I haven't done a Dean chapter for a while, so I decided to do one now. Also, this chapter introduces the Daily Logs of the Men of Letters. It's kind of like John's journal, where he recounts everything he does and learns about the Supernaturals, only this is a record for the Men of Letters.

Que Sera Sera translates to Whatever Happens Happens (or Whatever Will Be, Will Be)- I thought it was clever for an end-of-the-world story;) There's also a song with the same name that's pretty cool if you want to check it out, here's the link: watch?v=TANhf9tiZ6E.

Also there's a line after the daily log entry that kinda reminds me of a lyric from Knockin' on Heaven's Door, wink wink nudge nudge.

RECAP:

"What's wrong?" he asked at the same time that Castiel said "Something's wrong."

"I have to get back," he said, hurriedly standing up, knuckles white from their iron grip on his phone.

Gabe looked up from where he still sat, "What's going on?"

Castiel looked from the phone to Gabe.

"I think it's started."


Men of Letters Daily Log- 12.23.2016

2100 hours

Entrant: Eva Murphy

It's been 4 months since we locked down the bunker. 4 months, and the only contact we've had with the outside world is the radio. We are 8 days from the winter solstice. 4 more seals have broken. We have 2 left.

We all assumed that it would begin on the winter solstice, one of the days when the Supernaturals are their strongest. When Lucifer is at his strongest. We assumed that we would be safe until then, at least for another week. We were wrong.

Lucifer doesn't even need to be freed. His strength in the Cage is already growing.

The Bunker has fallen to the Croats. It's all we can do to keep the place locked down, but we will need to relocate eventually. Bobby Singer's auto repair front is still up. He booby trapped the place. Maybe we can escape there. He's one of the few hunters still around. We'll make our escape in the next few days, but we'll need to find a way around the horde outside. Castiel, as always, has been hugely helpful in eliminating some of the horde trying to kick in our door, but I can see that even his power is beginning to drain. Campbell has begun to stockpile grenades and weaponry with the help of Charlie. I'm glad I let Castiel start training Dean before it was too late. We'll need more fighters.

I would say God help us, but he doesn't seem to care.


The apocalypse came with a lot less pomp than everyone was expecting. It was a transition, not just a sudden all-ending event. There were signs. Some of them were the results of seals breaking. Disease, an exponential increase in demonic possession, restlessness. Some people became religious. No one knew why, but Dean thought that everyone could sense, in a way, what was happening. All those normal people living normal lives, but they didn't know exactly how quickly that would change.

Then the monsters made themselves known.

A werewolf was filmed on camera. Then a vampire. More videos came in of everything, every supernatural creature that Dean had ever imagined in his books- more. They were reported on the news, dissected and seen by everyone. Some believed they were legit, some didn't. But for better or worse, the supernatural wasn't a secret anymore. More hunters popped up everywhere in response to the videos, people wanting to just get rid of these monsters, or amateurs just wanting to get a close-up look. Even more of them died.

Dean had been forced to believe a lot of things that he just couldn't have accepted before.

Werewolves. Vampires. Witches. Ghosts.

Forgiveness?

He had no reason to believe it.

Still, although the transition from civility to chaos was slow, everything was still happening too fast- it seemed like just yesterday that he and Cas had been in the cabin, where Cas had told him everything. In reality it had been just a few months ago that he'd learned about the Men of Letters and that he was doomed to go to Hell, and practically the next day he was there. After that, after a few years down there (because time moved differently) he had broken, only for a second, it long enough for seals to break.

And it all went downhill from there. They were screwed from the start.

It was a shame, really. Dean thought that if he'd been in the bunker under different circumstances he would have liked it. As it was, everyone was on high-alert stress, sending families away to haven, most leaving to be with their families.

Those that stayed behind were the strongest. Charlie was one of them- Dean had never really met her, because she was always in the library or filing the storage rooms. She was their nerd, Eva explained, able to hack anything. Considering the whole apocalypse thing, she was surprisingly chipper. Although that seemed to be a part of her general personality.

He wandered into the library, looking for a book that Cas wanted him to check out as a part of his instruction in rituals. He saw the laptop she had planted in front of her, and made the happy mistake of asking her what she was doing, because he sure as heck couldn't figure out the strings of numbers running across the screen.

"Coding," she'd answered, not even glancing over the screen as he sat across from her. Not in a rude way- she was obviously concentrating on the numbers.

She tried to explain, but the words came out haltingly with her split attention. "Hacking traffic cameras. Monitoring. Doing stuff that probably sounds much more important than it is," her fingers continued to tap across the keyboard faster than Dean could comprehend, "Wanna see?"

She angled the laptop sideways so he could see what she was doing and continued to go into an animated monologue about different coding languages, JavaScript and Python and SQL and a bunch of other things that Dean actually kind of understood, in a weird way. She would point excitedly to the screen to show him something, and when she looked up to see what he thought he nodded in encouragement for her to keep going.

She was smart. She reminded Dean of Sam when he'd been learning animal noises. So many neural pathways firing confusingly all at once, but they somehow made thoughts that were coherent enough to understand. She was bubbly, too, and obviously loved what she did, like Sam had when he'd learned numbers and letters alarmingly fast.

Dean regretted having to excuse himself for an instruction in sigils, but he knew Cas was waiting. He stood, and as an afterthought hesitantly asked if she wanted to join him, and she nodded excitedly.

"I'm rusty. I could use a little review," she hopped out of her chair, bright red hair bouncing as she skipped down the two steps of the library, laptop tucked under one arm.

She would later become more than a reminder of his brother. She'd become the little sister he'd always wanted.


The world was ending.

That much Dean knew.

But the Apocalypse hadn't started yet- at least, not completely. That much he also knew.

Still, no one expected the end to come so early.

He might have tried that last-night-on-earth line if he'd wanted to, but he didn't. He wanted to forget worrying about the future, because now he didn't have one; it was too dark to see. He just wanted to say screw it all, I'm going to live now while I can.

But he couldn't. For several reasons.

One being that it seemed- just- wrong. This couldn't be happening. Why should he act any different about something that wasn't actually happening? And- even if it was- it was his fault. He couldn't be carefree, not about this.

The reports that he heard on the radio of these- these things that used to be human, these monsters, husks of people that he might have known and cared about that were now reduced to nothing but a need to kill and make more like them- it was because of him. All because he wanted just a moment of reprieve from the endless torture on the rack, all because he raised a knife and gave a shallow nick to some girl on the rack that had already seen so much worse. But blood was spilt- hardly more than a teaspoon, maybe- and Dean. . .

Dean had been weak.

And that one little nick guaranteed the deaths of millions.

The state of emergency was issued a week ago. Dean had been in the bunker since then. Before it was issued, some of the other Men of Letters went out to investigate the mysterious new brand of monsters that had supposedly been created by Lucifer himself. They didn't- couldn't speak. They only screamed, or grunted, or growled- but they weren't animals.

They were human.

And apparently this wasn't the first time the Men of Letters had heard of them. The Croatoan virus had been a myth, some half-forgotten story of a demonic sickness that turned the host's mind into demands to kill kill kill. They were a lower tier of Lucifer's minions. Only, it wasn't a story, because that was currently what was holding the breath of the world in a vice-like grip, and it was real, so horrifyingly real, and it was all Dean could do to keep himself from emptying the contents of his stomach into the bathroom sink that he currently stood in front of. He'd taken a shower to clear his mind and now stood in front of the mirror with jeans and a plain grey t-shirt.

The radio continued playing in his room where he left it. This was his punishment- listening to the death count.

The list of people that he didn't even know, that he killed.

The remnant steam from the shower made his shirt cling to his skin.

His fault.

The report droned on: "-are deeply sorry to the families of all the affected, but want to again remind people not to approach loved ones if they are showing any of the symptoms-"

Maybe- if I'd done it sooner, his attention flicked to the angel blade that he knew was on his nightstand, although his eyes didn't move. If I hadn't called Cas that day- if he'd been too late- this wouldn't have happened.

Lucifer didn't even need to be freed to destroy the world, which made Dean shiver at what destruction he could wreak if- when- he was freed.

But- if he did kill himself, that would mean that it was all over for him. Point taken. He made this mess, he should at least try to force himself to live through it. And besides, Cas-

What would Cas think?

He looked up from the porcelain sink into the steamed mirror. And he looked at himself and he-

He hated it. All of it. Himself, mostly

This wasn't fair.

Life wasn't fair. Death wasn't fair. All these innocent people suffering because of something that he did- wasn't fair. Nothing was fair, and he couldn't do anything about it but just live.

If he could even do that.

He finally pushed himself away from the sink, taking the towel resting on it and drying his hair the rest of the way, and walked out into his room.

This wasn't fair. He hated to even think it- it sounded so childish, so naive to think that anything ever could be fair. And why should it be, when it involved him? Why should he catch a break? He didn't deserve it.

He sat next to the nightstand, back against his bed. The blade peeked coyly over the top of the shelf. He gingerly picked it up, holding it between two hands, running one finger along the sharp edge.

And still the report droned on.

"-hundred confirmed dead."

Because of you.

"-More missing-"

Because of you.

"We're asking for help in identifying the latest victims-"

Because of you. Because you're selfish and weak and you have to live now, there's no getting out of this, you can't take the easy way and take your life.

"Death count is rising worldwide-"

Because of you.

"CDC officials are still working to learn more about this awful virus, and are intent on keeping the public up to date on any new information."

Dean tilted his head, closed his eyes, and stabbed the knife in the floorboard by his leg.

As long as there are still people out there trying, he thought, so will I.

Another chapter finished! Follow for more, and as always your reviews mean the world to me.