*bursts into tears*
0o0o0
Epilogue – Follow You
Day 4199
Month 138
Year 12
Hello again, inanimate object.
It's been almost a year now, and we still haven't gone back. I didn't think that we would, despite D's self-assurances of it, and we've only carried on moving further and further south – it would take months to go back now.
It's warming up again – this is a strangely humid March so far. Looking back, winter didn't hit us that hard this year; but that may just be the surprisingly good haul of supplies we've been able to gather last autumn (see Inventory, final page). Infected activity is unusually high right now, and I know that I'm not the only one feeling ominous, but whatever may be going on, we can handle it. I'm sure of it. All this self-confidence is rather new, and I know it'll annoy the hell out of D, but he won't mind that much really – not deep down.
It may be evident, but this is the last page of this log. I don't know what will happen tomorrow or what will happen the day after, but I know that I don't need to hide behind some book anymore. The last year's been tough. The infected are far from finished – this fight isn't over, it will probably never be over. But I'm Castiel Novak. I survived for eight years. For the first time, I admit that maybe I even have a chance of living through to tomorrow.
As far as I can see, this is enough.
Day 4199,
Signed,
Castiel Robert Novak.
Cas closed the book slowly, smoothed his hand over the rough cover and sighed, looking down at the feet on his lap and following them all the way up to Dean's face. He stared into those emerald-green eyes, and a sudden contentedness and acceptance washed over him.
He stretched out his hand and, without taking his eyes off Dean, he dropped the book into the fire. Sparks and embers danced into the air as the sudden impact disrupted them. They shone orange-gold in the night.
"What was that about?" quizzed Dean sleepily.
Cas just smiled. "I don't need a book to remind me of the past. I just need you, right here and right now."
Dean smiled and shuffled closer to Cas. "I'm not going anywhere."
They stayed there for a while under the sparkling night sky, the dying embers of the fire casting warm, rough silhouettes of them against the soft grass. Stars waltzed through the sky, casting blue-green shadows into Dean's eyes, flickering and blinking like fire. And it wasn't perfect, nothing ever was; especially not now that the world was as fucked as it was. But it was hope - safety and warmth and too many emotions to register – and most of all, home.
0o0o0
Nothing new from Outpost 4, but sovereign silence cold,
Water glistening on empty shores like little specks of gold
And in the woods among the trees three men play hide and seek,
Their careless laughter in the breeze, three tales their voices speak:
The first one born as one of three, hailed heroes of old lands,
A healer, runner, wild and free, light feet and gifted hands,
Ghostly tunes won't leave his ears like echoes in his head,
The Rising Sun of New Orleans has now begun to set.
The second one who wanders still, beneath the yellow sky,
Denial in the bleeding clouds, no sight of dotted lines,
A bullet in his brother's skull, the sounds burnt in his ears,
Embedded in the songs of gulls he's heard for many years.
The third one not a man quite yet, half-gone but cheerful still,
Cremated badlands, they beget his body deathly ill
White nightmares of black memories, a demon in his mind,
Depriving his extremeties, his organs intertwined.
Last of the wild, last crackling leaves, with dust of morning dew,
Fighting the vultures, nightly thieves, voracious hands of blue,
Lone predators of empty eyes, travelling down the serpentine roads,
White liquid dripping down like lies, singing the three brothers' ode.
The cities of this brave new world, our monuments of stone,
Grass in their cracked pavement swirls, stand solemn and alone,
They're gravestones of the human race, all grey and uniform,
Great skeletons of royal grace, shaped by rain and breeze and storm.
Their wrecked world hangs on a string, behold this godless work!
The ruins of the songs they sing, the vultures croak and smirk.
In Shadowlands, the baneful air, infecting all who breathe,
At monsters' lifeless eyes they stare, can't see the soul beneath.
0o0o0
Thank you so much for reading this. It means so much to me that you took the time to read the end of the story about the end of the world and the start of a new beginning. The next fanfic is coming right up in January; and it's a big one!
(please, please, take just a second to leave some feedback if you can!)