{Decay} all [around] .me, [Rated M]

[Dean Winchester]

We try to make a difference, but no one wants to listen.

730 words. Aurora. HAHAZOMBIE

December 15, 2008
Monday

“I walked in the room, and there was Eugene, crouched down on the floor with poor Mister Cuddles,” she told him, sniffing, one hand holding a handkerchief up to her eyes.

“And…Eugene. He was…Eating the do--Mister, ah, Cuddles?” He changed tracks when the old lady glared at him from behind her glasses. Obviously she’d loved the damned dog more than her husband.

“Yes. It was horrible. He was just sitting there, my poor baby’s belly all torn open, and that horrible man with…,” she trailed off, shaking her head, and dabbing at her eyes. Jesus, this was where someone other than him would come in handy. Sam, and his ‘I wanna save all the abused puppies in the world!’ attitude, maybe. Then again, Sammy wasn’t so keen on puppy-saving these days, so maybe not. Of course, you wouldn’t really expect Lucifer to-- And no. He wasn’t going there today; there was a job to be done, and he needed to focus on that, not the fucked up reality that was his life. “Sorry for your, uh, losses,” he offered awkwardly, sighing. He hadn’t known, when he’d taken the job as a favor, that he would have to deal with little crazy old ladies. “Ma’am,” he waited until she looked at him again, “your husband, Eugene…He didn’t try to attack you, too?”

“He did, yes. I had a shotgun in the house though, just in case; blew the side of his head clean off,” she told him matter-of-factly, and Dean could only stare for a moment. She wasn‘t done, though, apparently. “I‘m not the only one, you know, young man,” she began, putting her handkerchief down to scribble out an address on a pad of paper. “Melissa Cartwright. She had people come back, too.”

“Right. Well, that should do it, Mrs. Hastings. Thanks for your time,” he finally managed, smiling, and taking her hand, and all but running for the Impala. God, people were fucking crazy; he loved them, but they were insane. Who in their right mind just took back dead relatives who’d recently crawled out of the grave? That just screamed ‘zombie,’ and honestly? Those people were asking to be eaten. Unfortunately, he was the poor bastard who had to save them. From fucking zombies. There was no description on how weird his life was. Angels, and the Apocalypse, and he probably should have expected zombies. To be honest, they were a little more par for the course than he’d been getting lately, so maybe he shouldn’t complain so much. After all, zombies were easy. Shoot ‘em in the head, and bam. Dead again. Permanently. No, Dean knew the real trick would be finding the person raising the dead, because obviously there was someone behind it; zombies didn’t just crawl out of their graves on their own.

It didn’t take him long to find the address she’d given him, though it was moving on full dark by the time he pushed himself out of the Impala, stuffing his gun into the back of his jeans before heading up towards the house. It was completely dark, and something had instincts on edge enough that he approached slowly, taking a moment to pull his gun back out because the place just had that feeling, the one you got right before the shit hit the fan, and sprayed you in the face. “Hey Lupin,” he muttered to himself, trying the doorknob, and unsurprised when the door opened, and he paused for a moment. “Wanna go look at the full moon with me?” He whirled when he heard the porch creak, bringing the gun up at level to shoot the snarling woman in the head right as she lunged for him. “Haha, zombie,” he finished, looking down at the corpse for only a minute before heading further into the house. The old lady had implied there was more than one, and he wasn’t taking any chances. The girl was probably dead already, but he couldn’t not make sure, and God, if he had his fucking Grace this would be so much easier. No. He’d told himself he wasn’t going there, and it would only distract him right now, anyway. That’s just what he needed, to get killed by goddamned zombies. Real impressive way to go for someone who was a fallen Archangel; who was apparently the fallen Archangel.

brought to you by stalkmeredneck of caution 2.0

[Aurora Bailey]

One thing after another, and what was once a side trip turned into a job. It was just before sundown when she pulled up to the address. The sun giving out its last few rays of light and hope before settling down and allowing its darker cousin to enjoy its time. Someone in town had mentioned "strange conditions of some previous tenants". She wasn't aware that the conditions were going to be those up and about that were perhaps better buried six feet under. Melissa Cartwright, the name had come from an elder woman in town spreading the local gossip.

As she approached the door she found her arm grabbed, she quickly withdrew a hand gun and aimed it at the young girl who jumped back immediately. Great, scared the shit out of a little girl before a hello was even said. The neighborhood had an eerie calm to it, and the girl seemed terrified of something. Lowering her gun brought her closer as she knelled down to a comfortable level.

"She's back, but she's not nice." the shaking voice of the child said as she looked into the room. "Mommy said she went to a better place. Why is she back?" The pitch in her voice went higher and higher until it broke.

It was worse than she had thought. Ghosts were one thing to deal with, zombies, though easy enough to discard, were messy and often fed upon the idiots who welcomed them back into their home. "Go to a neighbor's," she said calmly, "I will take a look at your grandmother, alright?" she asked the young girl who took no second telling and ran off to one of the furthest neighbors.

Alone, she slowly twisted the doorknob and entered the house. A hint of iron and the unique stench that could only come from a rotting corpse and blood filled the air. Why would there always be that one person who thought it was a good idea to let back into your house a rotting sack of flesh that seemed to have more interest in consuming you and your pets, than reconnecting with you? She couldn't answer that.

The wood floor boards creaked and a vase or some piece of ceramic crashed to the floor in another room. Pulling out the shotgun that lay under her jacket she prepared herself for a quick head shot and a job finished, but this house seemed to be hiding more than she thought. Closet was the first to check, she approached it carefully, reaching out to the handle and opening it, jumping back with a cocked shotgun as a women fell to the floor crying with blood on her hands but no apparent bite marks. "Melissa?" she asked cautiously as she helped the woman up. "Are you - "

"They ate him!" she sobbed, trying to rub the blood off on her shirt, "They ate him. Why? They loved him!"

Apparently too much... "Who ate him?" she asked, they alarming her, bringing to her attention that there was more than one of them in this house.

"Curtis," she stammered, "Where is my daughter?" A look of dread washed over her face as Charlie could only imagine that the woman was thinking of her daughter being eaten.

"At a neighbor's... she's fine." Charlie reassured the woman as she glanced over her shoulder to make sure nothing unwanted was approaching. A stoic look fell over here, "Where are they now? When was the las-" she was cut off by a scamper over head. Upstairs.

One hand took Melissa's wrist as the other held the gun, finger ready on the trigger. Approaching the staircase she slowly ascended, civilian in hand reached mid level, seeing in a far off room a shadow move. There's one of you. "Stay close." The order seemed to frighten the woman, but not enough to make her flee.

Moving up the stairs one step at a time, she reached the floor, headlights passed outside which she ignored and withdrew her flashlight as the darkness began to settle. Animal like grunts could be heard from the dark room along with the squishy sound that she would have been happier not hearing. Melissa seemed unable to control herself and broke into tears which caught the attention of whatever was in the room adjacent to the hall they were standing in. The light, a second trigger as it began to move towards them.

An unexpected noise, a shot gun firing, made Charlie jump as she backed Melissa in towards the bathroom just before the staircase and followed suit, standing with the door open, waiting for the figure to approach. Hungry for new meat, it followed, the scent of the iron from the blood dripping off its face and hands growing stronger until it appeared in front of the door. BANG!

The shot penetrating and removing part of the skull and sending the once again dead body, down the stair case as a shrill of terror came from the woman behind her.

There was someone else there, whether Hunter or gun friendly neighbor looking for something to shoot, she was uncertain.

[Dean Winchester]

We try to make a difference, but no one wants to listen.

--- words. Aurora. hahazombie

The sound of another gunshot, followed by the unmistakable sound of a terrified scream, had Dean back against the wall just in time to watch the corpse tumble to a halt on the landing, part of the head blown off. Well, that was a new development, and not one he particularly liked. Either another hunter was around, or some trigger-happy civilian had decided to be helpful; Dean didn’t really appreciate the thought of either scenario. Still, it was good to know there was at least someone still alive up there, and he stepped over the body, trying to breathe shallowly because he could smell blood, and decay, and that shit tended to bring Hell closer to the surface. It wasn’t something he could afford right now. Zombies were only easy to kill once you had them in sight; it was getting them there that was the trick. “Hey,” he called up the stairs, taking them one at a time, carefully; he didn’t want to get shot. “I’m coming up. Don’t shoot me; it’d ruin my whole day.” He kept his grip firm on the gun, but not too tight, as he made it to the top of the stairs, careful not to turn his back on a room before he’d peered inside to make sure it was clear.

When he caught sight of the two women in the bathroom door, he paused, looking them over. One was clearly a civilian, Melissa, probably, and the other one…Well, she was obviously a hunter. “Great,” he muttered, making a face at the prospect of having to deal with her. These days, ‘Winchester’ wasn’t exactly the most popular name among the hunting community. Granted, most of them blamed Sam for that, and Dean was only lumped in because they knew he’d come after them if they did anything to his brother, but they were still a pain in the ass to work with. She wasn’t anyone he recognized, but that was hardly news since he and Sam mostly kept to themselves when it came to hunting, unless they absolutely had to, or Bobby directed them to someone else. “Well,” he quipped, “ain’t this a fun party.” That was two zombies down, and it would be really fucking awesome if someone could give him an actual number. “Now, anybody know how many of these things we gotta waste? ‘Cause I got grandma outside, and I wanna know if gramps is still running around,” he turned his back on them to stick his head into a bedroom, grimacing at the sight of a chewed-up corpse sprawled on the floor. That had to be a bad way to go, getting eaten by your own family. This floor seemed to be clear, at least, which left down stairs, and outside. Fucking wonderful.

brought to you by stalkmeredneck of caution 2.0

[Aurora Bailey]

As the body came to a halt on the landing she heard the floor boards below creak and a voice call out to them. She cocked her gun, aiming at the stairwell and illuminating the area just in case it was a trick. "Won't make any promises," she called down.

Soon a figure walked into the path of her light and came closer. A hunter. This day was just getting better; hunters weren't exactly known for their ability to work well in groups, especially if they did not know one another. Charlie loosened her stance slightly but still held him in the light. Something about him looked oddly familiar but she couldn't put a finger on it, then again, the surroundings were not the best to really identify a person.

Melissa looked between the shot gun wielding people in her home as one boasted about killing her dead mother. "Why are they back?" she asked in a weak voice as she finally mustered the strength to speak.

"Just your parents, right?" Charlie asked quickly as the hunter across asked for a number. The response was less than settling.

"I don't know who that man was..." she trailed off. Her eyes dropped to the floor and the trails of blood that littered the hall. She knew what lay in the other room and would not be going back in there again, she knew he was dead. "There is one more, that one," she pointed to the lip pile of cold flesh on the landing, "is not my father, I don't know who he is."

"Looks like there's another lurking somewhere in here," Charlie muttered, stepping out in the hall and looking at the rooms. She looked directly at Dean. "Are you going to just stand there trying to figure out how many more, or help hunt for the damn thing?"

[Dean Winchester]

We try to make a difference, but no one wants to listen.

--- words. Aurora. hahazombie

Dean snorted, rolling his eyes before heading back towards the stairs with a sigh. “You keeping her around for a reason?” he asked, nodding towards the woman. As terrified as she was, she’d be more of a hindrance than a help. Civilians didn’t belong in the line of fire, and she needed to get out of there. “Cause we ain’t using her for bait, if that’s what you had planned.” He wouldn’t put it past her; his experiences with other hunters weren’t all that great. There were too many fanatics amongst them, willing to do anything to get the job done, and Dean just didn’t condone that. He snorted, because that was one thing that had apparently carried over from his ‘past existence,’ and it was still a little hard to fathom an angel who had tried to protect humanity, instead of kick-starting the end of it. He shifted, checking the shells in the shotgun he carried before resuming his careful descent down the stairs. They would be fucking lucky if the thing hadn’t gotten out, but no. There was a rustling coming from the kitchen, accompanied by a strange, disgusting gurgling noise that he almost recognized. Someone choking on their own blood, he thought distantly, a part of his mind hyper-aware of all the ways that could be done, and how to draw the death out so that they realized they were drowning in their own bodily fluids. He had to stop, and suck in a breath at the doorway, the stench of blood, and death overwhelming for a moment with those memories so close to the surface.

The Pit had smelled like that, all the time, with sulfur and ozone added in, and there were still times when he couldn’t seem to get the scent of it out of his nose. “Fucking zombies,” he ground out, his grip on the gun tightening as he stepped into the room, catching a movement in his peripheral vision that caused him to whirl around. There was nothing there, though, and he exhaled slowly, cursing under his breath. Why couldn’t they be like TV zombies? Slow, and stupid, and hungry. It would be so much easier to kill them that way. Of course things couldn’t be that easy though; he had to deal with fucking intelligent dead people that wanted to eat his goddamned brains. “Hey! Uber-hunter, you find anything?” he called, kicking open the door to the utility room to find it clear. That left the living room, and outside, or the thing was just toying with them, which was a distinct possibility.

brought to you by stalkmeredneck of caution 2.0

[Aurora Bailey]

"Do you see any other way out of the bathroom?" Charlie shot back, nodding to the woman to follow as they moved towards the stairs. "I don't know what sort of people you run into hunting, but I'm not overly fond of human sacrifices." There were dozens of better ways to phrase that, but in their line of work, the bait often ended up as a meal, even for the more skilled hunters. Reaching the bottom floor she ushered the woman out. There was little hesitation from Melissa, who once clear of the door and spotting her mother's corpse sans part of her skull, made a beeline for the furthest neighbor as her daughter had done before her.

With civilians clear, she turned her attention to the other hunter and the kitchen and worst of all, the sounds coming from it. A quick check of her shells and she was ready to blow off the head of the next zombie to walk into her line of fire. The front had seemed clear if no one counted the corpse of grandma, so she moved back in. A room branched off to the left, as she illuminated the space with her flash light, and found the results oddly clean. Nothing had been touched in here from the looks of it. Grimacing as the man called to her she looked in his direction wanting nothing more than to beat him over the head with the butt of a pistol. "No, had I found something, you would have heard it. You find anything?"

She came up the opposite side of Dean and peaked into the kitchen as she was sure to take shallow breaths and do her best to ignore the smell. "I'm going to go on a wild guess and say you came from someplace where there were more of these." Withdrawing her flashlight she looked into the room but the darkness seemed to swallow the light and spit little back out. "And instead of coming up with less than creative names for one another, you got a name you go by?"

[Dean Winchester]

We try to make a difference, but no one wants to listen.

--- words. Aurora. hahazombie

“Actually,” he began, stepping past her to head for the living room, “no. I talked to Mrs. Hastings. Crazy old lady? Shot her zombie husband in the head; had a dog named Mr. Cuddles?” And there was no way he could not feel ridiculous saying that. “We need to find this damned thing, and then find whoever the fuck is doing this,” he muttered, mostly to himself as he followed the sound of a furniture scraping against the floor, almost like something had run into it. He was so not in the mood to deal with zombies, or other hunters, for that matter. When the glass door of the patio began to rattle, Dean cursed, bringing the gun up, and moving quickly towards the room without waiting to see if she was following him. He couldn’t let the thing get out, there was no telling how many people he’d kill until they found him again. “Hey! Where do you think you’re goin’, huh?” he called, waiting until the creature focused its attention on him before pulling the trigger, watching as blood, and brain matter splattered against the glass, and began to trickle down. Three zombies down, hopefully no more to go; at least, not here. He was pretty sure there were more out there, of course, or would be, which was why they needed to figure out who was going around raising the dead. “Damn,” he murmured, stepping over to the corpse, and looking down at the second, smaller body that lay near it, mutilated. “Looks like Gramps got poor Fluffy, too.” Well, at least the girl, and her kid had made it, and hadn’t ended up as dinner.

Which was awesome for them, but he was pretty sure the zombie brain was never going to come out of his jacket, and he liked this jacket. “Name’s Dean,” he told her, resigning himself to the truth because she’d probably figure it out anyway, and he was too tired to go through the usual routine. She didn’t need to hear the ‘Winchester’ part; if she couldn’t guess it, then she didn’t need to know, and he sure as Hell wasn’t going to make it easier for her. “Now, thanks for the help, but I’m pretty sure I can handle the rest of it just fine.” He didn’t like working with other hunters, except Sammy, and Bobby, and occasionally the Harvelles. It was easier to do things on his own, in his own way, without anyone else around to fuck things up. It got messy when other people were involved, and he preferred to keep things as simple as possible. Especially right now, when he couldn’t be sure his head was still fully in the game, what with Hell, and the Michael shit, and everything else that was going on. A nice, simple zombie-killing spree was just what he needed, and it would be more relaxing if he didn’t have to worry about a tag-a-long. Even if he knew he could use a helping hand on this one, and a hunter was a much better option than some trigger-happy civilian idiot who didn’t know the first thing about the supernatural; not that he would ever admit that, of course.

brought to you by stalkmeredneck of caution 2.0

[Aurora Bailey]

Her eyes followed him closely before she turned her attention to the rest of the house. In the quiet, they listened for any hint of the third zombie. “Glad to know that some people still keep true to the ‘til death do us part’.” She had been on many hunts dealing with a dead spouse hanging around past their time. Her head swung towards the living room as something ran into a piece of furniture and snuck out through the glass door. “Shit…” she muttered, hurrying after Dean, and pulling up her gun, and taking aim before Dean claimed the shot. She came up beside him and looked over to the body of grandpa and the dog and frowned. “Well at least everything should be dead is dead again.” If only these three had been it, she could call it a day and leave this and the other hunter behind her; however, it was never that easy. Zombies always seemed to come in large groups and the second part of the equation was the one bringing them back, it was never as easy as it seemed. “At least those two made it out alive,” she said to herself while looking over her shoulder to the street.

Charlie turned, about to offer her hand when everything clicked and once again made the night that much more painful. “Name’s Dean.” Two simple words had never meant so much to her before. Her eyes narrowed at him, “I’ll assume Winchester,” her voice having a sinister tone to it. It had been twelve years since she had last seen him, and with his name now out between them, she could definitely see the features she had burnt into her mind. “You are more than welcome to leave, I think I can handle a few zombies,” she growled, not appreciating his attempt to kick her off of a case she was working. It would have been one thing if he had been working on it for months; however, it seemed that they both stumbled upon this job at the same time. She had worked with a few hunters before and it usually ended up causing more trouble throughout the hunt than really solving much. Zombies could be messy as all hunters knew and having more than one hand on a trigger of someone who was trained or at least knowledgeable in how to take down a zombie without killing people around them. Her hand clenched tightly around the handle of her gun. There is a better time for this. She told herself that over and over, taking deep breaths and willing herself to not take the gun in her hand and use it like a club against his head. “Just get the hell out of here before something else comes after you,” she warned him. Sirens could be heard in the distance and were growing louder. There was little doubt someone had called the cops after hearing the shots fired, and though she had gotten rid of the previous warrant, sticking around was never a good plan, an even worse plan when you were wielding a double barrel shot gun and had a trunk full of weapons. She started for her car, her shoulder bumping against his arm roughly as she passed.

[Dean Winchester]

We try to make a difference, but no one wants to listen.

--- words. Aurora. Timeskip.

Three days. Three fucking days of killing goddamned zombies, and saving the stupid people who had let them in. He was so glad it was over. Not to mention he’d had to deal with the other hunter, who apparently had some kind of a grudge against him, but who the fuck didn’t these days? At least he’d gotten the bastard who’d been raising the zombies; it wasn’t right to play with people’s lives like that, and Dean had made damn sure the guy had known that before he’d died. He hadn’t killed him, but he didn’t regret his death, either. That was what happened when you messed with things beyond your own comprehension. God, he was tired, and covered in zombie brains, and it was the middle of the night. All he wanted was to find a room, a bed, and a shower, though not necessarily in that order. At the moment, however, he was sitting on the stone steps leading up to the guy’s door, taking a minute to just breathe.

God, he hated zombies. The people who raised them from their graves were even worse, and he was viciously glad the guy was dead. Karma really was a bitch, after all.

He had no idea where the woman was, though he thought he’d seen her around earlier. Dean had been too busy trying to not to become zombie food to really pay attention to any company he might have had. If she was any good at hunting, it wouldn’t have taken her long to put everything together, and figure out the creepy rich guy with the God complex was behind it all. At least he’d managed to save more people than had died, even if that wasn’t quite good enough for him. He was supposed to be some big, badass archangel wasn’t he? He should have saved them all, but even Dean realized that wasn’t feasible. You never could save them all; you just had to get as many as you could, and hope that was enough. It never was, for him. “Fuck,” he declared loudly, tiredly, and scrubbed his dirty hands viciously over his equally-dirty face. “They can deal with the next zombie infestation on their own. I am so done with dead things that want to eat me,” he groaned, leaning back on his hands, and watching the occasional car drive by as though nothing had happened at all.

brought to you by stalkmeredneck of caution 2.0

[Aurora Bailey]

Dead wasn't good enough for the town over the last few days. It seemed that everyone had to come back, and some more than others were easier to put back down; it came with the job. Not everything was going to be as easy as a head shot to some creeper munching on his wife or, in the worst case, a child. She had been watching Dean work for a while, watching him take out a few zombies, watching him nearly get bit, but he had told her, she wasn't needed. It had worked in her favor, she took out the ones he missed, but also got to watch him hunt, study him. Charlie knew the buttons to push to make him twitch, a combination of rumors and whispers amongst the hunting community had added to the abandonment and father issues this one had. Of course, she hadn't wanted him dead, just dealt with after this zombie infestation was over. It hadn't been the easiest hunt, he had messed up one or two of her own hunts, but in the end the dead were all accounted for, and sadly the number had grown to almost double that of the original. After all these years, it still took a toll when you were not able to save everybody. Always, always more than one life seemed to be affected. Whomever lost their life, and all those they had known; death had a nasty way of reaching out and touching people.

The one to blame for everything was dealt with in a fitting way, she found herself going after Dean. Waiting for the right moment was all that was on her mind right now, and frankly, it made her nervous. Twelve years had passed since she had last seen him, and echos of that night still haunted her. She stood in a side room watching him through a crack in the blinds before she left silently.

The house behind him was as silent as its late owner. She knew he was on his guard; there was little time when any decent hunter wasn't. Lingering in the dark she waited, smirking at his response. "That's bull shit and you know it," Charlie remarked, just a few feet away. Before there was any chance for him to respond, the wooden base of her gun was coming in contact with the side of his head, catching him hard enough to knock him over. "At least you didn't beat the shit out of someone this time," she growled, eyes narrowing in on him. She kicked him in the back near the kidney, everything she had been holding back all these years running out of her, and all of it was directed at him. There was no mistaking it, he was definitely the same boy that had beaten her within a stretch of her life to exorcise that demon from her, although she had been grateful in that respect, she still hated him for how he had gone about it. "This has been a long time coming," she muttered spitefully as she neared him.

[Dean Winchester]

We try to make a difference, but no one wants to listen.

--- words. Aurora. hahazombie

Dean hadn’t been expecting the gun to the side of the head, and the force of it was enough to knock him over, making him grunt in surprise as he blinked away the pain. The kick, however, was less surprising, and he was able to roll away enough so that it just grazed him, rather than hitting him full on in the kidneys. It likely wouldn’t have done too much damage, but he wasn’t going to just sit there and take it. “What the fuck?” he yelped, using the roll to push himself back to his feet in one quick movement, eyeing his attacker warily. He probably shouldn’t have been surprised that it was the hunter, given the grudge, and the general attitude she’d been displaying towards him since they’d met, but Jesus; they’d just finished killing fucking zombies, and Dean was tired. He also had no idea what she was talking about. “You make a habit of going crazy psycho bitch on everybody you work with, or am I just special?” he quipped, shaking his head once, like a dog; his ear was ringing, and he hated that.

She was getting closer again, and there was no way he was just going to sit there, and let her kick his ass. It was almost too bad he didn’t have his Grace; it would have been pretty funny, watching her break her gun against his head. It would’ve made this whole fucking thing way easier, too, but he wasn’t going there. He had other things to deal with, at the moment. As she neared him, he didn’t hesitate in lashing out, first with a fist towards her side, right above her kidney, and then with one leg, aiming to sweep her feet out from under her without having to get too close. He hadn’t forgotten about the fucking gun she had in her hand, and he wasn’t looking to get shot.

brought to you by stalkmeredneck of caution 2.0

[Aurora Bailey]

Charlie chuckled at his response, as she brought the gun back, missing him with the kick, although not surprised, annoyed her. At least he was going to make this interesting for her. She eyed him closely, watching his every move as painful memories resurfaced and fueled her rage. "Hope I didn't hit you too hard there, just wanted to get your attention," she told him in an eerie tone. She wasn't surprised he didn't remember her, it had been just over twelve years, and they had both grown up since then. "Hope I didn't hit you too hard there, just wanted to get your attention." Standing before the silent house she began to move closer. There was no way she was leaving this fight untouched, she had prepared herself for that, however, she still wanted to avoid as much damage done to her body as possible; simple human logic. "No Dean, you are just the lucky bastard on the receiving end." Taking another few steps towards her target she watched as her prey went into his fighting mode.

The first blow against her had been dealt, the punch just above her kidneys forced a grunt from her and caused her to bend over, seeing his foot come sweeping at her own. Able to plan, but not avoid, she fell back only to catch herself and roll to the side, crouching on the ground glowering back at the hunter before her. "Still the same fighter," she spat out, taking in a deep breath and ignoring the pain in her side. Gun still in hand she pushed herself up off the ground and circled him, using the shadows to her advantage since the front of the house was not fully lit after the brief "battle" it was witness to earlier. She came at him again from the side, knowing she would risk getting hit again but knew it would be over before there were any huge complications, the urge to actually load the gun and pull the trigger was too tempting. She aimed for his lower gut with the next punch, making sure to pull in close to avoid any wide attacks.

[Dean Winchester]

We try to make a difference, but no one wants to listen.

--- words. Aurora. hahazombie

He took the punch to his gut with a grunt, doubling over for a moment. It was brief, and he came back up quickly, retaliating with an uppercut aimed at her abdomen, just below her rib-cage. He was just…Dean was fucking tired of being a goddamned victim, and Hell had been enough, and now this was just it. He’d be damned if he let some psycho hunter bitch randomly attack him, and get away with it. “Fuck you,” he ground out, still a little breathless from where she’d gotten him in the stomach. It was probably easier than it should have been to let the pent-up emotions he’d been ignoring since he’d crawled out of his own grave, loose. He was tired, though, and not just physically exhausted, either, which made it a simple matter to just go with it, and unleash all that seething rage, and fury, and helplessness onto the nearest target. Dean hadn’t been able to fight back in Hell; he’d been completely at Alastair’s ‘mercy,’ but here…He didn’t have to take any of her goddamned bullshit, and he wasn’t fucking playing anymore.

He followed the punch up by lunging forwards, making a grab for her. If he could get a hold of her arm, he knew he could end the fight relatively quickly. He twisted one leg around hers, trying to trip them up in a way that would take them to the ground with him on top, using his greater body-weight to pin her. She’d either have to give up, or shoot him, if it worked. There was an urge, buried and ignored for the most part, but there all the same, to draw the knife he kept in his boot, and show her just how different a fighter he really was. If only the other angels could see him now, and he snorted bitterly at the thought. “I don’t what the fuck your problem is,” he finally managed to spit furiously, “but I’d suggest you get the Hell away from me.”

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[Aurora Bailey]

The fight was getting serious and at this rate, one of them had a very good chance now to end up dead. She had told herself she would never kill him, but years of trying to deal with what had happened that night, and all the pent up rage over the years with her line of work, holding back was not as easy said as it was done. She shook the mental image from her mind, pulling the gun on him that she had tucked away with bullets left within its chambers and pulling the trigger, putting an end to it all. No, she would not allow herself to fall to the level the demon had wanted her to.

The next move caught her off guard and brought her to the ground, banging her head on the pavement. She could feel the warmth of her blood slowly trickling down the back of her skull. Being pinned was not a feeling she welcomed in this situation. “I don’t what the fuck your problem is,” he said, she shook her head. "I may have been possessed the last time you pulled this shit, but Daddy isn't here giving you orders any more so are you really going to try and kill me?" she spat, trying to get out from under him. A voice in the back of her head kept urging her to whip out her gun and show him how serious she was, but she shut it out. Most people try not to dwell on the times they had been possessed, but it left something with you, and it wasn't just the memories. There was a taint on each person, as if some part of the mind had been impregnated with a touch of the evil that had used them for whatever purpose it desired, if it didn't kill them after.

Right below his hip she had been able to bring her knee in and push off using a great deal of her lower body strength to remove him from her. She rolled away quickly, her head spinning a little at the pace in which she stood up, and centered her focus on him. That had done it. She withdrew her gun and cocked it, aiming right for his heart. "You were dead once, I can make that happen again here and now Dean. Its not my preference, but if you get near me again I won't hesitate, I don't need my life fucked up any more by you then it has been." Charlie was not joking around, or even bluffing. Her posture, tone, and murderous look was true, no mask in front of it, and no hint of her holding back or pulling out of her threat. Charlie had had enough and needed to get herself away before she really did kill him. The lack of light was working in her favor as she backed into it slowly, gun remaining cocked and aimed at his chest, knowing exactly where to shoot to bring him down in a matter of seconds.


Fish in a Barrel Motel: One hour later.


It had taken all she had in her to not pull that damn trigger. The gun had been tossed haphazardly onto the seat beside her as she drove away. The Louisiana air clearing her mind as she kept the windows down, bringing a chill to her skin but embracing the feeling. That had been one thing she had not once taken for granted after being possessed; feeling. She could not remember feeling anything unless she had been allowed to, and that happened only once within those torturous months. Inhaling deeply she had pulled into the motel parking lot Charlie concealed the pistol under her leather jacket and moved to her motel room and stepped in. She could see on first glance that none of the precautions she had taken had been triggered: no unexpected bodies lie in the shadows waiting to attack and no humans for that matter trying to kill her.

Finally a chance to relax some what after the hellish week of zombie and Dean hunts. Her hair came down from its mess pony tail as she moved to the bathroom to start a shower. She let the room steam up a bit while she went through her night sack and stripped before vanishing into the fog trying to clean her body and mind (if that was possible) of the night she had endured.

Not even ten minutes had passed before she had stepped out and got into her pajamas, simple shirt of a 70's rock band and shorts, something she could move around in easily. She stayed up for another half hour cleaning her guns out and crawled into the bed. She fought demons and monsters for a living, stains, if any, were the least of her worries. She allowed herself to fall asleep, a sore stomach from the punch she had received as well as a growing headache, both of which would hopefully be gone in the morning when she woke up.

[Dean Winchester]

We try to make a difference, but no one wants to listen.

1410. Aurora. hahazombie

“Fucking crazy bitch,” he muttered to himself later, once she’d disappeared, and he’d been left alone with nothing but his questions, and a serious case of ‘pissed off.’ As it was, he sat in the Impala, staring ahead out of her windshield, and wondering what the fuck had just happened. Obviously the hunter bitch had some serious issues to work out, and it’d be better for everyone if she stayed the Hell away from him in the future. He probably wouldn’t be able to keep his tendency towards violence to himself, if it came down to it, and goddamnit, he had just fucking lost it. That, in itself gave him pause because seriously, what the fuck? He couldn’t remember ever completely losing it before, and that shit was dangerous because now that he knew it could happen, now that he was aware of it, he was also acutely aware that it could happen again. He hadn’t really been there, with her; part of him had been back in Hell, back in the Pit with Alastair, and all the demons who’d seen him as free game, taking whatever they wanted from him, and he hadn’t been able to fight back, and when she’d attacked him…He’d just had it; he’d had it with everything, and he’d been so tired of physical abuse. Of all of it, really, but at least that he could do something about, he could fight back, and he had.

To be honest, he probably would have kept at it, if she hadn’t had the gun, and gotten out of there as quick as she had; Hell, the gun probably wouldn’t have even mattered. Dean had been shot before, he’d died before, and he while he would never, ever, in a million fucking years want to go back to Hell, he honestly couldn’t dredge up any fear of death. Maybe it was the Michael thing, he didn’t know, but that gun hadn’t scared him the way it should have. Even pressed coldly to his chest, and the way she’d been so serious, and intent, he hadn’t felt anything other than a morbid sort of curiosity over whether she’d actually use it, or not. Whether she’d shoot him; send him back to Hell. Or would he go to Heaven, now? He was Michael, the highest fucking Archangel in existence, apparently, so was Heaven open to him now?

But then, hadn’t he always been Michael, then? He hadn’t known it, but he’d always been the fallen commander, and he’d still been allowed to languish in the Pit for forty years, still been allowed to take the knife to those poor fuckers for ten long years, and God, he deserved to go back. She should have just pulled the trigger, and done the job; he hadn’t been surprised when she didn’t, just distantly disappointed, like some small part of him had wanted it, and maybe that was true. If there was one thing Dean was absolutely positive of, it was that he never should have been raised in the first place. Castiel should have left him down there, and the only good thing that came of it was that he was no longer slicing up souls on his own. Maybe they should have just burned his soul out of existence, and solved everyone’s problems. Why was he saved? Surely there were others down there, others who deserved it more than him? Sometimes he thought Cas had grabbed the wrong one, that he should have grabbed the poor bastard whose guts he had been pulling out oh-so-slowly, and oh God, why was he even thinking about this? He had to squeeze his eyes shut, forcibly pushing away the red-stained memories, and the distant sound of screams, and Jesus Christ, he was shaking, and his grip on the steering wheel was so tight his knuckles had turned white.

So maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised that he’d lost it. Maybe that had been coming for a while, and it wasn’t something he could avoid. Except that thought made him snort out loud, wishing he had a beer, or something stronger because that shit sounded like Sam, and he didn’t need to think about his little brother, either. Older brother? That was one Hell of a mind-fuck, and he really, really didn’t want to go there. He’d really lose it if he did, and that was obviously a bad idea. “God, you are so fucked up,” he complained loudly to himself, leaning forward until his head thumped against the steering wheel, and then huffed because yeah, that statement could be taken two ways, and they were both true. How was this even his life? It had never been normal before, but this? This was just stretching it, and he’d just gotten out of Hell to find out he’s the incarnation of the most powerful angel in existence. Or something. That was a lot to deal with for anyone, right? He sighed loudly, flopping back against the seat, and scrubbing viciously at his face. What was he even doing, anyway? Right. Zombies. At least those were easy enough, and taken care of, and didn’t hold grudges against him for shit he couldn’t even remember. Honestly, she hadn’t made any sense at all, what he’d heard of it, and mostly, Dean had just been confused. Not that it mattered; he’d just as soon as never see her again, and not have to deal with another bout of ‘crazy psycho bitch.’ It wasn’t something he took well, obviously, and it reminded him too much of fucking Gordon Walker.

No, it was better off if they didn’t run into each other again, and Dean was tired, and covered in zombie brains, and this really, really made his top list of The Shittiest Nights, Ever. Kelsey so owed him big time, and there was no way he was letting her get out of it, either. Right now though, he just wanted a shower, and a drink, and sleep, in that order. He gave one last narrow-eyed look at the house before turning the key in the Impala, letting his eyes drift closed for a moment as he listened to her purr, and felt a sort of weary almost-content feeling flush through him. The Impala was the closest thing to home he had, and the rumble of her engine never failed to soothe him in one way, or another. Thankfully he didn’t have far to drive, because he was the kind of tired that ended with the Impala nothing but twisted metal, and him dead, or worse; the motel was closer than he’d originally thought, and it didn’t take him long at all to pull into the lot, and park. Of course, he was in no shape to actually interact with normal people, either, what with the blood, and brain-bits, and he was pretty sure his shirt was torn, and his back was covered in dirt. He’d have to remember to clean the Impala’s seats later, as soon as he woke up, because no way was he letting that shit go longer than he had to.

Dean almost laughed aloud at the look on the face of the girl behind the desk; he’d gotten a lot of looks over the years, especially from women, and not all of them had been good. This one was right up there, somewhere between ‘oh my god, are you dying?!’ and ‘shit, did this guy kill someone?’ If only she knew; well, no, she’d probably run screaming, or call the guys in the white coats to take him away, so it was really better off that she didn’t. Then again, maybe a mental institution wouldn’t be all that bad; he could pretend everything was some sick fantasy in his own head. Yeah, that totally sounded like a better deal. He’d probably end up as one of those poor bastards they tied to the bed ‘for their own safety.’ Time to put on his game face. He stopped at the counter, leaning against it on one arm. “Hey, there,“ he offered with a smile that felt wrong on his face, and he wondered if it looked as forced as it actually was. “I’m gonna need a room. Single, just for the night.” There was no way he was driving anywhere else, and a bed was a bed; he was a Winchester, skeevy shitholes were practically in the job description, even if he’d rather be somewhere else.

brought to you by stalkmeredneck of caution 2.0