Somewhere in Georgia
The breath she took in was literally a breath of life, deep, shaky, burning, and completely unexpected. Taylor could feel her lungs expanding to the point of pain, but she just inhaled again and again, confirming that, indeed, she could do it. Blinking rapidly, she opened her eyes just to shut them tightly when the bright sunlight hit her irises, making her blind for a moment. With a groan, she sat down, getting used to her surroundings and prying her eyes open once again.
Taking in everything around her, Taylor noticed she was sitting on the slightly damp moss in the middle of the forest. When she glanced down at herself small gasp of surprise escaped her mouth; her clothes were clean and precisely the same as she had worn the last time she was alive. Was she alive? She was breathing, could smell the grass, tree bark, and motor oil, colors around her were more vibrant than the Purgatory, but how could she be sure?
But that was not the most shocking discovery, no. When she finally stood up and spun around, there it was, her most precious earthy possession. Dean had his Baby, and Taylor had her Lottie - a pretty well-beat-up Jeep Wrangler from the early nineties, restored by herself in her father's junkyard. Taking a few unsteady steps forward, her hand landed on cold metal, and her eyes teared up.
"Why? What does it mean?!" she yelled in the air, looking up towards the sky, but it was no surprise when no answer came.
Huffing, she opened the driver's doors, spotting her black duffel bag. Unzipping it quickly, Taylor noted that her usual gear was inside, her trusty machete and pocket knife, which she quickly put in her black leather jacket that she had on.
A variety of other blades could be seen, a silver dagger and two which looked more fragile, one brass and one made of gold. But the one she was the proudest of was a sharp sword. Reaching for the cheetah, Taylor slowly pulled the blade out, polished steel reflecting the sunlight magnificently. One side was covered in three sigils and Latin writing, designed to kill demons, while the other side was covered in banishing sigil and Enochian words, helping to get rid of angels.
The shotgun was on the bottom of the bag, next to it were two boxes with different types of shells, one filled with gunpowder, the other with rock salt. Tylor's fingers grazed over the metal and ventured to the right, grabbing a brown leather holster and retrieving the pistol that lay inside.
A soft smile appeared on her face when memories flooded her mind. It was her twenty-first birthday, and Dean convinced John to come to Bobby's. Sam was already off to college, but she still could remember shouting and words thrown into the air in the heat of the moment when John told his youngest son to never come back if he chose that life. And yet Dean, two years older than her, came back to the junkyard, baring gifts. They ate cake, and Taylor had a beer with her father and adopted family for the first time legally. But it was the moment when Dean pulled her aside to the backyard, both of them sitting in the Impala, that was the most memorable. The young man pulled the wooden box out of the glove compartment and handed it to her, his eyes sparking with anticipation.
It was a beautiful Colt pistol, just like his, with an ivory handle and black and golden body, shiny and clearly cared for.
"If you ever gonna hunt with us, you gonna need this," Dean told her then, and the gun stayed with her ever since wherever she went.
Now looking at the weapon, she couldn't help but feel lost. Did Dean make it out? Where was he, and what about Sam?
"Oh Chuck, Castiel..." she said to herself, a few tears tracing down her cheeks.
The last thing she could remember from the cold, dangerous place they had been in for a year was a werewolf and then a flash of light. Did the angel make it out of there as well? And how the hell was she here, seemingly back on Earth, if she didn't make it to the rift?
Taylor's thoughts were interrupted by groaning and shuffling from behind her. The year spent in Purgatory sharpened her already quick responses, and she raised her arm, holding the Colt in the direction noises came from.
A young woman emerged from between the trees, one of her arms was hanging at an odd angle, and the other reached out toward Taylor. Her yellow summer dress was ripped in places, dirty, and covered in old, dried blood. But it was her eyes, dead, absent milky eyes, that put the young Singer on edge.
"Lady, stop. I ain't wanna hurt you!" her warning didn't have an expected effect, for the woman just kept moving, groans and moans emerging from her throat, and that's when Taylor realized that there was a chunk of skin missing from the woman's neck.
Reacting in self-defense, she shot once into the woman's leg, but she didn't stop; just bared her teeth and kept coming, now only a few yards away from Taylor. The huntress moved her hand up and pressed the trigger again, this time aiming at the head. That seemed to do the job, the body dropped to the ground, and Taylor breathed out in relief, her heart racing way too fast and breath coming out in sharp gasps.
Slowly making her way towards the dead woman, she pushed with her feet, rolling the corpse to its back. Crouching down, she studied it for a moment with furrowed brows. The body was clearly in the advanced stage of decomposition, the blood that oozed from bullet holes was sticky, blobby, and more brown than red. For a moment, Taylor wasn't sure what kind of monster she had encountered. The best guess was either a Zombie or a Ghoul, yet she had never met one like this. Both species usually possessed memories of a previous life, with Ghouls having glances into their form's old life. But this one didn't speak, didn't seem conscious at all.
Just for good measure, Taylor stood up and swiftly pulled her sword out of the car, slashing at the woman's neck, decapitating her.
Only when she sat down behind the wheel, her hands clenching nervously, she remembered those last few weeks before she woke up in Purgatory next to Dean and Castiel. Richard 'Dick' Roman all but admitted it to them. His food additive did something to Zombies. It had properties to kill Ghouls and Vampires after consumption, but Zombies turned into those super hungry mindless monsters.
She had to find shelter and the boys. But first, she really had to find out where the hell she was.
Two weeks had passed since her miraculous awakening, and Taylor could definitely say that she had learned a lot in that time. When she first got out of the woods, she was surprised by the state of the streets and buildings. Everything looked abandoned, dirty with a thick layer of dust. It reminded her deeply of the time that Zach made Dean and her time travel, right before the battle with Lucifer. How the world could look if the Winchesters wouldn't succumb to the destiny crap.
In her duffel, she found her phone, surprised that it was charged, and her first instinct was to call Dean or Sam. But when she tried, there was nothing, no connection line, just a notification that she was out of service. She had no way of contacting the brothers, not a clue where she was, where they were, and how to find them.
The next thing she learned was that those Juiced Zombies reacted to loud noises, it drew them in, and the only way to get rid of them was by a headshot or piercing the brain. Her pleas and communications attempts were futile, so after the first few, she gave up.
Taylor made her way forward after that in hopes of finding something, anything really. And she was lucky enough when she stumbled upon a small shop in the middle of nowhere with a junkyard behind it. Still getting used to this new world, it was a shame to admit that she nearly got jumped by two undead while entering the shop. In the end, she was sweaty, covered in gore and guts, but alone in a small building. The woman still wasn't sure how much time had passed, was her year in Purgatory equivalent to the time moving on Earth? It seemed so, considering how much everything had changed and that all the traces of fresh food were rotten and very smelly.
Life as a hunter taught her to be resilient and resourceful, so she loaded her car with remains of any canned or packed food she could and moved it behind the shop, out of the way of a road so that she wouldn't be easily spotted. On top of that, she found a gold mine of salt, taking every single package in the shop. Taylor blessed all the water she had and stored some in her pocket canteen, one remaining connection to her father.
She spent days scavenging surrounding houses and other buildings to collect as much food as she could in order to survive any long-term journey. She had to start looking for Winchesters, and the only possible place that came to her mind was the bunker, all the way in Kansas.
From what she saw, she was in Georgia, so she made preparations. Taylor also prayed every morning and every night, calling out to Castiel, and Chuck, even going so far as Baltazar and Gabe, but none answered. That made her believe the Enochian symbols were still carved in her ribs, preventing angels from locating her. Or they were all gone - that was a train of thoughts she tried to avoid.
"Alright, we nearly finished with you, Lottie," Taylor said to herself while she worked on her car.
She found tools in the shed at the far corner of the junkyard and checked her beloved Wrangler. The last thing she needed was to get stuck in the middle of fuck knows where because something stopped working. On top of that, because her Jeep was open on the sides, she worked for four straight days, attracting way too many undead pricks, to enforce her vehicle. Metal slabs and parts were now attached to the sides, back was covered with sharp metal spikes that only she knew how to move to access her supplies. The front also had another layer of metal along with long, pointed tips. If she encounters undead on the road, she'll have a better chance to avoid pieces of skin and flesh to get to the engine.
On the last night in her temporary shelter, she snuggled under the blanket in the driver's seat, too paranoid to try to sleep away from her escape solution when the dream came.
She was standing in the familiar yard, a bunch of rusty and not working vehicles stuck on top of each other, waiting for Bobby or Taylor to deal with them. A soft breeze blew through the air, lifting her brown wavy hair, making it dance around her round face. Taking a deep breath, Taylor turned around to look at her childhood house. The very same where she took her first steps, said her first word and watched her mother die. She was six at the time.
Her mother wanted another child, while her dad insisted that Taylor was enough for them. Neither he nor little Taylor knew that Karen was already possessed by a demon.
A shaky breath escaped Taylor at the surge of emotions, and she shook her head.
"You're finally here," the deep, rich baritone made her spin around, and with a sob, she threw her arms around the man's neck, burying her face in his neck. Castiel, as always when emotions were concerned, stood stiff and awkwardly patted her shoulder until she pulled away, studying him intently.
"You're in my dream," she stated dumbly but couldn't stop herself.
"Indeed, I am."
"Does it mean you made it out? Are you back on Earth?"
"Yes." Castiel nodded and sat down on the porch's bench. The beauty of dreams was the fluidity of surroundings, and now instead of a junkyard, they were by the house, in the spot Taylor used to read about supernatural.
"I prayed to you. Every day since I woke up," she admitted quietly, trying not to show how much it hurt her not to hear anything in reply.
"I know. I heard you. But my... mojo is limited. I am cut off from Heaven."
"What does it mean?"
"This disease, that thing created by Dick, it spread worldwide. And it doesn't affect just supernaturals. It affects humans too," Castiel told her, ignoring the gasp of shock she made. "If they bite or scratch you, you become one of them. But there's more. We think that whatever Dick used got into the air or water supply. It's in our DNA now. If you die naturally or from a wound, you also become one of them."
Taylor shook her head, not ready for that kind of news, and gripped the edge of a bench tighter, turning her knuckles white.
"You said 'we'. Who's that?" she finally managed, trying not to get her hopes too high.
"Dean and Benny. We're together in Missouri."
"What about Sam? Did you manage to locate him? What about others? Jody, Donna, Kevin?"
"He's safe in Virginia. He left DC after we disappeared, and that's when the virus started to spread. He found a group of people, and together they made shelter. He's safe. And others... I managed to contact Jody, but she never met me and is having a bad time accepting what I told her, same with Donna, though she's... more cheerful about it. Kevin, I'm still determining. I can't see him."
Taylor furrowed her brows, glancing at the angel. "But... shouldn't we all meet in the bunker then? And what do you mean you can't see him?"
Castiel finally looked at her, his hand gently wrapping around hers. "It's gone. When we got there... it was all burned and full of infected. It means that he's either dead or behind sigils."
Her shoulders slugged, and more tears appeared in her eyes, another part of her life gone, just like that.
"We're going to DC to meet up with Sam. That's why I sought you out. That's where you have to go, Taylor."
"What about Heaven? Is there nothing they can do about this?"
Castiel shook his head sadly and stood up, ready to depart. "They are on lockdown. Every angel that remained on Earth was cut off. If we die, we die and become one of them as well. I can heal and hear your prayer, but any kind of transportation... that's very tiring, and it seems too foolish to waste it without a good reason."
Any other person would feel mad at him for saying it like that, but Taylor understood. If there was a possibility that his teleportation would be a one-time deal, it should be left until the life-and-death situation arises. At least now she knew they were alive, and she had a destination.
"What about demons?"
"The same. From what I know, Crowley shut down the gates, and no one gets in or out. Every demon that was already here is trapped, and they are not happy."
Taylor's hand went instantly above her heart, where her anti-possession tattoo was.
"Taylor. Be careful. I don't- I don't think they will be any more do-overs," Castiel said quietly, smiling at her with a corner of his lips. "Now wake up. You're no longer alone."
"Look, dad. That's super cool!" the voice was too close for comfort and was what woke Taylor up. That and Castiel's warning, of course.
She tensed in her seat, her hand going automatically to her Colt. She couldn't hear the reply properly, but moments later, she noticed three people moving around the junkyard.
A teenager in a sheriff's hat and a gun in his hand, a pretty well-beaten-up man, and a woman with dreadlocks and wicked-looking katana in her hands. Taylor's hands started sweating, and she fought her body to slow down her breathing.
Since the day she woke up, she didn't see anyone alive, not humans nor supernaturals, and now finding herself another survivor put her on edge. People were unpredictable before, and she couldn't tell if that changed much. And yet, she also felt weird anticipation. Maybe those people had more to say about the disease and how long it has been since it turned the world around.
Moments later, she stared at the teenager, her gun pointed at him, when he pulled the doors open, his own handgun up and aimed at her head.
"Hello, young man. I'm unsure what you wanted to find, but you ain't having Lottie," Taylor declared steadily, seeing in the corner of her eye the woman that circled the car going to the passenger side. "Stop! You with katana. I don't want to, really, but this is my vehicle, and I'm not giving it up."
"We didn't know anyone's inside, Ma'am," the boy replied, his eyes wide but stern. However, the woman stopped in her tracks and returned to the boy. Seconds later, all four of them were pointing guns at each other.
"Now you know. You close the door, and you won't see me again."
"Are you by yourself?" the man with a beard and curly hair asked; Taylor's eyes shifted to his bruised face. He was also holding his side, making her wonder what kind of injuries he had suffered.
"Just me and old Lottie," she patted her steering wheel, making the boy chuckle.
"Look, I don't want trouble," Taylor continued, picking her words carefully. "I haven't seen other people for a long while, but I don't wish you bad. But I won't let you kill me for my supplies."
Finally, the boy glanced over his shoulder at the woman, slightly nodding and lowering his arm. The woman followed, stashing her sword in the cheetah on her back and raising her hands.
"We don't want trouble either. We lost our shelter and our family just a few days ago. We came across you by accident, and Carl here wanted to see your car. Did you do it yourself?"
The man was still pointing his gun, so Taylor moved and adjusted her aim toward him until the boy - Carl spoke again.
"Dad. She could kill us already. We have nothing to steal from us. Just lower your gun."
After a moment of hesitation boy's father did as he was told and staggered backward a little, his face twisting in pain. The woman rushed to his side, mumbling something into his ear, and he shook his head, trying to push her away.
"Yeah, did it myself. We got a long way to go, and I want her ready."
"Can we ask you some questions?" the woman asked, directing the man to the nearest vehicle and letting him rest on the hood. Talor narrowed her eyes at her but eventually placed her Colt in her lap and nodded.
"How many walkers did you kill?"
Taylor cocked her brows, blinking slowly. "You mean those undead pricks? I dunno, some."
"How many people did you kill?"
She really hoped that her face remained impassive because inside, her emotions were as hot as lava. That was a good question. But Taylor doubted they asked about the supernatural, she did kill some humans, but most of them were sad victims of possession who could not be saved. Then she remembered Luke and that detective who died not directly from her hand but because of her actions.
"Two," was the final answer. They didn't need to know about the monsters - that didn't change. It was a secret, and not everyone dealt with the knowledge in the right way.
"Why?"
"In self-defense." That was easy to answer, and at least that was the truth.
The woman nodded and smiled slowly, reaching her hand out for a handshake. "I'm Michonne. That brave young man is Carl, and that's his father, Rick Grimes."
Taylor shook her hand and nodded toward the other two. "Taylor Singer. I didn't lie about moving on from here, but I can tell you've been through a lot. I can share what I have with you."
"Are you sure? We can go and leave you alone if you want to," Carl stated, making her smile. He seemed like a really cool kid, tough for his age, but there was still kindness in him.
"I'm sure. Here."
Getting out of the car, she handed him her canteen. It was not just an act of goodwill but a test. The canteen was made of iron, the cap was pure silver, and the water was blessed, all spectrum to check for all kinds of supernatural beings.
Safe to say they all passed a test, maybe looking at her weirdly, when she finally produced three water bottles from the back, but they were grateful.
"I'm going northeast, but I can drop you off, or you could come with me," Taylor told them after the sun went down and they had eaten. Carl was curled up in the backseat of Lottie after Taylor hid her duffel bag with weapons, not willing to answer questions. She had her pocket knife, sword, and Colt with her, plus refilled canteen, which made her feel more at ease.
"We appreciate it. Really, you fed us, and Carl is right, you could kill us and just drive off," Rick replied and looked her in the eyes. "But we have to try to find our family. We had a safe shelter in prison, not that far to the west. But it was destroyed, and we're not sure if the others got out, but-"
"But you have to try. I understand. That's what I'm doing," Taylor smiled at him weakly. "One of my brothers, well, we're not really related, but we grew up together. I know he's somewhere in Virginia. I can still give you a lift if you know where they could be."
"You really don't have to," Michonne told her softly, and the young Singer stood up, shrugging.
"A little bit of positive karma won't hurt me. I'm gonna go to little ladies' room." She pointed at the shed, making the other two people chuckle as she jogged off.
Taylor was conflicted. After she did her business in the corner of the shed, she paced for a moment, thinking about her actions. The truth was that she missed human contact, having a conversation, just like she had with Rick and Michonne this evening. And she knew that finding boys should be her priority. But her father's words echoed in her head whenever she thought of leaving these new people alone.
"It's our duty to protect others from fairy tales, 'Lil One."
So she paced, thinking about her options. The truth was that they were separated, Dean, Cas, and Benny were in another state, traveling to Virginia, and Sam was apparently safe wherever he was. Maybe- maybe she could help them find their family, make sure they are safe, and then go. Make amulets to protect them from demons and angels before leaving. The more she pondered over it, the more determined she became. It was the right thing to do, something Bobby would like her to do. But would others understand? Would they see it as giving up or just a temporary diversion?
Taylor was pulled away from her thought abruptly when she heard shouts and the sound of gunfire coming from the direction of the campfire. Unsure and with a racing heart, she stepped out quietly, her Colt up and ready to fire.
The view in front of her was scary and chaotic. Carl was dragged - presumably - out of the car and cried, curled on himself with a body of a man right beside him, Michonne with a gun pointed at the same corpse, firing a few more rounds for good measure. Rick was a sight to see, a rough-looking dude by his feet with a ripped throat, while Grimes's mouth and face were covered in blood. But there was another commotion still happening.
Two men seemed to be fighting, one on the ground, leather vest over him, while the other, a tall and heavy blonde man, kept hitting him in the face and in the ribs. That's where Michonne's last bullet went, into blond's back, but he didn't even flinch.
Taylor's breath caught in her throat, and she sprinted towards them, barreling into the man, pushing him away from the vest guy. There was no way that a normal human would not flinch at a bullet wound like that.
The supernatural - she was sure of that - stumbled away, and laughed when he saw her, his eyes pools of deepest black.
"Lookie here. What a lucky coincidence," the man drawled, and Taylor circled him, ensuring his attention was on her, not the others. The guy in the vest finally moved, reaching for the abandoned crossbow a few paces away.
"Shame, I can't say the same," she replied, fiddling with the cap of her canteen in the most discreet way she could under the circumstances.
"I heard that older Winchester, Angel Wings, and little Singer escaped Purgatory but never imagined I'd be one to get you, pretty lady."
"And you won't," Taylor stated confidently, squeezing the trigger and watching as the bullet buried itself in the demon's belly. He laughed like a maniac shaking his head.
"That supposed to hurt me? I thought you hunters were better than that."
"Oh, honey. That was just a distraction." Not wasting more time, she swung her canteen around and poured a healthy amount on him, making him scream inhumanly in pain.
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus," Taylor's every word was followed by more holly water. While the demon stumbled forward in agony, she stepped backward, luring him away from the vest guy. "Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii."
"You will regret that!" the demon yelled and lunged at her, but Taylor was ready, stepping aside and kicking him in the chest and splashing him again.
"Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te!" the last words were forceful, nearly screamed into the dark night, followed by a shriek and black mist escaping the man's mouth.
She was panting when it was over, bracing her hands over her knees, trying to calm down, but it was really short-lived.
"What was that?" Carl's shaky voice disturbed the silence, and Taylor straightened up, taking her knife out and bringing it to the man's head.
"That was a demon," she stated calmly but was anything but. Now they knew and would think she's nuts, try to kill her, or bid her goodbye without a second glance.
"I shot him..." Rick added, wiping at his mouth, and when she looked over in their direction, she saw fear.
"Yes. That usually doesn't bother them. Their meat suit... um... the people they possess don't have to be alive. They can be hurt only by a handful of things."
"Ya ain't had issue," the man in the vest finally stood up, and his crossbow was dangerously close to being pointed at her. Taylor nodded and swallowed harshly.
"Holy water and exorcism. Usually does the job. I'd use my sword but left it by the fire."
She looked up at the sky, stars blinking above them - it was really quite magnificent. Not that it mattered. Taylor scoffed and turned her eyes to Rick, he looked feral, yet at this moment, she was the one they were scared of.
"Right. I'll leave you some supplies and a can of gas. You can hotwire one of the cars from here. They should still work," Taylor declared emotionlessly and started for her Jeep.
"What do you mean? Where are you going?" Carl pulled away from Michonne's embrace, and Taylor noted how the woman pulled him back.
"That's what I mean." Taylor spread her arms and chuckled dryly. "You found out that there is more to this world. Mind you, those... Walkers, as you call them, are supernatural enough, but there is more. So much more, and I know all about it. All about monsters in the closets and under the beds. And now y'all look at me as if I'm a crazy nutjob. Don't worry, kiddo, not the first time, and probably not the last either."
"Taylor..." Rick tried again and ran his hand over his locks. "So, a demon."
"Yup."
"And how do you know about them?"
She shrugged and pulled back spikes away to get to her supplies, digging through them to pick goods for them. "My Ma was possessed and killed by one. I was six. My dad has hunted supernatural since then, and I followed in his steps. The truth is, once you know, it's hard to forget."
Michonne cleared her throat, and her voice startled Taylor as it sounded right behind her. "I'm sorry if it seemed as if we're scared of you. We aren't. It was just..."
"Yeah, I know. Shocking, unnatural, crazy."
"Dude had black eyes," the guy with a crossbow added.
"That's how you know. They can conceal it once they possess someone, but don't be fooled. They are in charge. They usually change their eyes during fight or simply to scare people." Taylor shrugged again and jumped out of the back of her Jeep, pulling a crate of supplies with her. "Look, it doesn't matter. I get it, walkers are crazy enough for you, and you don't need me with you."
"We might not need you. That was the first time we encountered something like that, but you don't have to be alone. You wanted to help us find our family before all of this. We found Daryl." Rick motioned at the guy in the leather vest and attempted a smile. "But it's not all of them. We still want to go check Terminus. That's where they'd go."
Taylor slowly placed the crate back into the car, glancing between them to ensure they all shared his sentiment. Michonne looked sincere enough, and the expression of hope on Carl's face was priceless. She never felt as needed and welcomed as when she looked upon the young man - except Winchesters and her dad, of course. Rick smiled softly, the blood on his face slightly destroying the effect he was going for, and Daryl had a blank expression on his face, his eyes narrowed in Taylor's direction.
"Well, if you're sure, I'll help you find your family," she finally voiced, trying to sound nonchalant.