It is late autumn when Randy comes back from his first supply run as a team leader; Dean knows something is wrong from the moment the maroon land rover stops and two twittering girls jump down from the tailgates - Jane and Alice probably, though all these women in mid-twenties look the same in long hair, cargo pants and simple tops so Dean gave up trying to remember all of them long ago. Randy's looking sour and embarrassed; upon approaching the leader he doesn't even have the guts to look him in the eyes, making Winchester grit his teeth in frustration. Dean gave him that job to boost his confidence. Just a quick trip to gather sleeping bags and blankets from a town they knew had been abandoned and stripped from everything valuable long ago. There were no croats there, because there were no people they could turn. There were no wild gangs of survivors, because there was little more to loot. The mission was foolproof, but somehow this whiny kid managed to botch up. It is clear from his deep red blush and weak voice that Randy gathers all his courage to confess:
"Sir, I tried to convince the girls that it is a waste of cargo space and time, but they smuggled it in..." he realizes that the lie doesn't make any sense. He draws a sharp breath a split second later, confused and relieved by Dean's reaction. Rookies always bring useless crap back to the camp, but this time it's beyond him; the leader just sighs and rolls his eyes, lacking the patience to even give Randy or the cheerful girl carrying a big, oblong package an admonitory glare.
A guitar. They found a guitar.
Later that evening everyone gathers in the common room. The finding causes a stir much bigger than Winchester has expected. People seem excited and merry, almost as if it was some kind of a miracle. Dean sees nothing but grim irony in the fact that the guitar survived in pristine condition - it required only tuning - when people, families, whole towns were wiped out by the virus or by the rioting it caused. There is nothing wonderful in the way its soft, bright sound moves through the fug created by dozens of sweaty, ill, tired people crowded in a barrack that smells like dust and wet concrete even when there are no people inside. Still, they seem to find some kind of comfort in listening to clumsily played chords and Risa's husky, shaky voice that gets louder and fruitier every verse, as if she took time remembering how to use her vocal chords for anything but repeating Dean's orders and throwing searing, vinegary remarks. As soon as she finds the right key, she is joined by a few other young men and women; Dean can hardly recognize any of them except for Anouk. There is something about her velvety voice, shiny black braids, ageless face and soft, knowing smile that hypnotizes and scares the man.
They start with "Kumbaya", "My Bony" and other ridiculous songs that everyone knows, they laugh bitterly and curse under their breaths as they choke on "America is beautiful", then Yager, who is a tad more drunk than usually proposes "Ten green bottles", but counting down 'survivors' instead of green bottles. Everyone thinks that it's a great idea until they reach the last verse and realize that the day when there'll be no survivors might actually come. Nobody admits it, but a bitter, bleak silence swells in the hall until it is pierced by weak, but clear and bright voice shyly trying the first verses of "When you believe". Nearly everyone joins the dark-haired, petite girl. Not everyone can sing; their voices are untrained and hoarse, several people mix up the lyrics, but they sing louder and louder as if it was some kind of ceremony. Dean notices Bobby zero his hip flask before sneaking out of the barrack, coughing into his sleeve. It turns out that Jane and Anouk actually know the children's prayer part in Hebrew by heart. It isn't until Dean hears Cas's strangled profanity that he realizes the fallen angel has been standing by his side for who knows how long. He has no idea what that part could mean, but he recognizes the word 'adonai'; he can guess the rest from the way Cas's lips thin and his jaw clench.
There is a fleeting moment when Dean almost puts his arm around Cas to guide him ouf of the barrack. They could leave together, have a smoke and a chat or simply use the downtime to take a lazy walk within the camp instead of watching this dismal spectacle, but he can't bring himself to do it. The sight before his eyes is too fascinating. He watches the enraptured people with some kind of morbid, hateful enthrallment. Their hope, their voices, their smiles - it's all so absurd that it takes all Dean's restraint not to laugh or jeer them.
They keep singing, talking, hugging, crowded around the guitar like it was a campfire on a cold night. Dean loses track of time until another song seeps into his consciousness ever so slowly. Words carried by a soft, dreamy melody drip one by one until he recognizes the one that feels like a jab on an old, inflamed, festering wound, ripping him from a cocoon of scornful detatchment.
The road is long
With many a winding turn
That leads us to who knows where
Who knows where
But I'm strong
Strong enough to carry him
He ain't heavy, he's my brother
So on we go
His welfare is of my concern
No burden is he to bear
We'll get there
For I know
He would not encumber me
He ain't heavy, he's my brother
Dean stands still for a while, stunned by the sudden pain and by how such a fleabite could bore right into his heart. The next second anger flares up in his chest, making his neck stiffen and his throat knot. The song breaks into a row of disappointed voices when the leader walks to the switch on stiff legs and turns the light out.
"Enough. You're wasting fuel. These aggregates don't run on water," he throws a cautionary glare at Cas, who was raising his hand to put it on Dean's shoulder and calm him down.
"Dean, come on," he can see Risa stand up and cross her arm in the faint, lurid moonlight, "We've got plenty of oil. Don't be such a miser!"
Somewhere in the darkness Randy yelps, shocked by her insubordination. In any other set of circumstances Winchester could actually find it funny. Now he just wants the evening to end.
"I said enough. Go to sleep, people!"
"Dean, please, let's talk about it," Cas tries to placate him softly, though he seems a bit scared as well; his hand on the small of Dean's back is warm and soft, but his grip is urging in a childish, helpless way. The man chokes back his anger, slowly yielding to Cas's pull, but he stiffens and ruffles up again when Yager horns in:
"If you don't wanna waste fuel, we could use batteries. Jeff has shittons and there are two or three led lamps, ya know..."
"You know what?" Dean cocks his head, violently breaking away from Cas's hold, "You're right. Use batteries. We have to use up all of them before they expire and leak anyway, and then we can throw all the battery powered shit away," he starts walking towards the drunk man; the group of people comes apart to let him through in perfect silence, "Because you know what? There won't be more new batteries," he hisses into Yager's face before turning to speak to all the people: "There will be no factories, no industry, nothing. Our world went to hell and it won't be gettin' back to normal. Nothing will ever be all right. Ever. So yeah, have your silly tea dance, sing your crappy songs, and enjoy life while you can. It's over."