Another long overdue update. If you're still with me, you deserve a medal and a massive hug from me Life just gets in the way a bit sometimes I guess. Hope you all enjoy this chapter, and to all the people still reading and reviewing, you're all awesome. A bit of language in this chapter, just FYI.

November 27th, 2012

It took a good number of weeks before the camp stopped gossiping about Miriana. Most people learnt not to say anything within her earshot, unless they wanted a black eye. She soon gained a formidable reputation throughout the camp; most people were slightly afraid of her, everyone grudgingly respected her, especially after she single handedly put down a tenacious group of Croats that had tried to attack the fences with nothing more than a machete and will power. Dean put her on watch duty several times a week, and soon many of the scouts and scavenging parties asked for her to join them on their trips outside into the dead zone. It was a momentous occasion when Dean handed her a set of keys that opened the doors of the storeroom, armoury and the passcode to the camp gates.

"Welcome to the fold," Tank said, slapping her so hard on the shoulder she nearly buckled.

"Thanks," she said, "I'm sure I'm not going to regret this when a Croat comes along and bites me in the arse."

Tank hoisted his ever preset rifle a little higher up his shoulder, "Ah, the danger's all part of the fun."

She'd fallen into what she considered a very healthy routine. She was up most mornings at six thirty to run the perimeter of the camp; breakfast, then an hour of weight training and an hour teaching weapons training. She was actually eating properly too, for the first time in a good number of years; ironic really. No-one she knew ever got healthier during an apocalypse. When she first came to the camp she had been starved and unhealthy, but she was soon packed with muscle; she could run faster, fight harder and react quicker than she had ever been able to before. She wasn't entirely sure she was happy, but she never expected too much from life. She had learned better than to expect happiness like it was something she deserved. But she could deal with the life she had, and if she was honest, it was a damn sight better than what most people had in a world gone to hell.

Nate was better than he had been in a long time too. He had found a girl, Sally, with big sky blue eyes and long wavy gold hair who laughed at all his lame jokes and always saved him a spot next to her on the training field. She spent so much time with Nate that Miriana moved out of the cabin they shared to give him more privacy and into her own, a few doors down from Dean's. Nate had acted like he was bothered by the move, but she knew he was really grateful. He wanted his independence, and she strongly suspected Sally was a little afraid of her. A lot of people were now. It didn't really bother her. She was not a mild mannered person, and she sure as hell wasn't going to change that.

She rarely saw Cas, and when she did, she ignored him as completely as if he wasn't there. As they were both part of Dean's 'dream team', as the rest of the camp dubbed his closest people, they had no choice but to spend a certain degree of time in each others company, but Dean made a conscious effort to keep them separated as much as possible. They faced enough threats from Croats and demons, he didn't need two of his best people to kill each other.

She was managing to keep her distance from Cas, but his group of women were an entirely different matter. None of them were brave enough to say anything to her face, but she watched her back around them, especially Natalie. She suspected Cas hadn't told them the full story of all that had happened between the two of them, but they were perceptive enough to realise she was something to him. It had surprised her at first, that they were so possessive, considering the fact that twelve women shared him on a regular basis.

"It's because you're special," Rhea explained as they unloaded supplies from the truck one drizzly morning, "In twenty years time he probably won't remember any of their names, but he'll remember you until he dies. You're the one that got away, that one woman he'll always be hung up on."

"I didn't get away," Miriana grumbled, "I'm here aren't I? And besides, it's not like he's built a shrine to me and cries over my photographs or anything like that. We don't even speak."

Rhea shook her head with a smile, "That doesn't matter. Jealousy is a powerful thing. Cas has never seemed to give two shits about anything, then suddenly you come along and his whole perspective changes. And they don't like it. Especially Natalie, that bitch has got one hell of a superiority complex."

"Yeah, well I'm keeping my eye on her," Miriana muttered, following Rhea into the storehouse, "And what do you mean his perspective changed? He still seems like the same douche bag to me."

Rhea laughed, "You really don't see it, do you? He watches you like a hawk whenever you're out on supply runs together. Ain't no Croats or demons getting to you while he's around. Trust me, hon, he's still in love with you, and they hate it."

Miriana said nothing, just stacked cans on the shelves with a little more force than absolutely necessary.

The morning had only just dawned when Naomi woke up to the sound of screaming.

She sat bolt upright, shrugging Cas's arms from around her waist. At the end of the bed, Natalie and Leanne stirred, grumbling.

"What the hell is going on?"

"What's that noise?"

A second later, a siren began to wail.

"Oh shit," Naomi said, "Croats."

She shook Cas roughly, "Cas, Cas! The sirens going off, there's Croats in the camp."

He was up instantly, pulling a pistol from underneath the pillow. She had never even known he had kept one there. Natalie and Leanne were hurriedly pulling on their clothes. Naomi glanced out the window and could see dark shapes rushing back and forth. There was the sound of a shotgun going off, and everyone jumped.

Naomi pulled her shirt and jeans back on with trembling hands, "What do we do?"

He pushed a handful of bullets into his gun and flicked the safety off, "Wait here. Don't move til I come back."

He dashed out of the door and out in the half darkness. Natalie flew to the door and slammed it shut, throwing the lock across.

"That won't keep them out," Leanne whispered. She was curled up in the corner with her knees drawn up to her chest, eyes wide.

Natalie leaned against the door, breathing heavily. All of her normal bravado and arrogance was gone. She looked terrified. Croats were something that stayed outside the walls, something for the scouts and the soldiers to deal with. They scared the shit out of Naomi. When the outbreak had first hit in her hometown in Minnesota, she had stayed trapped in her house for days, watching people tear other people apart in the streets, too frightened to even go downstairs. Her boyfriend has turned up at her house, but he wasn't right. He had howled and hammered on the door until she had been sure it would splinter. After a night of this, a military unit had arrived to evacuate any uninfected people still left alive, and they had put him down. She still remembered the spray of blood against the white door that she had spent so long painting that summer. The blood soaked soldier had practically had to carry her to the armoured car; she was almost catatonic with fear. She was the only evacuee in a ten street radius. Out of her whole town they only picked up another four people, an old woman and her cat, two teenage girls only a little younger than Naomi and a boy barely older than ten, still in his pyjamas, clutching his transformers toy to his chest.

A few more gunshots went off, and a woman screamed, startlingly close to the cabin. Naomi cast her eyes around for a weapon. They only thing she could see of any use was a bronze statuette of some old deity on the nightstand. She lifted it with some difficulty.

"What are you gonna do with that?" Naomi sneered, "pray to it?"

At that moment a great force slammed into the door so hard chunks of wood splintered free. The door knob rattled wildly. Leanne screamed, and the sound seemed to spur the thing outside on. The door smashed inwards, knocking Natalie to the floor, and the Croat burst inside, panting like a wounded animal. Leanne panicked and ran for the door, trying to manoeuvre past it, but it caught her and dragged her to the ground, sinking its teeth into her neck. She tried to scream, but it came out as nothing but a gargle, choking on her own blood as it gushed over her lips and stained the floor scarlet. Natalie was screaming, and Naomi was transfixed, gripping the statuette so tight her knuckles ached. She just watched as the Croat, once a well built man in his early twenties, savaged Leanne like a dog would chew a toy. With a final choke, Leanne went limp, grey eyes wide and staring, white face splattered with blood, white nubs of her spine visible through the gore that was once her throat. The Croat staggered to its feet unsteadily, then lunged at Natalie, jaws snapping. Naomi could see chunks of Leanne's flesh hanging from its teeth. Its eyes were bloodshot, more red than white. With a sudden bravery she was not aware she possessed, Naomi lifted the statuette and brought it down hard on the Croats back, but the blow did nothing but draw its attention to her. It whirled to face her, stinking of blood, and threw itself on her, bringing them both crashing to the floor. She braced an arm across its chest to keep its teeth away from her throat, but she could feel its hands closing around her neck, crushing her windpipe.

"Help me!" she choked out, but Natalie did nothing but sit there, unmoving. Her vision was flashing red and black and everything seemed muted behind the roaring in her ears. A drop of blood fell from its mouth and spattered on her cheek. The weight of it on her chest was crushing her.

Suddenly, the Croat was hauled off her by a pair of hands. She caught a flash of dark hair and a hissed curse; the Croat turned on this new distraction and clawed at it like a rabid dog. There was a brief scuffle and the Croat fell to the floor, a slender knife buried in its skull.

Natalie looked up to her saviour and saw Miriana, a bruise blossoming across her cheek, spattered in blood. She was holding her arm out in front of her, a horrified look on her face.

"Oh shit. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck."

Natalie followed Miriana's gaze and felt her stomach drop. On Miriana's forearm, vivid against her skin, there was a perfectly oval wound in the shape of human teeth.

"Just fucking kill me already," Miriana muttered. She was pale and sweating, her hair plastered against her neck.

She was handcuffed to a chair in Dean's cabin. Dean, Tank, Rhea and Cas were all crammed into the small room, watching her apprehensively. Cas couldn't take his eyes off the bite wound on her forearm. It was a death sentence, scrawled across her skin. Bites infected just as surely as blood transmission, and everyone turned within a few hours. She didn't have long left.

"I can't do that," Dean ground out. He looked haggard, the worst Cas had seen him for a good while.

Outside, the bodies of the Croats and the three people they had killed were burning on a pyre, including Leanne. Her body had been a mess, throat torn clean out. He knew he should feel worse about it, but he couldn't stop thinking about that bite on Miriana's arm, and the poison it was pumping through her bloodstream. Natalie and Naomi were sat on the steps to Dean's cabin, wrapped in a blanket, tears streaking their faces. He didn't have it in him to comfort them right now.

"Why not!" Miriana shouted, "You've never hesitated to put a monster down before."

"You're not a monster," Dean said.

"I will be. In a few hours."

No one said anything. Dean slumped into the chair opposite her and put his head in his hands.

"She's right Dean," said Rhea in a small voice, "She's going to turn."

"I won't be one of those things," Miriana said defiantly, raising her chin, "I won't."

She turned to Cas, meeting his eyes for the first time in weeks, "You'll do it. I know you will."

"I won't," he rasped, "I can't."

She shook her head, disgusted, "You're pathetic. You all are. You know what, give me the fucking gun and I'll do it myself."

At that moment, Nate burst into the cabin, pushing past the ring of people around Miriana, breathing hard like he had been running.

"It's not true...is it?"

He caught sight of the bite mark on her arm, and burst into tears. He threw his arms around her, awkwardly. Miriana's face was white over Nate's shoulder. She tried to hug him back, but with her arms handcuffed the best she could do was pat his side. His shoulders were shaking, his sobs muffled by her shoulder.

He turned to Dean, "You can do something right? Give her antibiotics or something, she can fight it off."

"It doesn't work like that, sweetheart," Miriana said, voice suddenly soft, "There's no cure."

"Sam was immune," Dean said suddenly, "Remember me telling you, years ago, that little town where all the townspeople went homicidal. They infected Sam, but he was fine. Noting happened to him."

Miriana snorted, "And you think I'm immune?"

"You might be," Rhea piped up suddenly, "I met this woman, right when the outbreak hit, who swore she had been infected four days ago, and she was fine. They were rumours all round the refugee camps about people who couldn't get sick from the Croatoan virus."

"Did she ever show you proof?" Miriana asked.

"Well...no."

"It's bullshit!" she snapped, "Dean, Sam was immune because of all the crazy demon shit he had pumping through his veins. I've never heard of immunity. It doesn't exist. I'm going to get sicker, then I'm going to turn and flip my shit, and that is not happening. I die on my terms, no one else's."

Nate sat down heavily in the corner, his head in his arms. Dean stumped over to the chest of drawers and pulled free a bottle of whisky, taking a long swig.

"Just kill me, please," she said wearily, "Make it easier on all of us."

"Easier!" Dean thundered suddenly, making them all jump, "You think it will be easy for me to put a bullet through your skull? To look you in the eyes and kill you, stone dead? I love you, Miriana, you're the closest thing I have to a friend in this piece of shit world, and I'm not killing you. I'm just not. Enough people have died!"

There was silence in the room. Miriana was looking at Dean with a very odd expression on her face, like she was seeing him for the first time. Cas had never heard Dean be so open about anything. His hands were visibly shaking, so much so the whisky kept sloshing around against the glass bottle. Cas had the sudden insane urge to start praying, but stopped himself before he could think the words. That would get him nowhere. If she was going to turn, she would turn, and no one up there cared about his pleas anymore. They wouldn't help her.

"Here's the deal," Dean said shakily, "I keep you in here, handcuffed. All night. I'll watch you until morning. If you're still alright then and you haven't turned, we know we're in the clear. Virus takes no more than twelve hours to get a hold."

"And if I turn?" she demanded.

Dean turned to look at her, eyes dark. His resolve seemed to have hardened.

"Then I'll kill you."

Everyone in the room seemed to let out a breath they had been holding. Miriana looked relieved. Nae began to cry again.

"Shake on it," Miriana said firmly.

He hesitated for a moment, but the look on her face told him not to argue. He reached out and took her cool hand in his. She gave him a tight smile in response.

"Out!" Dean ordered suddenly, "Everyone out!"

No one moved. Dean rounded on them all.

"Am I not speaking English or something? Get out!"

Cas knew better than to piss Dean off in his current mood. He tried to pull Nate to his feet, but he shrugged him off furiously and stormed from the room. Rhea and Tank filed out behind him, looking exhausted. The smell of burning bodies was thick in the air, catching in the back of Cas's throat. He hesitated by the door, meeting Miriana's eyes again. The look in her eyes was clear.

Don't you dare worry, they said, you haven't earned the right to care about me.

He stumped down the steps heavily. Naomi and Natalie were still sat on the steps, looking pale and drawn. Natalie remained sitting, but Naomi jumped to her feet when she saw him, shedding the blanket.

"What's going to happen to her?" she asked. There was a streak of blood on her left cheek. He reached out to gently wipe it away, feeling suddenly, unexplainably heavy, like the weight of the world had just settled on his shoulders.

"Dean wants to wait until the twelve hours is up. If she doesn't turn by morning, she's released."

Naomi swallowed hard, "And if she does? Turn, I mean?"

He sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand over his face, "Then Dean puts a bullet through her skull."

His voice cracked on the last word, despite his best attempt to stop it. Naomi lifted a warm hand to his cheek, her eyes full of compassion.

"Oh Cas," she said softly, pulling him into a hug.

He turned his face into her shoulder and wept. Her hands moved to his back and stroked it gently. In all of his long life, no one apart from Miriana had ever seemed to understand what pain he felt, but it seemed in that brief moment that Naomi understood it perfectly well. The pyre of burning bodies continued to crackle almost merrily, filling the air with the cloying stench of death.