Chapter title is from song by Scorpions.

21

No One Like You - Scorpions

There was a black Durango SUV already parked by the side of the road at the coordinates Garth had given them. Dean scowled at the shallow dent on the front fender of the vehicle like it offended him.

"I thought Garth said this Zee person would be in Utica."

Sam shrugged. "Maybe she came back."

They stood on the edge of a forest, open field on one side, dense tree cover on the other. The field was damp with snow and mud, sodden and gray in the afternoon light.

"Anything?"

Dean shook his head. He looked at the tracks in the mud beside the vehicle and frowned.

"Fresh?"

His brother nodded. Sam stayed quiet for a moment before moving to the trunk of the Impala and grabbing the flashlight and silver stakes, throwing them into a small shoulder pack. The angel blade he carried all the time now bumped against him.

He looked up at Dean, still frowning at the tracks.

"What?"

Dean shook his head.

"Nothing."

Sam raised both brows skeptically and went to see for himself.

Huh.

There were two sets of tracks, one set much smaller than the other. Child-sized footprints.

They traded a glance.

"Maybe just coincidence?"

Even as he uttered the words, Sam knew they had an empty feel to them. There was no such thing as coincidence in their world. Only really bad luck.

"Hmph." Dean had that absent look on his face again, listening to things other than sound. "Come on. This way."

Two shadowy figures moved in the trees up ahead. Their footfalls rustled clumsily, the brush of dry leaf against leaf loud to his ears. Dean held up one fisted hand for Sam to stop. Sam's foot came down silently as he went totally still.

Dean squinted at the shapes up ahead. Whoever or whatever it was was small, one shadow the size of a child hugging the side of the other. He didn't sense anything, but then again, you never assumed anything with zombies. The taller figure of the two had a shape. It tugged at his memory, and he looked harder.

Her.

The First Blade came automatically into his hand in reaction as he stepped forward and out into the small clearing, leaves crunching underfoot with his sudden movement. She spun around at the sound, her but not her, nothing like her, dressed head to foot in black, jeans fitted to the sweet curve of her hip, looking lethal and deadly with that Kill Bill sword at her side. Amber eyes swept him from head to foot, flicked to Sam, dismissed Sam, as she squared up opposite him, long sword flashing out between one blink and the next, pointed right at him.

"What are you?" He strode forward as he barked the question. He heard Sam moving up beside him, trying to temper his manners, but he shook Sam off with a small motion of his free hand.

She looked him over again. The hand he had around the First Blade tightened at the lack of recognition in her eyes, looking at him as if he were a complete stranger, no trust in them at all. What kind of game was she playing? And what the hell was… he looked at the blond shadow by her side…that? A kid? What did she think she was doing, hunting in the woods with a kid? Assuming it was a human kid?

He had doubts. He shifted his weight to his back foot, preparing for a fight, antsy with questions. He was annoyed when she mirrored his movements, moving to her right as he moved to his left, stepping to keep herself between him and the kid. As if he were the danger here. Bright blue eyes from the kid looked up at him underneath blond bangs a month overdue for a haircut, wary suspicion in them.

"Dean Winchester."

God, that voice. It was her. He would know her voice anywhere, never mind the rest of her. His eyes narrowed on her face. It was her, or her evil, evil twin. He couldn't be sure she was human unless he looked, but demon sight was sluggish, almost evasive, when he reached for it. All he could see was her, the long sweep of her lashes over cool eyes, the curve of her lip pulling taut on his name. Not warm. Not remotely friendly.

He glared at her tone and the point of the samurai sword in her hands. Who used those things, anyway? They were bulky and awkward to carry compared to a machete. He made some allowance for the fact she only came up to his chin, and maybe the reach of the sword helped, but still.

"What are you?" He asked again. He was bristling, menacing, probably freaking the kid out, but she was trouble. That much he knew.

"Dean." Sam's hand came down on his arm, restraining. Dean shook him off impatiently. He wasn't out of control in a berserker rage. Nor was he the one who'd had a personality transplant, and turned into some kind of diminutive feral ninja.

Of course Sam was the one who put two and two together and got five when Sam said, "Zee?"

Oh, no way. No friggin' way.

"Sam."

She said it without sparing a look at Sam. She knew who they were, then. She knew Garth had sent them. And there she was, holding them off with the point of her sword as if they were the enemy, the monsters.

Oh, wait.

The hilt of the First Blade felt warm in his hand.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief beside him. He didn't have to turn his head to know Sam had warmed up his friendly smile.

"You know Garth. He sent us."

She didn't budge, didn't take her eyes off him. Her tone was curt when she replied.

"Everyone knows Garth. Being a were hasn't fixed his problem of hugging strays."

If it had been possible for his hackles to rise any more, they would have stood straight up and quivered. He stopped short of a growl at her words, only because they were true. Any hunter worth their salt would be a fool to trust him just on Garth's say so, maybe especially on Garth's say so. Whether that was because Garth was a werewolf or because Garth was a hugger was dealer's choice.

Sam stepped forward, putting himself between their weapons at his own peril. She didn't move, didn't lower her sword point at all. Dean bristled all over again. He was about to pull Sam back when something tickled the far edge of his perception.

"What?" Her question was short and sharp, picking up on his faint shift in attention.

How was she doing that? Sam knew the nuances of his expression because Sam had grown up with him, but she was somehow picking them up even though he knew he hadn't moved his facial muscles a titch.

Sam's head turned to him at her words, automatically accepting her lead as valid. Dean shushed the pair of them with a finger, listening to the distance.

Something, an ebb, a pull, tugged at him. Not just one. A few of them. And not moving away like any smart monster would do when he was in the vicinity. Moving towards them.

Intent.

"What's hunting you?" He snapped the question without looking at her, not bothering to explain how he knew.

He could see her eyes narrow with suspicion at his question.

"Zombies. I thought Garth briefed you."

"Vampire eating zombies." He repeated, icing the words over with skepticism.

Her lips flattened at his tone. He went on.

"Kill any yet?"

"Dean!" Sam interceded, glancing at the kid's rapt attention. He ignored Sam. Two more whatever-it-was had joined the pack in the distance.

"No." Her tone was flat as she ignored Sam also. "They reassemble."

"What, like Terminator?"

"Minus the shapeshifting."

Dean swore profusely. "Head shot?"

She shook her head.

"You're sure."

She made a be-my-guest gesture at him.

"Sam, get them out of here."

The feral ninja shot him a guarded look. "Won't work. They're after Toby."

"Dean." Sam said warningly at the same time, catching his intent.

"There's too many of them." He spoke while looking off into the distance. Ten at his last count. Ten. Then he came back to the conversation. "What do you mean they're after Toby?"

She looked at him like he was impossibly dense and repeated unhelpfully. "They're. After. Toby."

She leaned slightly to one side, indicating the kid, like he wouldn't have figured that out by now.

Demon sight came instantly to hand when he looked at the kid, and the kid jerked back as Dean's eyes went full black looking at him. Human. No question about it.

And now he was also holding her sword point away from his throat idly with the First Blade, not even trying.

"Put that away. I'm not going to hurt him. I just needed to see."

The sight faded when he looked at her, slipping from his grip like a slippery eel. Not that she cared. There was still some force to the steel blade pressing against the jawbone in his hand.

"Zee. It's okay."

For once it was nice to see Sam trying to calm someone else down.

She eased up reluctantly, more because she was getting nowhere than because she believed Sam, in all likelihood. She didn't strike him as someone who wasted effort. He would need to pay a little attention, because she was fast with that thing. She couldn't kill him, but cuts still stung like a bitch and he hadn't mastered the trick of fixing them.

Sam turned to him. "How many?"

"Ten."

"Dean." Sam's voice was low with warning again.

"Go. I've got this. Get them back to the cars."

The ninja gave him an impatient look, not moving a bit, having been over this ground.

Sam's lips tightened, unspoken fear and worry in his eyes. There were only ten. Maybe he could take care of these things one-by-one, and not have to use the full power of the Blade. Maybe not. Anything that was actually insane enough to be moving towards him was a little different. After the incident at Elijah's, most demons fell nicely in line when he said Boo. Most other things ran.

All that was in Sam's eyes, torn between wanting to save the girl and the kid, and the need to save his brother. They didn't have time for this.

"Sam. Get going."

To Sam's credit, Sam had sussed out the girl's weakness while they talked. Without warning Sam moved forward and nabbed the kid, trussing the struggling little guy securely in his arms and backing up behind Dean when the feral ninja rounded on him. Sam's voice was that friendly, reassuring one again when he addressed her.

"Come on. Let's get you guys out of here."

Sam tightened his arms around the squirming kid, careful to keep his hold secure but not bruising. He had avoided staring at the girl following a few feet behind him. He didn't want to tip her off. Not yet. To what, he wasn't sure.

She didn't recognize Dean. Had it been one of Dean's usual late night pickups, he could've gone with it. But he was pretty sure that was miles removed from what had happened in Witchita. Dean wouldn't talk about it, naturally, but Dean had sure as hell recognized her just now.

What was it Garth had said on the phone? It wasn't much.

"Sam, you guys have time to head over to Dolgeville?"

He'd hemmed.

"Hey, I know y'all have a lot going on. I wouldn't ask, except it's a weird one. We could really use some experienced hands up there."

That sounded ominous. Despite himself, he'd leaned in.

"Why? What's going on?"

"It's Zee. I mean, at first it was Travis."

He'd rolled his eyes there, because Travis could drown in a kiddie pool.

"I feel responsible." Garth added. "I asked her to look into it. Look for Travis, I mean."

"Zee? She new?"

"Naw. Just low profile. She keeps it that way."

Sometimes hunters did that. Garth had given him a phone number, but no last name. That was unusual, but not unheard of. Hunting being what it was, almost everyone had a past, a reason they got into it in the first place. Some people buried theirs deep. It happened. He hadn't thought any more of it at the time.

He shifted his grip on the kid, listening to the sounds behind him. He could hear the faint thwacking noises of a fight beginning. He picked up the pace.

"These zombie things, they reassemble?"

"Yes."

Her voice was clipped. She was sweeping their surroundings as she moved with near silent, efficient steps. Experience. She had her right hand on the katana by her side, like she was expecting zombies to pop out of the woods ahead of them at any moment.

"Dean'll take care of it. He's…good."

That wasn't quite the word for it, but it was better than reminding a hunter they'd left the job with a demon.

She flicked him a look, not fooled.

He glanced back. They were too far to see anything, but the sounds of fighting had intensified. The feel of the air around them changed.

His heart dropped to his stomach. He sped up until Zee was almost at a run.

"What is it?" She asked, looking at him keenly.

"It's the First Blade. Sometimes," He hesitated, wondering how much it was wise to divulge. "it can be used to kill everything around it."

A blast wave, air and light, blew through the trees, rattling the leaves, leaving the smell of ozone charged air behind.

Shit.

He thrust the kid he was carrying at her. "Get back to the cars. You should be fine now. I've got to get back to Dean."

Without waiting for her answer, he turned back along the path, trying not to trip over his own feet. His heart was beating too fast, remembering what happened when Dean powered up the blade this way. The demon in his brother's eyes, barely controlled, on the edge, needing more. More blood. More death.

He slipped the angel blade from his jacket, balancing it loosely on his palm. He wanted not to be holding it. He wanted the .38, because the devil's traps bullets would have been better—Dean wouldn't have liked being shot, but the demon would survive being shot. But a month ago he had panicked, with that horde of revenants he hadn't expected to run into in Bangor, and the demon had knocked the gun out of his hand before he'd even gotten his finger over the trigger. He'd fallen back, the angel blade tumbling into his hand on reflex. The demon had jerked away with a hiss. With a sick sensation he had level it at the demon, because there was only one reason the demon would fear it. The demon still feared death. And so he had held it there, pointed at his brother, breathing as slowly and as evenly as he could, his knuckles white with strain, waiting and waiting until Dean came back to himself again. They'd traded one long look, understanding a bitter lump in their throats.

He reached the breach in the trees where they had left Dean.

He came to a dead stop.

This was a mistake. Mistake. Mistake. They shouldn't have come. They should have stayed in the bunker.

The clearing was utter carnage. Dean had said there were ten of those things—vampire eating zombies or whatever, but it was impossible to get a head count from the slop of exploded body parts and … lumpy bits of mash smeared across the ground like rotten jam. The stale stench of things long dead, foul and chalky, hung heavy in the air like a fog, thick enough to taste. Dean stood with his back to him, smack in the middle of the slop, the First Blade held down by his side, blood still running down the grooves of the ancient bone, dripping onto the already soaked ground.

"Dean?"

The demon spun around. The First Blade arced up, pointed in his direction. Black eyes, heavy with suspicion, eyed the angel blade in his hand.

Dean snarled.

With effort he kept himself from reacting to the threat in Dean's posture. He kept his palm open, the angel blade balanced loosely on it, trying for unthreatening.

The demon just watched him, eyeing the angelic weapon in his hand, not breathing.

"Dean."

He watched Dean's eyes. Black, black, black. The First Blade quivered in Dean's hand. Beneath the fabric of Dean's sleeve, he could see the ember glow of the Mark of Cain.

"Dean."

Marco, waiting for a Polo.

He'd keep waiting. They'd get through this. He had to believe. Just this last time. They'd get through this, go back to the bunker, and hole the hell up. He was wrong. He couldn't do this. He couldn't wrap his hand around the angel blade, grip it like he meant it and…

Before he could help himself, he huffed.

Dark eyes moved from the silver weapon in his hand up to his eyes. Looked into his soul. God knows what was in there had to be a sad mess, but he kept one thought at the forefront.

"Dean."

Dean's shoulder trembled. With a shudder, Dean let go of the First Blade and collapsed to his knees, shaking and shaking from the cold. Sam scrambled across the clearing, stepping over severed arms and legs and other disembodied parts, and dropped down besides his brother, catching him by the shoulders before Dean went over entirely. It was bad. It was worse than the spiders in Bramwell, and worse than the revenants they stumbled across in Bangor. There'd been bodies left then. He wrapped both arms around Dean, trying to stop the shakes that were nearly convulsions, biting down on his lower lip hard enough to make it bleed, trying to keep the moisture out of his eyes.

"Hey. I'm here. Right here. I've got you. I've got you."

Out of countless nightmares he had woken to those words, Dean's hands on his shoulders, insistent. Sammy, wake up. Wake up, I've got you. He'd open his eyes, out of the fire, flames on the ceiling above him, flames around him, flames in his mind. He'd find his brother's face, creased with worry but anchored and sure, steady as a rock. He'd focus in on Dean's green-hazel eyes, familiar, not fire, not flames, and come back to the present, to the world.

Dean shuddered.

"Sam?"

"Yeah. I'm here. It's alright."

"I think there are more." Dean rasped out, voice grating like sandpaper.

"What? Here?"

"Not sure." Pause. "I lost count."

Sam inhaled sharply at the low admission. Shit, fuck and double shit. Exhausted, Dean slumped back against him, the shaking restarting. He adjusted his grip on Dean's shoulder, trying to keep him upright.

Dean flinched violently, like the touch hurt.

What the hell?

Before he could open his mouth to ask, the sound of a twig cracking brought both their heads up, Dean scrambling around him trying to get at the First Blade. Sam had his angel blade up and leveled at the sound before he got a good look at what made it.

Zee stood there, at the edge of the clearing, one hand on the hilt of her sword, the other keeping the kid behind her. She stayed perfectly still, her face unreadable.

Deadly calm.

Sam's fingers curled tighter around the angel blade of their own volition while his heart beat too loudly in his ears. He waited for it, for her exorcism incantation to start, waited for her to draw. He waited for Dean to respond to the threat, lightening and darkness and blood.

What was he going to do with the weapon in his hand?

His mind was surprisingly blank.

A second ticked by.

She wasn't looking at him. She was looking at Dean. At the hard challenge Dean was glaring her way. At Dean's hand gripping a bruise on his arm. She met his brother's stare head on with an eerie stillness, unknowable thoughts behind those unusual amber eyes. Wolf eyes, Sam thought suddenly, somehow both ice and fire. In a dark alley, a wise man steered clear. What was she seeing?

After what seemed like an eon, she tilted her head in the direction of the cars, and said with inhuman evenness, "Come on. If you didn't get them all, we need to get moving."