Warning: The Second Death contains adult content, including graphic descriptions of violence beyond canon-levels.

The Second Death
Chapter 3: So Many Songs

Daryl never liked being inside, behind gates or walls. Hell, even closed up cars bothered him, which was why he had always opted for a motorcycle over a truck.

If he could live with no walls, he'd do it, but there was no way to survive without something keeping the walkers out. Trouble was, barriers put a target on the community. That's why some people set up mazes, roadblocks, and walker traps instead of using fences and gateways. It kept the walkers away without highlighting their location for the human predators out there.

He'd been wary ever since his experience with the fuckers who stole his damn bike and crossbow. He thought he had the measure of them. They were descent enough people, given the circumstances. It would've been much easier for them to kill him than tie him up and march him around, yet they opted to keep him alive. He had offered them a place to live, and they doubled-crossed him because better the devil they know, right?

Fuck, he thought.

It still pissed him off, even thinking about it weeks later.

Normally, Glenn would handle supply runs, but Daryl needed out of Alexandria for a few days. Aaron had wanted to assist because they might find new people, but Daryl wasn't interested. They could meet Mother Theresa, and he wouldn't trust her enough to tell her his name. He didn't have the headspace for bringing back anybody, and he sure as fuck didn't want company.

Rick insisted. Michonne insisted. Everybody insisted. After the wolves and the walker horde, nobody was supposed to be wandering outside the walls on their own. Daryl made all kinds of excuses, but it didn't matter. He was close to dropping it and sneaking out on his own when Carol volunteered to partner up with him. Everybody backed down real quick after that.

She'd saved their asses when Alexandria was attacked, giving up her cover as the invisible, helpless den mother. He knew she needed some escape, too, and unlike everybody else who wanted to come along, she wasn't company. Carol never expected him to talk, and she didn't make him listen to endless prattle. They took the old station wagon and headed south, the opposite direction that they had led the Quarry Walkers. Olivia plied them with snacks that didn't look like food, and Rick handed them a map all marked up.

They wound up going farther south then they should've. He blamed the backcountry roads and the map, and Carol didn't disagree. They assessed their route and realized it made more sense to continue south until they hit a main road, then cross west and head north. They could hit a dozen so-called refugee centers in this area. If Deanna was right and this area had been evacuated early on, then a ton of useable supplies would've been abandoned and likely untouched.

It was a damn wild goose chase. He knew it. Carol knew it, but here they were with nothing but a box of clothing in the trunk and a few bottles of water so far for their troubles.

"Looks like someone beat us to it," Carol said, pointing ahead. "Some are still here."

"How many?"

"I can see two," she replied as she peeked through her binoculars.

They weren't being quiet at all. Daryl couldn't make out what they were saying, but their voices carried.

"There must be more of them."

"Let'em have it," Daryl grunted. "We can circle back and go around these assholes, hit the next one."

"Thirty miles northeast of here," she said.

He started the car.

"Wait," Carol said. "Walkers. A lot of them."

She handed the binoculars over, and Daryl watched as a man in a leather jacket casually approached a walker and decapitated it. A herd started for this guy, and he just stood his ground, hacking and slashing. Daryl checked the grounds, assuming that the only reason for something like that was buying time for other people. But all he found was one man in a trench coat loading supplies into a truck.

He handed the binoculars back when the second guy pulled the truck around.

"We should follow them," Carol said.

"Nah, we're not out here for people."

"Even if the people are two men who scavenged that entire lot in less than a few hours?"

"We don't know that. They could've been there since last night."

"They're headed north," Carol said.

"Fine, we'll keep an eye on 'em, but only so long as they're headed north," Daryl replied shortly.

Carol didn't comment on his newfound suspicion for strangers, nor did she mention that these two were obviously alone. Their clothing was dirty, probably worn for days, and from what she saw, one of them had restored a truck with scavenged materials. Maybe they were getting back to their camp after a long trip, but she doubted it.

"Was it just me, or did they seem careless?" she asked.

"Parked, what, a mile away from 'em? I could hear 'em," he replied. "Attracted every damn walker for miles but handled themselves fine. Probably don't give a damn."

"Overconfident?"

"Yeah, or just plain stupid," he replied.

They followed at a safe distance, occasionally losing the truck for a few miles before the road opened up again. There was nothing but trees and the empty street for a very long time.

"We coming up on that other refugee center?" he asked.

"Yeah, left turn up here. Then the first right, looks like."

The men in the truck were headed the same way, but that didn't surprise either of them. The next center was on the edge of town, near the downtown area. He had half a mind to skip it and go on to the next one, but Carol seemed set on it. She was right to be. Even if the module was empty, there were stores that might still be untouched.

The pickup pulled straight into town, but Daryl went around, circling the area for a good spot to hide the car. There was high ground to the south and some trees, which gave them some shade as well as a good place cover up the vehicle. Carol noticed all the extra precautions, but she said nothing and followed his lead.

They walked quietly toward the main strip, which was just behind the module, but they didn't get very far before all hell broke loose.

Dean found a map in the glove box that outlined a number of refugee centers, most of which were less than a hundred miles apart. The next one was even closer, so they figured they could stop there next, see if there were any working phones or at least some more gas.

He didn't like how empty this place felt. It wasn't just the lack of people and the overgrowth. It felt like anything alive was hiding.

"You think those things chased everything out?" he asked Cas, breaking the quiet of the drive.

"And killed and ate whatever failed to flee."

"Awesome."

Cas wanted to discuss the possible causes for their current situation, but given Dean's response to their conversation earlier that morning, he knew it wouldn't go well, not until he knew the facts. So he had nothing to say.

Somehow, they were cast into this place, and it effected him. The suffering he endured - the agony - had laid him low and made him lose all sense of self. He was no one, previously an angel of the lord who had a role and purpose. He had lost that. He had been so certain free will was the correct path that he sacrificed all these little parts of himself: making a deal with Crowley and breaking that same deal. The leviathan might've destroyed him, but he had torn enough holes in himself to let it happen. When he awoke along with the Prophet, he condemned himself to pacifism. He had made too many mistakes, failed too many times, and something had to change.

But angels never learned how to change. There was never any need before, after all.

But here, in this place, wherever they were, the pain and self-loathing were a memory. Their effects on him were curiously visible, no introspection required, which was good, as angels never learned much a about that either. He wasn't sure if it was clarity or just another punishment to endure, but it had happened in the blink of an eye.

There weren't many ways something like that could occur. Either the angels (or someone in a similar position, though as far as he knew, his Father was done with him) had done it, or they had been thrown into a different plane.

"Up ahead, turn left, then the first right," Dean said, abruptly interrupting his thoughts.

After a few minutes, they reached another module, though this one wasn't in good condition. At some point, a fire had struck, burning down one of the main walls, and the weather had done the rest. It was more than that, though. The vehicles there had been trashed. It looked like a riot had swept through the place.

"Let's park around back," Dean suggested.

"Are you speaking figuratively?" Cas asked.

"Yeah, I mean we should park in an alleyway or somewhere with some cover," Dean replied. "This looks like a rough neighborhood."

They were looking for parking when gunfire sounded, drawing their attention.

"It came from over there," Dean said, pointing.

Cas did his best to navigate in the appropriate direction, but it soon became much easier as screams and growls filled the air. They finally came upon the cause: a group of zombies had gathered around a storefront, a few dead on the ground, but most gathered at the door, grunting to get in. Four people were inside, and one of them was injured.

Dean drew his machete and a long knife that he had tucked away in his jacket.

"Dean, what - "

"We can't leave them," Dean interrupted. "That girl's, what, twelve? Fourteen?"

Cas nodded.

"Drive around, see if there's anyone else," he said. "I'll be done by the time you get back."

"Be careful, Dean."

There were about ten undead bastards right at the door, but another ten or so littering the way. Dean made short work of them. They were much easier to take down than leviathan.

He cut a path to the door, but more and more kept appearing. They came out of the woodwork, from every building and alleyway, from dumpsters and cars, groaning and moaning. They were flimsy things, easy to cut down, but the sheer number of them was a problem. He only had two hands and one machete.

"If you're planning on leaving, now's the time!" Dean shouted through the door as he slashed two zombies through the head at the same time.

The largest man - a big blond with a scruffy brown beard - lifted the wounded member and carried him across his shoulders. The young girl lifted her pistols and came out guns blazing as the older woman - by the looks of it, her mother - opened the door and held it for them. Dean smiled a little; there was nothing in the world like a family that fought together.

Despite having killed twenty already, the road would soon be overrun with them. He wondered if the noise attracted them, because the gunshots seemed to be making the problem worse, not better.

"Oh, shit," Dean said.

The shops across the street had acted like a dam, forcing the undead to amble around them to reach the street, but they came nonetheless. He hadn't really had a plan - other than cutting a path to get the trapped people free - and he wished he had thought of an escape route. From the way the family stopped and backed up, he could only assume their home or car was up one of the now-overrun alleyways.

"We're fucked!" the large man yelled.

The younger girl kept shooting. She was a good shot, hitting each one in the head, most right in the eye. The older woman was handy with an axe, but it wasn't enough now that they were coming from all sides.

"Good of you to try," the older woman said to Dean.

"Not good enough," he replied.

Then the pickup truck burst in, slamming into four zombies as they close in, sending their rot bodies flying through the air, crashing into others, setting off a kind of cascade. The passenger-side door flew open.

"Get in!" Cas yelled.

The large man and the injured guy clambered in after the young girl, leaving Dean and the axe-woman outside. There wasn't enough space in for them.

"Follow me!" Dean said to her.

They hacked and slashed their way to the back of the vehicle. The cap door opened easily enough, but the zombies kept coming, gnashing their teeth and gurgling. The smell alone was overwhelming, oppressive. He wanted to hurl.

"GET IN!" Dean shouted.

She didn't argue about it, she literally jumped into the back, and sensing their escape he, for a brief moment, let his guard down. Something slimy came up against his neck as one of the things grabbed at him from the side. It was an awkward angle for his machete, and soon another one was coming from the other side. He slashed out widely to take care of the new attacker, but he struggled to loose the old one, which seemed frantic to take a bite out of him.

"Hurry up!" the woman shouted.

He tried to throw the thing off, but it was freaking strong, stronger than rotting flesh had any right to be. It was dangerously close to his ear when an arrow went clean through its temple.

He didn't think about it, didn't look around for a shooter, didn't wonder who just saved his ass. He shoved the corpse away and leapt inside the cab, dragging the bottom door shut.

"Drive, Cas!" he shouted. "Drive!"

He fumbled with securing the cab's top door, and afterwards, he slumped against the awkward piles of materials as the truck swerved this way and that.

"You okay?" he asked the woman.

"Yeah," she replied. "You?"

"Fine. I'm Dean."

"Maria," she replied. "Why did you help us?"

"Why?" he repeated. "Why the fuck not?"

"We have nothing," she said. "Our camp was just torn apart by some assholes who were armed to the teeth. We got out with minimal supplies and one car, so if you're - "

"I'm not looking for a gift basket," Dean interrupted.

"Then why did you help us?" she demanded.

"Because you're still alive," he replied honestly. "You're the first living people we've seen in..."

He didn't finish his sentence. Technically, it had only been a day, but it felt like much longer.

"Right, well, thanks I guess," she said. "You have a camp?"

"No," he replied. "Just me, Cas, and this truck. We're looking for my brother and a friend of ours."

"Want some advice?" she asked in a tone that implied his answer did not matter. "Stop looking."

"What?"

"They're dead," she said. "Even if they're not dead, they're dead to you. Bury them. Forget about them. You'll never find them."

"Wow, I thought I was a pessimist."

"I'm serious," Maria said. "We spent... weeks? Months? Looking for my family. We stayed in this area even though there's nothing to scavenge. We had a chance to head south, avoid the cold, but we stayed. There was too much of a chance they'd be nearby. We starved through the colder weeks, had to steal from some poor smucks to keep from dying. All so we could look for a few people."

"You never found them?"

"One of my brothers," she replied. "He was a walker. I put him down."

"A walker?"

"A biter, a rotter," she said. "What do you call them?"

"Zombies."

She rolled her eyes. "Nobody calls them that."

The rode on in silence until the car came to a complete stop.

"Maria!" a man's voice came from the front. "Get the van and follow us."

"Thanks for the heads up, Frank," she growled. She turned to Dean. "You coming? Better than riding in here. No offense."

Dean nodded and followed her when she climbed out of the cab. She took out two waiting walkers with one swing, and he joined her. They put down half a dozen before the way to her minivan was clear. He climbed into the passenger side, and she got behind the wheel. They followed the truck to the highway, where there was enough room to pull off the shoulder without being on top of the trees.

He went to exit the car, but he froze when he heard the cocking of a gun.

Maria had drawn on him.

"What the hell?"

"You might be a nice guy," she said, her voice harsh and cynical. "You'd be the last one living I'd ever seen. It's too bad, but we could use a truck like yours. For saving us, I'll be nice. Let you keep your machete. How does that sound?"

"Fuck you," Dean replied.

"Get out of the car, and go stand by the trees. Do it, or we'll just kill you and leave your bodies right here. Do it now, and I'll let you keep your weapons. Haven't done that in a long time."

Dean grit his teeth as he got out, his hands raised and walked away, standing where she pointed. Soon Castiel joined him, and he was clearly less than pleased.

"Apparently they did not appreciate our help," the angel said.

"Oh we did," Frank replied. "But we appreciate your truck even more. She's real nice."

"We stole it," Dean said.

"These days, what isn't stolen, huh?" Maria asked. Then she turned to her friends. "Let's go."

"Hannah, you go on with Maria," Frank said. "Get the minivan. I'll take care of these two and take the truck."

"We don't need to," Maria said. "They don't have a camp. They won't come after us."

"How do you know that? Because pretty boy said so?" Frank asked. "Go."

The younger girl, Hannah, and Maria went back to the minivan, leaving good old Frank with a large revolver.

"Thanks, by the way," he said, giving them a wide, shit-eating grin. "We were gonners till you showed up."

BANG! BANG!

He hit Castiel square in the chest, twice, but of course, it had no effect. Frank's jaw dropped, and he froze just long enough for Cas to deck him across the face. Frank staggered back, and the angel pressed his advantage, hitting him again, this time in the stomach. Then he kneed him in the head, knocking him out, and casually took his gun.

"Nice one," Dean commented.

He drew his handgun and joined Cas as they flanked the minivan. To say the women were shocked would be an understatement.

"What did you do to Frankie?" Hannah asked.

"He's not dead," Dean replied harshly. "Get out of the car."

"Please, we'll drive away and never both you again," Maria said. "Please, just let us go."

"Get out of the damn car," Dean repeated. "Now!"

They obliged, hands raised.

"Please, let my daughter go," Maria said as she circled around.

"Dean?" Cas asked warily.

"First, you two are gonna get the injured guy out of our damn truck," Dean began. "Than you're gonna take the douchebag who tried to kill us, and we're gonna go our separate ways."

"Frank's too heavy," Hannah protested. "Mom and I can barely lift David."

"Cas, can you get douchebag Frank here to the minivan?" the hunter asked.

The angel replied by tucking the gun into his trench coat and going over to Frank. Dean kept the gun trained on Maria and Hannah, though he doubted they would try anything. By the time they extracted the barely-conscious David, Cas had already opened the back of the minivan and dropped Frank inside.

Hannah had to get into the back to get David into a seat, but after a few tense moments, they succeeded. Maria then turned, held up her hands.

"Please, don't hurt my daughter," she said.

"Don't plan to," Dean replied.

"You all will remain unharmed so long as violence is not necessary," Cas added, raising his newly procured revolver.

Hannah began to shut the sliding door, and Maria went to the driver's side. Her daughter stopped mid-movement.

"You like pretzels?" she asked.

"I like pie," Dean replied. "Cas here likes pretzels, though."

The angel cast a confused glance Dean's way but said nothing. The young girl reached for something, and they both hoped that it wasn't a weapon. Dean might've talked a good game, but could he shoot a kid like her? He hadn't been able to kill Emma the Amazon, though that situations had additional complications. She had come to kill him, and he didn't pull the trigger.

"Here," Hannah said, tossing a small tote bag at them. "For saving us."

Then she slammed the door shut, and the minivan pulled away. Castiel stowed his new gun and opened the tote bag.

"Do you believe she'd attempt to poison us?" he asked.

"What?" Dean replied, dropping his gun but not stowing it. "Hell, no."

Cas revealed the contents: pretzels, a few bottles of water, and a two single-serving cherry pies. They were the kind Dean liked to pick up at gas stations.

"Worth it!" the hunter declared as he swooped in and grabbed both pies victoriously. "Expired in December 2010. You think they're still good?"

"Not if the wrapper is to be believed."

"Right, they're probably fine," Dean said. "You wanna drive?"

Without a waiting for an answer, he grabbed the tote bag, stowed his gun, and went for the passenger's side. Cas didn't mind driving, but he found the events of the day troubling. How was a world without the supernatural more dangerous then a world constantly under its influence? Why did the people that they save try to steal their truck? And why did one of them provide them pie?

"Cas, come on!" Dean called from the car.

The timing was fortuitous, for the sound of groans and moans was suddenly getting stronger, likely drawn by the gunfire. So he got into the driver's seat and started the car.

"Mmm-mmm good," the hunter said, smacking his lips as he chomped on the pie.

For a moment, Cas became distracted by the hunter's lips. They were chapped and covered in pie innards, but their shape and contours were beautiful. Though he couldn't quite admit it to himself, the fact that Dean was enjoying himself was what brought the angel true joy.

"Walkers!" Dean said, his mouth full of pie. "Six o'clock!"

Luckily, the angel spotted the approaching zombies in the rearview mirror, and it alleviated his confusion. He put the car in drive and pulled onto the road, heading in the opposite direction as the minivan.

With the hunter thoroughly distracted by his pie and the angel distracted by his hunter, neither one of them noticed the station wagon tailing them.