Fic: The Walking Supernatural: A SPN/ Walking Dead Crossover (5/?)
Title: The Walking Supernatural (5/?)
Author: daksgirl
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Zombies! Crossover fic of Supernatural meets the Walking Dead.
Spoilers: WD S02E05
Warnings: Violence, Decomposing corpses, Strong language, Adult situations
Word Count: 2,787 (WIP)
Summary: AU from 5x22 Swan Song. The Winchester's settle down into life in camp, but are in for a nasty surprise.
A/N Wanted to get this done before the new WD episode tonight, so here it is! Geez not sure how long I can keep these updates up haha…reviews sustain me however! :D
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dean awoke to the sounds of metal clinking together and a cockerel crowing.
Groaning, he scrubbed a hand over his face, grimacing at the dried drool. He must have fallen asleep pretty hard.
Opening his eyes he was met with the sight of Sam's foot only inches from his face. Raising his head slightly he could see the shape of a body underneath the heavy duvet that they had meant to be sharing. Someone had obviously decided to claim it all for himself when he had turned around in his sleep. Dean poked the blanket, and a guttural grunt could be heard.
"Up and at em Sleeping Beauty."
"Go'way." was the sullen reply.
Grinning wickedly, he reached out, running his finger down Sam's foot. There was a loud squeal, and Dean was nearly kicked in the face as the exposed limb was hastily drawn back into the safety of Sam's duvet fortress. Muttering about how he had wanted a little brother, not sister, Dean clambered over the Sam-sized lump and pushed outside.
The group of survivors had set out camp near Hershel's house, a few yards away from the front porch. They had erected proper tents, creating a little village in the yard.
There wasn't a spare tent for the two Winchesters however, so a shaky shelter made up of blankets and clothing pegs formed their temporary home instead. It suited them just fine; for once they had soft linen and actual pillows, and sleeping outside was actually nice, considering how hot it could get during the day.
Dean ducked through the makeshift entrance, stretching lazily. He groaned as he felt several vertebrae click back into place, and dropped his arms back down with a satisfied sigh.
It seemed they had managed to sleep in; the rest of the tents were empty.
The source of the metal clanging turned out to be Dale and Daryl; they stood nearby, sorting out an assortment of pots and pans spread out along an old looking picnic table. Dean nodded to them both as he grabbed his boots from where he had left them outside the makeshift tent.
Settling down in the dirt, he laced them up methodically, now and then looking up to squint up through the trees at the sun. Yet another sunny day in the middle of the apocalypse.
A few yards away from the picnic table was Carol, hanging up laundry. Sophia sat nearby sorting through an old rusty bucket of clothing pegs. Dean smiled at them, walking over.
"Morning." He rasped, Sophia shooting him a blinding smile.
"Morning!" She chirped.
Carol smiled over at him from behind the billowing sheet she was slinging over the clothing line. The wash line was lashed between two trees, and Dean ducked under it.
"Can't believe I slept in." He admitted.
Carol smiled softly at him, taking an offered clothes peg from Sophia.
"Well I'd say you two deserved it." She ran her hands along the top of the sheet, straightening the wrinkles. "All that running and fighting. I know I'd sleep for a day!"
Lori appeared from the other side of the camp, stalking forward angrily and headed for the house. She passed the three, shooting a dark glower at Dean as she passed. He watched her as she stalked towards the house, a rain-cloud practically thundering over her head.
"Did...did I do something?" He asked bewildered. Carol shook her head with a laugh.
"Don't mind her. Woman troubles."
Dean turned back to her, eyebrow arching. The housewife shook her head again.
"Now listen here. Lori's worried about her boy as well as Rick. This whole thing with the…with the….," she sobered slightly, "with the zombies is getting to all of us. And no offence but we don't know you two."
She smiled kindly.
"Now you're both alright in my book, but you gotta understand how she's feelin'. Mama bear and all that. You'd do well to stay on her good side. Lori is Ricks wife, kind of makes her our unofficial first lady."
Dean nodded, reaching into the wash basket to grab a damp shirt. He twisted it, watching the excess water dribble onto the dirt.
"Got it. Don't mess with the Mama Bear."
He slung it over the wash line, taking the clothes pegs Sophia offered him and pinning the shirt in place.
"So Rick's your leader huh?" He asked.
Carol shrugged. "Nobody else wants to be, but someone had to make the decisions. Guess he just was the lucky one."
She turned away from the wash line to face him, her nose wrinkled slightly.
"You know, these clothes aren't the only thing in need of a good wash."
Dean laughed, not even offended. In this kind of climate, there wasn't much point to being self-conscious about sweating.
"That would be great. You have no idea."
She beckoned with a finger. "Come on then, hand that old shirt over. I'll get started if you get that huge brother of yours up."
Dean grinned, ducking his head to slide off the ruined t-shirt he had decided to wear to sleep the previous evening. Carol probably wasn't that much older than him, but she was a mother, and Dean had a habit of reverting back into a little boy around demanding mothers.
She took the shirt from him, before stilling, her eyes glued to a spot on Dean's bicep.
"What's that? Are you hurt?" Her voice was genuinely concerned, and Dean's brow furrowed.
"What no, what are you-" He glanced down and stopped. Ah.
The handprint branding his arm had faded slightly over the past two years and was no longer raised and sore looking like it used to be. The skin was red and shiny however, definitely a scar that Dean would carry with him the rest of his life. He had forgotten about it; he had long ago accepted it as part of his body, a constant reminder of the biggest turning point of his life.
Sometimes, before the zombies that was, Sam would catch him holding it; hand splayed in the exact shape Castiel must have grabbed him. He'd tease him for days, saying things like man-crush, or sing-songing Deanna and Castielle sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.
Dean had put Nair in his shampoo TWICE for that one.
Truth was it was kind of comforting sliding his hand into that spot. Like somehow he could feel Cas's calming influence every time he touched it. It made the nights easier sometimes, and it wasn't any Sam's goddamn business if maybe he touched it a lot more than he needed to.
Carol was staring at it now, and Dean managed a smile.
"Oh that. Had a tattoo removed a while back."
Carol looked incredulous. "You had a hand tattoo?"
Dean shrugged, smiling winningly. "What can I say, I was 18 once too."
The Sasquatch had finally emerged from his lair, and Sam yawned wildly, scrubbing his eyes with one hand as he blinked blearily in the sunlight.
"Did I hear someone say we could wash?" he asked hopefully.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After a much needed full body scrub in cold water behind the house, Sam and Dean set to work on their grubby clothes. Both had stripped down to a cleaner pair of jeans and sat out in the sun, bent over a large metal tub overflowing with soapy water.
"Does Swarzenegger know you stole his abs Sam?" Dean teased, suddenly slightly self-conscious of his own body.
Though they'd been busy angsting and trying to defeat the devil, Sam had still somehow found the time to work out. There wasn't a spot of loose or flabby skin on the man, and it was hard for Dean to wrap his head around the fact that, though his little brother, Sam was ripped. Okay he was going to have to kill himself now for even having to look at Sam's body.
Sam shot him a dark glare, scrubbing his shirt harder.
Most of the others were going about their usual daily routine, and Dean sat up a little straighter as Shane walked by. Something about the man just made the hair on the back of Dean's neck stand up, and not in a good way.
The ex-cop snorted at them both. "I see you two are settling in just fine." He turned away before Dean could fire off a witty retort, headed for the field where some of the others were taking care of the undead bodies and practicing shooting.
Dean glared after him. "That guy is kind of a douche."
"Dean." Sam's exasperated puppy eyes threatened an outpouring of bitchiness. "Can you not offend everyone within a 10 mile radius for once? These are the first survivors we've run across since Carolina. If you don't mind I'd like to actually get along with them."
Dean flicked some of the sudsy water at his brother, relishing how Sam squealed.
"Geez Samantha, don't get your panties in a twist. I'll be good."
Sam scowled viciously at him, rebelliously flicking some water back. Before too long there wasn't much washing getting done as the two threw wet clothes and suds at each other.
It was a wolf-whistle that stopped them mid-brawl.
Maggie stood leaning against the side of the house, smirking at them, cow-girl hat slung low. She stood nonchantly, one thumb thrust in the waist of her jeans. "My oh my if that aint a sight for sore eyes."
Looking down Dean realized that yes both of them were shirtless, and now soaked with water. Sam's hair hung in wet strands as he self-consciously tucked his arms over his chest. Like that would somehow preserve his girly dignity.
Dean however knew this game. He smiled back at her, tongue curling behind his teeth as he winked roguishly at her.
"See something you like?" He challenged, and the woman's eyes crawled over his skin.
"Boy do I." She turned and walked away then, hips sashaying. She wasn't the most beautiful, but she was cute and Dean followed the sway of her hips for a moment, undressing her with his eyes.
A slap stung the back of his head, and he yelped.
"Ow! SAM!"
The hulking gigantor had resumed his scrubbing, eyeing Dean with a keep-it-in-your-pants-or-so-help-me-I-will-end-you look.
"What did I just say? Keep your eyes in your head Dean. We don't want to go offending anyone. Especially-" he glared harder for good measure, "fathers with shotguns."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The late afternoon sun made the group sleepy, and most sat around in the shade offered by the trees. Carol and Sophia sat side by side, backs against the fence as they dozed, Sophia's arms wrapped tightly around her mother. Dale, Glenn and a rather scary looking big man Dean had been told was called T-dog, sat around the picnic table playing a game of go fish. Lori was inside with Hershel's family; no doubt checking on her son Carl, whilst Rick and Shane sat on the porch. The two cops were talking together quietly; now and then one of them would laugh, shoving the other.
All in all it was a pretty peaceful scene, and Dean relished it, stretched out on the green grass. He sighed happily, head cushioned on his arms behind his head.
"This isn't so bad." He remarked.
Sam hummed in agreement, nose already buried in a book. Dale had offered it to him after noticing him eyeing up the dog-eared paperback in the trailer.
Dean huffed, wiggling his toes in his boots happily. The sky was a gorgeous blue; white puffy clouds moving sluggishly across it. If only the world could stay this peaceful, he thought.
Andrea was on watch, reclining in Dale's camping seat on top of the RV with a rifle leant beside her. Dean's eyes trailed over the blonde, and he briefly entertained the fantasy of what she might look like under those clothes. His heart wasn't in it though; Andrea carried the weight that only came with losing a loved one. It was etched into her face, her way of talking, it was scratched so deep into her heart it had become part of her very soul, and Dean had seen enough of that in himself.
A loud groan echoed from the picnic table, and Andrea looked over at the three men. Glenn had thrown his hands up in the air, doing a little victory jiggle as Dale and T-dog shook their heads, obviously the losers that round. Daryl sat a little ways apart from the group, cleaning his crossbow.
She shook her head, and settled deeper into the chair.
Dean yawned widely. "You know Sammy, maybe it won't be so bad to-" He was interrupted as in a clatter of motion, Andrea was on her feet.
"Walker! WALKER!" She shouted, grabbing the rifle at her side. Dean and Sam were up in a flash, moving quickly towards the RV. The others weren't far behind, shielding their eyes with their hands as they strained to see through the glare of the sun.
There, emerging from the tree line where the Winchesters had stumbled only last night, shuffled a figure.
Rick had dived into the small pile of weapons they kept near the RV for just this reason.
"Just the one?" He demanded. Andrea was sighting down her scope.
"I bet I can nail it." She said confidently. Rick tossed a bat towards Dean, and he almost dropped it in his surprise.
"No, let us handle this." Rick directed at the blonde on the roof. "If it's just one don't waste the bullet. We don't want to bring a whole lotta others runnin'."
Dean recognized the glint of violence in Shane's eyes as he hefted up a pick-axe, and felt a swell of testosterone in response.
"Sam and I can do it." He ignored Sam's protest. "Show you what we can do."
Rick looked amused as he glanced between Shane and the Winchester.
"Now this aint a competition boys."
Shane grunted, eyes not leaving Dean's.
"Not yet it isn't."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Andrea watched the men all suddenly start running out in the field, pushing and shoving at each other like school children. She muttered darkly to herself, shifting into a more comfortable position on the RV roof. She couldn't see the figure clearly, but it was definitely walking like a walker. The sun glared right behind it, blinding her slightly and she frowned, concentrating her sights.
Something flapped around the figure as it shuffled forward; looked like it was wearing a coat of some sort.
"Andrea don't." Dale's voice came from her left and Andrea bared her teeth.
"Back off Dale." She warned. She was going to show everyone once and for all, she wasn't afraid of those things.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dean ran and leapt through the tall grass, Sam loping along beside him. It was a race to see who got the first kill honors, and though the two cops were close behind, they were no match for a pair of competitive brothers who had been doing this all their lives. Sam whooped somewhere to his right and Dean raced on, a wild grin on his face.
The walker was still shuffling forward, favouring its left side as it moved forward.
The sun was still in his eyes, and he threw a hand up to block it as he barreled forward. Just a little further…The sun finally blinked out; hidden behind the trees, and just as suddenly Dean had ground to a halt, mouth gaping open. Sam crashed into his side.
"Dean what the hell…" He trailed off as the figure came into focus for him as well, mirroring his brother with a goldfish impression.
In front of them, the figure halted, and managed a tired smile from a face caked with blood.
"Hello, Dean. Sam."
The gravelly voice snapped Dean out of it, and he grinned so widely his cheeks hurt.
"Jesus Christ Cas, you look like shit." Relief surged through him, so sudden and hot in his gut he felt like crumpling to the ground and praising whatever would listen. Cas was here. He looked like he'd been run over several times with a truck then dragged through a bush backwards, but he was here.
The angel managed another wearied smile, swaying slightly on the spot. The poor bastard looked dead on his feet.
"It is good to see you too. I would have come sooner but I ran into some... difficulties."
Sam laughed, and Dean's heart clenched at the genuine happiness laced in his brother's voice. Cas was back, they were going to be ok.
Castiel took another step forward, and Dean moved as well. This was it, he was going to hug the son-of-a-bitch, Sam's teasing be damned.
The crack of a rifle tore through the field and Castiel's head ricocheted back, a spray of blood arcing up against the blue sky.
The angel dropped to the ground like a stone, crumpling like a doll with its strings cut.
Dean forgot how to breathe.
Part 6