Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 10: Higher Ground

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There were supposed to be mindless zombies, their only ambition in life to make more zombies. They were not supposed to be friggin' special forces zombies who were snipers and take strategies from "The Art Of War". 'Yeah and they aren't supposed to out think my plan!' Dean railed as he tried to press himself further into the dirt as sniper fire spit up the ground inches from his head. "Ouch!" he exclaimed as a bullet nicked his hand, causing him to pull it tighter to his wish-I-was-a-groundhog position.

One sniper on the hill picking off anyone approaching from the plains toward the city, that was as complicated as the situation was to get. His solution? Circle around and take out the sniper. Easy enough…if the sniper wasn't a whole sniper squad, perched up on the high ground, taking turns with the high powered rifle. Course that didn't mean the others were weaponless. 'No, what fun would that be,' Dean bitterly thought, recognized the sound of a military M-16 pinning him down. Knew that, if he popped his head up, they would blow his brains out.

And if that wasn't bad enough, a grenade landed in the underbrush beside him.

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Hunkered down on the west side of the hill, undetected and safe, Cas and his band of two, brothers, Gabe & Scott Kendall, obediently held their positions, waited for Dean's signal to join the fray. Well, the two of the three waited obediently, Cas was only still rooted to the spot because Gabe tackled him when he made to clamor to the top of the hill when the racket of gunfire, far too much for the lone sniper Dean's group expected to encounter, shattered the morning solitude.

"Wait for Dean's signal," Gabe had hissed in Cas' ear, pinning the formal angel to the ground.

"He might not be alive to signal!" Cas growled back, hated that the former Navy Seals' strength overrode his meager human struggle, kept him from going to his friend's aid.

"And if he's not dead, he'll rip you a new one for disobeying his orders!" Gabe countered, knew that even the toughest of his former Navy commanders had nothing over a dressing down by Dean Winchester when someone didn't toe the line he drew in the sand. But Cas still fought to be free and he knew orders, objectives and a dressing down didn't mean a thing to the ex-angel, not when his best friend was in jeopardy. Roughly rolling Cas over, he slammed Cas' back onto the ground and pressed his forearm under the man's chin. "It's daylight, so we can't move forward and we can't move back. But he's got a plan, Cas. He's always got a plan. You wanna screw it up, wanna be the one who gets him killed?!" He could read the grim answer in the blue eyes, as if Cas had been that person before, carried that weight with him already, would do anything, anything to not be that person again.

Withdrawing his arm, Gabe patted Cas on the chest. "We wait for his signal, then we go like attack dogs, ok?"

"Yeah," Cas quietly agreed, didn't voice what was running through his head, wouldn't undermine Dean's command like that, wouldn't tell Gabe that, sure, Dean always had a plan…but more than a few of those plans ended with Dean surviving only by the grace of God. Could rattle off ten in his head without thought. So "Dean's got a plan," it wasn't the best pep speech he had ever heard. But the other part, about being the one that got Dean killed, that one gutted him. Because with his new human status, it seemed the odds were increased that he would do something or not do something and lose Dean.

So he rolled over and waited, his ears aching to hear Dean's voice above the gunfire, to sense something in his being that told him Dean wasn't already dead, to be reassured that, staying put was the right thing to do, that Dean hadn't done the one thing he would never forgive him for doing: leave him for good.

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"Grenade!" Dean shouted even as he rolled away, covered his head with his arms, felt the compression of the explosion jolt the ground and the rumble mute his hearing. Hoped that his four guys, Althouse, Dell, Haltman and Trask, who had been positioned by him had gotten clear of the shrapnel radius too because he couldn't see much, not with smoke billowing in the air from some smoke canister.

It was like they were doing a reenactment of Little Big Top and he and his merry band were the Confederates, doomed to lose. But he had started this mess and there didn't seem to be a way to retreat, not unless they wanted to get picked off while they ran away. Because they might have snuck up the mountain in near darkness, before the sun came up. Now it was dawn and the sun was outting them like a spotlight. So there they were, hunkered down on the hill, bullets, and now grenades, raining down on them, making it suicidal to try to advance forward or retreat.

Stalemate of a sort…except there were cries of pain and Dean knew the croats didn't react to pain, kept on coming if you blew off their arms. So the cries, they were humans, soldiers, his soldiers, the people that trusted him, thought he had a clue how to set the world back on course. They were dying because of him. Because they believed in him.

And more would die the longer he huddled there, let the friggin' croats continue to pick off his people, to keep the high ground, acted like a newbie soldier instead of a leader. 'Crap, it's not like I expected to live even this long.' Shouting to be heard above the din of gunfire, he commanded, "Roadrunner on my signal!" Hoped like heck they all remembered roadrunner was code for…retreat…AKA run for your friggin' life because this was one battle they couldn't win. Not today, with the odds so much not in their favor.

Gearing himself up to do what he had to, he steadied his breathing, waited for the smallest break in gun fire, tried not to think what Sam would say about his plan, to think about his brother at all because that was just a road of hurt. Then there was a minuscule lull of fire coming at him, was his moment if he'd ever get one. So with an unholy scream of "Go!", gun and knife in hand, he pushed to his feet, went on the offensive, for most likely the last time ever.

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Cas jerked when Dean's voice interjected the gunfire, almost more than at the concussion of a grenade that started a mini land slide that had him dodging left to avoid getting cracked in the head with a boulder that came rolling down the mountain. Heart pounding, breathing loudly, he waited, one hand tightened around the gun in his hand while the other held onto the underbrush as if holding himself from sliding down the hill…or stopping him from surging to his feet and going to the ground zero of the grenade.

When he thought he couldn't stand it any longer, had to move, had to crest the hill, had to lock eyes on Dean, his friend's voice echoed across the landscape. "Roadrunner on my signal!" And Cas was certain, even if he were still on Heaven's payroll, he would have cursed at his friend's command. He knew it for what it was: a sure sign that his friend was about to do something illogically suicidal. Because Dean Winchester might value lives that were not his own, might order others to retreat, but would never willingly retreat himself, not if it would get someone else killed.

Looking down at Gabe and Scott positioned on the incline below him, he hissed, "Elmer Fudd on his signal" feeling a bit foolish, not in countermanding Dean's order but on referencing what he had come to know as a cartoon character.

It was Gabe's younger brother, Scott who protested, "Attack?! Are you crazy?! Dean's…."

But Dean's "Go!" cut off Scott, put a shiver down Cas' spine and Cas knew he wasn't wrong. Because Dean's tone…it was the tone his friend used when he was making a last stand and didn't expect to see another day. Without waiting to see if the two brothers would disobey Dean and follow him instead, Cas dug his boots into the gravel underfoot and scrambled up the hill. After all, he had made his choice already, a couple times over. He would follow the man who had turned down a safe place in heaven for the slim hope to save mankind as long as his borrowed body still had breath in it.

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They didn't expect it, his kamikaze charge. Was probably why Dean was able to take out three of them before they zeroed in on him. Each of his bullets found its mark like the skilled hunter he was, ensuring those he shot were down for the count. Instead of seeking cover, he increased his forward plunge, drew his knife across the carotid artery of the closest croat as he pulled her close, didn't flinch when her body was riddled with bullets meant for him. Shot two more croats from behind that protection before her body was all dead weight, too heavy to hang on to. Letting her drop, he dropped too, rolled right, came up shooting another two, unmindful of the rounds eating up the ground he had been in moments before, ignored the shots kicking up dirt by his foot.

Swinging his gun to his far left, he shot the croat whose rifle sights were on him. But even as he did, the hair on the back of his neck was standing up, telling him that he had missed something, something vital. And then he sensed something, coming for him, not from higher ground but from behind him. Dropping onto his back, he rounded his gun to his target: a muscle bound croat towering over him, blotting out the sun, his rifle muzzle leveled at his head, as if he wanted the kill to be up close and personal. But Dean beat the croat to the punchline, unleased a bullet into his skull.

Which only made the hulking croat smile.

As the bullet hole in the man's forehead closed up, Dean muttered, "Oh crap, you're not a poser, are you?" knew that this wasn't some infected human, that this was the genuine article, one of hell's children. Batting the riffle muzzle out of his face, he surged upright, intent on plunging Ruby's knife into the hulk's chest.

But the Hulk caught his hand, halted the knife inches from its destination, crushed the fragile wrist in his grip until the knife dropped harmlessly onto the ground.

"Dean Winchester, you finally got the balls to crawl out of whatever hole you've been cowering in," the hulking figure drawled, smiling, showing black teeth and even blacker eyes. "I'll tell your brother goodbye for you."

And at the mention of Sam, every rational thought flew from Dean's head, every instinct to fight faded away. He could only think, 'Is there a Sam left to tell I'm dead? Is he still in his body somewhere? Does some part of my brother still exist?'

As if reading his thoughts, the hulk chuckled, grabbed Dean by the throat and hauled him to his feet."You're such a sap. Your little brother's not even a memory. He burned out like a candle in a gale wind the second he said 'yes'."

It was what Dean knew, but hadn't wanted to accept. Because to fully acknowledge Sam's fate…was to acknowledge the hopelessness of his own. It barely registered with him that the hand around his throat was cutting off his air, intended to crumble his windpipe. But he didn't fight it, figured he might as well get his fate over with.

Gunfire, not from a rifle but a .45 peppered the hulk's back. And over his shoulder, Dean could see Haltman and Dell, who he had ordered to retreat coming up the hill. "No!" he croaked out, hands trying to uncoil the hulk's grip on his throat, to get out a real warning, to let them know this wasn't a croat they were up against. But he couldn't budge the fingers, watched in horror as Haltman and Dell, his two soldiers, his two friends emptied their clips in the hulk before going in for a close quarters battle of fists and kicks.

It didn't last long. Seconds really. Dean would have screamed in grief and rage as the hulk broke Dell's neck and ripped Haltman's heart from his chest, if he could draw breath. If blackness wasn't edging his vision. But the grief, the rage restored his will to fight, to kill, to not die and take the easy way out. His first exhale was a cough but his next exhale formed a word, a Latin word, then more, all starting to lead up to an exorcism.

The hulk faltered under the Latin, lost some of his grip and it was enough. Bringing his forearm down on the hulk's hand, Dean broke his hold on him. Released, he fell, couldn't keep his feet as he hit the ground and ended up crashing onto his back, knocking what little breathe had out of him. Could just lie there, was almost too oxygen deprived to do more than just cling to consciousness. Almost. But his numb fingers blindly searched for the lost knife.

Rolling his head to the right to try and visually locate his weapon, the last of Dean's breath ripped right out of him at the sight of Cas charging for them, for the croat that wasn't a croat. Cas who wasn't an angel anymore, couldn't meet the hulk's strength on even ground anymore, was just a human, as human as the men who lay broken and dead on the ground beside Dean. "Cas no, He's not…" Before he got a chance to complete his warning, Cas crashed into the hulk like a linebacker, and to Dean's surprise, his momentum knocked the hulk off his feet, sent them both crashing to the ground beside him.

It was anything but a fair fight. The hulk slammed Cas into the ground like he was a rag doll, a doll he despised, dazing the ex-angel but Cas still struck out, delivered a punch to the hulk's cheek, followed by a knee to the groin. Neither blow doing much to even distract the hulk, let alone hurt him. The hulk's big hands closed around Cas' throat and squeezed.

Suddenly, Dean knew with sick certainty that this was it, the day he had dreaded. The day that he got Cas killed, really killed. No return trips, no miraculous resurrections, just dead, just gone. Never coming back. It was terrifying enough of a thought to give him the strength to slip an elbow under him, to lever himself half off the ground, to search in earnest for the knife even as he started the exorcism spell over again from the top.

And that managed to snag him what he wanted: the hulk's sole attention in the form of a well placed chop of his hand to Dean's throat, causing Dean to gag and wonder if his voice was gone forever. But when he fell silent, Cas took up the spell, was the hulk's target once again. And the hulk returned his favor with relish, seemed intent to reach into Cas's chest and rip his heart out like he had Dean's other soldier's.

Muted and unable to find the knife, Dean looked around for another weapon, found one of the croats he had ganked lying nearby, a grenade clipped to his belt. Shuffling forward, Dean yanked the grenade free, met Cas's eyes a moment before he pulled the pin on the grenade…and shoved it down the hulk's pants.

Distracted by whatever just went down his pants, hulk started to swing around and Cas took that opportunity to clasp his hands together and put all his weight behind the swing that landed on his adversary's face, causing the hulk to lose his balance. Dean took that moment to deliver a kick to the hulk's chest, sending him tumbling backwards down the incline. "Down!" he warned as he threw himself to the ground, hands and arms half covering Cas' head and his own.

The ground vibrated with the explosion twenty seconds later.

"Now we roadrunner it out of here," Cas murmured as he pushed himself upright, latched onto Dean's arm and started to lever his leader to his feet. Wasn't all that surprised when Dean stubbornly pushed his supportive hand away, swayed on his feet but kept upright. "Gabe and Scott are keeping them pinned down but they can't hold them for long," he announced, was worried and wasn't afraid to show it.

"Althouse?"

Gritting his jaw in reaction, Cas lowly said, "He retreated, just like you commanded him to," his angry judgment unmasked.

""Least someone remembers I'm the friggin' leader of this ragtag army," he grumbled, though his voice was barely breaking the sound barrier after the hulk's blow to his vocal cord, making him sound anything but strong. He tried to put a little more force into his "Let's go". Planning to head down the ridge, circle around and join the Kendall brothers to make their retreat together. But his eyes drifted to the two men broken on the ground at his feet and the one down the slope, Trask's body nearly unrecognizable after the grenade was done with him. Men who had been his friends, who had disobeyed his orders to save themselves and tried to save him. 'And look where that's gotten them.'

Then he left them behind, walked away. When his remaining team made their strategic retreat, Dean didn't look back. Knew there was nothing there for him, not in the past. The future was all he had.

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"Why did you disobey my order?" the question was quiet but Cas didn't miss the menacing edge in Dean's voice.

From the Jeep's driver's seat, Gabe started to lie, "We didn't hear…"

"I told them to," Cas unashamedly confessed, watching Dean's profile, seeing the clench in his friend's jaw.

"Haltman and Dell too?" Men who died in their little FUBAR (fudged-up-beyond-all-recognition) mission. Men who probably would have survived, like Althouse, who was manning the other jeep, had…if they had retreated, if they hadn't come for him, hadn't tried to go up against something they weren't prepared for.

And leave it up to Dean to ask all the questions Cas didn't want to satisfy. But Cas answered anyway, because he had called out to the three men as they started to slide and scale and slip down the mountain, had stopped …no, ordered them to turn around, to go back to Dean's side. Haltman and Dell obeyed him…and lost their lives. But Cas couldn't find it in himself to regret his actions. The two men had bought Dean time, time for Cas to get there, to stop Dean from getting killed outright. And Cas wasn't going to apologize for that. Couldn't. Because he wouldn't mean it. Not even a little. And lying to Dean…he wasn't going to do that either. Had done it enough under the orders of Heaven, had seen the way Sam's lies had cut into Dean's heart. No. He couldn't take that path. Not if he wanted Dean to trust him, to not banish him from his side like he had Sam.

"Yeah, Haltman and Dell too," Cas confirmed, his unrepentant eyes holding Dean's.

It was almost too bad that Sam wasn't there to tell Cas that Dean's silence….it never heralded anything good.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.