Everyone sat in silence for a few minutes, eyes wide and mouths clamped shut. The man on the floor stirred, flopping from his side onto his back, furrowing his brows as he hit his head on the floor.
"What the fuck…?" he mumbled, blinking. Dean gulped, nodding as Sam went for the crossbow, fingers touching it lightly, ready for action. Dean watched as the man touched his head lightly, eyes open in fully, squinting as he scoped out the area.
"That hurt like a bitch…" he muttered, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Dean shrugged.
"Getting stabbed then falling on the floor will do that, yeah," Dean agreed, then jumped as the man grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him until their noses were a leas an inch apart. Dean tried his best not to gag- if the man had smelled bad unconscious he smelled even worse up close.
"Dude, you need a breath mint- better yet an entire bottle of Listerine!" Dean sputtered, choking on the rank stench that emanated from him.
"Cut the crap," he barked, "the fuck did you do to me?" Unhooking his hands from his shirt, Dean back away.
"W-we didn't do anything, you stinking animal!" Dean shouted, "how are you still alive?!" It was the man's turn to be confused, raising an eyebrow in question.
"The hell are you talking about. son?" he asked, standing up. As soon as he cast his brown eyes at Dean he noticed it- the large gash in his chest, blood now turning into a dry brown crust, "what the hell happened here?"
"That's what we would like to know," Sam said, eyes wide at the stranger. They had just stabbed an Angel, yet the vessel was up and walking and talking like nothing had happened! How did one explain that?!
"Did the Gov'ner make you bring me here?" he asked.
"Who?"
"The Governor," he repeated, sending a trail of saliva at Dean, who rolled his eyes.
"Listen, dude," he said, "you may look like an animal but that doesn't mean you have to act like one!" The stranger sent daggers in Dean's direction.
"That doesn't mean you have to act like a whiny bitch either," he pointed out. Kevin chuckled, shutting up when the guy turned on him.
"Sorry," Kevin muttered, "that wasn't something to laugh at…. maybe…. I-I'll just go…" Without another word he disappeared around the corner, and Dean could hear the door to his room slam shut.
"Anyway," the stranger drawled, "where is the Governor?"
"There sis no Governor," Sam answered with a small shake of his head, "never has been as far as we know."
"Well, has any of my group members come by here then?" the stranger asked. Maybe they saw Merle, he thought, just want to be sure...
"What, like, church group?" Dean suggested.
"No, you idjit," he said sarcastically, "my survival team. Has any of them come by here?"
"I'm pretty sure we would see someone coming," Sam said, "I mean, the bunker is miles away from any sort of civilization-"
"So you're saying no one ever came here and said they were from the prison camp a few miles South of here?" the stranger asked, crossing his arms over his chest, muscles bulging. Dean crossed his arms in imitation, slightly jealous of the man's build.
"Prison camp?" Dean scoffed, "for the bad guys? What did you do, stab a dude?"
"No," the man said, "we camped out there after the Governor took over the schoolhouse we was in. Sent a shit load of Walkers after us when we were in his home as well-"
"Walkers?" Sam asked. H end never heard anyone use that term for the Croatoans in his life. Heck, he'd heard zombie, but never Walker.
"That's what we call 'em," he said with a nod. Sam nodded.
"Okay, well, do you want to try calling your friends to come over here?" Sam suggested, "I mean, we have enough food for about a year, we can help feed mrs mouths if necessary-"
"What are you doing Sammy?!" Dean cut his brother off.
"What?"
"You can't just offer strangers our food supply!" Dean barked.
"Well I wasn't the one who stabbed the guy!" Sam shot back, as if it counted for anything. Dean rolled his eyes.
"I wasn't either- that was Cas! Anyway he literally barged in here with a weapon! How can we trust the dude?!" Dean retorted.
"Are you two lovebirds done squabbling?" the man asked with a sigh of boredom. Cas was silent the entire time, keeping this blue eyes on the stranger. The man locked eyes with him, "What are you looking at?" Without a word, Cas went around the corner, joining Kevin in their shared bedroom.
After a few minutes of fighting and the man standing there- the stab wound had stopped bleeding, which was great, but if it wasn't treated it might get infected- Dean agreed with Sam to help share the supplies, although they were in for a real surprise when they heard the man's next comment.
"Thanks for the help, but in order to do so, we'll have to go back to the prison," he explained, clapping his hands. He gestured to the wound, "and we gotta get this cleaned up, no?"
"We have to go to the camp?" Dean said. The man nodded as he reached behind himself. Hooking the collar of his shirt on his thumb, he pulled it over his head, revealing a nicely toned pack of muscle, as well as a railroad on his chest, a few on his arms.
"Yessir," he said, "and we have to get this cleaned up. I don't know how it got there, but then again, I really don't want to nor do I care." Dean shrugged, thankful that they didn't have to explain anything about angels or demons and whatnot. They might have sounded insane to him if they did.
"Alright then," Sam said, breaking the awkward silence that followed, "I'll have Kevin help me find the first aid kit then. Dean- just uh, show him were the laundry room is, okay?" Dean rolled his eyes asSam went to speak with the prophet, grumbling that Sam always left him with the awkward jobs at any moment he could.
"Alright, Sally," the man chuckled, "show me where the laundry room is then." Dean groaned, shuffling down the hall, saying, "My name is Dean. It would be nice if you used it."
"Okay then," he said, "if we're gonna use a fist name basis, the name is Dixon." Dean raise dan eyebrow at him. What kind of name is that? He thought.
"Daryl Dixon," he said, then Dean nodded, although he thought the first name sounded even weirder then the last.
"Okay, buddy," Dean shrugged, pushing open the door to the laundry room. Daryl followed him inside, tossing the torn and now bloody article of clothing on the floor.
"One thing I gotta say to you," Daryl said as they left the washroom.
"Okay?" Dean said, ending it as if it were a question.
"I ain't no one's buddy," Daryl said. Dean slammed the door behind them, rolling his eyes. He was in for a long day, he knew that. Let's hope we get to the prison and quick, he thought, because I don't want to deal with Indiana Jones here for another minute!
Sam and Kevin were busy digging through the medical supplies when they entered the living room. Cas had stayed in his room, much to Dean's surprise. He usually watched when he and Sam had to bandage themselves up after a hunting trip. Sighing, Dean plopped himself on the couch.
"I assume you know how to bandage yourself up…." Sam said, trailing off so he could fill in a name. Daryl nodded, saying, "Daryl, kid. The name is Daryl." Sam nodded, handing him the roll of bandages to him.
"Okay then Daryl," Sam said, "well I'm Sam, you've already met Dean." Dean grunted as Sam pointed to Kevin, who gave a small wave, "this is Kevin, and the other guy from earlier was Castiel."
"What the hell kinda name is that?" Daryl muttered as he unrolled the tape, wrapping it around his torso. Sam shrugged, sitting himself back down on the couch, clasping his hands in front of him.
"So uh, Daryl, how long have you and your team been living in the prison?" Sam asked as Daryl ripped at the tape, tying a large knot to secure it. Daryl tossed it, making a perfect landing in the medical kit.
"About a year, I suppose," Daryl answered gruffly, "when there are no working clocks, you lose track of time, I guess. I dunno." Nodding, Sam pursed his lips. They hadn't even been in the bunker for that long and they barely had enough for the year- how did he and a bunch of numerous others survive for that long? And how are we gonna feed them when they come here? he thought nervously.
"That's pretty sick," Kevin commented, nodding his head as an impressed grin slid across his face.
"You know what else is pretty sick?" Daryl said. Kevin shook his head. He himself was never able to actually go on the hunting trips with Sam and Dean, staying home to decipher the tablets for them.
"No, what?" Kevin paled when he heard the answer, the smile instantly disappearing.
"Watching little kids learn how to use knives during story time," Daryl smirked as he saw the teen's ace fill with shock and awe.
"What?" Dean piped up.
"Carol- on of the group members- during story time, she would teach kids how to defend themselves against the Walkers," Daryl explained.
"How old were these kids?" Sam asked, a look of concern flashing in his eyes. Daryl shrugged.
"Most of 'em were about ten to thirteen," he answered, "some of them were as young as five years old. Barely in kindergarten." Daryl chuckled, shaking his head.
"Dude, there isn't anything funny about that," Kevin snapped suddenly. Daryl shook his head.
"Of course there is," he said, "I never would have expected kids that age to learn anything like that. To become killing machines." Dean was strangely quiet- it was kind of like what they did for a living. Savin people, hunting things. The family business, as their father and called it. But five years old? he thought, we didn't even start at that age!
"How are the conditions at the prison camp?" Sam asked. Daryl rolled his eyes.
"Fairly clean, fairly dirty," he said, looking as if he were truly pondering his answer, "you know, we have a few bodies here and there. The usual."
"Bodies?" Kevin pressed, a look of disgust on his face. Daryl shrugged.
"Gotta get rid of them somehow, right?" Daryl suggested, then, "And Sammy?"
"Yeah…. Daryl," Sam said uneasily. He wasn't really used to anyone calling him Sammy unless it was Dean. And Cas called him Samuel, so that nickname was out as well.
"I'm gonna need my crossbow back," Daryl demanded, "so hand it over."
