All right. There was a Dark Angel marathon on today, I barely got out of more job hunting, and this is a long chapter. So, fun! Please enjoy, and thanks for reading and reviewing so far, guys.

Chapter 6

Welcome To Resistance

"So, what was that back there?"

Dean turned and raised an eyebrow. "What was what?"

"You tossed those demons through the air like there were nothing. You do that often?"

The older man smirked. "Actually, that was the first time. Never worked before."

"You've tried to do it before?"

"Yeah. Wouldn't you?"

"No," Sam said, "I wouldn't. You know why? Because demons fight with TK."

Dean turned back around, flashing his brother a black-eyed gaze. "And your point is?"

"My point is that you're better than this, Dean. The brother I knew never would have given into darkness like that."

"It's not giving into darkness. It's taking advantage of what you've got and using it to fight."

Sam shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing, hoping that he was picking up some kind of interference from the sloshing of his shoes through the muck. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Not like I have much of a choice unless I want to get my ass handed to me. Came in real handy back there, in case you missed it."

"But you're fighting like one of them."

"Newsflash, Sammy-"

"You're not. You can't be."

"If it looks like a demon and fights like a demon-"

"Then why haven't you tried to kill me? Huh? Demons kill people like me. But you won't."

Dean grinned. "Are we still playing the 'role-reversal' card? Honestly, man, I thought we'd moved past that."

"How could you let yourself sink in so low?"

The older man shrugged as he hopped up onto a platform, shaking loose water from his pants and shoes before slinking along the wall, glancing back to make sure Sam was still following him. "Sometimes you don't have a choice, all right? Sometimes it's kill or be kill. Like I said, it's a brave new world, and everyone had to adapt pretty damn fast. It's war, Sam, and you fight with all you've got."

"Is that what I did?"

Dean didn't answer, didn't even look at him, and for the first time since getting dropped into the future, Sam began to doubt his brother's motives. He was still positive that it was Dean, positive in the way that a blind man is positive that he knows the number of steps it takes to get from one room to the other. It was a gut feeling, an instinct honed over a lifetime, a sensation that he'd missed almost as much as he'd missed his own care of the world and everything in it. Both had disappeared with his brother's death.

He looked at the man he was following, realizing for what seemed to be the first time that Dean had a point. If he looked like a demon and fought like a demon, then what did that make him? It made him something they'd always hunted, something that had killed their mother, something that had taken Dean's soul and Sam's humanity, something that lied to him, strung him along, and then begged for mercy.

And there was something he was hiding. Not in the big 'mom-knew-the-demon' sense, but in a smaller 'I-took-the-cookie-from-the-cookie-jar' way. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it wasn't important. Maybe Sam was imagining things.

But maybe he wasn't.

Dean stopped beside a large metal hatch that had been positioned at the wall. It looked rusted shut, impenetrable. He knocked twice, the clanging sound echoing through the tunnels. He looked back at Sam and flashed a smile so familiar and warm that the younger man couldn't help but forget any doubts. Secrets were ok. Secrets didn't kill. Everyone deserved to have a few.

Dean turned back to the door. "Come on," he said, his voice rising slightly above the normal level. "You know I can't say it."

Sam watched as a small metal panel slid back from the hatch to reveal a set of mistrusting eyes. The eyes roved over the brothers, settling on Sam. Finally, a voice spoke from behind the door. "Christo."

Dean flinched, his eyes turning black as the appraising gaze watched. A smile appeared in the eyes behind the door and the stare softened. "Sorry man. SOP."

"No problem, Matt," Dean replied as his eyes slid back to brown.

"Who's the new guy?" Matt asked, an edge in his gruff voice.

"Survivor. Found him hanging around up top. Convinced him to come down here."

The hatch opened to reveal Matt's entire body, a short but well-built figure. "He hurt?"

"Fine and dandy."

"Shame," Matt said. "We got three new escapees in while you were out waltzing around."

"I was doing my job," Dean clarified as he stepped into the room that sprawled out beyond Matt. He motioned for Sam to follow. "Without me, we wouldn't have half the intel we do."

"Come off it, Dean," Matt chided, closing and locking the door as soon as Sam had passed through. "We all know you got the cushiest job."

Dean just shrugged and moved past the doorman, into the room. Sam's eyes widened as he looked around. They definitely weren't in the sewer anymore. The place more like a poorly decorated palace than home to the rats of the world. It was a wide expanse made of fortified stone and filled to the brim with tables, chairs, cots, and people.

As Sam followed his brother farther into the room, he could see little alcoves set off into the walls, some housing people laid out on cots getting stitched up, some housing people who had been injured beyond repair. Latin chanting could be heard from another, one that Dean tried hard to avoid, though he still wound up twitching a bit as they passed it.

"Where are we?" Sam asked as he gazed around the room, looking at the tired people sitting in chairs, laying on cots, talking and cleaning weapons and sleeping.

"Resistance HQ," Dean answered with a grin.

"All of these people are hunters?"

Dean tipped a wave to someone who was sitting at a back table, looking over a crumpled mess of papers. "Nope. Not for the past three years. Our breed's dying out. We can't train 'em fast enough to replace."

"What do you mean?"

The demon stopped and turned, looking Sam straight in the eyes. "You sure you want to know?"

"I think I have right to, now that I'm here."

"All right, well, the truth is, you went after hunters first. The more experienced, the quicker you killed them. A couple got away, joined up. For the most part, though, they were extinct."

"But all of these people-"

"First off, they're not all technically people."

"You know what I mean."

Dean shrugged. "We find stragglers all the time. People who managed to hold out by hiding in old hunting cabins, storm cellars, whatever. Sometimes they're in big groups, sometimes it's just one or two. We don't turn 'em down. We can't."

"But you can't train 'em, either."

"Sometimes we do. We've got a camp. It's run by one of our best hunters, but it's not enough. You can't really prepare people for this crap."

"So what do you do?" Sam asked.

Dean dropped his gaze. "Sometimes those groups we get in are hurt. They come out into the open to try and find help. Mostly, it they're desperate enough to come out of hiding, it's bad."

"So something possesses them?"

"It's not like that. We offer a choice. The host will heal faster and live longer if something's keeping him alive. It gets pretty symbiotic."

"How many demons have you got?"

Dean sighed, looking back up at Sam. "More than you'd think. The ones that didn't join you came here. And they keep bustin' outta Hell, thinking this'll be better. But it's not. Some even try to go back. Like it's a freakin' paradise or something. We take in the ones who don't or can't."

"And that's why your guard wanted to know if I was hurt? He thought I might play meat puppet for something?"

"I'll let you in on a little secret," Dean said, turning back around and making his way through the crowd as he spoke. "The things you find here aren't like the ones we fought. They've been beaten and bruised and watched the world go to Hell. If they liked it that way, they'd be with you. If they don't, they come here."

Sam nodded, trying to take it in, to take in the fact that everything he'd known had changed in an instant and Dean was right. The world had gone to Hell. "What all do you have fighting for you?"

The older man grinned. "That's better. Like I said, you can mope about all this later. Right now we have to figure out what's going on."

"What are all these things?" Sam repeated, refusing to be brushed off.

"Got a few hunters," Dean said, "a few demons. A pack of werewolves and a nest of vamps. We've got our own coven. A couple of shape-shifters. Even a ghost or two. A few psychics. Used to have a trickster, but you got the better of him."

"And all of those things live here together without killing each other?"

"Don't get me wrong, it was pretty strained at first. But, uh, now that we've figured out that we're all on the same side, it's smooth sailing."

Sam nodded, watching the people- the things- that they passed as they made their way farther back into the vast chamber. He found that he could pick them out, the witches from the vampires from the werewolves. They all sat together, mingled, but there were signs. The witches had deep gashes along their hands and arms from spells, the werewolves looked haggard and tended to shy from anything silver, and the vampires had apparently just finished feeding.

"What do they eat?"

Dean glanced over his shoulder at his brother. "What?"

"The vamps. What do they eat?"

"Used to be cattle. Then the other side started patrolling the farms. They scavenge now, mostly. If someone's beyond repair and there isn't any new hellspawn to take the body, they either feast or turn the person." He looked back again. "It's all left up to the three-course meal, naturally."

"Of course," Sam muttered, letting his eyes travel back across the room. "What about the demons that don't have hosts? What do you do with them?"

"Find 'em hosts," Dean grinned, nodding toward the floor. Sam followed his gaze to see a pair of dogs with coal-black eyes staring up at him. "Relax, guys," Dean told them, "he's not up for grabs." The dogs hung their heads and slowly turned away.

Sam watched the dogs walk off before turning back to his brother. Was this really what those demonic entities that his family had been trained to fight become? Whimpering puppies waiting for suitable hosts? In another time, it would have seemed too good to be true, if not for the whole end-of-the-world thing.

All throughout the room, people were mumbling hellos and waving to Dean, nodding their heads, or smiling. "You're pretty popular," Sam observed.

Dean just shrugged. "When you've been here as long as I have, you make some friends." He stopped at a table housing a group of heavily-scarred fighters. "Hey, guys. What's up?"

"Nothing much," a young blond said, shrugging his shoulders, "just waiting for mom to get back."

Dean nodded. "Well, you hear from her, you tell her to hurry, ok, Will? Something big's going down."

The man's eyes sparked to life. "How big?"

"Like, end-of-the-world big," an older woman at the table said with a slight smirk on her face. The blond deflated immediately.

"Hey, even if it was that big," another man said, "your mom would never let you fight. You know how overprotective she can get."

Will sighed and nodded. "Yeah. Man, I never get to have any fun."

"Consider yourself lucky," Dean said, "I got chased by demons today."

The other man from the table looked up at him. "Didn't lead 'em here, did you?"

"'Course not. You know me better than that."

"You never know. There might be traitor among us." He stood up, stepping away from the table, and grinned. "So, who's the new guy?"

"Sammy," Dean said. "Ironic, huh, Marc?"

The man eyed Sam nervously. "He looks familiar."

"Maybe you've seen him before. He's been out there for a while." He stepped closer to the man, dropping his voice. "So, I heard you were heading out today?"

"Yep. Got reports of a band of survivors up in the Rockies. Boss is sending me out. Leaving tonight."

"Did you, uh, think about what I said?"

Marc sighed, dropping his eyes. "Hey, man. I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. If I'm gonna die trying to take down your evil-ass little brother, I'm at least gonna die a free man. All right?"

Dean nodded, a shadow of a frown crossing his face. "Yeah. Be careful out there tonight, ok?"

"Sure thing, Dean." Marc sat back down and continued his conversation with the other people at the table.

"What was that about?" Sam asked.

"Nothing," Dean replied, turning and continuing across the vast expanse of the room. "Come on."

"Where we going?"

"Gonna take you to meet the founder."

"The founder?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. The first person who realized something was up. She blew the whistle to every hunter she could find, but none of them believed her. In hindsight, it sure was a shame ole Gordy had to go when he did. He might have believed her, and he had enough clout that he would have been a great recruiter. Probably could have saved a lot of people."

"You're siding with Gordon now?"

"No," Dean said, "he was certifiable. I'm just saying that he might have come in handy, prevented a whole lotta mess." He turned down a narrow hall that led back to a wooden door and knocked. "It's me."

The door opened slowly to reveal an empty room. Sam glanced over at his brother, confused, to see that Dean was looking down at something. Sam followed his gaze and gasped.

"Glad to see you finally made it," the woman in the wheelchair said, her clear British accent ringing through the stone hall. "I was starting to wonder if you'd actually used that sundial or just destroyed it."

"Bela?" He barely managed to croak out.

She smiled. "In the flesh. Bit of advice, sweetheart. Next time you try to kill someone, make damn sure you finish the job."