Chapter 12

They decided to remain at the Roadhouse and turned it into a makeshift camp. This was in case of late arrivals or if any defectors changed their mind. They brought in tents, and the one hunter even had a rundown camper which Dean titled "Command Central". Another week past and while the camp grew in size, only a few more hunters showed up and even less stayed. Their total number was twenty three now. Twenty five if Dean counted Sam and himself. Would that be enough to take down a pack of fifty werewolves? Dean doubted it.

The other problem was how many people asked him where the angel was. He wished he hadn't drawn that card but he really had little other reason for these estranged hunters to follow him. Plus he hoped the angel would stop taking his merry ol' time and just show up already. The previous night, Dean even prayed for him to return. Little good that did.

Using some of the items that could be salvaged from the Roadhouse, they were able to construct a small hut for weapons and ammunition, and circled it with tents. Outside the tents, the hunters put their vehicles in a larger circle like a good old fashioned wagon circle. It would have to do.

Dean sat in Command Central and examined local maps. They sent out hunter scouts over the past few days to see if any nests might be nearby. They didn't find any, which didn't mean a whole lot, but Dean would have liked to have a small nest to set the hunters on at least. He wanted to see the weight and stock of each of his men and women before the real battle began, and target practice out back just was not cutting it. A light knock at the door, and then Sam was by his side. Dean was able to keep his head steady and cool having his brother around. He was glad it was just the two of them again.

"Dean, it is two hours until sunset. Should we send the scouts out again?" Dean nodded sullenly and Sam went to retrieve the two-way radios that they had stored on the shelf. He disappeared with six of them out the door, only to return moments later and stand next to Dean and the map. The small table was only big enough for two maps and the kerosene lamp that illuminated them. Sam carefully placed five different colored buttons over different areas surrounding their maps location. Each color represented a hunter. Pulling the last radio off of the shelf, Sam checked the batteries and then turned the radio to the shared frequency.

Together, the brother's found a place to sit and waited. Soon, Donna came in. Another hunter that came late to the party, Dean appreciated her police background in this situation. It was her idea to do the nightly sweeps. After another few minutes the first call backs started to come through.

"Red zone clear."

"Green zone clear."

"Yellow zone clear."

Dean reviewed the maps and saw how the areas calling in flanked the Roadhouse. Purple, blue, and brown still had to call in on the other side. The trio studied the two-way, waiting for the call in, but only static resounded.

"Something's wrong," said Dean.

"It's too early to think that," said Donna, "just wait." Dean tried to wait but his gut told him something wasn't right. It was taking too long. They should have been hoofing it back to camp by now. Dean clenched his jaw trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

"No…" he said after another minute of silence, "something isn't right!" Dean sprang to his feet and was out the door before either hunter could stop him. He checked to make sure his Colt was still snug at his waistline as he ran into the darkness after his friends. Hell, he didn't even know who was on the scout tonight. Garth? Bridgette? It didn't matter. They couldn't risk losing any numbers with so few there were left.

Over this past week Dean could feel the way his mindset shifted. He wasn't a hunter anymore, he was a soldier. The other hunters were his by right. This was a war they were fighting. It was also one they were at serious risk of losing. Coming closer to the flashing light, Dean could make out the shape of three two-way radios propped against each other and his heart sank. Their reprieve was over. The hunters have become the hunted.

A raw pain ripped into Dean's side and he cried out as he fell to the earth. He managed to twist his body around to make out the shape of a skinwalker in his feral dog form. Dean leveled his gun and shot the creature, and it fell heavy to the earth at his feet.

Dean checked his side and saw three lovely claw marks ripped into his skin. Fucking great. Suddenly a chorus of howls erupted around him. Dean staggered to his feet, alarm flashing across his face. All around him in the darkness the earth rippled like maggots under cadaver skin. Dean spun and spun and saw the ripples from all sides. Even flanking him he could see small shapes dance across the firelight in front of the caravan. Some appeared to be skinwalkers, some did not. Dean tried to count, lost track, tried to count again. There had to be hundreds, hell even a thousand monsters out there.

This is it, Dean thought. The end of the road. Not just for him, but for all the hunters there. There was just too many of them to make a difference. How did they organize so quickly? How did they know where to find the hunters gathering there? It didn't matter. Not anymore. His road was coming to an end. Already he could see the shadows circling closer and closer to him. Dean fired another shot into the darkness which he was sure gave purchase, but it made no difference. They were far too many to be afraid of the Colt now. Defeat overwhelmed him, and he fell to his knees.

"This is it, angel" he declared to the earth beneath him. "Goodbye, Castiel."

The first creature decided to test his luck and a skinwalker leapt for Dean's throat. Dean turned and fired into the creature, and the impact knocked it off its path and back into the throng. Another creature behind him, managed to edge his way in and slash at Dean's back. Dean recoiled from the pain and curled in on himself wishing to disappear into the earth.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, Sammy," Dean whispered as hot tears and fresh blood decorated his face. The creatures continued to take cheap shots at him but it wouldn't be long now.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be here when you decided to show up again Cas, you bastard." A monster kicked him hard in his ribs and Dean curled tighter in on himself.

"Cas…Castiel…" Another one ripped into his thigh with its teeth. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, spilling fresh tears, and struggled to let go of the pain. Cold. Ice. It all melted away.

"…I love you."

A sudden hurricane of sound erupted around him, and Dean was bathed in a searing light. He opened his mouth to scream but the light plunged down his throat and burned at his insides. The world dissolved around him and Dean felt his body crumble to dust. Just at the edge of consciousness, where the tornado of light tore at his limbs and invited levels of pain he had not felt since his 30 years in hell, Dean could see in the light the figure of a man. A man in a trench coat. And then he slipped from the edge of the world into unconsciousness and everything turned to a forgiving black.