Zombie Kill Of The Week
By: Abby Ebon
Summary: a Supernatural/Zombieland, Dean Winchester/Tallahassee, "that ain't the best zombie kill of the week...", prompt, from comment_fic.
Tallahassee was a hunter, that being a hunter of the supernatural and things that went bump in the night under your bed and would kill you sooner then look at you - before he settled some and started to raise Buck. He imagined that Buck would have been a hunter too, one day, if he would have had the chance. Yet he wouldn't have raised Buck while hunting, that lesson had been learned, because there wasn't a hunter alive who hadn't heard of the Winchester brothers. Tallahassee should have expected this, of course they would have survived a zombie world ending event.
Tallahassee had parked for the night at a bar, had considered getting drunk. That was before he walked in and found himself pressed up against the wall, a sawed off shotgun under his jaw – Tallahassee's wide eyes and choked off words were enough of a hint to his not being infected, he thought. He'd heard rumors that the Winchester boys (who'd certainly grown up some) were the sort to shot first and ask questions later, or – at least – one of them was.
"Dean, no – Dean, he's human!" Sam yelped, (because if the one pinning up against the wall was Dean as it certainly sounded like, then the other had to be Sam, of course, the boys always traveled as a pair, it was how they'd survived, and how they'd been raised) and it was then that Tallahassee took in the time to see that Dean wasn't in the best of conditions. He shook and blood was getting all over the place.
"Bitten?" Tallahassee grunted the question past the metal under his throat.
"No – hunter…?" Dean asked, tone sharp and not to be ignored. He had a one track mind, and his mind was on Tallahassee and protecting his baby brother, and Tallahassee knew enough not to ignore the question.
"Yes." He gagged as the hard metal was taken away from his wind pipe and Dean staggered off him, nearly falling to the floor he'd bled out on, and he knew that the weight he'd felt, the hard edges and dangerous intent, had been Dean, all Dean – and he'd been pinned and thoroughly threatened by a man near half-dead. Tallahassee could admit to being a little bit impressed.
"Easy, Dean, it's alright, we're safe. It's alright…come on, sit down." Sam urged, moving Dean with his long limbs and taller body, manipulating his brother into sitting and staying and maybe (if he was lucky) healing up.
"What did this?" Tallahassee asked, because if it wasn't a zombie, and Sam had gone into the thick of things with Dean – how had Dean ended up being the one on the shorter stick? But then, Dean was so obviously protective of Sam to the point of it being possession, but maybe that was because the younger hunter was so out of it. Sam seemed just as protective of his brother, and Tallahassee waited until Sam had gotten Dean sitting before expecting any sort of answer.
"Angel, sort of…." Dean muttered, and Sam glanced to Tallahassee to see what the elder made of that.
"No joke?" Tallahassee tried to wrap his mind around angels and demons and the Winchesters in the middle of a ruined world of zombie-making, and couldn't quite manage it. He trusted them to know what they were talking about, though, and Dean laughed until he choked. Tallahassee liked him, and he realized this when a zombie lurched out of the shadows behind the bar, drawn in by the scent of Dean's blood.
When the zombie went up in flames before Tallahassee could give warning, before he could even bring up his gun from the floor Dean had knocked it down to. A man appeared from no where, and he wore a long coat and a fierce expression, all Tallahassee could say was.
"That ain't the best zombie kill of the week..." Dean started to laugh again, and Tallahassee liked it more then he thought he should.