Fic: In the wreckage, we are all kings.
Title: In the wreckage, we are all kings. (Part 1/?)
Author: darwolf5
Pairings/characters: Dean. Later Dean/Cas. Characters will be added as I go along to avoid spoiling the story.
Rating: This chapter R for gore, will be NC-17 in later parts.
Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, zombies. (This part) (Sexual content and character death in later parts. Further warnings may be added.)
Word count: 1474 this chapter.
A/N: A great big thanks to GlassBirdNoir, who beta read this! Seriously Glass, you rock! Anyway, this is a Zombie apocalypse AU, and I hope the twists and turns I throw in will keep you interested! I’m really proud of this and Glass really has improved it, so enjoy! To help spread thw word, go check outspn_deanw.
Summary: After a Deadly Virus is released upon the world, the few survivors must gather together if they wish to survive. Dean an ex-cop and Cas a seemingly normal man with a shocking secret fight their way through a city of enemies created by a virus that seems to have come from hell itself.
In the wreckage, we are all kings. (Part 1/?)
Chapter one.
The night was young, the sun setting slowly over the city, casting the broken buildings in red and orange. The shattered glass that littered the sidewalk glinted in the evening light, catching the bloody tones of the sky, a memory of what was once spilt into the gravel, fresh and warm from living bodies. Many of the stains were washed away when it rained, and it had been a while since the chaos now - although Dean wasn’t quite sure how long, because it was surprisingly hard to keep track, but not all of them were gone, and the echoes were all too clear to those who still wondered these streets. Well, anyone living anyway.
His hand was clutched tightly round the handle of his gun as he made his way through empty streets, litters of a long lost world clattering harmlessly along in the wind, random bits of paper and leaflets with now meaningless words. Every noise set Dean on edge; he was totally alert for any danger that could be hiding just out of view waiting to pounce. Everything sounded like the shuffle of feet and the rattling moans of the city’s new population carrying themselves on the air. Dean shuddered, and he wanted to turn back, to hide until morning, but sometimes taking risks was necessary, and he was running out of supplies pretty damn fast. He shouldn’t have left it so late.
He moved slowly, trying to keep out of the open as much as possible, his breathing steady and controlled. Suddenly, something shambled out of one of the buildings to his left, and he rapidly slammed himself up against the wall behind him, hand leaving the gun to grab his other weapon, a machete he’d managed to scavenge from a weapons shop. He had been lucky really - The only reason no one else had taken it was because it was still clasped tightly in the cold dead fingers of the store clerk. Of course, this was seemingly an age ago, back when they could afford to be squeamish.
The creature stumbled closer, eyes focused straight ahead, and Dean prayed to God, if he even existed, that the damn thing didn’t turn its head, or sense him, smell him on the wind or whatever the hell it was they did. It walked past ridiculously close; Dean contemplated just letting it stumble on, 'till it found some other survivor to prey on. But something urged him onwards, maybe the thought that if someone did get killed by it then it would be him the blame fell on, and the weight on his shoulders was heavy enough as it was, so instead he fell into step behind it, as silently as possible before bringing the blade rapidly upwards, and slamming it into the creature’s neck, a splatter of dark gore spraying from the wound.
Dean knew he must have severed its vocal chords because it let out a strangled gurgle, red blood mixed with a black sort of congealed gunk oozing out of the gaping hole. The creature swung round to face him, teeth gnashing and dead eyes filled with a violent hunger. It reeked of decayed flesh and despite being used to the smell Dean almost gagged, the stench magnified tenfold so close to the loathsome creature.
He took a couple of steps back as the thing lurched forwards and brought the weapon up again, severing the thing's head with a second well aimed blow. Dean knew it would have been more sensible to smash the machete into its skull, instead of the time-and-strength consuming decapitation, but it wasn’t worth the threat of the blade getting stuck. The last thing he needed was getting caught in the open by another, or, God forbid, even a hoard of them. It would have taken time he didn't have to free the weapon.
He took a few steps back away from the severed head, which was still trying to take a chunk from his leg, the grotesque face twisted into a scowl. The hunter let his foot descend on it, putting his weight into the action, so when his boot hit the skull it burst into a mess of gooey gunk, a sickening crunch resonating around the empty street, ensuring the creature would never harm anyone again. The hunter let out breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding and turned to walk away, and it was only then he noticed there was something damp and sticky on his face. Raising his hand, he tentatively ran the back of it over his cheek, smearing whatever was splattered there into lines of accidental war paint. He looked at the back of his hand, and at the reddish liquid that stood out against pale skin, and shuddered.
“Aw gross...” He grimaced, as he made his way back into the shadows of the buildings that flanked him on either side, broken and menacing. Reaching into the small pack he carried with him, he found a relatively clean cloth. He wiped away the dead blood, reflecting on how lucky he was that it hadn’t got into his eyes or mouth. The moment of insanity had passed, and the folly of his actions was clear. How could he have been so stupid? You don’t engage in close combat unless you're God-damn begging to be killed!
Still, he was alive, and that was what mattered, really.
There were three useful looking shops; two to his left side and one on his right. He was on the right hand side of the street, which left him with one choice really, as crossing the street was a little dangerous, a little too open. He darted past a long broken shop window, letting himself glance inside the store - Just a clothes shop, dresses scattered everywhere, with blood stains smeared over the floor and then, further back, nothing but deep shadows, in which anything could be lurking.
In his mind, the shadows shifted into human forms as his mind flashed back to a brighter day, with happy shoppers and people enjoying their lives. In reality he knew precisely what every shadow could be hiding, something feral and hungry, something deadly. He moved away from the window a lot faster after that thought.
His target wasn’t anything huge, just a general store - something that might contain supplies, and as resources were so few and far between these days, you had to take what you could get, whenever and wherever you could get it. He checked through the glass door for any immediate danger, and decided it was probably worth the minimal risk, slipping through the entrance and into the aisles of the shop. The first thing that hit him was the smell, the heavy, rotten odour driving him to clamp a hand over his nose and mouth to filter out the cloying stench. He couldn’t see any blood or gore, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something waiting, lurking in the dank corners where his eyesight couldn’t reach. It could even have been the dead fruits left to decompose in their containers - But optimism was a luxury that had died with civilisation.
There was food in there, most of it looked off, although he couldn't resist checking the date on some of the nicer looking stuff, like cookies and junk food. He let out a small sigh, as the last pack of mouldy, sugary goodness dropped to the floor. No such luck, those days of easy, nice-tasting food were over. He ended up grabbing a pack of beef jerky - Of all the God-damn things he could’ve found, beef jerky - along with a couple of tins he knew it was unlikely he would ever use. Fire, after all, wasn’t exactly discrete.
A sudden clang reached the hunter's ear from further back in the store, maybe even from the back room, and he tensed immediately, ducking below the top of the shelf. There was a shuffle, like someone walking around, and then silence. Dean moved slowly to the edge of the aisle till his eyes locked on the shop counter, where he could see a trail of reddish brown that had smeared itself around the counter, and into the back room. Dean swallowed quietly, reaching for his weapon and backing away slowly, desperately trying not to alert whatever was there.
Suddenly, something warm and heavy impacted on the backs of his legs. Dean swung his head around, stumbling a little, as a hand grabbed at the collar of his shirt, and his eyes darted upwards just in time to see blood smeared fingers clutched tightly around a heavy looking object descending, smashing hard into his skull. He heard a quiet answering moan to his grunt of pain from somewhere in the store room, and knew he wasn’t going to wake up.
End of part one.
Part 2