Chapter 11

Dean woke to the distant sounds of retching in the background. Shivers wracked his body in a wave he could only assume came from the cool floor on his fevered skin. He sat up, feeling a sense of disorientation flood his person. Where was he? Why did he ache all over? And who was this person laying next to him? Dean felt as if he was lost in the labyrinth of a hazy dream, the smell of charred flesh and decay thick in his nostrils. Glancing down at the still form at his side, he blinked as memories began to flood into his subconscious, agonizingly slow and painful.

James. The poor sap was curled on his side, lying half comatose on the dirty floor of a gun shop, one of the last few buildings standing after the nuclear fallout. Like a flash, Dean came back to himself, crawling around the prone figure to check the burns he suddenly remembered in vivid clarity. He reached out, wincing in pain as the burns on his own palms split open, weeping yellowed puss onto the floor below him. "Shit…" he croaked, cradling his hands against his chest. His clothing was absolutely filthy, the remains of his suit almost in tatters.

Dean glanced down at James- or Cas as he had come to call him- with gnawing worry in his mind. He remembered this, now. He remembered the reasoning for his seemingly pertinent nickname for the man he'd spent a week lying next to every night of their dying days. During one of his lucid moments, he and Dean had gotten into an inane conversation regarding his odd middle name. After hearing its origin, Dean had latched onto the biblical reference, hoping in the back of his mind to seek some sort of reassurance from the devastation they should not have lived through. Of course his addled mind had a hard time remembering the proper pronunciation and had received the short end of James's patience for the slip up. Consequently, he shortened the name to something more feasible for him to remember, and thus the nickname "Cas" was born.

Now, Dean watched the unconscious man lay before him, the burns having not healed once in their stay. Every small movement caused the blisters to burst, thin filaments of new skin ripping and bleeding onto the disgusting floor. Dean eyed the burns, noting their odd placement. What a way for them to form; two huge patches stretching from Castiel's shoulders down his back, leaving a strip of bare skin completely unscathed in the middle…

"Cas…" Dean whispered, touching his shoulder gently. "Cas wake up…"

Cas stirred slightly, a choked moan cracking from unused vocal chords. He shifted, hissing in pain. "D-Dean?" Cas moved to sit up, crying out in agony.

"Shh! It's ok. I'm here…" he soothed, offering what little comfort he could. He lay next to Cas, putting an arm around his quaking form. "I'm here…"

"Dean… w-where have the others gone?" Cas inquired, unable to hide the tremors in his voice. He shivered again, coughing painfully at the difficulty his nearly collapsed lungs worked his breathing.

Dean shrugged, glancing over his shoulder. "I dunno… I think Gabe went to find provisions. Sam… he's…" he trailed off, hearing the dreadful retching again. "Being sick…" he finished in a skeptical tone.

Cas blinked, using Dean to shift his position. "You don't suppose he's…" he broke off in another pained whimper, blisters flowing anew.

"Goddammit Cas, stay still!" Dean snapped, hating himself for his shortened temper. The events of the past week had weighed sorely on them all; anger a constant fluctuating emotion amongst the small group. The only one posed enough to remain calm lay before Dean, dying a slow painful death in his arms.

Dean's eyes scanned the lithe form beneath him, taking in the sights. Despite the horrid burns on his back and the swollen, infected laceration over his right eye, the soft face held a sort of tragic beauty that Dean could not place on any of his past partners. Even in the direst of situations, Dean felt comfortable around this man, content to hold him and offer what affection he had left in his traumatized heart.

The two lay silent together on the floor, wishing that they had even the slightest glimpse of sunlight to brighten the drab room. All around them, bullet shells and casings littered the dusty floor, a ratty blanket the only material separating them from the thinly carpeted concrete. Even the intense heat of the past blaze had scorched the material under them.

After moments of peace, Dean sat up again, deciding it would be best to check on the sick man in the other room. "Cas.. you gonna be ok while I go check on Sam?" he asked, hoping he didn't betray the inbred worry in his tone.

With a mighty effort, Cas managed to nod, offering up a smile. It broke Dean's heart to see him trying so hard to remain positive in such a dire situation, and he admired his efforts. It brought him a little peace to know that one of them at least was trying to find the silver lining in his hell hole.

With his affirmative, Dean rose and strode from the room, leaving the dark sanctuary of the back storage closet. As he thought, Gabriel was nowhere to be found, the door unlocked and barely closed. He supposed there was no need to lock it… not like anyone else out there was going to break in and steal…

Steal what? Nothing. They had absolutely NOTHING left in this world. They were just a broken fellowship of survivors in a world that had literally burnt itself to the ground. But now, as he stood in the center of the main room, he felt the air wrap around him in an icy shroud, flecks of white fluttering in through the crack in the door with another frigid gust of wind. Cold… so cold. Why was it so cold?

Curiosity finally won over his initial thought of seeking out Sam as he slowly made his way to the door. He had to see what the world looked like out there. After a week of imprisonment in the gun shop, he needed to see the outside world, even as decayed and broken as he surmised it was.

Dean reached for the door handle, his fingers pausing mere inches from the blackened metal. A sudden pang of terror shot through his heart, tremors wracking his being at the thought of what he was going to see out there. Would he see innumerable corpses, rigid in the new temperament of the landscape? Would there be a blanket of ashes strewn everywhere on the blood stained earth and concrete like some sick parody of snowdrifts? The thought almost had him scurrying back to the relatively safe confines of the shop, but…

No. He'd come this far. He's suffered this much. He had to know. He just had to.

So willing himself to suck up his fears, he pulled the door open, letting the wind blow against his feverish skin full force. The moment Dean opened the door, his fears came true, eyes widening as he took in the sights of the world he'd almost forgotten about a week prior.

He hadn't been wrong about the drifts of white. Tiny flecks of ashy white powder fell from a dark, smoke covered sky. Another gust of wind hit him and he shivered violently, braving a few steps out of the confines of the gun shop and into a bleak, post-apocalyptic world. Within moments, he was nearly covered in the white dust, bits gathering in his singed hair, and collecting in the folds of what remained of his clothing.

But when he felt the powder, it shocked him to feel that it was not as cold as the air around him. It smudged in his fingertips, blackening his skin where he rubbed his fingertips together.

It wasn't snowdrifts he was looking at. Everything was indeed covered in ashes, bleached white from the intense heat and collecting everywhere it fell from a sooty sky.

Dean glanced back up at the darkened skies above him, eyes narrowing in contempt. Fuck their lives… they weren't going out in a blaze of glory after all. They got to die slowly, while the rest of the world had perished within moments. Fuck the other "survivors" that MIGHT be out there. This was his time to hate the world, cursing it for the fucked up way it had to end; cursing men for their trivial arguments over oil and religion. Look where the fuck it got them.

A scorched earth with four men and a horse slowly starving to death in an ammunition store, choking on ashes and God know what else. God damn, even the sun looked pitiful, trying to shine its way through a barrier of soot down to the earth below in an attempt to warm and bring life to a planet that probably would never thrive again. A fucking travesty…

Dean dwelled on his anger for a few moments longer before turning back to the interior of the gun shop. Fuck moping about this. He had people dying in there. He couldn't ever guarantee that they would survive for long, but…

He could do something about helping them for the time being. And he was damned if he gave up on that now.

He'd figured searching for supplies was going to be hard, but Gabriel had thought he could make SOME sort of progress, what being one of four survivors left in the city. It wasn't like there were many looters left after all.

But the blaze had seared everything in sight. Not a thing in this city had gone untouched by the explosion, incinerated by the intense heat. Food, water, medical supplies; it was all just gone, up in smoke, blazed to nothing but ashes and char marks.

He'd managed to pilfer a few canned items from the local drug store, and what few remaining bandages locked away in a Walgreen's safe became his as he stuffed a dirty canvas bag with his looted supplies. Gabriel honestly wasn't sure if six cans of beans and processed meat would be enough to sustain four grown men. They'd just have to make due until they could gather some strength and search again.

As for his beloved horse. The equine was on the last leg of his life, left to limp on a leg half rotten with gangrene and protruding broken ribs. Having been forced through the narrow doorway, several ribs had been cracked and separated, offering labored breathing and deep chested pain which rendered the horse unable to neither carry a thing nor wander far from the shop. Gabriel knew the horse was ready to die at any moment, but even the thought of making due with whatever good meat remained sickened him to the core. He'd grown to love that horse more than anything in his life. More than a family he'd abandoned to live as he saw fit. More than his closest "friends".

Gabriel knew his irrational obsession with the horse was causing more trouble than good, but every time he tried to see the rationale of his surviving companions, that wild obsession took hold and choked him back into obstinacy. He felt they were lucky he'd even agreed to search for food for their "sorry asses" at all. Of course, part of his willingness to leave the shelter branched from his inability to watch his beloved equine die if today be that day the rotten flesh took his partner.

"Motherfucker…" he hissed, kicking rubble to the side in hopes to find anything useable in a destroyed convenience store. Oh good, he'd managed to find one half decent packet of Swedish Fish… how helpful… Scooping up the packet anyway, he tossed it into his satchel turning to crawl his way back through the filled doorway.

What he didn't anticipate was seeing anyone standing just on the other side.

"FUCK!" he yelped, dripping in his surprise and tumbling down the hill of brick and concrete before crumpling at the bottom with a crunch and a string of profanity. Damn his nerves… shot to all hell. "What the fuck, why are you sneaking up on me?" he demanded looking up at the stranger. That was when he finally noticed exactly how… small said stranger was…

The boy that stood before Gabriel couldn't have been much older than 7 years old, his tousled blonde hair covered in ash, and his black clothes torn and filthy. Clear tracks ran down his cheeks, washing away the dirty on his face from where his tears fell, and his shoulders hitched and shook. Almost immediately, Gabriel softened and stood up, examining the boy closer. Other than looking dirty and scared, he was untouched, much to his relief and chagrin.

Great, he thought to himself. Yet another mouth to fail feeding. How in God's name did a little boy survive with only some torn clothing when grown men were struggling to see tomorrow?

"Hey kid, how'd you get here?" he asked, dropping to one knee before the sobbing boy. He tentatively reached out and took his shoulders in his hands, stopping his movements firmly. "And don't cry, I don't like watching people cry…" he added, softer yet.

The boy simply sniffled in response, shaking his head before leaning into Gabriel's touch. "I-I don't know I… woke up like this…" he said quietly, his soft, almost angelic voice sending chills up the officer's spine. He locked eyes with Gabriel for a moment before lifting a tiny hand to his face, wiping away more tears with the dirty sleeve of his shirt. "What happened… where is everyone?"

At his pathetic inquiries, Gabriel swallowed, unsure of what to tell him. "Well kiddo, a lot of shi-.. bad stuff happened. I don't know where everyone is… but…" he sighed, knowing he'd regret this decision later. "I got a couple of friends back at the gun shop… if you need a place to sleep tonight, I think we can spare a corner… just so you don't freeze tonight."

After a long moment's contemplation, the boy nodded, and immediately slipped his hand into Gabriel's. "Ok…" he said quietly, looking up at him with a weak smile on his grimy face. "Thank you Gabriel…"

Gabriel smiled, standing up and walking with the boy back to the ammunition shop. Thoughts of him bringing home a kid over supplies ran through his head. Oh, he could hear the three ripping him a new one for that… not like he cared what they thought anyway. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he didn't pay attention to the boy's knowledge of his first name. Somewhere in the exhausted recesses of his mind, the question of "did I even introduce myself", echoed forgotten and died just as quickly, leaving the two to walk back to the ammunition shop together in silence…

TBC…

(hooooooly crap dudes, I cant believe i disappeared for a year on this story! Hopefully Ill be back to updating much more often than that! Please forgive me and accept this new chapter as an apology...)