible thing Bobby can say to all of this is, "How in the hell are you still alive?"

SOL

"What if we jump out of the tree and then run really fast?"

"You go on and try that. I'll be sure to remind the Flamers to burn your bones while they're at it," Bobby says blandly.

The kid's eyes widen with a sort of awed realization and Bobby half thinks that any second the brainiac will say "ooooh" like everything makes sense now. Idgit.

"What if we make a decoy to distract them?"

"Great idea, you know anyone within the vicinity with a death wish?"

The kid considers this for a moment, and then looks sheepish as if maybe, just maybe, he picked up on the fact that Bobby wasn't serious. Idgit.

"What if…"

Bobby really wishes his flask hadn't come up dry yesterday. He needs a drink.


Sleep is a rule to live by these days. Night comes before Dean hits Nevada and he has to stop for some shut eye. Things aren't the same anymore, haven't been for a long time, and Dean can't just soldier through by the seat of his pants and a cocksure grin.

It's always been touch and go, one mistake might be your last, and you could die even if you line all your coats in salt. But survival is more and more about precision and attention nowadays. Sure, random things still happen, but it's not like you're walking around, minding your own business, when a flock of Flamers just 'sneaks up' on you. No way. Those suckers are loud- they groan and hiss, the flame parts of their body crackle, their feet scuffle along. Only way you can miss them is if you're preoccupied, surrounded by loud noises, or deaf.

Apparently, thinking you're hunting a Wendigo when demons and Flamers are in cahoots against you can also make you miss the obvious.

Dean has to be more cautious- he sure as hell knows better and can think of at least a few people who wouldn't hesitate to smack that fact along with some common sense back into him.

He really let the ball drop on that hunt. Hell, he doesn't even look for signs of demon possession anymore. Somehow he figured the end of the world must have meant something had to let up. As in, we've got Flamers and monster infestations now, but at least the demons are hiding under rocks.

Stupid.


The two of them smell like daisies, if the daisies mentioned had just been sprayed with garbage and then left out in the sun for a few days. Bobby scratches absently at his face, and almost expects his finger to come away with a film of second skin, like he's a damned snake shedding dead skin and sweat. They haven't showered or brushed their teeth in days and do not even ask about the specifics of how they deal with their other bodily functions.

Again, Bobby wants a drink more than he's ever wanted anything in his whole life. He wishes his flask was full, he wishes trees sprouted bottles of whiskey instead of leaves, he wishes oxygen was gin. He wishes so hard he almost thinks he will spontaneously be absorbed into a brave, new world of all the booze he can drink.

Instead, he gets a face full of trench coat, flapping opulently behind a figure hidden by blinding light. When Bobby squints his eyes and cups his hand to shield his face, he can just barely make out the figure. He almost doesn't believe it.

"Castiel?"

"Hello Bobby." Castiel says, not at all expanding on his sudden appearance or his recent whereabouts. He does, however, see fit to tap both Bobby and the kid, magic-ing them clean. Still, Bobby's has questions.

"What in the hell are you doing here?"

Castiel, in two completely separate motions, as if he were a robot with axles for left-and-right and up-and-down rotations, cocks his head to the side and then looks down. The red of the flames feel as if they're growing, reflecting against Castiel's eyes.

Staring at the Flamers with a look of great consternation, Castiel says, "I have come to retrieve you." Then, his gaze sweeps along to look at the kid, who is currently snoring loudly into Bobby's shoulder.

"And your friend," Castiel adds on.

Bobby opens his mouth to respond and then sincerely wishes he hadn't.


Dean wakes up before the sun is out.

He's got this internal clock thing to a science now and he's way more on top of things than he's ever been. He's always got plans and backup plans and researches all of the things he should know before he sets out on a hunt. Sometimes he even thinks things through. It's all a part of living through the end of the world, especially when you're on your own like Dean is.

The best part of any of this is that Dean's burdens are about as heavy as a single piece of paper. He fights for what he wants, he eats what he wants, he leaves when he wants. It's just him and the Impala.

All Dean has to do is rub away the eye gunk that comes from sleep and then he can hop into his baby, ready for more "The end is nigh!" and "I told you so, you heathens!" signs along the way and Metallica blaring as loud as he wants.


"W's goin' on- AHHHHHHHHH! Stay back you fiend!"

Garth has just awoken to the most befuddling situation he's been in all week. Last time he checked, he was hanging out with his new best friend in a tree, watching out for the nasty pairing of flames and pointy body parts on the 11 Flamers set on attacking them.

Here he is though, not in a tree and not entirely sure what he even means when he refers to 'here.'

The only thing Garth is certain of right now is that there is some sort of mystical being standing right in front of him and Bobby. He- It looks bird like for all that it is cocking its head to the side and piercing Garth and Bobby with what must be some sort of persuasion mojo via stunning blue eyes. Garth can feel the power behind that stare, weakening his knees and filling his mind with elevator music.

"Alakazam!" Garth puts forth all of his good intents and spritzes the humanoid beast with holy water, his other hand finding its way towards Bobby's chest, where said hand has placed itself in order to push Bobby protectively behind Garth.

Garth is ready to fight for his and Bobby's life, to face off against the evil he has fought so hard against from way back when (like, two months ago) starting in the days of his dentist practitioner career and when the first supernatural thing he ever came across was winged and holding the tooth of one of his patients in its grubby wand wielding hand. Garth will die to do what's right, and what's right is to protect the average apocalypse going citizen from supernatural beings.

What Garth is not expecting is for Bobby to smack him on the back of his head and tiredly say to the foul creature, "Castiel, this here is Garth Fitzgerald and he's the idgit who near got me killed."

SOL

It turns out that Bobby is a hunter.

Garth didn't think it was at all obvious. He figures that there's probably a fair amount of grizzled, war torn guys that like to spend their time in the woods and know it's in their best interest to avoid Flamers heading straight for them. Especially these days, most people know about creepy crawlers. How was Garth supposed to have even guessed at Bobby's day job?

Doesn't matter much, because Garth only figured this out after having been magically transported to somewhere not arboreal. He had paid dearly for this perfectly innocent misinterpretation of just exactly who Bobby is when Garth had exclaimed, "You're a hunter?" and was gifted with the toughest glare he's ever come across (and he's faced off against ghosts!).

Now, Garth, Bobby, and Castiel are is an abandoned warehouse of some sort. If Castiel "an angel of the Lord" Trench Coat is as reliable of a source as Bobby claims, the building is located on the outskirts of Nevada.

Garth likes for things to be sweet and simple, like his mama used to say he was. This is not like that. Not even a little.

Somehow, good 'ol fairy killing Garth has just been upgraded to sidekick's sidekick in facing down the end of the world. How does he figure this?

Well, Castiel and Bobby left Garth floundering when they began talking about prophecies, Hellish and Heavenly battles, angels!, and Dean. What's a Dean? Garth has no idea, but it sounds kind of cuddly. Dean. Glean. Teen. Bean. Jelly bean. See?

So yeah, Garth has maybe just a little bit given up on thinking too hard about everything that those two wild kids are talking about, but rather, is now taking it easy down here on the cement flooring.

Garth figures that when he needs to be involved, they'll involve him and then he will lend a helping hand to Bobby, the trusty wise old man of this saga. Because if Garth knows anything, it's that Bobby is a good guy and he won't lead Garth wrong.

Until then, Garth's just going to lay spread eagle on the floor, watching as the overhead light swings in lazy circles and wondering if there's enough dirt on the floor to make dirt angels.


Dean drives.

Of all the things gone to hell, some things always stay the same. Roads are one of those things. That's not to say that some roads aren't covered in bodies and weird fluids that you best avoid if you want to keep your sanity, but there's not much about paved tar that calls for monstrous destruction.

Another thing is money- it makes the world go round. Without his trusty greenbacks by his side, Dean would be long ago sunken into a pie deprivation induced coma. Also, he wouldn't have had any places to stay at or beer to drink when all he needed were walls on all sides and quiet thoughts to keep the bad stuff from edging him closer to death.

Then there are the people. Sure, they're harder, but they all still need saving. The life of a hunter is unlike anything else, because it's a mix of blood thirst and being a martyr, and you can't be like that just because you should. Almost a year worth of nightmarish horrors ain't enough to turn people towards a bleak reality the likes of which Dean's had a lifetime to get to know.


"What the hell Cas?!"

So, Dean had arrived at Nevada on the second day of his trip, skirting around territories he's heard are filled with either way too many monsters or way too many fools- people call them "gangs" or "bandits," but all Dean thinks is that they're gun wielding buffoons who more than likely would scratch up his sweet ride- and drooling over what his nights in Nevada will involve. Take a guess at what he means; starts with a 'P,' rhymes with destitute.

All of this was abruptly ruined, taken from Dean and shoved into the place in his mind that he calls 'things that can't ever be,' when Dean broke into the demons' lair and came face to face with something not demonic. Castiel, Bobby, and some weirdo rolling around on the floor.

Which brings him back to his point: "What the hell Cas?!"

"Dean. I am…" There is a definite pause after that in which Castiel considers his next choice of words. He decides upon, "pleased that you have made it."

"Pleased? Cas, what the hell?"

Castiel quirks his head, frown softening into what is almost a smile. He says, sounding way more peaceful than Dean feels, "I believe you said that already."

This is when Bobby takes a step forward, interrupting whatever Dean might have said next (which most likely would have involved some variation of asking 'what the hell?'.).

"Well boy, about time you got your scrawny ass to my part of the end of the world." As much as Dean is scowling, Bobby scowls deeper and better. The emphasis on 'boy' is the icing on the Grinch styled cake.

At that, Dean deflates. Dean may not have ever wanted to have this meeting, but it doesn't change the fact that Bobby is the closest thing to a father that Dean will ever have.

All that is left to say is, "Hi Bobby."

SOL

The guys put their heads together, each adding their input.

As Castiel explains it, he had sensed a sudden rise in demonic activity in the West. "A disturbance in the force" Dean helpful restates. He receives an emphatic hive five from Garth for this, though Bobby and Castiel appear none too impressed. Dean goes on to mention that he had been attacked by a demon, though he does fail to mention the specifics- namely, the fact that the demon had been wearing hiking shorts and leading Dean around like a lost puppy for hours on end.

Now Bobby- Bobby had no idea the demons were back and he lets everyone know this by saying, "You mean to tell me that it's the end of the world and those black eyed bastards are making their dramatic entrance now?"

Garth, well. He's a sweet boy, eager and willing to risk his safety, but his abilities go about as far as incredulously questioning everything and then he's done.

Take, for instance:

""This means the lights are on downstairs. Someone must be running the show."

"You mean Hell is real?"

"You're probably right, Dean. The question is- which stubborn son of a bitch is powerful enough to get things back in working order?"

"Ah hell, what if it's Lilith?"

"…Lilith is dead. Dean."

"Who's Lilith?"

"What the hell Cas?! Why didn't you bring that up earlier?"

"Who's Lilith?"

"I was not made aware of this until yesterday."

It is at this point that the industrial sized rolling door (think: garage door, but for warehouses) begins to open. The door makes a slow, creaking noise with every inch it is raised and sunlight, a blinding mood killer, rushes through the opening.

There are two outlines. Human, or, at least, human shaped. They're leaning towards each other and their body language clues in the four bros (even Garth) on the fact that the figures are talking. One of them turns and makes a sweeping gesture with his head, as if to inspect the warehouse. His eyes are black.

The four bros jump into action then.

Dean rushes in- demon-killing knife at the ready. Castiel strides towards them, as if to give Dean time enough to shine. Garth follows suit, blithely and with arms swinging in similar fashion. Bobby notices this and aborts his own plan of attack to grab Garth by a chunk of hair and pull him to the sidelines.

Of course, it is not generally with much ease that a demon lair can be infiltrated and commandeered. Such is the case now as well.

It's a trap.

Dean is tackled to the side by an unseen trio of demons. Garth and Bobby are their own worst enemies, fighting with and distracting each other up until the point where a very bored, tired looking demon walks up to them and clunks their heads together. Castiel is rooted in place, stopped a couple of yards away from Dean's spot.

All in all, it is a good day to be a demon.


A warehouse. Well, it is not a desirable place to be. It is big, as in, the echoes run along walls like rats skittering in the piping. It is dark and dank. The cold is somehow worse here than even on a plane of ice and snow. Perhaps it is because it feels more like an evil chill creeping in, clouding along the floor and expanding, touching skin with frozen fingertips. A warehouse is like an attack.

And then there are the demons. They are worse than a warehouse and they are vicious, vindictive.

Above all, there is no particular love held within this place for a Winchester and his allies.

Bobby comes to first. Or at least, he's the first fool enough to open his eyes. He would curse his lapse in intelligence, but it's a little too late for that.

"Well. Seems like the geezer is the first of the Scooby gang to pop up. Feeling chatty?"

What a numbskull. Bobby may feel worry over impending doom and torture, but that doesn't mean he's not still present of mind enough to notice when someone's seen too many action movies.

Then again, action films don't have a tendency to stick a knife to your throat. It's not the demon-killing knife, but that doesn't really mean much considering that a normal knife will work just fine against Bobby.

"What do you want?" That's Bobby asking.

"Why don't you unglue your tongue from your mouth and let loose some of those dirty, little secrets I know you've got rattling around in there?"

Bobby snorts. "I don't think so."

The demon only cocks its head to the side, and asks again.

"What are they planning?"

Bobby does happen to be being held and knifepoint, so he feels inclined to make this conversation last. He says, "They?"

The knife sticks him a little. Just enough to let on drop of blood fall onto the front of his shirt.

"The. Angels." The demon lets the words spill out, honey sweet and deadly.

Bobby resists the urge to gulp. Instead, he keeps his voice cantankerous and firm.

"Oh. Those holy jackasses. Nope, don't know nothing about their plans."

The knife digs a little bit deeper. This is the point where Bobby's comfort level reaches mildly not comfortable. Also, Bobby's doesn't think the demon knows too much about the 'Scooby gang' and their affairs. If the demon really wanted any answers, it would already know that Dean would be the one to ask. Not that Bobby's going to make this any easier for the bastard.

"Oy! Over here, ugly!"

Of course, just because Bobby has tactical sense, doesn't mean that Dean isn't going to ruin any chance they have going for them. Dammit.

"I might know a little something about the upstairs' plans!"

Dean's got that look on his face. The one means that he is going to mix a little bit of truth with a whole lot of insults. At the least, Dean with get punched in the face and buy them some time. At the most, Dean will get everybody killed within the next five minutes.

"Ah, Dean. You're up!" Somehow, the demon sounds even deadlier than it did a minute ago.

Bobby lets out a breath. The demon is walking towards Dean, taking the knife too. There's going to be some neck bruising going on for the next few weeks. But hey, at least Bobby still has a neck. You know, for now.

"That's right ugly. Swing that pretty little ass on over to papa." Great, Bobby's stuck in a seedy action movie from the 80s, with plenty of smack talk and sexual harassment. Thank god Bobby's realized that, because it gives him a script to fall back on.

"Don't listen to that idgit! Come back over. Dean won't tell you anything, but I will if you don't hurt the boy."

Dean looks at him in shock. What an idgit. The boy must really think real low of Bobby if Dean thinks Bobby actual means any of the bullshit he just spouted.

There it is. The demon turns to Bobby and is met with a look that says, Well? You coming? And demons for the life of them can't resist temptation, so of course the thing comes walking back over to Bobby. About the same time as the demon decides to head on over to Bobby, Dean straightens up, like he finally gets what's up.

"Boys, boys, boys. Make up your mind. Which of you is going to tell me first?"

Bobby leans back a little bit because the demon is right in his face and its breath smells. Think about it for a second. A demon shoves itself down someone's throat, to take over someone's body and use it as a meat suit, and it's going to what? Brush its teeth? Not likely.

"Shut the hell up Bobby! You're blowing smoke out of your ass and we all know it. You're totally out of the loop. You have been ever since the end of the world started!"

There's Dean, a potent mixture of sharp and helpful. While Dean does manage to ensnare the demon into another round of 'Who's Got the Answers?,' Dean's also bringing forward some dirty laundry. Honestly, the idgit is going to give Bobby whiplash. That boy is the most goodhearted, cruel son of a bitch Bobby knows.

"Hey guys! I think I figured out how this demon fighting stuff works!"

Somehow, Garth has escaped the bindings of nylon rope and is now wielding Dean's precious knife of mystical properties… Wielding may be too generous of a word. He's just kind of jabbing in a way that's closer to a little boy playing pirate. But still, the knife is deadly to demons and you just have stick it in to get results (hehe).

Garth skitters over to the demon, who is actually just kind of starting dumbly at Garth.

Bobby sees the moment when this becomes serious for Garth. It's like time stops, for just one, short, vital second. This is when Garth straightens up and looks the demon straight in the eyes. What the kid sees, Bobby doesn't know. All Bobby does know is that Garth has never seen a demon before tonight and Garth's got an awfully steep learning curve to climb within the next few seconds.

The second passes and Garth is moving. He thrusts with the knife, plunging it into the meat suit's thigh. And the demon is like a storm- lightning, bright and lighting up its innards, and thunder, black billowing clouds. The person, the actual living, breathing person trapped inside seems to come alive. The person is screaming out demon and her eyes look alive. Bloodshot and shedding tears.

So here they are. There's a traumatized girl in the middle of a warehouse, who they're probably going to have to traumatize more if they want any answers. Dean and Bobby are still tied up, Castiel is nowhere in sight, and Garth just saved the day.


I didn't want to spoil anything, so I'm writing it here:

Garth just stabbed a meat suit with the demon-killing knife and the demon didn't die. Here's my reasoning: The boys kill the host every time they kill a demon. If they were able to avoid killing the host (by stabbing them in the leg, arm, etc.), but still kill the demon, wouldn't they do that all the time?

Anyways, sorry if I'm wrong, but the chapter's already done, so too late now!