A/N: Like promised I uploaded this before the end of the month. . .well the last day of the month lol. Thank you so much for the review and alerts! If I didn't send you a message back drop me a review this time a round and I'll get back to ya! I also made a SPN/TWD video if you guys are interested in watching I'll have the link posted on my profile page! Anyway I hope you enjoy!
Chapter Ten
Life on the Moon
As time always did, it moved. At times it moved so very slow, in long, painful intervals that seemed to ache like the pulse behind a bruise. Other days, time rushed by as if it never really happened at all. Like time was nothing more than a dream. That of course only happened on the rare good days. The days no one died, no Croats or demons threatened to get through the gates, the days when Dean slept through the night or Cas did not pick up a bottle. With time moving at its erratic pace, life did as well. Life stretched on for the survivors despite the worlds end, making the everyday practices a scramble to stay alive instead of the usual mundane acts from before the end of the world. There was no way of denying that their lives had altered for the rest of their days.
For a change, things around camp had been rather calm since what happened to Michonne two weeks prior. Apart from a few Croats straggling off the main roads, sulking around the outer perimeter, they'd had no problems. As for demons, none of them had reared their ugly faces since Meg and the other nameless hell spawns tried to cripple their stronghold. However, Dean couldn't shake the feeling that something horrible was starting to take shape.
Over the past weeks, the tension between Rick and Dean's group had virtually vanished. The two groups learned quickly that working as a unit would better insure their survival. Perhaps their new-found coexistence had to do with Sam and Dean saving one of their people who'd otherwise ended up dead. Whatever it was, with the differences aside, the sheriff and the redneck proved to be great assets. They were good fighters and for the most part did as they were told. Daryl had a mouth on him, with an attitude to match, but he only got riled up when something threatened his group or brother. Dean saw a lot of himself in the stubborn hillbilly and he'd learned to flow with it. After all, what food they couldn't salvage, Daryl could hunt. As for Rick, he'd sorta become Deans other wing-man. The oldest Winchester felt comfortable leaving things in his hands if Sam or Bobby were otherwise occupied. Rick was as good a leader as any, he told Dean not to worry about the West Gate and its perimeter- said he'd always have it covered. Carol and Beth were good to have around to tend to the injured. Ellen and Jo had even taught them other ways to deal with cuts and various other medical tactics, including how to treat bite victims with demon blood.
It had been decided shortly after the incident with Michonne that the entire group needed to learn the truth about the Winchesters and their world. Like always, the details were kept vague, demons and their existence was all they needed to know for the time being. Having three of Ricks people already convinced, four counting Michonne, made it easier to sway everyone into believing they weren't crazy. Since Dean had given Sam and Bobby the okay to set traps in the woods for demons so they could collect their blood, he figured everyone had the right to know what was being used as medicine.
They'd taken in a few more stragglers since all the excitement two weeks ago; some of whom had been bitten. So far, with the treatments the victims were avoiding death and reanimation. The entire process was a shot in the dark when it came to proper dosage. They started with small amounts taken intravenously and up the doses until the symptoms subsided. Everyone was so hopeful with the thought of a cure to the Hell, and Dean supposed it was good for them all to have hope no matter how minuscule the amount was. Mostly Dean was worried about the side effects. He'd seen what just drinking the thick crimson substance had done to Sammy, and he feared the effects would be far greater with it being administered straight into the blood stream.
However, he tried not to dwell on it, and do his best to live day to day like everyone else. So far, it'd been one of the few good days and he hoped it would stay that way. Daryl, Michonne- who was back to normal, Ellen, Jo and Glenn had left early that morning in the pale green Hyundai to go on a supply run. Food and medical supplies was getting scarce and the redneck took it upon himself to put a group together to go after running it by Dean first. Sam, Bobby and Merle took the liberty of working on the North Gate, which was still in need of maintenance.
With the past two weeks being uneventful as they were, Dean's paranoia was at an all-time high; therefore, he felt it was necessary to create a space for people to work on their shooting. For the safety of everyone inside the walls, the makeshift shooting range was constructed just outside the Southern gate. It lacked the substantial walls- put together with pieces of salvaged parts- and instead was guarded by a boundary of spear like fencing created entirely out of logs. Any Croat that dared to near those practicing their shots would be impaled and rendered immobile. Dean hoped it would prove to be an asset. As long as the ammo was well rationed and everyone kept their guard all it could do was help.
The targets themselves were constructed out of shoddy burlap bags filled with dirt. The crudely drawn targets in black spray paint seeped into the fabric and bled into a singular dot that made the separate rings almost impossible to differentiate. God knew they were nothing fancy, but they would suffice just fine given the situation.
Dean wasn't concerned much about his ability or his brothers; firing a gun was something he'd done since he was a kid. Bobby, Ellen and Jo were in the same boat, they could handle themselves in an all-out war with zombies. It was Cas though that Dean worried about the most. He'd given the fallen angel a gun when the world got screwed to hell, but not once had anyone taken the time to show Cas how to use it properly. While at a close range, Castiels ability to hit a target was average at best. It was the targets at a distance that gave him the most problems.
With almost everyone busy at work with things needing done, Dean figured it was a good day to give his broken friend a much needed lesson. He dropped the bag of guns and ammo to the grass lying beneath the soles of his boots and waited for Cas to catch up.
The weather of late had been rather mild, which made things around camp easier to do. Dean sighed and glanced up at the sun, it was just past noon, Daryl and the others should be back anytime.
"Dean, I do not see how wasting perfectly good ammunition on innocent sacks of earth will help improve my skill of killing the abominations." Cas stood a few feet away looking somewhat disgruntled. He showed every basic symptom of a slight hangover. Dean was going to have to put a lock on the liquor cabinet.
"We're not gonna use that much." Dean assured him as he checked the cartage of a handgun he'd pulled out of the bag. "I should've been teachin' you the ropes since your angel mojo went kaput anyway."
He passed the gun to Cas and gestured to a sack of dirt a good hundred feet away. "Okay, let's see what we're dealing with."
Hesitantly Castiel removed the pistol from Deans out stretched hand and mimicked the stance the demon hunter held off to the side. He took a few deep, uneven breaths, steadied his focus as best he could and fired. The powerful recoil disturbed his balanced and sent him staggering backward a few feet, but he managed to stay vertical.
Dean chuckled slightly and Cas frowned. "is something funny?"
The Winchester shook his head. "No, no. I just forgot to warn you about that guns power."
The fallen angel's eyes narrowed and he looked to the gun in his hand, then to the target across from him. "I can't tell if I hit it."
The thought seemed to annoy him and Dean guessed it was due to no longer being an angel. His eye site was ordinary now.
"You clipped the corner." Dean told him. "Which isn't horrible, at least you hit the bag. Next time though squeeze the trigger instead of yanking it, doesn't screw up your aim that way."
Dean stepped over to the gun bag and removed a pistol similar to Cas'. "It's also a good idea to use both hands; use your free hand to help steady your aim." He demonstrated the technique by cupping his non-firing hand to cradle both the bottom of the gun and his hand. As Castiel watched, he did his best to mimic.
"You're standing with your feet too close together too." He then told the angel. "Space them out about shoulder width and don't lock your knees."
Again, Cas mirrored Deans stance and waited for his next instruction.
"Line up your site and then. . ." Dean fired three rounds at the sack of dirt; each one with pinpoint accuracy. Castiel followed suit, firing three rounds, all of which hit the sack, but only one hit the target.
"I missed again."
"That actually wasn't bad." He padded his friends back. "Go again. Don't hold your breath this time Rambo."
Cas gave another few shots that landed a little closer to the target.
"Better already." Dean smiled.
"I am much more skilled with a blade." He told Dean looking at the gun in a sort of disgust.
The Winchester knew that. If nothing had fallen apart Cas wouldn't have even needed the blade, he would've been able just to smite the grotesque sons of bitches.
"Sometimes there's too many to take care of with just a knife. Gotta be prepared for anything." Dean crossed his arms and frowned, thinking. "Whatever happened to that angel blade of yours?"
Cas sighed. "Dean, perhaps you should stand farther back. I don't trust firearms in the way you do and even less faith that I am actually handling it correctly. I do not want to hurt you accidentally." He resumed his stance and shot three quick rounds in another imitation of Dean.
The Winchester stood back just as Rick and his son come through the gate and into the shooting range.
"We heard shots, wanted to make sure everything was okay." The sheriff stated as he approached in a slow jog. Both he and Carl had a hand on the gun at their hip, ready to take action if needed.
"Everything is fine. Just lettin' Cas have some practice. Dude ain't used to a gun. Sheltered life." They all glanced at the fallen angel.
"Hey, Cas." Carl pushed his sheriff's hat out of his eyes, and Cas returned a nod before returning to his shooting.
The three of them watched Castiel as he meticulously repeated each step Dean had offered him to the best of his capabilities.
"Do you mind if Carl and I. . ." Rick gestured to an a couple unused dirt sacks.
"Be my guest. Just ration the ammo." Dean told them.
"Certainly." He nodded.
Deans gaze wondered between watching his friend and the Grimes kid. He couldn't have been older than 14 or 15, but his aim was that of someone who'd been shooting for infinitely longer. The way he held himself was much like Dean had when he was the kids' age. So young and already had seen more than his fair share of nightmares. It pained him to see someone so innocent already as broken as he was.
"Dean." Cas had snuck up behind the demon hunter and startled him with his sudden appearance. Even without wings he had a habit of surprising the hunter.
"Damn it Cas, Don't do that!"
"Dean, I'm out of ammunition." He showed the empty cartages to Dean with a frown. The eldest Winchester stole a peek at the dirt sack Castiel had been practicing with and found it quiet riddled with decent shots.
"Nice shootin' Tex. We'll work on it a bit more later I think."
"What should I do now?" Cas asked.
Dean thought a moment. "Go see if Sam needs your help at the North gate. If he doesn't go take a nap man. You look worse than me."
The fallen angel nodded and turned to make his way back into the safety of the tall barricade when Dean called after him. "And stay the hell out of my liquor cabinet!"
Cas kept walking, not acknowledging Deans request. With a sigh, he gathered the sack of guns he'd brought for Cas and placed himself in a better view to watch Carl shoot.
"Where'd you learn to shoot like that?" Dean asked him once he'd finished firing a shot.
The boy turned and looked at him from under the brim of the sheriffs hat. "My dad, and Shane." He paused, and before Dean could ask, he added. "Shane's dead."
Carl went back to shooting, his rounds echoing with his fathers a few feet behind Dean. "I'm sorry to hear that." Dean commented awkwardly, taken back by the boys blunt statement.
"Don't be. He was and asshole."
"Yeah, well, we all are sometimes." Dean chided.
"He turned into a Walker. I shot him."
A few moments passed as the boy continued to focus on the task of hitting the target. It wasn't until he went through an entire magazine that he spoke again.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Shoot."
"How do you kill a ghost? Or a demon?"
He wasn't expecting that. Dean bit his lip and his eyes fell to the ground. "I uh, don't think it's up to me to tell you."
"But you and Sam. That's what you do isn't it?"
"It's what we did." He corrected.
"Then tell me." Carls voice was sturdy, but not exceedingly demanding. He simply wanted an answer to his question. Explaining methods to kill monsters wasn't really Deans style, but the fierceness that burned in him burned in Carl as well.
"Why do you want to know?" Dean pried. He wouldn't settle for any half-assed answer, the boys reasoning had to be rational.
"I know how to kill Walkers. I know how to kill people if I have to. Ghosts and demons I don't. I feel less afraid when I know how to protect myself."
Dean felt his heart sink slightly and suddenly doubted his ability to not tell him what he wanted to know. He sighed and snuck a glance over his shoulder at Rick who was about finished.
"There are something's guns and knives can't kill. Demons and ghosts happen to be some of them. Now ghosts aren't currently at the top of the food chain, demons however. . ." Dean dug around in his jacket pocket, removed two engraved silver bullets, and handed them to Carl.
"What are these?" he rolled them back and forth in his palm watching the light dance off them.
"Sam and I call em' Trappers. You shoot a demon with one of those things and they become powerless. Which gives you time to run and find Sam or me. Understand?"
Carl nodded and put the rounds in his pocket. "Thanks." Something about the way the kid said it threw Dean off. He could sense a bit of himself in him and didn't doubt that Carl would try to take care of trouble himself before calling for help. Of course, by then it would be too late. Dean only hoped he wouldn't bite off more than he could chew.
"What are you fella's talking about?" Rick queried as he walked up to join them.
Dean and the boy looked at each other, almost like he and Sam did when they knew something someone else didn't.
"Just swapping pointers. He's a pretty good shot."
Rick nodded. "Sure is. Glad too."
"Mom wouldn't be. . ." Carl noted.
"She'd be proud of you. . ." Rick assured him.
Dean stood to the side suddenly felling awkward again.
"Why don't you and I take watch." Rick told Carl changing the subject to break the uncomfortable tension.
Carl shrugged with a longing glance at the bag of weapons that held more answers to his questions.
Dean saw and smiled. "Don't be stranger. You can come talk to Sam and me whenever you want. We'll answer any questions you have. Same goes for you." Dean nodded at Rick.
The father and son left for the main compound, leaving Dean to finish packing up his bag of weapons by himself. He didn't remain there for long suddenly feeling vulnerable and alone standing outside the safety of the walls. With the infamous black bag of weapons securely harnessed over his shoulder, he steadily picked up his feet and made his way back behind the tall makeshift barrier and into the main campsite. As he walked he looked around at the people going about their new lives all thanks to him and Sam. Although, if it hadn't have been for them choosing not to be Lucifer and Michaels meat puppets, the apocalypse never would've happened thus no one would needed a place like theirs in order to survive.
Dean mentally punched himself. He didn't want to think about things like that while things were going so well. Today is a good day. He repeated the phrase over and over in his head to remind himself.
As he got closer to the main building he noticed Daryl and the others waiting for him just off to the side. Most of them were leaning casually against the exterior walls talking among themselves. The red neck was the first to catch sight of Dean as he approached and with his hand rested on the strap of his crossbow walked to meet the hunter half way.
Immediately Dean thought the worst. "Everything okay?" he glanced at the others to better read the situation. Daryl turned and looked behind him; following Dean's leer, and then looked back at the Winchester.
"Everything's fine. Ran into a few Walkers. Nuthin' we couldn't handle."
A weight lifted slightly from Deans shoulders and together the two men walked back to where the others were waiting by the cabin together.
"What did you guys come up with?" Dean asked.
"Everything is gettin' pretty picked over." Daryl noted.
"Yeah, but we got some of everything." Jo added. "food, meds, even ammo."
He guessed it could have been worse; they could've come back empty handed. It really was only a matter of time though, before all the stores were completely wiped clean.
"Is there much to bring in?" Dean asked.
Ellen shrugged. "I think we can handle it. Things around here been okay?"
"Took Cas shooting, Sam and some others have been working on the north gate. Been pretty quiet."
She smiled slightly. "Good."
It fell quiet for a second before Michonne spoke. "I'm going to start bringing crates in." All at once, the others fell into steady succession behind the sword-wielding warrior as she trekked back to where the green Hyundai was parked. Jo on the other hand stayed with Dean, sensing something was getting to him.
"Are you sure you're okay?" her brow was heavy with concern.
Deans head hung slightly and he kicked at a rock stuck in the mud. "I don't think I have a choice. Too many people are counting on me." When he looked at her, it was obvious he was having a hard time keeping himself composed.
Jo shook her head and almost seemed disappointed. "It's not just on you Dean. It's on all of us. We're all counting on each other. You have to stop taking responsibilities for everyone. It's going to kill you."
Tears welled up in his eyes, but didn't dare to run down his freckled cheek. "You think I don't know that Jo? I may not know all these people, but they're as much my family as you, Bobby, Ellen and Cas are. I can't let anything happen to them."
The ghost of a smile touched her face and without saying another word, she gently wrapped her arms around Dean. The hug caught the Winchester off guard, but after a moment, he returned the embrace, kissing the top of her head.
"We all care about you too Dean. Remember that." She let go and started off in the direction the others had gone until she disappeared from Deans sight.
With a labored grunt Daryl dropped a crate full of supplies they'd just acquired at his feet. The items shook and clanked together when impact struck but none of the medical containers broke. The redneck rubbed his calloused palms together and looked around to notice he was in the wrong place. "This ain't the right tent for this stuff." He noted sounding put off.
Ellen stood, wiping the dirt from her hands onto the legs of her jeans as she stole a glance at the crate Daryl had brought in. "No, hun, that goes in the tent next to this one. Here I'll show ya."
With a sigh, he picked the heavy crate back up and followed the woman to the identical, large tent beside the one he'd been in previously.
"Medical goes in here. Food and goods in the other. Fire arms go in the cabin next to HQ for safe keeping."
Once again he put the crate down, this time a bit less aggressively and gave Ellen an awkward thumbs up to indicate his understanding. He made for the doorway just as Carol was doing her best to bring in two apparently hefty boxes. The top one started to teeter threateningly and luckily, Daryl caught the cumbersome box before it fell to the ground. He quickly sat it down next to his crate and reached to help with the other box she was holding.
"Thank you." She said with a faint smile.
He gently squeezed her shoulder as he walked passed but stayed silent.
"That's the last of the medical stuff I do believe." Carol told Ellen
She placed her hands on her hips and took a mental note of the supplies around her while Carol waited patiently for her to respond. "Then let's see if Maggie needs our help."
The two women walked the short distance to the neighboring tent and found the eldest Greene girl hunched over a box with a note pad and a pencil, taking inventory.
"I sent Jo to make a list of the supplies in the armory. I'm pretty much finished here. The others went to make sure they got everything out of the car-"
Before Maggie could finish, Glenn and the others came into the tent; filing in behind Ellen and Carol. "That is everything."
Ellen smiled. "We did pretty well I think. We've done well at rationing and what we got today only adds to it."
"As long as no one gets sick and we don't pick up much more stragglers that is. . . "Michonne said in her usual low monotone.
""Whatever happens we'll get through it." Carol assured her softly.
A lull in conversation gave Ellen the time to glance around the tent with an idea floating about inside her skull. "You know, we've got some food to spare. Things have been going so good around here whattaya say we throw a little party. God knows some of us need to blow off a little steam. We deserve a little break."
No one said anything right away, feeling as though having a celebration in the midst of the world's worst catastrophe seemed like the last thing on everyone's to do list. However, she was right about one thing, day by day they were all drifting closer and closer to the point of no return where their sanity was involved. A little fun might stall the inevitable.
Daryl surprisingly was the first one to speak up. "It'll prolly jinx the hell outta this good luck we got goin', but what the Hell."
Glenn nodded. "I agree."
Eventually, and somewhat hesitant they all caved.
"Great. I'll run it by the boys a little while later." Ellen smirked.
"You think they'll go for something like that?" Carol asked sounding skeptical.
Ellen crossed her arms and scowled. "Them boys run this damn place like boot camp. If they know what's good for them they'll let us have some fun."
The woman's determination and sass made a few of them smile. Dean Winchester may be the head of the operation, but Ellen was the neck.
The group of them lingered only shortly after Maggie finished recording the inventory, each dispersing until only a few of them remained.
"Are you sure you don't need any more help?" Glenn asked Ellen when it was just he a Daryl left.
She was moving boxes and crates around in an attempt to keep everything somewhat organized. "I've got this. You fellas go on."
Before either of them could turn to leave, Sam came through the tent entrance. "I could actually use your help up front if you don't mind."
He looked somewhat tired, with a thin coat of sweat beading up on his forehead. Whatever he'd been doing it seemed to be slightly strenuous. Daryl and Glenn exchanged glances and with a shrug agreed to help as much as they could.
"Bobby and Merle went off to check demon traps in the woods, and I thought I'd come see if I could find more help." Sam explained as they neared the gate that had almost been destroyed over two weeks ago.
The North Gate was a work in progress, however as time progressed it was beginning to mirror what it once had been despite the now chard pieces. A few men neither Daryl nor Glenn knew were busy trying to fit pieces together like some sort of uncooperative and hazardous jigsaw puzzle, while Ellen's daughter stood atop a sturdy part keeping watch.
Without any explanation, the two men from Rick's group got to work. The task was simple but arduous, some of the makeshift pieces were awkward and heavy and difficult to fit in certain places. The pile of useful scraps was dwindling which didn't allow a very large margin of error. If a specific piece couldn't be placed, the wall would be that much weaker.
Everyone took turns standing guard while the others worked to make the barricade as strong as it could be. Altogether, the work was flowing effortlessly, other than a few stray Walkers from the woods; the biggest problem was making the hunks of scrap fit correctly. It wasn't until Daryl was on century duty that Sam decided to spark up conversation to an otherwise quiet afternoon.
"So what's his story?" He asked tilting his head in the rednecks direction.
Glenn looked up at Daryl and shrugged. "Don't really know. He and his brother just kinda showed up at our camp in Atlanta."
"No one bothered to ask them?" Jo pried shoving a two by four into place with her back.
"Nope."
"Atlanta. Is that where you all are from?" Sam asked truly curious.
Glenn shrugged again, "As far as I know that's just were we all ended up when the outbreak started." He paused a moment. "Should've stayed at school, maybe California wasn't hit quite as bad."
"California. You're an awful long way from home." Jo noted.
"No, I'm from here; I was just out at school and came home for the summer. The end of the world happened and never went back."
"Where did you go to school?" Sam asked.
"Uh. . . Stanford."
Sam stopped and looked at him almost in disbelief.
"Isn't that where you went Sam?" Jo asked.
He blinked a couple times pulling himself from his past. "Yeah, I did."
With everything that had happened he'd almost forgotten his few years away from the life of a hunter. Being at school were some of the happiest times he'd ever had, now that all seemed like a dream.
Glenn suddenly looked at Sam very intently, as if he too had just discovered something shocking. "Sam Winchester. . ." his voice trailed off, still in thought.
Sam and Jo looked at each other, waiting for him to finish his train of thought.
"You're the Sam Winchester everyone talks about on campus. You're like an urban legend at the university man."
Sam frowned. After so many times fighting off urban legends he didn't want to become one at all. "What?"
"Yeah. The story goes that you had such an awful childhood you finally snapped and murdered your girlfriend, ran off with your brother and landed yourselves on the FBI's most wanted. . ." he stopped when he seen the look on Sam's face.
"I didn't kill her." He said coldly.
Glenn swallowed, and his focus fell to the ground. "Sorry. I shouldn't –"
"Glenn! Your turn." Daryl hopped down from his post and swung his crossbow onto his back. He could tell the second he was next to them something was off. "Go on, kid." The redneck clasped Glenn on the shoulder and steered him in the direction of the lookout.
The idea of conversation suddenly lost its luster and everyone fell silent again. By late afternoon much of what was broken was sturdy once more. Even after the long lull of no words uttered Glenn caught up with Sam on their way back to the cabins. Jo saw him running up and whispered something to Sam, patting him on the shoulder and moving away so the men could talk in private.
"Hey man. I didn't mean. . ." Glenn sighed and hung his head. "I'm sorry."
The Winchester tried his best to muster up a genuine smile, knowing it wasn't the kids fault at all. "I know. It's okay."
"No, I really should have thought about it. They were just stupid rumors that got blown way out of proportion. Like in that movie, Gossip." Sam raised an eyebrow, not getting the pop reference. "Besides," Glenn continued. "The past doesn't matter anymore for anybody. If this apocalypse gave us anything, it's a fresh start."
Sam's brow furrowed and he nodded slightly. "Yeah." Oh how he wished that was true for him.
"Glenn! You comin'?" Daryl stood impatiently on the path back to their side of camp.
"Just a minute!" Glenn turned back to the Winchester. "We okay?"
"We're good." Sam nodded and stuck out a hand.
"If I find out anything about the Dixon brothers I'll let you know," Glenn assured him as they shook.
Sam smirked. "I thought we were forgetting the past."
Glenn grinned impishly. "Doesn't mean it's not interesting." He jogged over to join the redneck.
"Things okay?" Jo reappeared by Sam.
"Yeah." Sam rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders. "Just tired."
"You know that if you need to talk, we're here for you. Dean may not be the most open person, but Bobby, Mom, and I are always available." She smiled. "It's not like we can exactly leave, anyway."
Merle and Bobby were a good way away from camp by mid-afternoon, concealed among the skeletal trees and the leaf-scattered ground. They'd ventured well past the cabin and the area where the Atlanta group hand hidden their secret stash of supplies and were nearing the edge of the city. The vehicle, the same one Daryl had used that morning, was sitting about a mile back waiting for them to return. So far their mission was proving successful; the pair of them had managed to collect four jars of demon blood, six squirrels and a turkey.
After witnessing a full on demonic possession the eldest Dixon brother had a completely new outlook on anything that dealt with the supernatural. Not only did he believe whole-heartedly in the existence of demons, he enjoyed taunting them every chance he got.
"Yeah, that's right. . . even you monsters bleed don't cha." He mocked holding the glass jar under the demons neck to collect the blood seeping from the wide gash. He grinned sinisterly, watching the thick crimson flow from the demons throat, while Bobby watched shaking his head.
"You're lucky those things are powerless in that circle otherwise you'da been dead about two hours ago." Bobby sneered snatching the jar out of Merles hand.
With the same knife-the one given to them by Ruby- the old drunk had used to slash the beasts throat he used to put an end to creature. "You're a pain in my ass you know that?" he placed the jar of blood in the sack containing the others before he continued giving the older redneck a piece of his mind. "You're a pain in every body's ass, even your brothers."
Merle scowled as he followed Bobby deeper into the woods. "You better watch yer mouth ol' man."
"Or what? You'll shoot me?" he laughed dryly. "Go ahead. Try it. Whatever cockamamie excuse you think up Dean won't believe. He'll put a bullet in you faster than you can say Geronimo."
Merles scowl deepened but he didn't say anything. For the first time all afternoon they walked in silence, for which Bobby was thankful. If he had to hear one more complaint of cocky remark from that man's mouth, he was going to shove the demon knife right into his throat. It was about time someone let him have it, and Bobby was glad it was he who had the balls to do it.
When they'd finally finished checking all the traps and snare and collected their prizes, a different odor started to permeate through the trees following the breeze.
"You smell that?" Bobby asked inhaling the ugly sent.
"Smells like rottin' eggs. . ."
"It's sulfur." Bobby corrected. "Only one reason why there'd be that strong of a sent out in the middle of nowhere."
Merle looked rather confused and on the defense.
"Demons." Bobby explained. "Lots of 'em too. There must be a nest of them nearby."
Merle glanced around the trees. "We should check it out. Kill the black eyed sons of bitches once an' for all."
"You crazy?" Bobby snapped. "Ain't no way we can take out a demon nest alone. You especially."
"They need to be got rid of." Merle seethed.
He was starting to piss Bobby off again. "You got some kind of a death wish? Our job was to go get blood and check the snares you and Daryl put out, now we've done that. Let's get back before those demons find out we are here."
After a bit of scolding and quite a lot of convincing Dean finally let Ellen talk him into letting them have a party of sorts. He wasn't sure if it would be a remedy to his ever going internal conflicts like she promised it would be, but he guessed it wouldn't hurt to try.
Ellen, with the help of the women from Rick's group cooked up as much food as they could spare over the fires, While Sam and Glenn invented games the children could play for entertainment; ring toss, horse shoes etc. Tables and chairs were taken from the cabins and bunched together for families to sit and eat their meal or play a hand at cards. Spare blankets were laid around sturdy fires that Rick and Daryl constructed out of branches and stone.
Dean stood watched everyone prepare for a fun filled night from the porch of the HQ building. He wished he had half as much excitement as everyone on camp seemed to have. Perhaps it would've been different if he didn't have the nagging feeling that their good luck was about to run out clawing away at the back of his mind. He fiddled with the beer bottle in his hand nervously. Sam and Glenn were laughing, smiling, Ellen and the girls all were talking, and swapping stories as they prepared a meal fit for the apocalypse. It was such a different sight to see and witnessing it actually drew the corners of Dean's mouth into a slight grin, all things considered.
"I'm looking forward to the festivities this evening." Cas suddenly said behind Dean.
"Jesus!" Dean almost choked on his beer. "Where the hell have you been?"
The fallen angel no longer appeared to be suffering from the symptoms of a hangover and for the first time in a long time looked . . . content. He'd even shaved the scruffy beard.
"I took a nap as you said, and then helped Rick and his son take watch." He paused and gazed out over everyone stopping when his eyes landed on the sheriff and the boy helping Daryl. "Ricks son Carl reminds me a lot of you Dean. "
The oldest Winchester nodded. "I thought so too." He took a long swig from his bottle of alcohol. From the corner of his eyes he caught Cas swallow and lick his lips. "Go on." Dean nodded inside where he kept his stash (the stash Castiel had taking a liking too).
"But you said-"
"I know what I said. It's a party. Can't have a party without a little hunters helper. Just take it easy alright? Now go before I change my mind."
Castiel smiled and went to retrieve a bottle of something. "Thank you Dean."
"Damn, I got shit cards." Daryl fumed glaring at his hand.
The group had finished their food- which consisted mostly of venison and vegetable greens- a while ago and now everyone was doing their best to unwind from the stress of zombies and demons. The kids played on the games while the parents watched, relaxing by the side of the fires burning here and there. Ellen's idea was actually working.
Currently six of them, Rick and his son, Daryl, Sam and Dean and Cas, were gathered around two adjacent tables playing poker, using bottle caps and pebbles as chips.
"Same here." Rick frowned throwing his cards down.
"Maybe he's bluffin'" Dean said eyeing the redneck suspiciously. "He's won the last four rounds."
Everyone glanced at Daryl as if doing so would reveal the answer; unfortunately, he sat stone-faced holding the cards close to his chest. "It's your call boss." He said to Dean.
Dean thought a moment eyeing each of the cards he held in his hands. Usually he was pretty good at poker, but Daryl was proving to be an adequate challenger. With a sigh, he tossed in a hand full of bottle caps and stones, laying his hand down. "Four of a kind. 10 high."
Sam threw down his losing hand with an irritated sigh, while Cas sat eyeing his cards through a narrow scowl looking confused.
"I don't grasp the concept of this game."
Carl snuck a peek at the fallen angles cards and shook his head with the hint of a smile on his lips. "With that hand I'm not surprised. You literally have nothing dude." The boy laid down his cards. "I at least had one pair."
"Does that mean you win?"
"Not with Deans hand I don't." Carl told him.
The eldest Winchester smiled smugly and moved his focus back to Daryl setting across from him. "Show 'em."
Daryl's eyes were fixed on the cards Dean had arranged on the wooden surface, biting his lip. "That's a good round. . . but. . ." he spread his cards across the table and as he did the smirk on Deans face faded. "Four of a kind don' beat a straight flush."
Dean banged his fist on the table shaking his head. "Son of a bitch. Where'd you learn to play?"
"Merle taught me. Used to play with the neighbor kids for smokes."
"Well," Dean picked the six-pack up off the ground that had been setting next to his chair, sat it on the table, and pushed it across the way to the redneck. "Congratulations."
Daryl reached for one of the amber bottles and popped the cap with the corner of the table. "Cheers."
"You know the last time you lost a game of poker you aged 50 years." Sam reminded his brother.
"Yeah and I don't know which is worse. Losing my youth, or my beer."
Once they'd cleaned up their game and returned most of the tables to their previous homes Rick and Dean's group all sat around a fire swapping stories of how they got to where they are. Ellen talked about The Roadhouse and how her husband was a hunter like Sam and Dean; thankfully she left out the part where their father got him killed. The sheriff told their story; how they started in Atlanta, wound up on Beth and Maggie's father's farm, the prison and the man called the Governor. He spoke about the people they lost; Shane, Dale, Andrea, Hershel, and Lori; Ricks wife.
"I'm so sorry." Sam said solemnly, feeling he was to blame for the horrors they'd had to deal with. "You've all been through so much."
"Just gotta keep pushing on. That's how we ended up here. You don't know how thankful we are to have found you." Rick said.
Ellen smiled, "We're glad to have found you.
Dean shook his head gazing into the fire. Weather anyone saw his gesture or not, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that these people shouldn't have that much faith in him. He'd failed so many times, gotten so many people killed; no one should ever trust him so much.
"What about you and Sam." Carl spoke up. "How did you guys become . . .hunters?"
Sam looked at Dean as if to ask weather of not they should finally let them in on their life. Rick and the others for the most part had told their stories; it was only fair they share theirs.
"Oh what the hell." Dean sighed taking a drink from his bottle. He started the story at the beginning like any good story teller. Telling them how their mother was killed by a demon and how their father become obsessed with finding it. How they grew up in hotel rooms and learning how to hunt monsters instead of playing sports and how they couldn't stop even after they killed the demon that killed their mother.
"So it just goes on?" Glenn asked absentmindedly tugging at the grass next to the blanket he and Maggie were sitting on.
"Yep." Dean said with a sigh. "It's like a drug, once you start you can't stop until it kills ya."
It was quiet for a moment and the atmosphere shifted to one less inviting as before. Deans self-loathing aura suddenly seemed to amplify and affect more than just him.
"It hasn't killed you yet." Carol spoke up trying to lighten the mood with a positive alternative.
Dean just laughed darkly. "Yeah it has. Me and Sammy shoulda been dead a long time ago. We're both just too stubborn to stay dead." Jo elbowed him in the ribs muttering something along the lines of 'you're ruining the mood'.
Dean's statement lost Ricks group and they all just stared at him waiting on some kind of explanation.
"I got stabbed." Sam finally said. "I got stabbed in the back and died. Dean ah, Dean made a deal with a demon, brought me back and he ended up in Hell because of it."
"Then how are you here now?" Maggie asked.
There was a long pause as everyone brought their focus to Dean who sat fiddling with the label on the bottle of beer in his hand. How was he gonna explain that to them?
"I gripped him tight and raised him from perdition." Castiel spoke up unexpectedly.
Here we go. . .Dean thought.
Carl looked at Cas with a raised brow. "You mean you actually pulled Dean out of Hell?"
"Yes." He told the boy. "I'm an angel of the Lord. Or I was."
Suddenly the quiet, socially awkward blue eyed man who everyone thought had a few screws loose was the center of everyone's attention. Dean had been planning on keeping Cas' issue on the down low a little bit longer. Letting people in on the fact that Castiel was an angel would bring up a bunch of religious bullshit that the eldest Winchester didn't want to deal with. However, like usual, Cas had a way of causing a fuss without realizing he'd done so.
"Are you really an angel?" Beth asked. "Do you have wings?"
Cas nodded. "I did, yes."
"What happened to them?" Maggie queried.
"I'm afraid when my brothers and sisters returned home after the battle with Lucifer; I lost what made me what I was. Any power I had left I used to help you." He looked at Carl.
"Help me? How?"
"When Dean carved that mark into your arm. I channeled some of your pain into myself so you wouldn't have to endure it." The fallen angel explained.
Carl ran his fingers along the jagged scars on his forearm and looked at Cas. "I coulda taken it."
"I know you could have." He paused and looked somewhat ashamed. "But it made me feel better."
"How come the angels don't come down here an' fix this mess?" Daryl scoffed. The redneck had stayed quiet during the other conversation, stretched out on his own blanket lying on his back hugging his prized six-pack and watching the stars.
"It's more complicated than that." Cas frowned. "Lucifer and Michael fought and Lucifer won thus winning the earth. That's why the world has become how it is."
Before anyone could interrogate Castiel any father as to why his family of douche bags hasn't stepped in and saved the day, Dean jumped to the angels rescue.
"Look. It's been my experience that angels are dicks. Even Cas was a dick when I first met his feathery ass, but now he's like my brother. The only way to end this thing once and for all is to kill Lucifer, and since the angels aren't gonna do it. Sam and I will do it. If any of you have a problem with Cas, you talk to me. Understand?"
He got up and tossed his bottle in the flames, tired and a little irked. If he stayed schmoozing any longer he was going to punch someone. His attitude, and protectiveness mixed with alcohol made me a loose cannon. Everything was going so well with Rick and his group he wasn't about to screw it up because he was a little tipsy.
"You're gonna kill the Devil?" Daryl propped himself up and snorted.
"You can bet your ass we will, or we'll die trying. This is partly our mess and we sure as Hell are gonna clean it up." Dean told him before he could walk away. He sighed and glanced at his brother. "I'm gonna go take a siesta, you're in charge."
"Okay.' Sam nodded.
A chorus of 'good nights' resonated from both members of his group and Ricks.
On his way back up the slight incline to the Head Quarters building he passed Daryls brute of a brother on his way to the so called party. For the hell of it, he smiled smugly at him as Merle stomped past him only to receive a narrow eyed glower in return.
If Merle was back that meant Bobby was back. The cabin lights where already on when he the porch and upon entering found Bobby sitting at the table, hunched over a map looking sullen. The corpses of dead animals say on the table next to the burlap sack filled with jars of demons blood waiting to be given a home. It was unusual for Bobby to not complete a task, especially one as simple as putting away future food and medicine. He didn't even look up from the map when Dean walked into the room.
"Everything okay?" Dean pried a few moments later when Bobby didn't bother to speak first. Something ugly churned in his stomach as he awaited his reply.
"Dean." Bobby said, his bloodshot solemn eyes finally moving from the paper map to Dean. "We need to talk."
All day he'd been waiting for bad news to surface, and just when he thought everything might actually be okay the light at the end of the tunnel went out.
A/N: Don't forget to drop me a review! :D
