Road of the Damned (10/?)

Rating: M. Violence, blood and gore kids!

Pairings: None this chapter
Genre: Horror/Drama
Spoilers: None this chapter
Warnings: graphic gore, blood, violence.

A/N: I'm so sorry this took me so long. A lot of bad stuff has been going down in my personal life and I didn't feel like writing. But I'm trying to ease back into it, a bit at a time. Thank you guys for your lovely comments, I will keep writing, I will!

Dean frowned, running the pad of his thumb along the jagged corner of one of the gaping holes. The old chain fence had rusted through, the links bent and misshapen. The years had been hard on it, and the wear showed. Something had forced it's way inside at one point, tearing a sizeable hole that threatened the integrity of the whole fence. The grass was overgrown at it's base, the long dry tendrils winding their way along the rusty posts. Small animals scurried in front of their boots, a bird squawking in alarm.

Dean exhaled unhappily, kicking the moldy wooden planks by his feet. Materials were so low in town that he had resorted to scrounging up scraps from sheds and basements. A plank of splintering moldy wood wouldn't stop an enraged wendigo, hell, it probably wouldn't stop an angry moth.

The angel wasn't much help. Castiel stood awkwardly beside Dean, nervous and twitchy like a stray expecting a boot to the face. Dean almost felt a little guilty. In his arms the angel juggled a menagerie of tools, nails and screws…everything but what they actually needed. There were no batteries for drills, all gas and fuel went towards the generators, and power tools were a thing of the past. Trying to patch up the fence with what meager supplies they had was like trying to put a band-aid on a missing limb; pointless and time wasting, considering they were probably going to bleed out anyways.

Dean shot Castiel a glare, and the angel cringed even farther away from him. Jesus, some angel he was, the idiot had almost drowned in the woods and now? Now he was looking at Dean like he was a rabid dog about to bite.

Why that made him so mad, Dean wasn't willing to say.

He slapped his hand against the fence, the metal links shivering in response. "Gotta patch it up. I'm surprised Bobby left it this long."

Castiel nodded, still eyeing him cautiously. "It seems it is in dire need of it."

Dean scowled at him. "You don't say?"

Castiel flinched as if he had been hit. "I merely meant…it was no doubt overlooked because this area is not used. An…oversight."

Dean grunted, reaching over to grab a hammer from Castiel's arms. "No excuse."

Man, when did he turn into such a dick? There was a time Dean had thought himself pretty easy-going. It wasn't Castiel's fault the fence was broken, or the world was fucked, or people were dead.

Or was it? A tiny voice asked.

Dean cleared his throat, stooping down to grab one of the planks. It was long and heavy, and Dean only managed to pull up one end. He tried to ignore how the moist wood crumbled in his hands. "We make mistakes and overlook shit? People die."

Castiel nodded, setting his armful of tools on the ground with a loud clatter. He plucked a tin can full of nails out of the stack.

"I understand." The nails clinked. "Fortifying the town is important and should be taken seriously."

Dean pushed the side of the plank up, trying to find a good position. The steel poles keeping the fence in the ground had been changed to wooden ones a year or two ago, he could nail the plank to the posts to block up the hole, but it wouldn't hold forever. He'd have to talk to Bobby about getting some more metal, maybe scrounge it from the scrapyard-

The other side of the plank lifted. Castiel hoisted the old wood up, helping Dean to bear the weight. The can of nails was tucked under his arm, several held loosely between his fingers.

"I want to help," the angel said firmly, noticing Dean's surprised look. "That is what I'm here to do, and if you would give me the opportunity, I will not disappoint you."

Dean jerked his gaze back to the plank in front of him, making a noncommittal grunt.

Between the two of them, the plank was hoisted into position. The fence bowed slightly under the extra weight, but held. Castiel passed the nails to him, and Dean hammered each into place.

Maybe Bobby was right, he thought ruefully. We need them as much as they need us.

He wasn't exactly proud of how he handled last night. After Ellen's, Dean had been sure he had an airtight argument as to why it was a horrible idea to keep two potentially crazy disillusioned people around. Surely Bobby would listen to his reasoning, being a cynical son of a bitch tired of the world like him.

But there was one tiny detail Dean had overlooked. Well, one giant detail really. With long lanky legs and a head full of hair that would make a Wookie jealous.

Sam, damn him. Sam and his rosy 'let's be friends' attitude. Sam and his stupid angel worship. Sam, Sam, Sam. Somehow the kid had even convinced Bobby of his "it's destiny" bullshit explanation. Bobby! The most realistic grumpy old man the world had seen, actually bought the whole angel story. Seriously?

If Bobby believed it then…well…

If angels were real, that had to mean that heaven was real. If heaven was real, then the devil was real. If the devil was real that meant God was real. And if God was real…

Well, fuck. Dean didn't even know what that meant.

The sun beat down on the two men as they struggled to get the hole covered and the smaller ones fixed. Surprisingly Castiel was very helpful, his longer fingers more adept at helping link the smaller holes back together. The angel had rolled his borrowed shirt sleeves up to his elbow, displaying slim and well muscled forearms. Dean was almost impressed. Then he remembered the feeling of trying to grab said forearms beneath freezing black water and his mood soured again.

Castiel finished the hole, leaning back to survey his work proudly. "I must admit this physical labor is quite…satisfying."

Dean snorted. "I bet. Not bad, feathers."

"Thank you, Dean."

He couldn't look at those damn eyes. Who had eyes like that? All…blue and pretty and shit.

Dean tested the plank again, keeping his eyes on the wood. "Yeah well don't get all weird on me. You can handle a fence, whoopee."

"No I…I meant about before. In the woods."

Dean tensed. Castiel's boots scuffed the dirt like a kid, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"I understand that you don't like me very much. I'm sure in your position, I would be skeptical as well. But that you would still come to my aid despite your hatred…" The angel dropped his hands back to his side. "Thank you. For…saving me."

Something dark bubbled in Dean's gut. He turned, jabbing a finger viciously into Castiel's chest. "You shouldn't need saving! You're a fucking angel! And some skanky ass dead bitch almost snuffed you out in a goddamn puddle!"

Castiel accepted his anger without a twitch."You're right. I am a poor excuse for the angel I once was. And I'm sorry that I-"

"Stop that!" Dean snapped. Castiel stared at him with wide eyes. Dean gave a frustrated growl, turning back to the fence.

"Just…stop," he muttered."You owe me one, that's all. Nothing more."

Castiel gave a tight nod, dropping his gaze to the ground. They stood in tense silence, listening to the birds in the distance. Dean sighed, shrugging one shoulder.

"And look I don't…okay so we're not best buds or anything but…I don't hate you, Cas. You're not bad, for a crazy dude."

The grasses rustled slightly and the sun continued to beat down.

"You're not bad for a human, yourself." Castiel finally quietly replied.

The nickname Dean blurted went unnoticed and Dean was grateful. He didn't want to look into why he was still willing to even talk to this weirdo, let alone rescue the idiot from death and hand out nicknames.

He wiped the back of his hand against his forehead. "Hey uh…you wanna go get a drink? I owe Ellen an apology first, but I'd say we deserve a reward for bustin' our asses out here."

Dean almost smiled at the slight scrunch of the nose Castiel gave him. But the angel still nodded, apparently willing to try out alcohol again despite his last experience.

"I would like that very much."

Gabriel squinted up at the ceiling, hiking up his legs and pretending to walk along the ceiling.

Urgh I'm so bored.

Lucky sprawled by his head, the dog huffing gusts of hot air against Gabriel's hair. Gabriel's newly altered shirt was already dusty, slightly frayed where one of Sam's stitches had come undone.

There was an unhappy sigh from the desk. "Do you ever stop moving?"

Gabriel rolled over onto his stomach, giving Lucky a loud kiss on the head. "Nope. Used to drive my siblings crazy."

"I can see why." Sam was seated at Bobby's desk, piles of books heaped in front of him. He had his chin in his hand, eyes already slightly red from trying to read the tiny scrawled writing of the texts.

Gabriel got to his feet, patting himself down, briefly admiring his shirt. "You know, flannel wouldn't have been my first choice, but man…I make it look good."

Sam lifted his head to glare half-heartedly at him. "You know, when you said you'd help me do some research, I assumed you'd actually help."

Gabriel chuckled. "Oh Sammy boy, I don't need books to research." He tapped his forehead. "It's all up here!"

Sam groaned, going back to his book. "Well we're definitely screwed then."

Gabriel stuck his tongue out at the human childishly, earning himself a scolding growl from Lucky. He craned his head to see what Sam was reading, but found himself uninterested in the dusty writings of some dead monk.

Instead, he perched himself on one edge of the desk, looking around the study curiously. Gabriel considered himself one of the more liberal-minded angels, but he had never imagined that humans could be so well informed on the world of the supernatural. Though the daemor had probably helped with that.

Gabriel shuddered. He may treat life as a joke most of the time, but the daemor were a real concern. There was something…wrong about them. Something familiar. Gabriel was too afraid to examine why.

"So..do you think your brother has murdered my brother yet?"

Sam looked up from his book. "Dean may be a lot of things, but a murderer he isn't."

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Well okay, slightly maimed or mauled then. Should I worry?

"No," the book shut in a cloud of dust. "I actually think Dean likes him a little."

Gabriel laughed. "Seriously? Am I going to have to give him the big brother speech about respecting my baby brother and getting him home before midnight?"

Sam leaned over to give him a light shove."Ha ha. You can joke, but I think it's cool. Dean doesn't have a lot of friends. It would be…nice if he made Castiel one."

"Oh Sammy, you're breaking my heart." Gabriel wiped away an imaginary tear. "I better start picking out doilies and a dress for the wedding."

As Sam puffed himself up to deliver another scolding, something crackled to life upstairs, a tinny voice scratching through the static.

"He…llo? Sing..er?"

Gabriel frowned up at the ceiling. "What the hell is that?"

Sam was already up and moving towards the stairs. "Sounds like a radio. I thought we had moved all of them to the town hall."

They followed the static up into Bobby's room. Gabriel glanced around the sparse room, noting the dusty photo frames along the dresser. A pretty woman smiled out of a few, two small boys in the others. Sam got down on all fours, searching under the bed. With a louder crackle, he brought out a beat up looking transceiver, setting it on the bed.

Sam frowned down at it perplexedly, still kneeling on the floor. "I didn't know Bobby had one of these. Why is it here?"

Gabriel peered over his shoulder. "Maybe it has a direct link to sexy singles in your area."

They jumped as the voice cracked through the static again. "Sh...it, Bobby you...here?"

Hurriedly, Sam unhooked the mouthpiece. Holding up to his mouth, he clicked the on button. "Hello? Repeat your message, over."

There was a brief static silence. Sam fiddled with one of the knobs, and when the voice returned it was clearer. It was hard to make out much from it, but it was definitely a man.

"And just who the hell is this? Where's Bobby?"

Sam shot a look at Gabriel, who just shrugged at him. Sam sighed, but dutifully replied.

"This is Sam Winchester. Bobby isn't here right now uh…can I take message? Over."

"What are you, a fucking messaging service? Get me Bobby. And do it sharpish Winchester, I'm kind of in a hurry."

Sam spluttered in outrage, and Gabriel leant down to snag the mouthpiece from him. "Look buddy, Bobby 'aint here. You got something to say, say it or we're hanging up."

The static seemed to bristle. "Wonderful, two idiots to deal with. Fine, fuck it, it's not like I'm in danger of bloody DYING or anything. Tell him there's trouble brewing out here and I could really use a hand. Something's happening, something big."

Gabriel felt his stomach drop. "You mean the daemor?"

The transceiver growled. "Daemor, zombies, whatever the fuck you call them. They're here, and they're up to something. So you get Bobby to send some help, preferably with guns. Big ones."

The voice was getting faint, the signal fading. Sam was looking at him with wide eyes, and Gabriel cleared his throat nervously.

"Alright. I'll tell Bobby. But who are you?"

For a moment, they thought they had lost him. Gabriel sighed.

"Shit I hope-"

"Crowley," the voice snapped at him. "You tell him Crowley called and he better get his ass out here. Fast."