In the Crossfire

The gravel exploded at their feet. Claire hissed through her clenched teeth but stood her ground, determined not to be intimidated.

Assholes: End of the World Edition. Claire would know their type anywhere - trigger-happy, greedy-ass, survival-justifying douchebags. Before, they could have been anybody, had probably been nobody, and now thought they were somebody. They were the ones who preyed on others - because they could, because it was easy, because they thought that there was no one left to stop them.

Consumed by rage and old hurts, Claire rushed forward before the shot was done echoing. She wanted to take down that ugly, grizzled sonofabitch before he managed to take another potshot at them, wanted to wipe that smug expression right off his face.

Castiel beat her to it. He'd been closer to the bearded man and managed to close the distance between the two of them in two fell swoops. Castiel normally fought bluntly and aggressively, even more so when he was actually angry. There was nothing refined or graceful about it: in the course of a single breath, Castiel was ripping the gun out of the way and seizing the man by the face, cutting off his howl.

The man's head caved in a glorious splatter of blood, bone and brain matter. The sight of it broke down the rest of the assholes' composure, as well. Claire heard their cries of fear and outrage. She was about to call out a warning when someone slammed into her from behind, knocking her to the ground.

All hell broke loose.

"Get down!" Scott yelled directly in her ear, forearm pushing down on her shoulder blades. The gunfire drowned out everything but the sound of his voice. "Claire, stay down!"

Claire stopped her struggling, feeling Scott's thin chest sagging in relief against her back. With a grunt, she lifted her face, scraping her chin on the road. Her mouth opened in a muted cry at what she saw.

Castiel was just standing there, facing the group of men and the ensuing onslaught. The nearly headless corpse dropped, forgotten, at his feet, rifle likewise discarded. Minutes before, he hadn't been able to stand on his own. Now, he wasn't doing anything else. Castiel didn't even twitch as bullet after bullet ripped through him.

Well, not exactly through him, Claire realized with a jolt. The men were clearly hitting their marks, but there were no exit wounds, no gaping holes in the back of Castiel's coat.

"What's he doing?" Scott asked loudly into her ear. He stayed on top of her, breaths heavy enough to disturb the dust on the road.

"Wasting their ammo," Claire gasped out the realization. The guns couldn't hurt Castiel. He was making sure they couldn't hurt any of them, either.

The smell of burning flesh and gunpowder permeated the air. The men were in a frenzy, shells flying from their assortment of firearms. They were forced to draw nearer to Castiel, their backs to the fire that was only getting worse - bigger, smokier, trapping them with nowhere to go but farther down the road.

The underpass, barricaded at both shoulders, was the perfect killing zone. But the tables had turned. The men didn't seem to realize that they were evening the odds with every bit of ammo they wasted. Or, more accurately, pretty much destroying their odds, because the moment they'd run out of bullets would be the moment Castiel would turn on them. Claire just hoped there'd be something left for her, as well.

It would've worked, but unfortunately, not everyone was on board. The one called Walt wasn't taking part in the shooting frenzy. On the contrary: he seemed to be trying to get it to stop. Only, his words and frantic gestures seemed lost on the men. It wasn't until he pulled the trigger on one of his own that they finally listened.

"Don't shoot - it's not human!" Walt shouted, finally able to make himself heard. "Save your bullets, goddamn you!" Holstering his weapon, Walt took a step forward, pulling out a long silver knife instead. He held it up as he approached Castiel, palm out, as close to placating as someone with a knife could be. "We don't want no trouble," Walt said in spite of the ugly twist of his face. "Why don't we just… oh, fuck it all."

Claire heard it, too; someone was crying. Blood rushing in her ears, she scrambled to her feet from underneath Scott's wiry frame and ran back to the others, Walt and his fellow douchebags momentarily forgotten.

It was impossible to tell who was hurt in that huddling cluster of bodies, not until Claire ducked under Jake's broad frame and pushed aside Enid's trembling shoulders. She found Carl in the middle of that human cocoon. He was the one crying - short, hitching sobs that rocked his whole body, intermingled with incoherent mumbling - sitting on his knees and hunched so low that his long hair spilled on the ground.

There was so much blood.

"Let me see," Claire begged, pawing at his shaking frame. He didn't budge, didn't seem to hear her at all. "Carl, let me see."

"Claire," whispered Oliver, suddenly right there. She was about to tell him to get out of the way, to run, when he asked, eyes bright and very wide, "Is Judith going to turn?"

Claire rocked back on her heels. Judith's arms, the only part of her that Claire could see, were hanging loose and limp. Claire reached out to touch one small hand, finding it pliant and still warm. Now that the guns were no longer blazing, Jake and Mikey stood back, not knowing what to do. Enid stayed next to Carl, rubbing his back gently, speaking softly. He didn't seem to even know she was there.

"Cas?" Claire called to him, voice coming away impossibly small. Blinking back tears, she looked up, seeing that Castiel was already making his way to them. But in the process, he had turned his back to Walt. Claire called out again, this time loudly in warning, "Cas!"

Walt sneered, wasting no time taking advantage of Castiel's distraction. The knife gleamed silver in the sunlight when he held it up, poised to stab Castiel in the back. But before he could, another gunshot pierced through the air. Walt stumbled, blood trickling from his brow. He looked around, confused, before dropping face first to the ground, still holding on to the knife.

Scott seemed at ease holding the bearded man's discarded rifle. "Look behind you," he told the remaining men, calm despite the fact that he was outgunned and outnumbered.

Claire gasped.

They came through the smoke, moaning and snarling as they caught sight of the living. The men turned around to face the walkers, most of them switching to their knives or blunt weapons. They'd wasted too many bullets in their earlier panic. Claire wondered if they were even a little relieved to be fighting something they actually knew how to beat.

It was difficult to tell how many there were. One of the walkers wore a long, ratty dress. The fabric at its feet was smoking. Then it caught fire. In a matter of seconds, the creature was engulfed in a nightmarish, flaming shroud. It didn't seem to care.

One of the men, a thick armed brute, was right in the walker's path. Recoiling from the flames, the man tried to fire his pistol. It gave a couple of useless clicks. Too late, the man realized that he'd run out of bullets. He screamed when the walker descended on him with teeth and fire. He continued screaming up until Scott fired another shot, letting him out of his misery.

Claire scrambled to her feet as more and more walkers started to appear. "Oliver, you stay behind me." She said, then looked at Castiel questioningly, finding that he wasn't paying the walkers the slightest bit of attention. He had knelt down in Claire's vacated spot, taking Carl by the shoulders. Carl's back straightened by Castiel's gentle prompting. "What are you going to do?" she demanded, throat constricting at the sight of Judith.

Castiel didn't answer, and didn't have to, because Claire knew damn well what he was going to do. And Claire was terrified. And not because of the strangers or even the walkers. Because Castiel said. He said. Back on the ship, that healing was too dangerous. That he didn't have enough control. That he would've killed her had he tried.

But Judith... God, was there even anything left to fix?

Claire almost missed the walker landing practically on top of her. She moved out of the way just in time, snapping down and finishing it off before it could stand properly.

"They're everywhere!" Mikey said hurriedly. He had his pocket knife in his hand, the only weapon he had on him when the van had crashed.

He was right. The men were almost by their sides, backing up from the walkers coming at them through the smoke and fire. More came from above, coming down at them from the high ground bracketing the underpass. It wasn't a herd, but single units drawn in by the one-sided firefight.

Another walker made a grab at her, broken jaw snapping grotesquely. Claire dodged its grasping hands, sending her blade upwards and slicing through its brittle skull. She hissed, glancing back and seeing a cluster coming their way from farther down the road. They were trapped. The next walker she faced was tougher, newly dead, and Claire struggled with it for a moment until she managed to push it away, shoving it toward Jake, who batted at it with his crowbar.

"We can't keep this up for much longer," Jake said without pausing to rest, swinging at the next in line.

Claire agreed but couldn't say so, mouth shut tight on account of a spray of rotted blood. Another dead body fell to her feet. She couldn't spare a moment to glance at Castiel. She also couldn't help but think that a herd would've been easier to deal with. At least then you knew where it was coming from.

She was going for the next one, a once tall, heavyset man who was now a tall, heavyset dead man, when a thought rang in her head:

Close your eyes.

She couldn't disobey, despite feeling the walker's rancid moan hitting her right in the face. Her eyes slammed shut on their own.

Light erupted behind her eyelids. The ground shook beneath her feet. The wind shrieked in her ears. Claire dropped to her knees. And prayed.

It ended abruptly. For several long moments, Claire heard nothing but the ringing in her ears. She stayed on the ground, chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut. Her eyes snapped open when she heard Carl's hitching sobs... and saw him staring down at Judith.

Judith, who was very much alive, and looking up at her brother with a bewildered expression.

The walkers and the men who attacked them were all dead. Bodies littered the road as far as Claire could see, mouths opened in a death snarl, eyeholes burnt black and sizzling. Claire had seen this sort of thing before. Only, last time, it had been demons. She also remembered, in the slippery sort of way one would remember a dream, as they - Castiel in Claire's body - burned the demons from the inside out. When it was over, they turned to her father, slumped and bleeding on the ground…

Claire shook off the memory as she half crawled over the bodies, until she was kneeling by Carl's side once again. She lifted her hand, tentatively, resting it on Judith's fragile chest. Her shirt, the pretty one with the pink and yellow elephants, was in tatters and absolutely covered in blood. More of it than Claire would have thought Judith had in her. But the skin underneath was whole.

Carl watched Claire's hand moving. He was taking short, gasping breaths. The bandage on his face was drenched in Judith's blood.

"You were dead," Carl informed Judith in a hoarse whisper. A tear slid down his face to land on her cheek. Judith reached out to touch it. Then, eyebrows scrunched, reached up to run her fingers on Carl's wet face. He flinched, repeating, "You were dead."

"Cal," Judith mumbled in her childish drawl, patting Carl's tear-streaked face. Then, repeating his often spoken words back at him: "Don't cry."

Carl's face crumbled. Judith wriggled, whining in protest, when Carl suddenly drew her to his chest, crying harder than ever before.

"Holy shit," Enid said quietly, meeting Claire's eyes. She stroked the back of Carl's head, her eyes glittering and wide in amazement.

"Holy shit," Claire agreed, grinning. "He did it." Her smile died when she realized Castiel wasn't actually there. For a moment, she was afraid that she would find him as just another body on the ground, empty vessel burnt from the inside out. Then she spotted him making his way down the road. "Wait here," she told the others, standing up.

Castiel wasn't running away as much as he was stumbling, every step an obvious effort, using one of the stone walls for support. He didn't stop when Claire called out his name, not even when she caught up with him.

"Cas," she said, huffing, "where are you going?"

Castiel's strength gave out. With a grunt, he sank down to his hands and knees. Claire reached out to touch his shoulder. Suddenly, he lashed out at her, shoving her back with aggressive strength.

"Ow! What the hell?" Claire hissed, rubbing her sore elbow.

"Get back," Castiel said gruffly, still on his knees, facing away from her. He held up one hand to stave her off, and she was startled to see that his skin was almost translucent, veins pulsing with light. "Get away from me."

"Cas-"

"I said get back!"

He groaned and the ground shook. Claire stopped where she stood, riding the tremors and counting the passing seconds until it ended.

"Okay," she released a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "I'm staying right here, okay?"

Castiel didn't reply. Claire watched, helplessly, as he scrabbled at the ground, cement crumbling in his hands. As if he was trying to find purchase, some sort of an anchor.

"What's wrong with him?" she heard Carl say, alarmed.

Claire looked over her shoulder, not surprised to find the others had come running at the first sign of trouble. Even Carl, who looked faint and absolutely terrified, clutching a restless Judith to his chest, had come. Claire met his wide-eyed gaze, swallowed, and made an urgent gesture, motioning to all of them that they needed to stand back. Then she turned her attention back to Castiel.

"Cas, I'm not… I'm not coming any closer." Praying she wasn't doing him any more harm, Claire began to babble, going off on just a hunch. "I'm still right here, alright? You need to focus on my voice, now. I'm right here. Cas. Cas. I'm not leaving you." Her voice broke a little when he suddenly cried out in pain, still clutching at the ground. "Breathe, Cas. Just, breathe. You can do this, I know you can. You saved Judith, you did it. She's gonna want to say thanks. And… think about Dean! Just think. Your boyfriend's gonna be so mad if you blow up. You don't want that, do you? So, please don't do that. You better not do that, Cas. Castiel. Do you hear me? Pull it together, come on-"

Slowly, Castiel's frantic spasms subsided. The little flashes of light that burned Claire's retinas were becoming less frequent. It was working.

Encouraged, Claire persisted, "You're doing great, Cas. Keep focusing on me. That's it, you got it. I'm not leaving you. I swear, I'm not going anywhere. Focus on me. On me. Deep breaths-"

Claire didn't even notice the thrumming energy in the air until it suddenly died down. Castiel's shoulders lost their tension before he sagged, falling on his front. Heart caught in her throat, Claire closed the distance between them, falling to her knees besides his prone body.

She turned turned him over so that he was lying on his back instead. He seemed heavier like this, motionless. His clothes were riddled with tears and his skin was flaked with blood, with more of it staining his new coat and white shirt. But just like Judith, his skin was whole and unblemished. In fact, there wasn't a single mark on him. No bullet holes, not so much as a bruise. He was, however, far too still.

"Cas," Claire choked on his name when she held out a trembling hand in front of his face and didn't feel a puff of breath. Checking his pulse yielded similar results. "Where did the all the bullets even go?" she wondered, almost hysterically. "Did you eat them?" She hit his chest with her fist. "Cas, come on. Don't you dare be dead. Don't you dare. You don't get to do this to me. Wake up, you bastard."

She hit him again and almost screamed when he suddenly coughed, spitting up blood. "Ohmigod, I'm so sorry!" she said when he blinked up at her in confusion, ragged breaths settling. "Cas?" she asked, but his eyes were fluttering shut once more. "Cas!"

He was breathing, though. Definitely breathing.

"You-" Claire settled back on her haunches, sighing- "holy shit."

A/N: How about that SPN finale, y'all? Walt and Roy even had a cameo. Am I psychic, or what?