FIC: The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep (12/14)
Title: The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep (12/14)
Author: Wysawyg
Summary: Sam Winchester was beginning to wonder whether the demon had forgotten his plans for him. Sam Winchester had forgotten that the demon played a long game. Dark!fic. Multi-chapter. Not WIP.
Disclaimer: Everything the light touches belongs to someone else. The darkside too. It’s all Kripke and the guys and gals at the CW.
Warnings and notes: Multiple character death. Dark fic.
Rating: PG-13 to R
Pairing/Characters: Mostly gen, some very mild Dean/Jo in future chapters.
Timeline: Diverges AU from season 2. Approximately after Born under a Bad Sign but before Heart.
Beta: Beta’d by the wonderful TraSan who is a wonderful writer and beta but does torture flame-retardant ducks hence proving that no-one is perfect.
Feedback: Makes the hamsters in my head dance, especially concrit.
Previous Chapters: [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 ]
“Jo! Electric is out again.”
It had hardly seemed like something to worry about. The roadhouse had mostly been wired up by Bill Harvelle and, while he was a great hunter, he sucked huge rocks as an electrician.
“So go to the cellar and flip the trip switch!”
“Flashlight ain’t working.”
That should have been the first sign. Hunters never let flashlight batteries run down. It was just asking for trouble from the things in the dark.
“Use the spare. Do I have to tell you fucking everything?”
“Okay, keep your pants on… Spare’s out too.”
***
The hunters had thought they were ready. Everything had gone so smoothly to that point. They’d moved most hunters and their families into one of the newly set up White Spot communities, along with assorted others willing to listen. They’d chuckled amongst themselves. Looking forward to the look on the Demon’s face when he realised what they’d done. Turns out, the look was a smirk.
***
“Jo? You got anything electric working there?”
“No.”
“Shit.”
“You heard of any of the Demon’s wunderkind having some electro-pulse power?”
“You watch way too much Heroes. I haven’t exactly got the inside scoop here.”
“Fine. Call Bobby. Tell him to drag his redneck ass back here with the truck.”
“One problem there, Jo.”
“What now?!”
“Phone’s out.”
***
You see, it turns out those classic signs of demonic activity such as flickering lights weren’t actually a bizarre side-effect, it was practice. In one sweep, he knocked out the electricity across the board for the entire American continent. The death toll in hospitals alone climbed into the thousands on that first day.
That was just his opening act. They should have twigged it really. After all, if a minor level spirit can come up with how to raise the death toll on planes then the big bastard with a plan would have been able to go one better. He started off simply. Got his minions popping into those already wide-open from fear and uncertainty, a couple of atrocities later they’d whisk out again leaving the previously possessed individual none the wiser until they were beaten to death by those around them.
The hunters tried to spread the word about possessions but all it did was spread the mass panic of never knowing whether your family or your friends were really themselves or a lurking demon. After a while, the Demon didn’t even need to send minions out to possess people anymore. People were managing atrocities perfectly well on their own.
***
“Dean, she’s dead. Just let her go.”
“Let her go? She was my Dad’s car. I’m fairly sure I was conceived in her. I was very nearly born in her. I’ve almost died in her twice and she’s saved my life more times than even Sammy could count to. The day I let her go is the day I die.”
“Need a hand?”
“Pass me that wrench.”
***
That’s when the Demon took possession of towns instead. It was easy enough. Just send one of his special kids along to the town, all innocent eyes and tell the town all they had to do was swear allegiance to the demon and they’d be protected. The towns didn’t all fall easy but after the rumours started of entire towns wiped out after refusing the offer, many towns opted for the devil they really didn’t know at all.
***
“Jo, how’s the convoy looking?”
“Short.”
“Shit. Just a mile to go. We’ve got to make this.”
“We will. Just keep driving. Look, there’s the border.”
“We’re over. Get everyone out.”
“Dean, where the hell are you going?”
“Back.”
***
Dean idly cursed as he tried to reload the shotgun, one hand twisting the steering wheel as he kept an eye on the things circling overhead of the dashing refugees. He should have let Jo come along for the drive except for the fact he knew if he’d suggested it, she likely would have cold-cocked him, dumped him out on the damp ground and taken off with his idea and his car.
The kid at the window looked about the same age as Sammy which just about figured for how Dean’s luck was running. He motioned the crowd of refugees onward to the border and yanked the wheel around to avoid slamming the car full force into the boy. The boy just smiled an unwholesomely toothy smile and the sinking feeling in Dean’s stomach told him he should have just hit him out right.
When the kid’s hand touched the car, tiny arcs of blue leapt out from his fingers and Dean felt the creeping memory as the electric current coursed through the metal and into him. He pulled all stray limbs onto the relative safety of the leather seats then pulled out his gun, levelled it at the boy’s forehead and fired.
It was hard to say who looked more surprised when the bullet found a home in the centre of the kid’s forehead but Dean would have to go with the kid. He toppled backwards from the car, brains and blood painting the ground red. Dean pressed his foot nervously down to the accelerator and headed back to the fight.
***
The hunters may have dismally failed at stopping the take-over but the railroad sprung into place with lightning efficiency. Like its predecessor, music formed a backbone of the railroad. The simplest song sung by a passing traveller could become a warning to flee, a guiding voice to stand their ground, an apology for the sacrifice they would have to make. If the majority of the songs were derivations of mullet rock, no-one cared.
Towns emptied and the safe havens filled. Hunters accepting anyone who could walk through Solomon’s key. Networks spread, a few names whispered in ears, people who could be trusted, people who couldn’t be possessed. Film stars rubbed shoulders with the tramps they’d scorned on the pavement. The Americas became an island in truth, all contact from the rest of the world cut off. Legends spread of boats arriving on distant shores, ready to carry them off. Those who travelled to the coast found only water spirits and cold, murky deaths.
***
“How are things faring over there?”
“Alright. We’ve got the Seelie Fae on our side and at least we can twat the unseelie with an iron bar. It makes things easier.”
“I bet. Where are this lot headed?”
“The HMS Thunderchild will dock in Australasia.”
“Australasia?”
“Yeah. Between the Maoris rediscovering that they are warriors after all and the Aboriginal dreamtime, it’s about the safest place out there. We’ll be back in a few weeks.”
“Good. This place ain’t safe anymore. We got nothing.”
“Surely your Indians are helping out.”
“Dude, we invaded their territory and carved presidents into their mountain. There’s nothing left except a bunch of graveyards more likely to bite us in the ass than them.”
“You coming on the boat then?”
“Nah. Gotta be the last man standing. Sail safe.”
“Keep safe.”
***
The HMS Thunderchild was never seen again.
They forged new legends from the chaos. Stories of a low purr in the middle of the night, a sleek dark shape, running not on gas but on aspirations and dreams. Its headlights were made of the light of angels and it repelled demons from its back. Its engine growled with the fury of a thousand hell-trapped souls. From its speakers the music of freedom blared, the fine melody bright amongst the bleakness.
The Impala drove across America and hope clung in its wake.
---
“I miss coffee,” Dean complained, leaning against the hood of the Impala and soaking up the sunshine as if that could drive the tiredness out of his bones, “I mean, that was the first clue we were really screwed. Fuckers took all the coffee. It’s just not fair. You wait until the climax of the episode to bring out the Kryptonite, you don’t show your cards in the opening teaser.”
Jo looked up from her own spot, crouched against a wheel, using the shiny black car as some protection from the heat, “You know what’s good for tiredness? Sleeping.”
“Who’d drive the car while I slept?” Dean asked.
“Erm, me?”
“Let you drive my baby? Things aren’t that damn desperate,” Dean said, smirking as Jo walked right into the trap he’d laid. “Did you say the town ahead was abandoned early? Maybe their general store might still have coffee.” Dean’s eyes gleamed the closest to joy that they had been for a long time and he stretched again, the audible pop of muscles followed by the flicking twitch of his right leg that had only got more pronounced in recent months.
“Don’t make me threaten to ditch the Impala again. We should pick up another car far cheaper and maybe not have to stockpile the remaining gas so far.”
“Too late now. My baby is a symbol all on her own.” Dean patted the black hood and hissed at the heated metal against flesh.
“Bobby said pure essentials on this trip, in and out.”
“Coffee is essential,” Dean protested, “Bobby is just sour ‘cos he knows there’s a snowball’s chance in hell of us finding any beer. Though admittedly a snowball’d stand a better chance now the whole fucking place is empty.”
“Five minute rest break is up,” Jo said without needing to look at her watch. It had stopped about a month ago anyway and she wore it purely because it had been a present from her mother. “Let’s get this over and done with. I don’t want another lecture from Bobby for being late.”
“Really? ‘cos I just love the challenge of seeing if I can actually make him foam at the mouth.” Dean stood from the Impala’s hood and made his way back to the driver’s seat, “So what are our targets? Just the store?”
Jo scowled, “Could you just once, as a favour to me, actually read the mission brief? Yes, just the store. I’ve got a list of the Needs, Wants and Wouldn’t it be nice ifs.”
“Why would I need to when I’ve got my trusty sidekick to do it for me?”
Jo’s only reply was a scowl.
It was only about an hours drive until they passed the welcome sign into the town. Dean didn’t bother noting the names anymore. If a town dies in the wilderness and nobody cares, did it still have a name? The streets were littered with the debris of a rapid exit: abandoned cars clogging the sidewalk, suitcases just left standing when they’d been too heavy to carry in the rush. Dean stopped the car outside the store and grabbed canvas bags out of the trunk, tossing one to Jo.
Nobody had bothered even trying to lock the store door so Dean just swung the door open. The rancid scent of rotting foods assailed him almost instantly but he’d steeled himself against that by now, only the twitch of his gag reflex remaining. He headed straight for the tinned goods, those most likely to still be good, and started to load the canvas sack up with the new staples of a hunter’s diet.
Jo walked in a minute behind him and turned a shade of green at the smell. She headed straight for the small pharmacy that the store had, filling the sack with Tylenol, Ibuprofen and the other medications they were in desperate need of. Sadly there was very little of actual use, mostly just weak painkillers, cold remedies and condoms. Jo shovelled it all into the sack along with some of the mouldy loaves of bread. Penicillin or any sort of antibiotic was desperately required.
“Heading out, ninety two” Jo called across to Dean. In these mistrustful days, the moment someone left your sight, there were liable to be a different person by the time they walked back in. That was why the hunters had conceived an elaborate system of sign and counter-sign.
Dean nodded to acknowledge that he’d heard and headed back to the task of filling the canvas sack as full as he could carry with tins. He frowned at the sudden appearance of a strange smell in the room, the underlying odour of wet dog hair permeating even though the rancid, thick air. It was when the first can trembled in his hand that he realised he was in trouble. He reached into his pocket, fingers fumbling across the bottle of pills in his pocket. They span out of his hand before he could pop the lid off. He bent to try and grasp them, trying to fight off the fit by willpower alone.
It was a battle he was losing before he even began fighting and he was unable to straighten before the shudders took over and he was sprawled next to the shelving on his back, unable to make any conscious movement. One of the cans had rolled under his back and every convulsion slammed him down onto it where he was sure it would bruise.
He heard the creak of the door open and Jo’s voice called out “I spy with my little eye.” Dean would have laughed if he’d been capable. That was the correct sign which meant at least he didn’t have a possessed Jo to add to his problems. He could hear the pause of footsteps before Jo called out more than a little worried, “Dean?”
Dean was unable to make a sound but fortunately his body was capable of making enough on his behalf. The clatter of shelves when one violent arch of his body slammed him into the set of shelves, showering him in a rain of baked beans.
“Dean!” The clatter of shoes carried Jo around the corner and he heard her gasp as she spotted him. His wide open eyes saw her slide to her knees next to him and the touch of her slender hand against his forehead, “It’s alright. I’m here.” Dean assumed that Jo thought seizures somehow rendered him down on the mental age of five. He’d correct her if he could. Instead he felt himself fade out.
When he came back around, it took a long time to re-orient himself. His body ached like he’d been running all day and he felt his mind sliding away from every thought that he tried to have. He felt a hand on his forehead and jerked away before he managed to look up and see Jo’s concerned face watching over him, “Dean?” Her voice was small, unusually quiet.
“Hey,” Dean tried to sit up but his body was not being cooperative. Jo’s hands pushed him back down and that was humiliating enough, “Guess I had a seizure?” His memory felt a bit fuzzy as it had before from the few seizures he’d had before.
“You could say that.” Jo said, levering Dean up a little to rest against the shelves, “How are you feeling?”
“Strangely enough like I had a massive seizure and a load of cans fell on me.” Dean rubbed a thumb on his temple, “How long have I been out of it?”
“You stopped shaking about six minutes ago,” Jo said, “Then you were just out of it a bit. Is that normal?”
Dean shrugged, “It’s not like I have much experience, just a few in the hospital before they figured out the right meds and most of that was just the staff telling me I’d had one. I was too doped up to tell.” He could see the worry lines forming on Jo’s face, “It’s probably normal. As much as normal exists these days.”
“Come on, let’s get you into the car and then I can finish up here.” Jo offered an arm down to Dean.
Dean swallowed his pride and used Jo’s arm to get himself up to his feet. He wavered unsteadily, his legs trembling unsteadily beneath him. The progress out to the car was slow but when he spotted Jo taking him around to the passenger seat, he shook his head. “Drivers,” He mumbled.
“Dean!” Jo said, her exasperated tone back in her voice, “You can not drive. You just had a seizure.”
“Noticed that,” Dean pouted, “I’ll be fine by the time you are done.” He was hoping the fact that he’d conceded on helping out with the rest of the stock meant that he could win something else.
“I’ll see what you are like when I’m done.” Jo said, “Heading out, forty seven.”
Within five minutes of Jo leaving, Dean was bored. It wasn’t like the old days when he could keep the motor running and blast his music out, gas was too precious and rare. He tried using the time to massage out some of the cramps in his legs however his arms were sore enough that he couldn’t do it for long.
They’d cycled through ‘When I was child // I caught a fever’ ‘If it wasn’t for bad luck // I wouldn’t have no luck at all’ and ‘The only way is up // If you are stuck down a well.’ Dean sometimes wished that not all the sign and countersign were based on song lyrics even if that was mostly his own fault .
Jo finally slid into the passenger seat but she twisted to face Dean, “How are you feeling?”
“Great,” Dean said perkily. “Absolutely wonderful.”
“Truthfully?”
“Like crap,” Dean admitted. “But I can drive.”
Jo frowned, “I don’t like it but I don’t think I could stop you. You sure you aren’t about to have another seizure?”
Dean bobbed his head, “The doctors said more than one seizure a month would be incredibly unusual. On the plus side, this means that I am pretty safe for the next thirty days.”
“One way to look at it. Never picked you for an optimist.” A frown that had been threatening Jo’s face for a while spread fully onto her face, “Why did you have a seizure anyway? I thought the medication would help with that.”
“It does,” Dean said too quickly.
“Give me the bottle!” Her tone flipping from concern to anger without a moment’s notice.
“Come on Jo, there’s no reason.”
“Give me the fucking bottle.”
Dean handed over the bottle and saw the look on Jo’s face when gave it a rattle and then looked inside, “Jo…”
“There are five pills left. Five! That’s five days before you’d need more. Didn’t you think this merited a mention?”
Dean knew there was no way he could avoid getting into further trouble so he just did his best slightly cocky grin, “Must’ve slipped my mind.”
Something in Dean’s tone must have made Jo suspicious or maybe she just knew him too well as her eyes narrowed, “Did you take one this morning?”
Dean winced, “Erm. This morning?”
“This morning! As in approximately ten hours before now. Did you take one this morning?” She glanced down at the pills again, “Did you take one yesterday morning? Or the morning before that? When was the last time you took one of these fucking pills?”
Dean decided truth was the best option, “Two weeks ago.”
Truth was apparently not the best option as Jo exploded, “Two weeks ago? They are supposed to be one a day. What part of ONE. A. DAY. is so difficult to grasp?”
“The bit where there’s only five left.” Dean tried for humour.
And failed. “Exactly why you should have mentioned it. These should have been put to the top of the Needs list weeks ago.”
“Because well-stocked pharmacies are so abundant at the moment.”
“I would have found one.” Dean didn’t miss the switch to singular.
“I’ll just start work on the stables then.” At Jo’s non-plussed look, he added, “For all the horses those wishes are going to bring us.”
“I’m laughing on the inside,” Jo deadpanned. “If we’re going, we better get going. God knows Bobby will be pissed enough at us disrupting his timetable.”
---
The argument restarted as the Impala pulled up outside the White Spot currently host to the main rebellion base. Dean tried to persuade Jo to let him help with carrying stuff in. It ended up with Dean carrying the lightest bag in while Jo sorted out the rest.
As soon as Dean walked into the main room, Bobby spoke up, “You’re late.”
“You’re ugly. Oh wait, I thought we were playing that state the fucking obvious game again.” Dean handed his canvas bag off to a waiting helper who frowned at the weight and then immediately gave Dean a pitying look as if she could guess what had happened.
“This isn’t your own personal leisure club,” Bobby growled, glaring over at the Winchester. “There are timetables for a fucking reason.”
“Want to know what my Dad says about REMFs?” Dean asked, trying to disguise the waver in his stance.
“I could tell you what he thought about Bravo Foxtrots.”
“Fuck you!” Dean hissed, furious beyond measure at Bobby’s implication.
“Ah, there’s the mature, well-reasoned response I expected from you.”
“Oh please wise master Bobby, enlighten me to how the world works.” Dean snarled, trying to keep from tipping over.
“One more stunt like this and I’m benching you.” Bobby threatened.
“You try and bench me and I’m taking myself and the Impala out of here and you won’t see me for dust.” Dean knew that was practically giving himself a death sentence.
“God damn you and anyone stupid enough to follow you.”
Dean saw the helper who’d taken his bag saunter over and for one dreaded moment, he thought she was going to spill what she knew to the entire room, instead she just took a casual spot just in elbow range and wiggled her shoulder. It took Dean a short while to figure it out and when he decided, he decided he was going to need to get her something seriously nice on the next outing.
“You trying to upset my friends here, Bobby?” He said, casually leaning against the server, trying to make it look like an amiable gesture rather than the support he needed. He still couldn’t lean his full weight on her but just the slight help was enough to stop him toppling to the floor.
Whatever response that Bobby was about to make was changed when Jo finished gathering supplies from the car and walked in with the canvas sack slung over her shoulder. Bobby glanced towards her and curled his lip, “Oh look, Mommy’s here to get your back.”
Dean could see what was coming and would have warned Bobby if he hadn’t been pissed at the man. Jo dropped her canvas sack on the ground, reached one of the metal cans out of it and without hesitation threw it right at Bobby’s head, “What the fuck do you think you are doing?”
The helper obviously thought Jo was referring to her. Persistent rumours had batted about Dean and Jo’s ‘relationship’ despite Dean’s frequent denials. She immediately stepped back and the sudden lack of support very nearly sent Dean sprawling to the ground.
Bobby barely got out of range of full impact, taking a glancing blow which drew a slice along his forehead, “What the hell was that for?” He yelled.
“I spend every fucking minute of every fucking day trying to persuade this fucking idiot to accept help when he fucking needs it and then you go and make a comment as mind-numbingly stupid as that? You are lucky I didn’t throw the whole fucking bag.”
“I was just having a word with Dean about why he was late,” Bobby still looked a little dazed, whether it was from the blow from the can or Jo’s tirade was unclear.
Jo turned her furious gaze on Dean, “And I suppose you didn’t happen to mention the reason we were late?”
“It didn’t come up.” Dean said.
Jo was too shades of red away from explosion, “We were late..” She hissed out between her teeth, “Because Dean here had another seizure and the reason he had a seizure is because the martyr-of-the-month didn’t bother letting us know he only had five Dilantin left and had been stretching them out to last. You may recall these pills are one a day. Why don’t you tell the nice man when the last time you took one was, Dean?”
“Two weeks ago,” Dean mumbled.
Jo just looked at Bobby and then turned to glare back at Dean, “And why are you still standing? I thought I ordered you to rest.” When Dean didn’t make a move fast enough, Jo strode over, grabbing a chair on her way and slamming it into the back of Dean’s knees, forcing him back onto the seat where she grabbed his shoulder in case he even thought of moving.
Bobby looked guilty and he once again resembled the friend that Dean knew, “Why didn’t you mention anything?”
“Because he’s Dean,” Jo answered on his behalf.
“I’m fine. Just a slight slip-up with the meds.” Dean grumped, trying to shrug Jo’s hand off him.
“Uh-huh. And what about that one slip-up which leads to a crash?”
“A crash? The roads are pretty empty these days, that’s not exactly likely to happen.”
“I meant your body, not your car.”
“Next time, be more clear. The car is still a little wound up from the incident with the T-R-U-C-K.” Dean glanced out towards the parking lot.
“Was he ever sane before the whole apocalypse?” Jo asked Bobby, forgetting for the moment that she was mad at him.
“Rarely,” Bobby drolly answered. “Look, I’ve got Marco on his way back from a long supply run tomorrow. I’ll see if he can’t find a pharmacy and get you some more meds.”
Dean wanted to frown. He’d been looking forward to meeting up with Marco again but he knew the other hunter would be the one most likely to be able to track down what he needed especially as the other hunter had a habit of moving heaven and hell to help Dean. He acted like an over-protective older brother despite the fact he was at least ten years younger than Dean.
Bobby chuckled at the expression forming on Dean’s face, “I’m sure your buddy will be back for you to play with before long.”
That shifted Dean’s expression from a frown to a scowl, “What’s it with everyone treating me like I’m five again?”
“Wouldn’t treating you like you were five involve dragging you from motel to motel to hunt demons?” Bobby said. “And maybe it is because people are committing the hideous sin of actually being,” Bobby faked a gasp. “Concerned about you and maybe even wanting to look after you.”
“Don’t need looking after,” Dean considered that his argument would probably go better if he didn’t use the sulking child voice, “What I mean is, I don’t like being looked after.”
“I made you a deal long time ago that if you looked after yourself, I wouldn’t try to look after you.” Bobby said gently, “You aren’t keeping up your end of it.” When Dean’s opened his mouth to protest, Bobby just barrelled on, “What happens if you’d had that seizure while you were driving? While Jo was in the car relying on you to keep her safe?”
Jo hissed her protest at the low blow but Bobby looked unapologetic, just kept his focus on Dean. Dean tried to avoid looking at him but realised that he had to face up, “I would’ve pulled over in time.”
“Uh-huh,” Bobby said, “You realise that before the apocalypse most states wouldn’t even let you drive if they knew you had seizures and those that did would likely make you wait at least six months after a seizure before you could drive again?”
“You realise in olden times there were a heck of a lot more cars to crash into.” Dean pointed out.
“And considerably less demons to worry about,” Bobby retorted.
“This argument is pretty academic. Even I do take the pills then in five days, I run out and run the risk of seizure or I continue stringing the pills out and run the risk of seizure. Frankly ‘possible seizure’ ranks right quite low compared to ‘demonic takeover’ and ‘fratricidal brother.’”
“Or you could trust in Marco to find you some pills,” Jo pointed out softly.
Dean laughed, “I trust Marco with my life and beyond but that doesn’t mean he can pull a rabbit out of his hat. Even if he manages to find some then chances are they’ll only be a hundred at the most. That’s three months until we get to play the drug scavenger hunt again if I follow your rules.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Bobby said, his tone broking no argument.
“Meanwhile you need to get some sleep,” Jo and Bobby arguing was often awkward but it was nothing compared to the rare occasions when the two of them agreed.
Dean ran through all of the arguments that he could think of and finally grouched, shifting out of Jo’s grip and staggering up to his feet. “Wake me up when Marco gets here.” He mumbled and made his way towards the room that served as his home, sliding beneath the covers without bothering to get undressed and falling straight to sleep.
Next Chapter
Author: Wysawyg
Summary: Sam Winchester was beginning to wonder whether the demon had forgotten his plans for him. Sam Winchester had forgotten that the demon played a long game. Dark!fic. Multi-chapter. Not WIP.
Disclaimer: Everything the light touches belongs to someone else. The darkside too. It’s all Kripke and the guys and gals at the CW.
Warnings and notes: Multiple character death. Dark fic.
Rating: PG-13 to R
Pairing/Characters: Mostly gen, some very mild Dean/Jo in future chapters.
Timeline: Diverges AU from season 2. Approximately after Born under a Bad Sign but before Heart.
Beta: Beta’d by the wonderful TraSan who is a wonderful writer and beta but does torture flame-retardant ducks hence proving that no-one is perfect.
Feedback: Makes the hamsters in my head dance, especially concrit.
Previous Chapters: [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 ]
“Jo! Electric is out again.”
It had hardly seemed like something to worry about. The roadhouse had mostly been wired up by Bill Harvelle and, while he was a great hunter, he sucked huge rocks as an electrician.
“So go to the cellar and flip the trip switch!”
“Flashlight ain’t working.”
That should have been the first sign. Hunters never let flashlight batteries run down. It was just asking for trouble from the things in the dark.
“Use the spare. Do I have to tell you fucking everything?”
“Okay, keep your pants on… Spare’s out too.”
***
The hunters had thought they were ready. Everything had gone so smoothly to that point. They’d moved most hunters and their families into one of the newly set up White Spot communities, along with assorted others willing to listen. They’d chuckled amongst themselves. Looking forward to the look on the Demon’s face when he realised what they’d done. Turns out, the look was a smirk.
***
“Jo? You got anything electric working there?”
“No.”
“Shit.”
“You heard of any of the Demon’s wunderkind having some electro-pulse power?”
“You watch way too much Heroes. I haven’t exactly got the inside scoop here.”
“Fine. Call Bobby. Tell him to drag his redneck ass back here with the truck.”
“One problem there, Jo.”
“What now?!”
“Phone’s out.”
***
You see, it turns out those classic signs of demonic activity such as flickering lights weren’t actually a bizarre side-effect, it was practice. In one sweep, he knocked out the electricity across the board for the entire American continent. The death toll in hospitals alone climbed into the thousands on that first day.
That was just his opening act. They should have twigged it really. After all, if a minor level spirit can come up with how to raise the death toll on planes then the big bastard with a plan would have been able to go one better. He started off simply. Got his minions popping into those already wide-open from fear and uncertainty, a couple of atrocities later they’d whisk out again leaving the previously possessed individual none the wiser until they were beaten to death by those around them.
The hunters tried to spread the word about possessions but all it did was spread the mass panic of never knowing whether your family or your friends were really themselves or a lurking demon. After a while, the Demon didn’t even need to send minions out to possess people anymore. People were managing atrocities perfectly well on their own.
***
“Dean, she’s dead. Just let her go.”
“Let her go? She was my Dad’s car. I’m fairly sure I was conceived in her. I was very nearly born in her. I’ve almost died in her twice and she’s saved my life more times than even Sammy could count to. The day I let her go is the day I die.”
“Need a hand?”
“Pass me that wrench.”
***
That’s when the Demon took possession of towns instead. It was easy enough. Just send one of his special kids along to the town, all innocent eyes and tell the town all they had to do was swear allegiance to the demon and they’d be protected. The towns didn’t all fall easy but after the rumours started of entire towns wiped out after refusing the offer, many towns opted for the devil they really didn’t know at all.
***
“Jo, how’s the convoy looking?”
“Short.”
“Shit. Just a mile to go. We’ve got to make this.”
“We will. Just keep driving. Look, there’s the border.”
“We’re over. Get everyone out.”
“Dean, where the hell are you going?”
“Back.”
***
Dean idly cursed as he tried to reload the shotgun, one hand twisting the steering wheel as he kept an eye on the things circling overhead of the dashing refugees. He should have let Jo come along for the drive except for the fact he knew if he’d suggested it, she likely would have cold-cocked him, dumped him out on the damp ground and taken off with his idea and his car.
The kid at the window looked about the same age as Sammy which just about figured for how Dean’s luck was running. He motioned the crowd of refugees onward to the border and yanked the wheel around to avoid slamming the car full force into the boy. The boy just smiled an unwholesomely toothy smile and the sinking feeling in Dean’s stomach told him he should have just hit him out right.
When the kid’s hand touched the car, tiny arcs of blue leapt out from his fingers and Dean felt the creeping memory as the electric current coursed through the metal and into him. He pulled all stray limbs onto the relative safety of the leather seats then pulled out his gun, levelled it at the boy’s forehead and fired.
It was hard to say who looked more surprised when the bullet found a home in the centre of the kid’s forehead but Dean would have to go with the kid. He toppled backwards from the car, brains and blood painting the ground red. Dean pressed his foot nervously down to the accelerator and headed back to the fight.
***
The hunters may have dismally failed at stopping the take-over but the railroad sprung into place with lightning efficiency. Like its predecessor, music formed a backbone of the railroad. The simplest song sung by a passing traveller could become a warning to flee, a guiding voice to stand their ground, an apology for the sacrifice they would have to make. If the majority of the songs were derivations of mullet rock, no-one cared.
Towns emptied and the safe havens filled. Hunters accepting anyone who could walk through Solomon’s key. Networks spread, a few names whispered in ears, people who could be trusted, people who couldn’t be possessed. Film stars rubbed shoulders with the tramps they’d scorned on the pavement. The Americas became an island in truth, all contact from the rest of the world cut off. Legends spread of boats arriving on distant shores, ready to carry them off. Those who travelled to the coast found only water spirits and cold, murky deaths.
***
“How are things faring over there?”
“Alright. We’ve got the Seelie Fae on our side and at least we can twat the unseelie with an iron bar. It makes things easier.”
“I bet. Where are this lot headed?”
“The HMS Thunderchild will dock in Australasia.”
“Australasia?”
“Yeah. Between the Maoris rediscovering that they are warriors after all and the Aboriginal dreamtime, it’s about the safest place out there. We’ll be back in a few weeks.”
“Good. This place ain’t safe anymore. We got nothing.”
“Surely your Indians are helping out.”
“Dude, we invaded their territory and carved presidents into their mountain. There’s nothing left except a bunch of graveyards more likely to bite us in the ass than them.”
“You coming on the boat then?”
“Nah. Gotta be the last man standing. Sail safe.”
“Keep safe.”
***
The HMS Thunderchild was never seen again.
They forged new legends from the chaos. Stories of a low purr in the middle of the night, a sleek dark shape, running not on gas but on aspirations and dreams. Its headlights were made of the light of angels and it repelled demons from its back. Its engine growled with the fury of a thousand hell-trapped souls. From its speakers the music of freedom blared, the fine melody bright amongst the bleakness.
The Impala drove across America and hope clung in its wake.
---
“I miss coffee,” Dean complained, leaning against the hood of the Impala and soaking up the sunshine as if that could drive the tiredness out of his bones, “I mean, that was the first clue we were really screwed. Fuckers took all the coffee. It’s just not fair. You wait until the climax of the episode to bring out the Kryptonite, you don’t show your cards in the opening teaser.”
Jo looked up from her own spot, crouched against a wheel, using the shiny black car as some protection from the heat, “You know what’s good for tiredness? Sleeping.”
“Who’d drive the car while I slept?” Dean asked.
“Erm, me?”
“Let you drive my baby? Things aren’t that damn desperate,” Dean said, smirking as Jo walked right into the trap he’d laid. “Did you say the town ahead was abandoned early? Maybe their general store might still have coffee.” Dean’s eyes gleamed the closest to joy that they had been for a long time and he stretched again, the audible pop of muscles followed by the flicking twitch of his right leg that had only got more pronounced in recent months.
“Don’t make me threaten to ditch the Impala again. We should pick up another car far cheaper and maybe not have to stockpile the remaining gas so far.”
“Too late now. My baby is a symbol all on her own.” Dean patted the black hood and hissed at the heated metal against flesh.
“Bobby said pure essentials on this trip, in and out.”
“Coffee is essential,” Dean protested, “Bobby is just sour ‘cos he knows there’s a snowball’s chance in hell of us finding any beer. Though admittedly a snowball’d stand a better chance now the whole fucking place is empty.”
“Five minute rest break is up,” Jo said without needing to look at her watch. It had stopped about a month ago anyway and she wore it purely because it had been a present from her mother. “Let’s get this over and done with. I don’t want another lecture from Bobby for being late.”
“Really? ‘cos I just love the challenge of seeing if I can actually make him foam at the mouth.” Dean stood from the Impala’s hood and made his way back to the driver’s seat, “So what are our targets? Just the store?”
Jo scowled, “Could you just once, as a favour to me, actually read the mission brief? Yes, just the store. I’ve got a list of the Needs, Wants and Wouldn’t it be nice ifs.”
“Why would I need to when I’ve got my trusty sidekick to do it for me?”
Jo’s only reply was a scowl.
It was only about an hours drive until they passed the welcome sign into the town. Dean didn’t bother noting the names anymore. If a town dies in the wilderness and nobody cares, did it still have a name? The streets were littered with the debris of a rapid exit: abandoned cars clogging the sidewalk, suitcases just left standing when they’d been too heavy to carry in the rush. Dean stopped the car outside the store and grabbed canvas bags out of the trunk, tossing one to Jo.
Nobody had bothered even trying to lock the store door so Dean just swung the door open. The rancid scent of rotting foods assailed him almost instantly but he’d steeled himself against that by now, only the twitch of his gag reflex remaining. He headed straight for the tinned goods, those most likely to still be good, and started to load the canvas sack up with the new staples of a hunter’s diet.
Jo walked in a minute behind him and turned a shade of green at the smell. She headed straight for the small pharmacy that the store had, filling the sack with Tylenol, Ibuprofen and the other medications they were in desperate need of. Sadly there was very little of actual use, mostly just weak painkillers, cold remedies and condoms. Jo shovelled it all into the sack along with some of the mouldy loaves of bread. Penicillin or any sort of antibiotic was desperately required.
“Heading out, ninety two” Jo called across to Dean. In these mistrustful days, the moment someone left your sight, there were liable to be a different person by the time they walked back in. That was why the hunters had conceived an elaborate system of sign and counter-sign.
Dean nodded to acknowledge that he’d heard and headed back to the task of filling the canvas sack as full as he could carry with tins. He frowned at the sudden appearance of a strange smell in the room, the underlying odour of wet dog hair permeating even though the rancid, thick air. It was when the first can trembled in his hand that he realised he was in trouble. He reached into his pocket, fingers fumbling across the bottle of pills in his pocket. They span out of his hand before he could pop the lid off. He bent to try and grasp them, trying to fight off the fit by willpower alone.
It was a battle he was losing before he even began fighting and he was unable to straighten before the shudders took over and he was sprawled next to the shelving on his back, unable to make any conscious movement. One of the cans had rolled under his back and every convulsion slammed him down onto it where he was sure it would bruise.
He heard the creak of the door open and Jo’s voice called out “I spy with my little eye.” Dean would have laughed if he’d been capable. That was the correct sign which meant at least he didn’t have a possessed Jo to add to his problems. He could hear the pause of footsteps before Jo called out more than a little worried, “Dean?”
Dean was unable to make a sound but fortunately his body was capable of making enough on his behalf. The clatter of shelves when one violent arch of his body slammed him into the set of shelves, showering him in a rain of baked beans.
“Dean!” The clatter of shoes carried Jo around the corner and he heard her gasp as she spotted him. His wide open eyes saw her slide to her knees next to him and the touch of her slender hand against his forehead, “It’s alright. I’m here.” Dean assumed that Jo thought seizures somehow rendered him down on the mental age of five. He’d correct her if he could. Instead he felt himself fade out.
When he came back around, it took a long time to re-orient himself. His body ached like he’d been running all day and he felt his mind sliding away from every thought that he tried to have. He felt a hand on his forehead and jerked away before he managed to look up and see Jo’s concerned face watching over him, “Dean?” Her voice was small, unusually quiet.
“Hey,” Dean tried to sit up but his body was not being cooperative. Jo’s hands pushed him back down and that was humiliating enough, “Guess I had a seizure?” His memory felt a bit fuzzy as it had before from the few seizures he’d had before.
“You could say that.” Jo said, levering Dean up a little to rest against the shelves, “How are you feeling?”
“Strangely enough like I had a massive seizure and a load of cans fell on me.” Dean rubbed a thumb on his temple, “How long have I been out of it?”
“You stopped shaking about six minutes ago,” Jo said, “Then you were just out of it a bit. Is that normal?”
Dean shrugged, “It’s not like I have much experience, just a few in the hospital before they figured out the right meds and most of that was just the staff telling me I’d had one. I was too doped up to tell.” He could see the worry lines forming on Jo’s face, “It’s probably normal. As much as normal exists these days.”
“Come on, let’s get you into the car and then I can finish up here.” Jo offered an arm down to Dean.
Dean swallowed his pride and used Jo’s arm to get himself up to his feet. He wavered unsteadily, his legs trembling unsteadily beneath him. The progress out to the car was slow but when he spotted Jo taking him around to the passenger seat, he shook his head. “Drivers,” He mumbled.
“Dean!” Jo said, her exasperated tone back in her voice, “You can not drive. You just had a seizure.”
“Noticed that,” Dean pouted, “I’ll be fine by the time you are done.” He was hoping the fact that he’d conceded on helping out with the rest of the stock meant that he could win something else.
“I’ll see what you are like when I’m done.” Jo said, “Heading out, forty seven.”
Within five minutes of Jo leaving, Dean was bored. It wasn’t like the old days when he could keep the motor running and blast his music out, gas was too precious and rare. He tried using the time to massage out some of the cramps in his legs however his arms were sore enough that he couldn’t do it for long.
They’d cycled through ‘When I was child // I caught a fever’ ‘If it wasn’t for bad luck // I wouldn’t have no luck at all’ and ‘The only way is up // If you are stuck down a well.’ Dean sometimes wished that not all the sign and countersign were based on song lyrics even if that was mostly his own fault .
Jo finally slid into the passenger seat but she twisted to face Dean, “How are you feeling?”
“Great,” Dean said perkily. “Absolutely wonderful.”
“Truthfully?”
“Like crap,” Dean admitted. “But I can drive.”
Jo frowned, “I don’t like it but I don’t think I could stop you. You sure you aren’t about to have another seizure?”
Dean bobbed his head, “The doctors said more than one seizure a month would be incredibly unusual. On the plus side, this means that I am pretty safe for the next thirty days.”
“One way to look at it. Never picked you for an optimist.” A frown that had been threatening Jo’s face for a while spread fully onto her face, “Why did you have a seizure anyway? I thought the medication would help with that.”
“It does,” Dean said too quickly.
“Give me the bottle!” Her tone flipping from concern to anger without a moment’s notice.
“Come on Jo, there’s no reason.”
“Give me the fucking bottle.”
Dean handed over the bottle and saw the look on Jo’s face when gave it a rattle and then looked inside, “Jo…”
“There are five pills left. Five! That’s five days before you’d need more. Didn’t you think this merited a mention?”
Dean knew there was no way he could avoid getting into further trouble so he just did his best slightly cocky grin, “Must’ve slipped my mind.”
Something in Dean’s tone must have made Jo suspicious or maybe she just knew him too well as her eyes narrowed, “Did you take one this morning?”
Dean winced, “Erm. This morning?”
“This morning! As in approximately ten hours before now. Did you take one this morning?” She glanced down at the pills again, “Did you take one yesterday morning? Or the morning before that? When was the last time you took one of these fucking pills?”
Dean decided truth was the best option, “Two weeks ago.”
Truth was apparently not the best option as Jo exploded, “Two weeks ago? They are supposed to be one a day. What part of ONE. A. DAY. is so difficult to grasp?”
“The bit where there’s only five left.” Dean tried for humour.
And failed. “Exactly why you should have mentioned it. These should have been put to the top of the Needs list weeks ago.”
“Because well-stocked pharmacies are so abundant at the moment.”
“I would have found one.” Dean didn’t miss the switch to singular.
“I’ll just start work on the stables then.” At Jo’s non-plussed look, he added, “For all the horses those wishes are going to bring us.”
“I’m laughing on the inside,” Jo deadpanned. “If we’re going, we better get going. God knows Bobby will be pissed enough at us disrupting his timetable.”
---
The argument restarted as the Impala pulled up outside the White Spot currently host to the main rebellion base. Dean tried to persuade Jo to let him help with carrying stuff in. It ended up with Dean carrying the lightest bag in while Jo sorted out the rest.
As soon as Dean walked into the main room, Bobby spoke up, “You’re late.”
“You’re ugly. Oh wait, I thought we were playing that state the fucking obvious game again.” Dean handed his canvas bag off to a waiting helper who frowned at the weight and then immediately gave Dean a pitying look as if she could guess what had happened.
“This isn’t your own personal leisure club,” Bobby growled, glaring over at the Winchester. “There are timetables for a fucking reason.”
“Want to know what my Dad says about REMFs?” Dean asked, trying to disguise the waver in his stance.
“I could tell you what he thought about Bravo Foxtrots.”
“Fuck you!” Dean hissed, furious beyond measure at Bobby’s implication.
“Ah, there’s the mature, well-reasoned response I expected from you.”
“Oh please wise master Bobby, enlighten me to how the world works.” Dean snarled, trying to keep from tipping over.
“One more stunt like this and I’m benching you.” Bobby threatened.
“You try and bench me and I’m taking myself and the Impala out of here and you won’t see me for dust.” Dean knew that was practically giving himself a death sentence.
“God damn you and anyone stupid enough to follow you.”
Dean saw the helper who’d taken his bag saunter over and for one dreaded moment, he thought she was going to spill what she knew to the entire room, instead she just took a casual spot just in elbow range and wiggled her shoulder. It took Dean a short while to figure it out and when he decided, he decided he was going to need to get her something seriously nice on the next outing.
“You trying to upset my friends here, Bobby?” He said, casually leaning against the server, trying to make it look like an amiable gesture rather than the support he needed. He still couldn’t lean his full weight on her but just the slight help was enough to stop him toppling to the floor.
Whatever response that Bobby was about to make was changed when Jo finished gathering supplies from the car and walked in with the canvas sack slung over her shoulder. Bobby glanced towards her and curled his lip, “Oh look, Mommy’s here to get your back.”
Dean could see what was coming and would have warned Bobby if he hadn’t been pissed at the man. Jo dropped her canvas sack on the ground, reached one of the metal cans out of it and without hesitation threw it right at Bobby’s head, “What the fuck do you think you are doing?”
The helper obviously thought Jo was referring to her. Persistent rumours had batted about Dean and Jo’s ‘relationship’ despite Dean’s frequent denials. She immediately stepped back and the sudden lack of support very nearly sent Dean sprawling to the ground.
Bobby barely got out of range of full impact, taking a glancing blow which drew a slice along his forehead, “What the hell was that for?” He yelled.
“I spend every fucking minute of every fucking day trying to persuade this fucking idiot to accept help when he fucking needs it and then you go and make a comment as mind-numbingly stupid as that? You are lucky I didn’t throw the whole fucking bag.”
“I was just having a word with Dean about why he was late,” Bobby still looked a little dazed, whether it was from the blow from the can or Jo’s tirade was unclear.
Jo turned her furious gaze on Dean, “And I suppose you didn’t happen to mention the reason we were late?”
“It didn’t come up.” Dean said.
Jo was too shades of red away from explosion, “We were late..” She hissed out between her teeth, “Because Dean here had another seizure and the reason he had a seizure is because the martyr-of-the-month didn’t bother letting us know he only had five Dilantin left and had been stretching them out to last. You may recall these pills are one a day. Why don’t you tell the nice man when the last time you took one was, Dean?”
“Two weeks ago,” Dean mumbled.
Jo just looked at Bobby and then turned to glare back at Dean, “And why are you still standing? I thought I ordered you to rest.” When Dean didn’t make a move fast enough, Jo strode over, grabbing a chair on her way and slamming it into the back of Dean’s knees, forcing him back onto the seat where she grabbed his shoulder in case he even thought of moving.
Bobby looked guilty and he once again resembled the friend that Dean knew, “Why didn’t you mention anything?”
“Because he’s Dean,” Jo answered on his behalf.
“I’m fine. Just a slight slip-up with the meds.” Dean grumped, trying to shrug Jo’s hand off him.
“Uh-huh. And what about that one slip-up which leads to a crash?”
“A crash? The roads are pretty empty these days, that’s not exactly likely to happen.”
“I meant your body, not your car.”
“Next time, be more clear. The car is still a little wound up from the incident with the T-R-U-C-K.” Dean glanced out towards the parking lot.
“Was he ever sane before the whole apocalypse?” Jo asked Bobby, forgetting for the moment that she was mad at him.
“Rarely,” Bobby drolly answered. “Look, I’ve got Marco on his way back from a long supply run tomorrow. I’ll see if he can’t find a pharmacy and get you some more meds.”
Dean wanted to frown. He’d been looking forward to meeting up with Marco again but he knew the other hunter would be the one most likely to be able to track down what he needed especially as the other hunter had a habit of moving heaven and hell to help Dean. He acted like an over-protective older brother despite the fact he was at least ten years younger than Dean.
Bobby chuckled at the expression forming on Dean’s face, “I’m sure your buddy will be back for you to play with before long.”
That shifted Dean’s expression from a frown to a scowl, “What’s it with everyone treating me like I’m five again?”
“Wouldn’t treating you like you were five involve dragging you from motel to motel to hunt demons?” Bobby said. “And maybe it is because people are committing the hideous sin of actually being,” Bobby faked a gasp. “Concerned about you and maybe even wanting to look after you.”
“Don’t need looking after,” Dean considered that his argument would probably go better if he didn’t use the sulking child voice, “What I mean is, I don’t like being looked after.”
“I made you a deal long time ago that if you looked after yourself, I wouldn’t try to look after you.” Bobby said gently, “You aren’t keeping up your end of it.” When Dean’s opened his mouth to protest, Bobby just barrelled on, “What happens if you’d had that seizure while you were driving? While Jo was in the car relying on you to keep her safe?”
Jo hissed her protest at the low blow but Bobby looked unapologetic, just kept his focus on Dean. Dean tried to avoid looking at him but realised that he had to face up, “I would’ve pulled over in time.”
“Uh-huh,” Bobby said, “You realise that before the apocalypse most states wouldn’t even let you drive if they knew you had seizures and those that did would likely make you wait at least six months after a seizure before you could drive again?”
“You realise in olden times there were a heck of a lot more cars to crash into.” Dean pointed out.
“And considerably less demons to worry about,” Bobby retorted.
“This argument is pretty academic. Even I do take the pills then in five days, I run out and run the risk of seizure or I continue stringing the pills out and run the risk of seizure. Frankly ‘possible seizure’ ranks right quite low compared to ‘demonic takeover’ and ‘fratricidal brother.’”
“Or you could trust in Marco to find you some pills,” Jo pointed out softly.
Dean laughed, “I trust Marco with my life and beyond but that doesn’t mean he can pull a rabbit out of his hat. Even if he manages to find some then chances are they’ll only be a hundred at the most. That’s three months until we get to play the drug scavenger hunt again if I follow your rules.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Bobby said, his tone broking no argument.
“Meanwhile you need to get some sleep,” Jo and Bobby arguing was often awkward but it was nothing compared to the rare occasions when the two of them agreed.
Dean ran through all of the arguments that he could think of and finally grouched, shifting out of Jo’s grip and staggering up to his feet. “Wake me up when Marco gets here.” He mumbled and made his way towards the room that served as his home, sliding beneath the covers without bothering to get undressed and falling straight to sleep.
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