Fic: The Walking Supernatural: A SPN/ Walking Dead Crossover (9/?)

[daksgirl]

Title: The Walking Supernatural (9/?)
Author: daksgirl
Rating: NC-17

Pairings: None really this chapter
Genre: Zombies! Crossover fic of Supernatural meets the Walking Dead.
Spoilers: Let's just say all Season 2 of Walking Dead. Used some actual dialogue again.
Warnings: Violence towards a minor, mentions of child abuse (all past, but could be a trigger for some), mentions of a character expressing racist thoughts including one use of the N word (made me uncomfortable to use but he said it on the show so I was trying to stay IC).
Word Count: 3,869 (WIP)

Summary: Daryl remembers a hunter that reminds him of the Winchesters, and Dale and Glenn might be in trouble.

A/N: Hope you all had a great thanksgiving if you celebrate it as well! This chapter was a bitch to write, I was trying to get inside Daryl's head and man it's hard. I don't know much of Daryl's back story, so this is just how I personally interpret his character. I've underlined some warnings in this chapter as it could be a potential trigger for some.

…..

The sun was hidden behind a group of swollen black clouds that squatted low in the sky; the air much cooler than it had been. The wind whistled through the trees, moving across the fields and forcing the grasses to ripple before it. The group had secured the tents with extra pegs, tying down anything that flapped in the breeze.

Daryl could feel it. Storm is comin'.

He watched the activity of the camp for a moment; everyone doing menial tasks of their own now that Sophia was back safely. Rick was grilling something, Carl peering up whilst his father spoke to him, ruffling his hair. Sophia sat nearby with her ma and Lori, all three scrubbing the dirty dishes from the night before.

After the shock of the new arrival everyone had been on edge; all expecting a herd of walkers to suddenly appear at any given moment. None had.

Turning back to the fence, Daryl toed the line of salt he had helped the Winchester's lay down. For the moment it was still intact; the salt low enough to the ground and protected by the taller weeds that the wind hadn't managed to blow it away. If it rained it wouldn't last though, and Daryl frowned at it contemplatively. He didn't understand what it good it would do, but so far they hadn't had any trouble from any walkers, and he'd rather be a superstitious freak and trust the brothers, than not.

The porch door opened with a screech, and Daryl glanced back up, recognizing Dean Winchester as he moved down the porch stairs. He turned and looked behind him, saying something Daryl couldn't make out. Another figure followed him more slowly, and Daryl straightened as he recognized the man Andrea shot.

He had thought he was a goner for sure. He had looked like some kind of zombie tax-accountant from the brief glimpse Daryl got of him as Sam rushed by last night, all covered in blood, head bouncing like a ragdoll as he dangled lifelessly in the taller man's arms. But there he was, up on his feet and walking round. You had to respect a man that could take a wallopin', then get up and walk it off.

Some of the activity around camp stopped, and Daryl could see Andrea hesitantly move forward, twisting her hands worriedly.

She was saying somethin' to Dean, but judging by the tight line of his shoulders he wasn't ready to forgive her just yet. The smaller guy placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, saying something and the man stepped aside begrudgingly.

Andrea was gesturing to the new guy, and after a while of the two talking, Daryl heard her laugh.

Curious he wandered a bit closer. At Andrea's laugh, the other women had abandoned their tasks to approach as well, and suddenly Daryl could barely see the man as the women surrounded him. Craning his head a little, he could finally see the man's face, and understood why the women were so interested to greet the new arrival.

Now Daryl certainly weren't no queer, but even he could tell that the man was the kind women must just swoon over. Pale skin, dark messy hair, deep blue eyes, and he could hear the tones of a deep gravelly voice. The guy was like damn sex on legs.

Even Lori, a married woman infatuated with her husband, was smiling at him flirtatiously, one hand fiddling with her hair.

Dean was a constant presence at the man's side, secretly glaring at Andrea and answering some of the questions about the man. If his hand lingered too long on the small of the man's back, and kept throwing him bedroom eyes, Daryl didn't notice.

Finally the group had found out enough and had returned to their tasks. Dean sat his friend down at the picnic table, where Dale was already perched, fiddling with some silverware. Daryl was close enough now for the wind to carry bits and pieces of the conversation to him, and he watched as they shook hands.

"I'm Dale-"

"Castiel."

"Glad you're alright-"

"Thank you-"

"Come on Cas, we gotta-"

The wind changed direction and Daryl lost the voices. Castiel? Well if that weren't a weird name. Probably from a good god-fearin' family, judgin' by his well spoken voice. Everything I definitely aint.

Daryl was glad the man was ok. The whole group had been spooked at how close it had been, and Daryl found it hard to forget the way both brothers had looked as they hurried their friend to the house. Dean was explaining something to Castiel, and Daryl noted the open look of fondness that passed between the two men.

No-one had ever looked at Daryl that way.

Daryl moved back towards the salt lines, leaving the two their privacy. It niggled at him though, and he found himself frowning at the ground.

Even in the group he had travelled and fought with, he didn't really feel like he was a part of it, or he belonged. They relied on him sure, but no-one really liked him. Carol came close, but sometimes he just thought it was 'cause she was a mother; they was programmed to like people.

Sometimes he could hear Merle in his head, yellin' at him that he shouldn't trust nobody, that only family mattered.

Yet…he trusted the Winchesters. For some reason he couldn't put a finger on, he just did. There was something about them that tugged at his memory, and unbidden, the image of an old hunting lodge rose unchecked in his mind.

He remembered it. Back when he was a young boy and his daddy had once stayed sober long enough to actually take him hunting up in the mountains. Merle had come too; it had been one of the few times his older brother hadn't been in some sort o' trouble or another. It was the closest he got to a happy family memory, and damn if that wasn't tragic.

…

The lodge was old and dusty; cobwebs stretched between the corners along the ceiling, and the faint smell of mildew seemed to permeate everything, but Daryl reckoned it was pretty neat. He'd never been on a vacation, never stayed the night anywhere but home, and the young boy was thrumming with pent-up energy and excitement.

Merle was sulking, upset he had to leave his current honey behind so he could come along and "babysit the drunk and the dummy".

Daryl didn't understand his brother much. A good ten years older, Merle had always been an intimidating figure; never wanting to join his brother's playing or roughhousing. Instead, the moment Merle figured out how to hot-wire the old man's truck he'd left; and only came home when the cops dragged him.

The lodge was sprawled crookedly on the top of a mountain, and had a pretty darn impressive view of the lush valley below; if you were tall enough to look out the window. Daryl wasn't yet, and he had slipped out of the room he was sharing with his brother to find a better advantage point.

Animals gazed down at him as he trotted down the winding wooden corridors; glassy eyes blank as their mouths gaped open. The full body of a female grizzly lunged at him from the shadows, and Daryl giggled nervously in the damp air. The thing was old and neglected; patches of fur had peeled away to revel the stuffing beneath, and one of the glass eyes had been lost, giving the grizzly more of a confused squint than a look of pure rage.

Daryl puffed his narrow chest out, growling at it menacingly. The stuffed grizzly continued to squint at him and he laughed, poking it in the muzzle. The lobby opened off to the left, and Daryl left the bear to continue on his boyish quest.

His eyes gleamed with excitement as he noticed the sofa, leant up against a huge cracked window to the right of the huge oaken welcome desk. In a flurry of lanky limbs, he clambered onto it, scuffed bony knees digging into the musty fabric as he pressed his face up to the window. It was grey outside, and he sighed in disappointment. The mist hung too heavily over the valley for him to see much.

The bell on the desk dinged, and Daryl glanced over to see two men standing at the desk. They were dressed pretty much like any other hunter up in the mountains, but it was their conversation that caught young Daryl's attention.

They were conversing in hushed tones, and with the curiosity of the young, Daryl scooted to the edge of the sofa, cocking an ear.

The smaller man twisted his thin face in a grimace, scratching his lanky brown hair nervously as he shifted from foot to foot.

"Goddamit Earl we been scourin' this shithole for close t'a four days. No sign of the bastard. Maybe it was just a bear-"

The other man snorted. He was much larger than the first, broad in stature and barrel-chested. He was a black man, dark hair cut close to his head with hints of grey at his temples. His face was bearded, silver beginning to tinge the edges of otherwise jet black hair. Daryl stared at him with barely concealed curiosity.

Merle always went on about the blacks, calling them all sortsa names that Daryl didn't understand, but he knew weren't nice. He didn't see nuffin' wrong with 'em. They looked just like people to him.

"D'ya really think that Hank? It aint ever just a bear. No, it's here alright. Reckon this windigo is up in that ridge we saw yesterday. No-where else it could be."

Both fell silent as the clerk appeared. It was a plump woman with a permanently bored expression pinned on her plain face, and she assigned them rooms and handed over their keys with barely a word.

Daryl's curiosity had been captured. What's a windigo? Sounded like something dangerous and suddenly seemed a lot more exciting than squirrels or deer.

The two men turned around, and Daryl pretended he had been looking at something on the sofa. His daddy had always said no-one likes a peepin' Tom sticking their noses in other people's business.

Too late, the scary lookin' black man had noticed him listening.

Daryl cringed on the sofa as the man approached him, his heavy boots thudding along the wood floor. But no angry words or smack was forthcoming, and after a moment of cringing, Daryl opened his eyes to find the man crouching in front of him. His rich brown eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiled, and for some reason Daryl was reminded of his mother, god rest her soul.

"You goin' out huntin' with your pa, son?" The man asked. His voice was deep and rough with a southern drawl. Daryl could only manage a shy nod. The man smiled again, reaching forward to ruffle his hair in a fond gesture and Daryl had frozen, unsure how to respond.

"You be careful out there. There's a grizzly on the loose killin' men. Stay away from Blackwater ridge and stick to the flat lands ok? Lottsa deer down there that you and your pa can git."

He had meant to ask what they were looking for, if it was that windigo thing up on Blackwater ridge, but before he could, Merle was there, grabbing his arm hard enough to bruise.

He was shouting at the man, mean things, and Daryl had cowered. The man didn't say a word, merely straightening and continuing to look at Daryl with those nice eyes as his brother dragged him away.

Merle's fingers dug into his arm as he dragged him down the hall, past the squinting grizzly and staring animals. Daryl tried to protest, to say the man had only been trying to be nice, but Merle whirled on him, hauling his arm forward hard enough the young boy cried out.

Merle smacked him then, the blow stinging across his cheek, and Daryl bit his lip, eyes watering.

"Don't you talk back t'a me ya little shit." He growled. "As if it aint bad enough I gotta haul that worthless drunken lout's shit around, you go runnin' off chattin' to a pair of fruits, and a nigger at that."

Daryl felt a hot rush of rebelliousness rising in his stomach, and defiantly, he fought to wrench his arm away from his brother.

"He was only tryin' to warn me Merle, aint a crime to care bout people-"

The second strike hurt more than the first, and Daryl felt the fight drain out of him. He trembled under his brother's glare, wishing he hadn't run his mouth.

"You shut up or I'm gonna kick yer teeth in." Merle snarled. "Aint nobody gonna care for you except me. You got that? No-one else cares 'bout you."

The older boy snorted and Daryl winced as his brother's fingers dug welts into his arm.

"Look at you! Nobody will ever care 'bout you. Why should they? Some worthless liddle runt with no mama and a drunk for a pa." He shook him hard, and Daryl felt his teeth clack together. "I'm all ya got, little brother. Don't you ever give me no sass back ya hear?"

Much later, Daryl had sat quietly in the dark, nursing a black eye and split lip. Merle lay asleep next to him, snoring loudly and occasionally grunting into the pillow.

Sometimes, and he always felt bad for thinking it, Daryl wished his brother would go back to juvie and just never come back. He always felt bad afterwards, and would sit in the dark straining to remember the prayers his mama used to say to him. But his mama had been dead nearly six years, and he couldn't remember much of her.

So he sat there, instead praying that at least if he was goin' to hell for thinkin' bad things, there might be someone there he'd know.

In the morning his daddy had stumbled into the room stark raving drunk; he'd found the open bar downstairs. Merle and him started fighting and Daryl had hidden in the closet, staying out of the way as the two screamed and raged at each other.

They never did do any hunting. They went home the next day and Merle disappeared in a haze of drugs and girls for close to a month.

Daryl still remembered the hunters advice though, and his kind eyes. Every time he went in the forest after that, he stayed away from the high ridges and mountains, keeping to the flatter forests and grassland.

….

Daryl was jerked out of his memories as there was a good-natured shout. His feet had carried him back to camp, and he blinked as he found himself outside his tent. Dean was looking towards the edge of camp, and after a moment the tall form of Sam had joined the two on the table, remarking loudly about having a good night's sleep, alone. Dean ducked his head, snapping something back as he shifted uncomfortably on the wooden bench and the taller man laughed loudly, sinking down to join them.

Sam and Dean were brothers. They were what brothers should be, not only bound by blood but they were also…..friends. They loved each other, it was obvious in every word and look, and Daryl realized that's how brothers should be; lookin out for each other. Not like….

Daryl shook himself. What's the point on dwellin' on old shit? He growled at himself, one hand pushing open the flap to his tent. He had one foot inside, but paused, finding himself looking back at the three at the table.

The third man, Castiel, wasn't their brother, but they treated him like one, all three talking and laughing together like a family. It didn't make no sense; Merle had always yelled that there was nothing else in the world but blood. And in Daryl's experience, blood was bad, full of anger and yelling and blame.

"Hey Daryl, man!" Daryl froze at his name. Shit, there he was being a peepin' Tom all over again. Jesus when would he learn?

Dean had spotted him and was waving him over. Daryl swallowed hard, letting the tent flap fall closed as he approached cautiously.

Dean thumped the empty seat next to him. "I was just telling Cas bout you, that you're one helluva shot with that bow of yours. Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"

The other two had turned to look at him expectantly and Daryl felt a flutter of nervousness in the pit of his stomach. Why do y'a want to know anythin' bout me?

As if sensing his hesitation, the new guy leant forward, something soft in his face. "I would very much like to hear the tale."

Jesus 'is eyes are blue, Daryl thought numbly.

Slowly Daryl sank down to join them, Sam shifting over to make room and smiling at him encouragingly. For a moment, Daryl thought of that hunter all those years ago.

That's what it was; the Winchesters looked at him the same exact way. Like they actually cared.

He cleared his throat nervously. "Well uh…guess it all started when…."

And for a while, Daryl felt like a part of something.

…..

Dale groaned as he climbed the stairs into the RV, his joints popping. Why couldn't the apocalypse had decided to occur when he was a younger man? These days he felt like he could hardly keep up with everyone. He paused as he noticed the young man sat pensively at the table, fingers fiddling with the dog-eared cover of an old paperback Dale had dug out of the trunk.

"Glenn? You ok?"

The young man jumped, smiling sheepishly as he noticed Dale.

"Oh, hi Dale. Sorry I was just-" He motioned to the book. "Looking for something to read."

Dale snorted, putting down the box of clean utensils he had been carrying, on the counter. It clattered noisily in the small enclosed space of the RV.

"No I'm sorry. If I had known the end of the world was nigh, I would have brought better books."

Glenn nodded, fingers still tapping the cover. Dale hid a smile. Man kid you are lousy at hiding emotions.

"Wanna tell me what's going on?" He asked. Glenn looked at him with wide eyes.

"What? Nothing's wrong! Wh…why would you think that?" He forced a laugh.

Dale merely arched an eyebrow at him, and the man crumpled, shaking his head forlornly.

"You're old, right? You know things...so…what if somebody told you something that somebody else should know-"

Dale rolled his eyes. "For the love of everything Glenn, stop being dramatic and spit it out!"

Glenn continued to look at him with wide eyes, mouth opening and closing.

"Lori's pregnant and there's something in the barn." He finally blurted.

Dale blinked. "Oh."

Glenn groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I am a horrible person. I can't keep secrets for the life of me, why does everyone assume I can?"

Dale shook his head. "Ok wait a minute. How do you even know these things?"

Glenn shrugged, face still in his hands. "Lori asked me to pick up a pregnancy test. And last night when I was going to meet Maggie in the barn she freaked out, saying I can't go in there."

"Why were you meeting Maggie in the barn?" Dale asked bewildered.

The kid looked up at that, and the bashful silence was all Dale needed.

"Oh son you didn't." Glenn smiled sheepishly and Dale groaned. "Did it occur to you about how her father might feel about this? He's our host you know!"

Glenn looked at the ground, shrugging. "He doesn't know."

"See it stays that way." Dale grumped. "Last thing we need is an angry father aiming a shotgun at us and pushing us out."

The second part of what Glenn had said hit him then, and the older man frowned. "What makes you think something's in the barn? Probably animals. Chickens maybe."

Glenn looked troubled. "Well after she freaked out, and everyone was asleep, I went out there. There were weird noises man, like shuffling. It sounded like…" He trailed off.

Dale sighed. It was probably nothing but… "Show me."

…

The two looked at the barn door dubiously. The barn was set a little off the main property and looked pretty old; the paint peeling along old splintering wood. The large doors yawned up above them. It looked like an old store-house, maybe for hay or grain.

"I don't hear anything." Dale remarked. Glenn shook his head, taking his baseball cap off to run a hand through his sweaty hair.

"I'm telling you I heard something."

"Heard what?" The two whirled around to find Shane frowning at them. "Saw you two head out here all on your own. Not a wise move."

Since his return from the medicine run that had cost Otis his life, it was like something was off about Shane. Almost as if darkness had seized hold of him. It put everyone on edge, especially Dale.

"Um…" He managed. Glenn, damn him, broke at the first glare sent his way.

"There's something in there. I think Hershel is hiding something."

Nothing flickered in Shane's eyes, and Dale shuddered. That's what un-nerved him, the complete lack of emotion the ex-cop now seemed to show. Like everyone and everything was expendable. It made him nervous. He still hadn't forgotten the moment Shane had leveled his gun at Rick's back. His eyes had looked the same then.

"Well then let's open it." Shane ground, striding towards the door. It was only a simple wooden slat keeping the large door closed, and Dale made a sound of protest.

"But what if it's dangerous?" Glenn said for him, taking a step back as Shane grabbed the wood.

"Yeah like who would keep anything dangerous in a barn?" Shane snorted, sliding the board free.

Part 10