SPN/BtVS crossover - Apocalypse Please (2/2) - Dean/Anya
Title: Apocalypse Please (2/2)
Author: Tonya (_fullofgrace)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Supernatural, Dean/Anya with mild Sam/Buffy
Disclaimer: The usuals. No own, no sue.
Chapter word count: 7750
A/N: This is AU at season 7 of BtVS and mid-season 2 of SPN. In this world, Anya never died at the final showdown, Dean never made a deal. The girls joined the boys on the road to fight the good fight, and this is the outcome.
Dedication: To ficbitch82 who prompted me to write this and had the first read through.
Summary: AU. Dean has the American dream. Too bad it’s in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.
Awarded @
and
******
“These leads all go nowhere.”
Dean sits at the kitchen table, papers spread out in front of him, and cellphone to his ear as Sam starts to admit defeat on the other side of the line.
“Dude, we just have to be missing something.” Dean shuffles through the papers, all leads he and Anya have been gathering over the past two months.
Sam exhales slowly into the phone. “Dean, maybe… maybe we won’t find the answer to this.”
Dean suddenly wishes his brother was sitting across from him so he could throw something at him. “So we, what? Just wait out the damn zombies?”
“They’re attacking their own kind now,” Sam explains. “Between what hunters and the military are killing off and what they’re killing off themselves, it can’t be much longer….”
“You really want to test that theory out?”
Sam says something in response, but Dean doesn’t hear the words as Anya steps into the kitchen, “We have a problem.”
“Sam, I’ll call you back.” Dean hangs up without any explanation, reaching for his rifle at his feet. He’s on his feet and ready to take out whatever is threatening them when she reaches over and lowers the barrel of his gun.
“Keep that in your pants,” she says with a raised eyebrow. “Not zombies.”
He gives her an annoyed look, laying his rifle on the table. “Anya, you can’t just bust in here declaring there’s a problem and not expect me to think zombies. We’re surrounded by them.”
“We’ll argue semantics later,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand, “but we do have a problem.”
“What?” he sighs, sitting back down.
“Tessa believes in Santa Claus.”
He blinks at her. “What?”
“She believes in Santa Claus,” she continues as if he should automatically be on her train of thought. “You know, the mythical jolly man that comes down chimneys and drops off presents like the world’s most confused burglar. That man.”
“O-kay,” he says carefully, sitting back in his chair and waiting to see where this conversation will lead.
“I suppose most children her age do still believe in Santa, but if she was in school right now, this would be the time where some very unpleasant child would break the news to her and make her cry.”
“Anya, babe,” he says, snapping his fingers at her, “focus on the point here.”
She stops rambling as she sits down across from him. “It’s December 23rd, Dean.”
Dean stares at her, her words sinking in. “Shit,” he mutters, running a hand across his hair. He honestly hasn’t paid much attention to the date; he’s been more focused on survival, keeping everyone safe, and trying to find an end to this whole damn thing.
Christmas hasn’t even been a blip on his radar.
“I was just putting her to bed, and she asked me how Santa was gonna find her.”
Dean cringes a bit, going through all the blunt replies Anya more than likely gave the girl. He loves Anya, and hell, her bluntness is refreshing when dealing with bullshit on a daily basis, but kids are different. Sometimes, you have to lie to them.
“What did you tell her?” he asks.
“That the reindeer were equipped with a special GPS system that could locate every child in the world.”
He raises an eyebrow at her. “Seriously?”
Anya shrugs. “Well, it would have been kinda rude to tell her that Santa wouldn’t be able to find her cause her parents were eaten by zombies.”
He sighs as he rubs his hand against his chin. “I suck at Christmases. Most of mine as a kid were spent in motels.”
“I’ve only technically celebrated it once,” she admits with another hitch of her shoulder. “I did know St. Nick though.”
Dean just stares at her.
Anya stares back at him. “He is real, you know. The Saint, not your society’s perception of what he is. I mean, flying reindeer? If you were gonna travel at the speed of light, wouldn’t you pick an animal that’s a little more aerodynamic? Like… geese!” She smiles brightly and nods. “Geese are very aerodynamic. But no, you people have to have your weird deer with the shiny noses and the antlers.”
Dean laughs quietly as Anya unconsciously places her hands up to her head like antlers.
“Your Christmas trees are nice, though,” she continues, dropping her hands back to the table. “Of course, it was a Pagan tradition, but you guys have adapted it very nicely.”
“Thanks, I think,” Dean replies with a smirk. “So, I guess we should have a Christmas.”
“She’s lost her parents, she’s living with complete strangers, and the world as she knows it is over. I don’t know much about children, but I think Christmas would be good for her.”
“Okay then,” he nods in agreement. “Looks like we got one full day of shopping ahead of us.”
“If by shopping, you mean looting stores for stolen merchandise, then yes,” she says, giving him a knowing grin as she stands.
“Technicality, babe.” He reaches for his cellphone, needing to call Sam back to let him know he’s alive.
He’ll have to finish up his research tonight.
Tomorrow, he and Anya will have to be up late wrapping presents.
******
When the apocalypse began, it started mid-October, which meant stores were in the middle of their big Halloween sales. Costumes and candy and scary decorations had filled all the festive aisles of every store in town.
Christmas had been planned for display after Halloween.
The stores never made it that far.
Anya had taken it upon herself to break into David and Becca’s old house, knowing that they hadn’t had room in their tiny trailer to pack up holiday decorations. She’d promised to be careful, even if it was only two houses down, while Dean had been off shopping.
Now David and Becca’s former Christmas tree stands in their living room, in front of the fireplace they never use.
Dean sits near the tree, surrounded by random toys and an assortment of wrapping paper, none of which is holiday-themed. He had settled on the old standbys of what he thought little girls liked-- Barbies and baby dolls and stuffed animals. He’d even grabbed a few board games, puzzles, handheld games, and a book of fairytales in the process, which was more for him than Tessa.
He’s in the middle of trying to figure out how to wrap a stuffed polar bear when Anya joins him, two mugs in hand.
“I tried to make egg nog,” she announces, sitting cross-legged beside him. “Seemed festive, considering.”
“You say tried,” he says, eyeing her carefully.
“It was more egg than nog,” she admits, handing him a warm mug. “I made hot chocolate instead.” She adds with an eager smile, “It has marshmallows!”
He snorts a bit as he takes the offered mug, taking a sip before balancing the cup on the edge of the coffee table behind them.
“How’s the wrapping coming along?” she asks, hands clasped around her mug as she holds the cup against her lips.
“Shitty,” he admits with a laugh, holding up the offending bear.
“Well, that’s cause you don’t wrap a bear, silly.” She places her mug beside his and takes the bear from his hands. She smoothes out its sweater before placing it under the tree.
“Kinda new to this, babe.”
She smiles at him and pats his knee before picking up the scissors and a different roll of wrapping paper than the one he’s currently using. She picks up one of the many Barbies he’d picked up earlier in the day, wrapping in that perfect way that it seems only women know how to do.
“You know, I never really thought about having kids with Xander,” she says conversationally as she wraps.
Dean just watches her work, trying to ignore the small fire that lights in his gut at the mention of her ex. He’s never met Xander, only knows him through the stories that Anya rarely shares. And knowing that Anya isn’t the type to mince words or overly exaggerate just makes everything he knows that much harder to handle without feeling the need to punch the guy in the face.
“Babies are kinda gross, really,” she continues on, not even noticing his silence. “They burp and spit up, and you have to change their diapers. Like tiny old people.”
He chuckles at that.
“But this… this I like,” she says, finishing up her package and adding a bow. She reaches over and retrieves the pen that he has tucked behind his ear. She signs the tag ‘to: Tessa, from: Santa’. “It’s nice, really.” She pauses to think on that, tapping the pen against her lips. “Of course, if you don’t count the whole dead rising and looking to eat our brains part.”
Dean smiles over at her, reaching out and looping his arm gently around her neck to pull her close. He kisses the top of her head. “And this is why you’re my girl,” he says into her hair.
She pulls back enough to grin at him and kiss his cheek before pulling away completely to go back to wrapping presents, humming Silent Night under her breath.
He leaves her to her wrapping as he stands, grabbing his rifle from the coffee table. And even as he’s checking the perimeter of the house for any lurking undead, he finds himself humming the same tune.
******
The sun is barely creeping through the blinds when their bed shakes with extra weight. Dean opens one eye to see Tessa kneeling in the center of their bed, wide awake, as she pulls on their sheets.
“Guys, it’s Christmas!” she exclaims excitedly, bouncing to her feet.
Dean grumbles incoherently as Anya stirs beside him. “Tessa, it will also be Christmas in two more hours,” she groans, trying to pull the sheets over her head.
Tessa answers with more bouncing on the bed.
Dean finally sits up, taking Tessa by the waist as he gets out of bed. “No coffee for you,” he teases her as he lets her climb onto his back for a ride.
“I don’t drink coffee,” she laughs.
“And this is exactly why,” he nods. He turns back to the bed where Anya is still cocooned under the sheets, Paulie jumping into the spot in the bed he’s vacated. “Come on, babe, get up.”
Anya grunts under the covers.
“We can’t have Christmas without you,” Tessa says from her spot on Dean’s back.
Anya sighs and kicks back the sheets, Paulie greeting her with a wet lick across the face. She grimaces and pushes Paulie away as she gets out of bed. “Fine. But you’re making me coffee,” she says, pointing at Dean. She points at Tessa. “And you’re making me breakfast.”
“Deal,” Tessa says, nudging Dean in the ribs with the heels of her feet like she‘s riding a horse.
“And cereal doesn’t count,” Anya says as she follows them out of the room and downstairs.
Tessa nearly launches herself off his back as they reach the bottom of the stairs, and she makes a straight beeline for the brightly wrapped packages under their stolen Christmas tree.
He goes off to make coffee for Anya and himself, and when he returns with two mugs, Tessa and Anya are sitting in the middle of a wrapping paper disaster zone. Anya has a bow stuck to the top of her head, matching Tessa’s own perfectly placed bow. The stuffed polar bear is in Tessa’s lap as she opens up another Barbie, eyes still lit up with that excitement only a kid at Christmas can feel.
Dean hands Anya her cup of coffee before sitting down with them. “Looks like you hit the toy jackpot, kid,” Dean says to Tessa as she excitedly shows Anya that this Barbie comes with two changes of wardrobe. “Sure, Santa didn’t deliver these to the wrong kid? You don‘t seem this good,” he teases.
“Nope, they all say to me,” she says, sticking her tongue out at him before moving on to the next.
Dean’s always liked Christmas--who wouldn’t--but he has to admit that today is probably the most excited and happy he’s felt on a Christmas morning in a really long time.
He doesn’t have a single gift for himself.
There are zombies roaming the streets outside.
But none of it matters, because there’s one very excited girl sitting in front of him opening presents from Santa who she was afraid would miss her in all the chaos and pain of the past two months.
Tessa pulls a smaller package out from under the tree and hands it to Anya, who blinks at the girl as she takes the package. “Santa left you something, too.”
Anya glances over at him and he feigns innocence with a hitch of his shoulder. “Santa apparently felt you’d been nice enough this year, too.”
“What’d you get?” Tessa asks, sitting up on her knees to peek into Anya’s hands.
Anya looks at them both before shredding away the wrapping paper to reveal a jewelry box. She raises an eyebrow at Dean. “If this is a ring… I’ve had very bad experiences with rings during apocalypses. It usually ends up horribly with me being left at the altar and vengeancey stuff and impaling with swords and--”
“Anya, babe,” he interrupts with a small laugh, “just shut your mouth and open it.”
She gives him another warning look before opening up the box. Inside the box isn’t a ring, but a diamond circle pendant necklace.
“Pretty,” Tessa says in approval before going back to her opened toys.
Anya runs a finger around the circle before smiling up at him. “It’s gorgeous. And extra shiny!” She leans over and takes his lips to hers, that infectious smile still on her face when she pulls away. “Thank you for not getting me a ring.”
“Welcome,” he smiles, reaching over and tucking her hair back behind her ear. He adjusts the bow that still sits atop her head. “Rings are pretty cliche, don’t you think?”
She grins at him but doesn’t have a chance to respond as Tessa asks for her help getting one of dolls out of its box.
He stands, grabbing his mug, and makes his way towards the kitchen to see what he can throw together for breakfast.
The apocalypse can wait for another day.
Today is Christmas.
******
He only lets his guard down once.
It’s a usual routine by now. He finds a local gas station to steal diesel from for the generators for the house--the electricity went out citywide during the third week--and loads the cans into the trunk of the Impala.
The weight of his favorite Glock at the small of his back, he leaves his car to go into the shop, looking to pocket a few candy bars for himself and Tessa and a few outdated tabloid magazines for Anya.
He pockets everything he wants, tossing them into a plastic bag, stopping as he passes the newsstand by the counter. The papers are stacked and perfectly folded, looking as if they had just been put out for the day.
But the date on the top reads “October 17th” even as the new year has already come and gone.
He doesn’t know why but he grabs the paper and opens up the front page. It’s full of the usual politics and sports, and the side column shows the expected weather for the day, as well as things that will be found in the other sections of the paper, including tips on keeping Halloween safe for kids.
It’s a normal paper. For a normal day.
And Dean’s having a hard time remembering what a normal day feels like anymore.
He tosses the front page to the counter and turns, and the reach for his gun is the longest two seconds of his life.
He’s not sure when they started coming out in daylight, but the zombie is within arm’s reach when he turns. It charges him, and he’s cornered by the counter as he reaches for his gun. They fall to the ground, the man’s teeth so close to his neck that if zombies could breathe, Dean’s sure he would feel hot breath against his skin.
But even with his arm pinned between the two of their bodies, he manages to get off a shot. The man stills and blood pours over Dean’s hands from the wound in the man’s chest. He pushes him away with a grunt, his own heart pounding in his ears.
For safe measure, he puts another round through the thing’s skull before pushing himself to his feet.
He quickly makes his way to the restroom towards the back of the shop, stripping off the button down he has on top of his t-shirt. The stains soaked in, he tosses it in the trashcan as he washes his hands and wrists, trying to scrub away the blood.
Once the water stops running pink, he stares up at his reflection in the dusty mirror. “Goddamn idiot!” he hisses at himself, resisting the urge to put his fist through the mirror. Instead he dries his hands against his jeans and eyes the shirt in the trash. He hopes Anya won’t realize it’s missing from his ensemble when he comes through the front door.
Never let your guard down. It’s always been rule number one. He had slacked off for one second, and he’d almost been a meal for one of those bastards. And then what?
Honestly, he doesn’t want to think about the then whats.
He steps out of the bathroom, gathers the bag he’s stuffed with candy and outdated magazines, and starts out of the shop. He doesn’t even acknowledge the dead body sprawled across the floor, a pool of blood gathered underneath its limp form.
When he gets home, Anya and Tessa are both in the kitchen. Anya’s disassembling and cleaning guns on one side of the kitchen table while Tessa sits across from her, doodling in a blank notebook with colored pencils.
He places the bag on the counter near the sink as Anya looks up and greets him with a smile. “You get enough for a while?”
He nods. “Shouldn’t have to make another diesel run for a second.” He begins unloading the magazines, stacking them on the counter. He grabs the candy bars, leaving all but one on the counter. “Head’s up, kid.”
Tessa looks up, and Dean tosses her a candy bar which she catches with a big grin. Anya makes a small face of disapproval. “You realize those cause an exaggerated amount of tooth decay.”
“I think tooth decay will be the least of our worries, babe,” he says with a hitch of his shoulders.
“Thanks, Dean,” Tessa grins, ripping into the wrapper.
“Welcome, kid.” He shrugs out of his jacket and starts out of the kitchen, rustling Tessa’s hair as he passes. He doesn’t make it far before Anya calls his name.
“You okay?” she asks, studying him as he turns in the doorway to face them.
He smiles, trying his best to portray a carefreeness he’s not feeling in the pit of his stomach. “I’m good, babe.”
She narrows her eyes a bit at him, and he braces for her to call him on his bullshit, but instead she shrugs and returns to disassembling her guns. “You should really take a nap,” she says. “You look like hell. A sexy hell but hell nonetheless.”
He chuckles under his breath at that as he continues out of the kitchen and up the stairs to take a much-needed shower after his encounter in the gas station.
He’s let his guard down once, and he can’t afford to again.
There are two girls counting on him not to.
******
“So what do we do when this is all over?”
Dean is almost asleep when Anya’s voice breaks through. He opens one eye to peer over at her to make sure he isn’t imagining her voice. She’s sitting up beside him in the bed, reading another outdated magazine he’s sure she’s read four or more times already. She looks over at him expectantly, and he slowly pushes himself up until he’s sitting with his back resting against the headboard of their bed.
“What?” he asks, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand.
She closes up her magazine, full attention on him. “When this is over, what do we do? With Tessa?”
He hasn’t really thought about it. He’s been living day to day, night to night, but leave it to Anya to think ahead. To think past zombies and apocalypses.
“We could keep her,” she says, an almost eager edge to her voice, before he can even form a coherent thought.
He chuckles a bit. “I feel like we’re having the dog conversation again.”
“I wasn’t sure at first,” she says, tossing her magazine on the nightstand. “Kids are a bit much, especially on television and in the movies, but she’s relatively quiet. Doesn’t make much of a mess. Has a decent, if not slightly immature, sense of humor.”
He blinks at her, a bit surprised that she’s suggesting what she’s suggesting. The thought has passed his mind a time or two--he’s always been a fan of kids--but he never figures Anya would think the same.
“Seriously?” is all he can manage.
She shrugs. “Why not? I think we’ve done fairly well given the circumstances. She could even turn out to be an upstanding citizen after all this.”
“If we keep her, you realize there’s no return policy, right?” he asks with a smirk. “Can’t just drop her off at a customer service desk at Walmart.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I realize.”
He studies her for a moment, realizing that she is in fact serious about this. “You sure?”
“I think so.” She nods before continuing. “It’s very confusing really. I know she’s not mine, but I enjoy having her around, and it gives me a very unpleasant feeling in my stomach to think something bad could happen to her.”
He grins over at her. “I think that’s your motherly instinct kicking in, babe.”
“I don’t care much for it. It makes me overly paranoid about her physical well-being.” She frowns a bit. “Do you feel it, too?”
And he does. It’s a feeling that has been creeping up on him ever since he found the girl, and as much as he would take a bullet for his brother or Anya, he would do the same for Tessa.
“Yeah, I feel it, too,” he admits.
“I think we’ll be good parents,” she says with a nod. “You can be the stern, law-abiding one and I can be the more lenient one she can talk to about drugs and sex.”
“Anya, babe, I think we have some time before that,” he chuckles as she turns off the light on her side of the bed. “And you’re sure about this?”
She nods as she settles under the covers beside him. “If you are.”
He watches her for a moment before nodding. “At least this time, unlike with the dog, I got a choice,” he teases as he lies back down.
******
Birthdays have never really been big events for Dean and his brother.
As kids, they were barely acknowledged, especially if Dad was off on a hunt. He spent his 13th over at Bobby’s, where Bobby treated him to his first beer. He spent his 18th banged up, bruised, and bloody, sprawled out on a hard, lumpy motel mattress as Sam stitched up a nasty gash in his arm. His 21st he spent with a girl named Lucy, pretty redhead with curves and legs that didn’t end, after a successful poltergeist case. He spent his 27th with Sam, sharing a beer at some hole in the wall bar outside of Nashville, Tennessee.
Never any big celebration. Just another day come and gone.
And Dean is ready to spend his 30th in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.
He wakes to an eerily quiet house. Anya’s side of the bed is empty as he sits up and kicks back the sheets. It’s not unusual for her to get up before him, but it’s barely eight in the morning, and if there’s one thing he’s learned about Anya, it’s that she is not a morning person.
As he makes his way downstairs, he passes Tessa’s empty room as well. He has a moment of panic settling in his stomach, and he swallows hard to ignore the sensation.
It isn’t until he hits the staircase, when he hears the sounds of life coming from the kitchen, that he lets that panicked voice nagging at the back of his mind quiet down.
He stands in the kitchen doorway and just watches, arms folded across his chest.
Anya stands with Tessa at the stove, trying to show her how to flip a pancake. The kitchen counter’s a mess, a box of pancake mix turned onto its side, an overturned tin of powdered eggs, and a second tin of powdered juice--real juice and eggs became a luxury long ago--with a spoon stuck in it.
Tessa attempts to flip her pancake, and it misses the stove completely, landing in a mess on the floor much to Paulie’s delight.
“Paul, no!” Anya chastises the dog even as Tessa giggles, and Anya does her best to shoo him away before he can finish. Paulie snatches up the last bit of pancake and makes a beeline past Dean and out of the kitchen.
Both girls look up at him as he laughs at the dog, who is now sitting on the couch and enjoying the rest of his pancake. “Looks like you two have been busy,” he says with a grin as he turns back to them.
Tessa looks disappointed to see him, nearly pouting. “You’re not in bed.”
He raises an eyebrow at them. “Am I supposed to be in bed?”
“Well,” Anya says as she takes the rest of the pancakes off the griddle to cool. “You being upright and here kinda defeats the purpose of breakfast in bed.”
He smiles a bit. “I’m getting breakfast in bed?”
“Not anymore,” Anya says with a snort as she motions for Tessa to grab the plates they’ve laid out. “Now you get breakfast at the table.”
He motions over his shoulder, still grinning. “I can go back to bed if that makes this easier for you guys.”
Anya helps Tessa set the table before carrying a large plate of pancakes over. “Now you’re just being a smartass,” she smirks at him as Tessa brings over a plate of scrambled eggs.
“We tried to make omelets,” Tessa says as Dean sits down at the table.
Dean raises an eyebrow at the plate of scrambled eggs. “Something went a little wacky, I take it?”
“Yes, my ability to cook,” Anya states matter-a-factly. She grins as Tessa bounces excitedly on her feet before sitting across from Dean.
“So can I ask why you two have gone all Stepford Wives on me?” he finally asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Cause it’s your birthday!” Tessa squeals from her seat, excited for him.
He chuckles at them as Anya sits down at the table.
“Typically, there’s a celebration with a cake and alcohol depending on the age of the person,” she says with a small shrug. “But considering we had a very limited time to do something without you knowing and Tessa is not allowed to consume alcoholic beverages, we figured breakfast in bed would suffice.”
“You like it?” Tessa asks, elbows propped up on the table as she leans forward in her seat, an infectious grin on her face.
Dean never wanted that American dream, not really.
But it hits him as he sits there with homemade pancakes and scrambled eggs piled in front of him. It hits him with Anya and Tessa sitting down with him at the table eager to celebrate his birthday while Paulie munches on a long forgotten pancake in the other room.
He has a family.
He has a girl.
He has a kid.
He has a dog.
He has the American dream.
“Silence tends to mean bad things,” Anya interrupts his thoughts.
He looks up at them, and he smiles, truly smiles, and he can’t help but to think this is why his brother always wanted that damn normal life.
“No, it’s awesome,” he says with a nod. “Best birthday gift ever.”
Anya leans over and kisses him as Tessa sings happy birthday.
He has the American dream.
He just wishes it wasn’t in the middle of a nightmare.
******
Dean has always been a light sleeper, a side effect to being raised a hunter, but he sleeps even lighter nowadays.
He hears Paulie one night pacing the hallways, a low rumble in the dog’s throat. He grabs his rifle, slowly pulling himself from the bed as not to wake Anya. The dog stops its pace near the top of the stairs, and Dean steps up to him.
“You hear something?” he asks the dog as if he’ll answer.
Paulie’s hackles raise on the back of his neck, and that’s when Dean hears it. He can hear the sounds of movement outside the house, at the door.
He swallows hard, pissed that the bastards are trying to get into their house like they’ve done so many other homes on his block. He starts down the stairs, Paulie at his side.
He can hear them at the front of the house. They long boarded up the windows on the first level, better to keep things out that didn’t need to be in, and now he can hear them as they try to work on the windows and the door.
He waits outside the front door, ear laid against the thick wood as he tries to listen. He waits until the sounds stop, and he pulls open the front door, ready to lay waste to everything in his sight.
But there is no one on the porch.
“Bastards,” he mutters under his breath as he takes one step out the door and onto the porch. He scans the porch, the dark street before him, as best as he can from his spot, before turning and stepping back into the house.
He turns when Paulie doesn’t follow.
“Paulie, come on,” he says, slapping his thigh.
The dog continues to stand near the stairs, ears folded back against his head and hackles still raised.
“Paul,” he hisses, “get your ass in the house right now.”
Paulie growls deep in his throat before taking off like a bat out of hell. Dean’s primal instinct is to follow after the dog, to pull him back, and he gets as far as down the steps before he stops.
As he loses sight of him in the black of the night, he can still hear Paulie barking and then nothing but silence.
He stands for a moment, torn, before he yells out the dog’s name in anger, his voice echoing in the night.
“Come on, Paulie,” he whispers to the dark, hoping that he’ll blink and the dog will be back.
He can’t wait anymore, and it kills him, breaks something in him he didn’t think could break, as he backtracks back into the house. He waits at the doorway for a second longer before shutting the door and locking everything up again.
He rests his back against the door, sliding down until he’s seated, his rifle balanced against his knees.
He sits there the rest of the night.
******
Tessa puts food out on the porch for Paulie every night, a bowl of kibble and her favorite candy bar since he always had a bad habit of trying to steal hers.
Anya stands on the porch one night as the sun sets, arms folded across her chest as she studies the horizon. When he steps up to her, she doesn’t turn to acknowledge him, just knows he’s there.
“He was a stupid dog,” she says, gaze unwavering from the oranges and purples ahead.
“Well, his name was Paul,” Dean teases quietly as he steps up beside her.
“Dogs are wired to be loyal, man’s best friend and all that,” she says with a frown. “They should have been wired like us, to protect themselves. It makes more sense.”
Dean wants to tell her that he’ll be back, but he can’t even believe his own lie.
He hates that they’re all torn up over a stupid dog, but Paulie had come along when he and Anya had thought they were alone. He’d brought a bit of normal into their messed up world, and he’d been a constant companion for every single one of them in the house.
He slept with Tessa. He went on hunts with Dean. He curled up on the couch with Anya as she read magazines or researched.
He was family.
“Stupid dog,” she mutters again, wiping quickly at her eyes with the back of her hand.
Dean wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him as she wipes at her eyes again. They stand in silence, watching the sun finally set, before going back inside.
Tessa leaves an extra candy bar out that night.
******
He sits at their bedroom window, blinds pulled up, window open, and sniper rifle balanced against the edge. He looks out the scope, searching for any sign of the undead or his dog.
Mainly his dog.
It’s been almost a week, and things have been relatively quiet. He doesn’t see many zombies creeping around the streets like before, and he wonders if Sam was right about them killing off their own kind.
And he doesn’t see Paulie, even though he checks every night from his spot at the window.
He sits back in his seat with a quiet yawn, glancing over at the bed.
Tessa lies in his usual spot, curled next to Anya’s sleeping form. It surprises him how much of a security blanket the damn dog is for the girl, that it hits her the hardest of all of them. And it pisses him off that he can’t do anything to make her feel better, to make her feel safe in her own bed again.
Dean wonders if this is what his dad felt like, always having to be the protector, always having to reassure that things are going to be fine even if they aren’t. He wonders if Tessa’s real dad was better at this crap because right now, he’s starting to feel like he’s failed the girl.
And all because he’s lost a damn dog.
He pulls his rifle from the window ledge, balancing it against the wall as she closes the window and quietly lowers the blinds.
He climbs into the bed, easing Tessa more towards the center to make room for himself. She doesn’t wake, just curls up tighter into herself, her head resting against his shoulder.
“I’ll find your dog, kid,” he quietly promises the top of her sleeping head.
If this is what it feels like to be a dad, to be a dad that fails their kid, Dean would rather take a bullet to the gut than live through this again.
******
Nearly two weeks pass before Dean’s silent prayers are answered.
They’re all gathered in the living room, Dean researching as Anya entertains Tessa with a puzzle. He hears the scratching sound first, loud against the front door of the house. The girls quiet, puzzle forgotten for a moment.
Dean grabs his gun from the side table and goes to the door, Anya and Tessa watching from their spot on the floor. He waits a moment for the scratching sound to stop before pulling open the door.
And Dean can’t believe his eyes.
Looking a little worse for wear with twigs sticking out of his fur and parts of his coat matted down with mud and debris, Paulie stands on the doorstep. He trots in like he owns the place, shaking some of the debris off and onto the carpet.
“PAUL!” Anya exclaims as she and Tessa nearly tackle the dog to the floor in hugs.
Dean runs a hand across his face, relieved to see the dog alive and well, if not skinnier than when they last saw him.
“Guess you’re not such a stupid dog after all, huh?” he grins as the girls continue to love on Paulie, who licks them back eagerly in response.
That night, it takes all three of them to bathe the dog and get him back to looking like his old self.
For the first time in nearly two weeks, Tessa sleeps in her own bed, Paulie curled up at her feet.
******
Dean hates to admit it, but he’s starting to think Sam is right. That they’ll never find an end to this damn apocalypse, that their only chance of survival is waiting the zombies out and hoping for the best.
It goes against everything he believes, everything he’s ever been taught. You don’t just sit back and let things happen to you. You kick and punch and draw blood and fight until there’s nothing left to fight for.
He stares down at the reference book open in front of him, words blurring together in front of his tired eyes. He rubs at them as he hears footsteps enter the kitchen over his shoulder.
He knows her footfalls by heart now, that distinct tapping of her bare feet across the linoleum. He doesn’t even look up as Anya’s warm hand finds the nape of his neck, giving a firm squeeze.
“You were on that same page when I put Tessa to bed,” she says, sliding into the seat beside his.
He looks up with a weak smile. “What can I say, I like to absorb what I read.”
She raises an eyebrow at him, and he knows she’s about to call him on his crap. Sometimes she lets him live in his little lies, behind his cocky smile, but other times--times when he needs to be truthful--she sets him with a look.
And he knows she’s not gonna let the façade last.
He sits back in his chair with a sigh, rubbing a hand across his burning eyes again. “Remember when all this started? And I asked if you thought we’d win?”
“And I asked you whether you preferred the lie or the truth?”
“Yeah,” he nods slowly. “You sticking to that story? That we’ll win this thing?”
He wants to know he’s not the only one tired, not the only one thinking about giving up here. He wants to know if someone in this house still has some sort of hope, even if it’s barely recognizable.
Her lips curl into a frown as she tilts her head at him, studying him. “You’re tired, Dean,” is her response. “Go to bed. I’ll check the perimeters.”
“I’m not tired, Anya,” he says with a slow shake of his head, even as his body screams at him to get some much-needed rest.
Her frown doesn’t waver. “You are, I can tell. When you get tired you get all introspective and negative and frowny, and your forehead crinkles up in a very unattractive way.”
“Anya,” he reaches across the table, taking a gentle hold of her wrist, “do you think we’ll win? That’s all I want to know.”
She stares defiantly at him, and something in his chest breaks as he watches her eyes start to shimmer with tears she refuses to let fall. She swallows hard, her fingers balling up and unclenching as she finally shakes her head.
“No,” she manages, a hitch in her voice at that simple word.
He gently pulls on her wrist until she’s out of her seat, pulling her into his lap. He wraps his arms around her as she rests her head against his, hand reaching up and wiping at her eyes.
“Me neither,” he sighs as she drapes her arms around his neck.
“I’m not giving up though,” she says after a moment. “The last time the ground tried to open up and swallow us whole, I finally understood why people keep fighting. Even when the odds are obviously stacked against them and it seems silly and naïve to even try, people will still fight.” She stills for a moment, and Dean can feel her trying to steady her own breathing. “I want to keep fighting, Dean.”
He nods, holding her a little closer in response. “Then we’ll keep fighting.”
Dean doesn’t think they’ll win this thing, that they even stand a chance, but he’s not gonna give up fighting just yet.
******
He thinks he’s hallucinating when he hears the sound of an engine.
It’s been nearly seven months.
Seven months with zombies.
Six months with Paulie.
Five and a half months with Tessa.
And now there’s an engine.
A loud engine.
He grabs his rifle and quickly climbs out of bed, jolting Anya awake in the process. He goes to the bedroom window, yanking up the blinds to peer outside, and he would swear he’s hallucinating….
But he sees it as clear as day down the street.
A military truck slowly making its way towards them.
“Get Tessa,” is all he can manage to Anya as he rushes out of the bedroom and downstairs, Paulie at his heels.
He stands on his front porch, rifle at one side and his dog at the other, and he begins to wonder if this is gonna end like some of those old black and white movies he’s seen.
Where the hero thinks he’s being saved, only to have the military wipe him out to keep the “quarantine” active.
The truck stops two houses down, two armed military men stepping out. Dean continues to stand on his porch, his free hand held to Paulie’s collar to keep him in his spot.
“Sir?” one of the men calls to him.
Dean lays down his rifle, now not the time to get shot down in accidental fire from the military, not when so many other things could have taken him down in the past seven months.
He orders Paulie to stay as he finally steps off the porch and approaches the two men, his hands held up in front of his body in the universal sign of “please don’t shoot me.”
The men seem shocked to see him, to see him looking alive and healthy, and Dean wonders how many dead and half-dead bodies they’ve come across in the past few days.
“You alright, sir?” the second, taller, man asks, his gaze looking Dean over for any obvious signs of infection.
“Yeah,” he nods, “Kinda surprised to see you guys, actually.”
“You alone?”
Dean shakes his head before motioning over his shoulder, where Anya can now be seen, Tessa in her arms. “Me and my family. We’ve been bunkered down for a while.”
“You’re pretty damn lucky,” the tall man says. “You all are the first living people we’ve found in the city.”
“So is it over?” he asks. “I mean, you guys wouldn’t be out scouting for survivors if it wasn’t over, right?”
“For the most part. The military has been able to wipe out the few infected sects left. All quarantines should be lifted by tomorrow evening.” The man nods towards the house, where Anya continues to stand watch with Tessa wrapped in her arms. “Looks like you did good by your family, sir. Not too many who didn’t go to the safe zones we set up managed to survive.”
Dean nods as he glances over his shoulder. “Yeah, we’re a family of survivors.”
“Please remain in your house until tomorrow evening, sir. Electricity should return to service by then.” Both men nod at him before heading back to their trucks.
“So that’s it?” he calls out to them.
He’s not sure what he expected, a big final showdown in a rain of bullets, zombies marching full force down the streets in complete chaos and mayhem, but the quiet end is almost unnerving.
Almost as unnerving as the quiet beginning.
The shorter man turns back to him as the second man gets behind the wheel of the truck. “You really want something more than this? You’re alive, sir, take it and be grateful.”
He climbs into the truck, and they slowly drive by Dean, continuing on their search for anyone living in this town. Dean watches them disappear around a corner as Anya joins him in the middle of the street. She’s still barefoot and in a faded t-shirt as pajamas, Tessa’s legs wrapped around her waist as she rides along.
“Did I hear right?” Anya asks, her voice hopeful. “This is it? Things can go back to their non-zombie ways now?”
“Seems that way,” he says, finally turning to her.
“No more hiding?” Tessa asks mid-yawn.
He smiles over at her, smoothing down her wild bedhead. “No more hiding, kid.”
“Hmm, well, that was a bit anticlimactic,” Anya shrugs, and Dean has to laugh as she echoes his own inner thoughts. She looks abashed at his laughter. “Well, it was.”
“No, I’m in total agreement here, babe,” he reassures her, a hand at the small of her back as he leads them back to the house.
She frowns a bit, her expression serious as she looks over at him. “Dean, what do we do now?”
They have spent seven months of their lives living in pure survival mode, living a life where it’s normal to have a rifle or gun just within grasp. Living a life where when the sun sets, doors close and locks lock. Living a life where outside of a phone call from Sam, Buffy, or Bobby, it’s been them against the world.
It’s a damn good question.
“We eat some breakfast,” he smiles over at her as Anya finally lets Tessa down as they cross back into the house.
Dean stands in the doorway a moment longer, looking at his empty neighborhood street with new eyes. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that he doesn’t really want that climatic ending with its rain of bullets, its explosions and bloodbaths.
He’ll take the quiet instead.
Because they’re a family of survivors.
And just knowing that is enough for him.
Author: Tonya (_fullofgrace)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Supernatural, Dean/Anya with mild Sam/Buffy
Disclaimer: The usuals. No own, no sue.
Chapter word count: 7750
A/N: This is AU at season 7 of BtVS and mid-season 2 of SPN. In this world, Anya never died at the final showdown, Dean never made a deal. The girls joined the boys on the road to fight the good fight, and this is the outcome.
Dedication: To ficbitch82 who prompted me to write this and had the first read through.
Summary: AU. Dean has the American dream. Too bad it’s in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.
Awarded @
and
******
“These leads all go nowhere.”
Dean sits at the kitchen table, papers spread out in front of him, and cellphone to his ear as Sam starts to admit defeat on the other side of the line.
“Dude, we just have to be missing something.” Dean shuffles through the papers, all leads he and Anya have been gathering over the past two months.
Sam exhales slowly into the phone. “Dean, maybe… maybe we won’t find the answer to this.”
Dean suddenly wishes his brother was sitting across from him so he could throw something at him. “So we, what? Just wait out the damn zombies?”
“They’re attacking their own kind now,” Sam explains. “Between what hunters and the military are killing off and what they’re killing off themselves, it can’t be much longer….”
“You really want to test that theory out?”
Sam says something in response, but Dean doesn’t hear the words as Anya steps into the kitchen, “We have a problem.”
“Sam, I’ll call you back.” Dean hangs up without any explanation, reaching for his rifle at his feet. He’s on his feet and ready to take out whatever is threatening them when she reaches over and lowers the barrel of his gun.
“Keep that in your pants,” she says with a raised eyebrow. “Not zombies.”
He gives her an annoyed look, laying his rifle on the table. “Anya, you can’t just bust in here declaring there’s a problem and not expect me to think zombies. We’re surrounded by them.”
“We’ll argue semantics later,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand, “but we do have a problem.”
“What?” he sighs, sitting back down.
“Tessa believes in Santa Claus.”
He blinks at her. “What?”
“She believes in Santa Claus,” she continues as if he should automatically be on her train of thought. “You know, the mythical jolly man that comes down chimneys and drops off presents like the world’s most confused burglar. That man.”
“O-kay,” he says carefully, sitting back in his chair and waiting to see where this conversation will lead.
“I suppose most children her age do still believe in Santa, but if she was in school right now, this would be the time where some very unpleasant child would break the news to her and make her cry.”
“Anya, babe,” he says, snapping his fingers at her, “focus on the point here.”
She stops rambling as she sits down across from him. “It’s December 23rd, Dean.”
Dean stares at her, her words sinking in. “Shit,” he mutters, running a hand across his hair. He honestly hasn’t paid much attention to the date; he’s been more focused on survival, keeping everyone safe, and trying to find an end to this whole damn thing.
Christmas hasn’t even been a blip on his radar.
“I was just putting her to bed, and she asked me how Santa was gonna find her.”
Dean cringes a bit, going through all the blunt replies Anya more than likely gave the girl. He loves Anya, and hell, her bluntness is refreshing when dealing with bullshit on a daily basis, but kids are different. Sometimes, you have to lie to them.
“What did you tell her?” he asks.
“That the reindeer were equipped with a special GPS system that could locate every child in the world.”
He raises an eyebrow at her. “Seriously?”
Anya shrugs. “Well, it would have been kinda rude to tell her that Santa wouldn’t be able to find her cause her parents were eaten by zombies.”
He sighs as he rubs his hand against his chin. “I suck at Christmases. Most of mine as a kid were spent in motels.”
“I’ve only technically celebrated it once,” she admits with another hitch of her shoulder. “I did know St. Nick though.”
Dean just stares at her.
Anya stares back at him. “He is real, you know. The Saint, not your society’s perception of what he is. I mean, flying reindeer? If you were gonna travel at the speed of light, wouldn’t you pick an animal that’s a little more aerodynamic? Like… geese!” She smiles brightly and nods. “Geese are very aerodynamic. But no, you people have to have your weird deer with the shiny noses and the antlers.”
Dean laughs quietly as Anya unconsciously places her hands up to her head like antlers.
“Your Christmas trees are nice, though,” she continues, dropping her hands back to the table. “Of course, it was a Pagan tradition, but you guys have adapted it very nicely.”
“Thanks, I think,” Dean replies with a smirk. “So, I guess we should have a Christmas.”
“She’s lost her parents, she’s living with complete strangers, and the world as she knows it is over. I don’t know much about children, but I think Christmas would be good for her.”
“Okay then,” he nods in agreement. “Looks like we got one full day of shopping ahead of us.”
“If by shopping, you mean looting stores for stolen merchandise, then yes,” she says, giving him a knowing grin as she stands.
“Technicality, babe.” He reaches for his cellphone, needing to call Sam back to let him know he’s alive.
He’ll have to finish up his research tonight.
Tomorrow, he and Anya will have to be up late wrapping presents.
******
When the apocalypse began, it started mid-October, which meant stores were in the middle of their big Halloween sales. Costumes and candy and scary decorations had filled all the festive aisles of every store in town.
Christmas had been planned for display after Halloween.
The stores never made it that far.
Anya had taken it upon herself to break into David and Becca’s old house, knowing that they hadn’t had room in their tiny trailer to pack up holiday decorations. She’d promised to be careful, even if it was only two houses down, while Dean had been off shopping.
Now David and Becca’s former Christmas tree stands in their living room, in front of the fireplace they never use.
Dean sits near the tree, surrounded by random toys and an assortment of wrapping paper, none of which is holiday-themed. He had settled on the old standbys of what he thought little girls liked-- Barbies and baby dolls and stuffed animals. He’d even grabbed a few board games, puzzles, handheld games, and a book of fairytales in the process, which was more for him than Tessa.
He’s in the middle of trying to figure out how to wrap a stuffed polar bear when Anya joins him, two mugs in hand.
“I tried to make egg nog,” she announces, sitting cross-legged beside him. “Seemed festive, considering.”
“You say tried,” he says, eyeing her carefully.
“It was more egg than nog,” she admits, handing him a warm mug. “I made hot chocolate instead.” She adds with an eager smile, “It has marshmallows!”
He snorts a bit as he takes the offered mug, taking a sip before balancing the cup on the edge of the coffee table behind them.
“How’s the wrapping coming along?” she asks, hands clasped around her mug as she holds the cup against her lips.
“Shitty,” he admits with a laugh, holding up the offending bear.
“Well, that’s cause you don’t wrap a bear, silly.” She places her mug beside his and takes the bear from his hands. She smoothes out its sweater before placing it under the tree.
“Kinda new to this, babe.”
She smiles at him and pats his knee before picking up the scissors and a different roll of wrapping paper than the one he’s currently using. She picks up one of the many Barbies he’d picked up earlier in the day, wrapping in that perfect way that it seems only women know how to do.
“You know, I never really thought about having kids with Xander,” she says conversationally as she wraps.
Dean just watches her work, trying to ignore the small fire that lights in his gut at the mention of her ex. He’s never met Xander, only knows him through the stories that Anya rarely shares. And knowing that Anya isn’t the type to mince words or overly exaggerate just makes everything he knows that much harder to handle without feeling the need to punch the guy in the face.
“Babies are kinda gross, really,” she continues on, not even noticing his silence. “They burp and spit up, and you have to change their diapers. Like tiny old people.”
He chuckles at that.
“But this… this I like,” she says, finishing up her package and adding a bow. She reaches over and retrieves the pen that he has tucked behind his ear. She signs the tag ‘to: Tessa, from: Santa’. “It’s nice, really.” She pauses to think on that, tapping the pen against her lips. “Of course, if you don’t count the whole dead rising and looking to eat our brains part.”
Dean smiles over at her, reaching out and looping his arm gently around her neck to pull her close. He kisses the top of her head. “And this is why you’re my girl,” he says into her hair.
She pulls back enough to grin at him and kiss his cheek before pulling away completely to go back to wrapping presents, humming Silent Night under her breath.
He leaves her to her wrapping as he stands, grabbing his rifle from the coffee table. And even as he’s checking the perimeter of the house for any lurking undead, he finds himself humming the same tune.
******
The sun is barely creeping through the blinds when their bed shakes with extra weight. Dean opens one eye to see Tessa kneeling in the center of their bed, wide awake, as she pulls on their sheets.
“Guys, it’s Christmas!” she exclaims excitedly, bouncing to her feet.
Dean grumbles incoherently as Anya stirs beside him. “Tessa, it will also be Christmas in two more hours,” she groans, trying to pull the sheets over her head.
Tessa answers with more bouncing on the bed.
Dean finally sits up, taking Tessa by the waist as he gets out of bed. “No coffee for you,” he teases her as he lets her climb onto his back for a ride.
“I don’t drink coffee,” she laughs.
“And this is exactly why,” he nods. He turns back to the bed where Anya is still cocooned under the sheets, Paulie jumping into the spot in the bed he’s vacated. “Come on, babe, get up.”
Anya grunts under the covers.
“We can’t have Christmas without you,” Tessa says from her spot on Dean’s back.
Anya sighs and kicks back the sheets, Paulie greeting her with a wet lick across the face. She grimaces and pushes Paulie away as she gets out of bed. “Fine. But you’re making me coffee,” she says, pointing at Dean. She points at Tessa. “And you’re making me breakfast.”
“Deal,” Tessa says, nudging Dean in the ribs with the heels of her feet like she‘s riding a horse.
“And cereal doesn’t count,” Anya says as she follows them out of the room and downstairs.
Tessa nearly launches herself off his back as they reach the bottom of the stairs, and she makes a straight beeline for the brightly wrapped packages under their stolen Christmas tree.
He goes off to make coffee for Anya and himself, and when he returns with two mugs, Tessa and Anya are sitting in the middle of a wrapping paper disaster zone. Anya has a bow stuck to the top of her head, matching Tessa’s own perfectly placed bow. The stuffed polar bear is in Tessa’s lap as she opens up another Barbie, eyes still lit up with that excitement only a kid at Christmas can feel.
Dean hands Anya her cup of coffee before sitting down with them. “Looks like you hit the toy jackpot, kid,” Dean says to Tessa as she excitedly shows Anya that this Barbie comes with two changes of wardrobe. “Sure, Santa didn’t deliver these to the wrong kid? You don‘t seem this good,” he teases.
“Nope, they all say to me,” she says, sticking her tongue out at him before moving on to the next.
Dean’s always liked Christmas--who wouldn’t--but he has to admit that today is probably the most excited and happy he’s felt on a Christmas morning in a really long time.
He doesn’t have a single gift for himself.
There are zombies roaming the streets outside.
But none of it matters, because there’s one very excited girl sitting in front of him opening presents from Santa who she was afraid would miss her in all the chaos and pain of the past two months.
Tessa pulls a smaller package out from under the tree and hands it to Anya, who blinks at the girl as she takes the package. “Santa left you something, too.”
Anya glances over at him and he feigns innocence with a hitch of his shoulder. “Santa apparently felt you’d been nice enough this year, too.”
“What’d you get?” Tessa asks, sitting up on her knees to peek into Anya’s hands.
Anya looks at them both before shredding away the wrapping paper to reveal a jewelry box. She raises an eyebrow at Dean. “If this is a ring… I’ve had very bad experiences with rings during apocalypses. It usually ends up horribly with me being left at the altar and vengeancey stuff and impaling with swords and--”
“Anya, babe,” he interrupts with a small laugh, “just shut your mouth and open it.”
She gives him another warning look before opening up the box. Inside the box isn’t a ring, but a diamond circle pendant necklace.
“Pretty,” Tessa says in approval before going back to her opened toys.
Anya runs a finger around the circle before smiling up at him. “It’s gorgeous. And extra shiny!” She leans over and takes his lips to hers, that infectious smile still on her face when she pulls away. “Thank you for not getting me a ring.”
“Welcome,” he smiles, reaching over and tucking her hair back behind her ear. He adjusts the bow that still sits atop her head. “Rings are pretty cliche, don’t you think?”
She grins at him but doesn’t have a chance to respond as Tessa asks for her help getting one of dolls out of its box.
He stands, grabbing his mug, and makes his way towards the kitchen to see what he can throw together for breakfast.
The apocalypse can wait for another day.
Today is Christmas.
******
He only lets his guard down once.
It’s a usual routine by now. He finds a local gas station to steal diesel from for the generators for the house--the electricity went out citywide during the third week--and loads the cans into the trunk of the Impala.
The weight of his favorite Glock at the small of his back, he leaves his car to go into the shop, looking to pocket a few candy bars for himself and Tessa and a few outdated tabloid magazines for Anya.
He pockets everything he wants, tossing them into a plastic bag, stopping as he passes the newsstand by the counter. The papers are stacked and perfectly folded, looking as if they had just been put out for the day.
But the date on the top reads “October 17th” even as the new year has already come and gone.
He doesn’t know why but he grabs the paper and opens up the front page. It’s full of the usual politics and sports, and the side column shows the expected weather for the day, as well as things that will be found in the other sections of the paper, including tips on keeping Halloween safe for kids.
It’s a normal paper. For a normal day.
And Dean’s having a hard time remembering what a normal day feels like anymore.
He tosses the front page to the counter and turns, and the reach for his gun is the longest two seconds of his life.
He’s not sure when they started coming out in daylight, but the zombie is within arm’s reach when he turns. It charges him, and he’s cornered by the counter as he reaches for his gun. They fall to the ground, the man’s teeth so close to his neck that if zombies could breathe, Dean’s sure he would feel hot breath against his skin.
But even with his arm pinned between the two of their bodies, he manages to get off a shot. The man stills and blood pours over Dean’s hands from the wound in the man’s chest. He pushes him away with a grunt, his own heart pounding in his ears.
For safe measure, he puts another round through the thing’s skull before pushing himself to his feet.
He quickly makes his way to the restroom towards the back of the shop, stripping off the button down he has on top of his t-shirt. The stains soaked in, he tosses it in the trashcan as he washes his hands and wrists, trying to scrub away the blood.
Once the water stops running pink, he stares up at his reflection in the dusty mirror. “Goddamn idiot!” he hisses at himself, resisting the urge to put his fist through the mirror. Instead he dries his hands against his jeans and eyes the shirt in the trash. He hopes Anya won’t realize it’s missing from his ensemble when he comes through the front door.
Never let your guard down. It’s always been rule number one. He had slacked off for one second, and he’d almost been a meal for one of those bastards. And then what?
Honestly, he doesn’t want to think about the then whats.
He steps out of the bathroom, gathers the bag he’s stuffed with candy and outdated magazines, and starts out of the shop. He doesn’t even acknowledge the dead body sprawled across the floor, a pool of blood gathered underneath its limp form.
When he gets home, Anya and Tessa are both in the kitchen. Anya’s disassembling and cleaning guns on one side of the kitchen table while Tessa sits across from her, doodling in a blank notebook with colored pencils.
He places the bag on the counter near the sink as Anya looks up and greets him with a smile. “You get enough for a while?”
He nods. “Shouldn’t have to make another diesel run for a second.” He begins unloading the magazines, stacking them on the counter. He grabs the candy bars, leaving all but one on the counter. “Head’s up, kid.”
Tessa looks up, and Dean tosses her a candy bar which she catches with a big grin. Anya makes a small face of disapproval. “You realize those cause an exaggerated amount of tooth decay.”
“I think tooth decay will be the least of our worries, babe,” he says with a hitch of his shoulders.
“Thanks, Dean,” Tessa grins, ripping into the wrapper.
“Welcome, kid.” He shrugs out of his jacket and starts out of the kitchen, rustling Tessa’s hair as he passes. He doesn’t make it far before Anya calls his name.
“You okay?” she asks, studying him as he turns in the doorway to face them.
He smiles, trying his best to portray a carefreeness he’s not feeling in the pit of his stomach. “I’m good, babe.”
She narrows her eyes a bit at him, and he braces for her to call him on his bullshit, but instead she shrugs and returns to disassembling her guns. “You should really take a nap,” she says. “You look like hell. A sexy hell but hell nonetheless.”
He chuckles under his breath at that as he continues out of the kitchen and up the stairs to take a much-needed shower after his encounter in the gas station.
He’s let his guard down once, and he can’t afford to again.
There are two girls counting on him not to.
******
“So what do we do when this is all over?”
Dean is almost asleep when Anya’s voice breaks through. He opens one eye to peer over at her to make sure he isn’t imagining her voice. She’s sitting up beside him in the bed, reading another outdated magazine he’s sure she’s read four or more times already. She looks over at him expectantly, and he slowly pushes himself up until he’s sitting with his back resting against the headboard of their bed.
“What?” he asks, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand.
She closes up her magazine, full attention on him. “When this is over, what do we do? With Tessa?”
He hasn’t really thought about it. He’s been living day to day, night to night, but leave it to Anya to think ahead. To think past zombies and apocalypses.
“We could keep her,” she says, an almost eager edge to her voice, before he can even form a coherent thought.
He chuckles a bit. “I feel like we’re having the dog conversation again.”
“I wasn’t sure at first,” she says, tossing her magazine on the nightstand. “Kids are a bit much, especially on television and in the movies, but she’s relatively quiet. Doesn’t make much of a mess. Has a decent, if not slightly immature, sense of humor.”
He blinks at her, a bit surprised that she’s suggesting what she’s suggesting. The thought has passed his mind a time or two--he’s always been a fan of kids--but he never figures Anya would think the same.
“Seriously?” is all he can manage.
She shrugs. “Why not? I think we’ve done fairly well given the circumstances. She could even turn out to be an upstanding citizen after all this.”
“If we keep her, you realize there’s no return policy, right?” he asks with a smirk. “Can’t just drop her off at a customer service desk at Walmart.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I realize.”
He studies her for a moment, realizing that she is in fact serious about this. “You sure?”
“I think so.” She nods before continuing. “It’s very confusing really. I know she’s not mine, but I enjoy having her around, and it gives me a very unpleasant feeling in my stomach to think something bad could happen to her.”
He grins over at her. “I think that’s your motherly instinct kicking in, babe.”
“I don’t care much for it. It makes me overly paranoid about her physical well-being.” She frowns a bit. “Do you feel it, too?”
And he does. It’s a feeling that has been creeping up on him ever since he found the girl, and as much as he would take a bullet for his brother or Anya, he would do the same for Tessa.
“Yeah, I feel it, too,” he admits.
“I think we’ll be good parents,” she says with a nod. “You can be the stern, law-abiding one and I can be the more lenient one she can talk to about drugs and sex.”
“Anya, babe, I think we have some time before that,” he chuckles as she turns off the light on her side of the bed. “And you’re sure about this?”
She nods as she settles under the covers beside him. “If you are.”
He watches her for a moment before nodding. “At least this time, unlike with the dog, I got a choice,” he teases as he lies back down.
******
Birthdays have never really been big events for Dean and his brother.
As kids, they were barely acknowledged, especially if Dad was off on a hunt. He spent his 13th over at Bobby’s, where Bobby treated him to his first beer. He spent his 18th banged up, bruised, and bloody, sprawled out on a hard, lumpy motel mattress as Sam stitched up a nasty gash in his arm. His 21st he spent with a girl named Lucy, pretty redhead with curves and legs that didn’t end, after a successful poltergeist case. He spent his 27th with Sam, sharing a beer at some hole in the wall bar outside of Nashville, Tennessee.
Never any big celebration. Just another day come and gone.
And Dean is ready to spend his 30th in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.
He wakes to an eerily quiet house. Anya’s side of the bed is empty as he sits up and kicks back the sheets. It’s not unusual for her to get up before him, but it’s barely eight in the morning, and if there’s one thing he’s learned about Anya, it’s that she is not a morning person.
As he makes his way downstairs, he passes Tessa’s empty room as well. He has a moment of panic settling in his stomach, and he swallows hard to ignore the sensation.
It isn’t until he hits the staircase, when he hears the sounds of life coming from the kitchen, that he lets that panicked voice nagging at the back of his mind quiet down.
He stands in the kitchen doorway and just watches, arms folded across his chest.
Anya stands with Tessa at the stove, trying to show her how to flip a pancake. The kitchen counter’s a mess, a box of pancake mix turned onto its side, an overturned tin of powdered eggs, and a second tin of powdered juice--real juice and eggs became a luxury long ago--with a spoon stuck in it.
Tessa attempts to flip her pancake, and it misses the stove completely, landing in a mess on the floor much to Paulie’s delight.
“Paul, no!” Anya chastises the dog even as Tessa giggles, and Anya does her best to shoo him away before he can finish. Paulie snatches up the last bit of pancake and makes a beeline past Dean and out of the kitchen.
Both girls look up at him as he laughs at the dog, who is now sitting on the couch and enjoying the rest of his pancake. “Looks like you two have been busy,” he says with a grin as he turns back to them.
Tessa looks disappointed to see him, nearly pouting. “You’re not in bed.”
He raises an eyebrow at them. “Am I supposed to be in bed?”
“Well,” Anya says as she takes the rest of the pancakes off the griddle to cool. “You being upright and here kinda defeats the purpose of breakfast in bed.”
He smiles a bit. “I’m getting breakfast in bed?”
“Not anymore,” Anya says with a snort as she motions for Tessa to grab the plates they’ve laid out. “Now you get breakfast at the table.”
He motions over his shoulder, still grinning. “I can go back to bed if that makes this easier for you guys.”
Anya helps Tessa set the table before carrying a large plate of pancakes over. “Now you’re just being a smartass,” she smirks at him as Tessa brings over a plate of scrambled eggs.
“We tried to make omelets,” Tessa says as Dean sits down at the table.
Dean raises an eyebrow at the plate of scrambled eggs. “Something went a little wacky, I take it?”
“Yes, my ability to cook,” Anya states matter-a-factly. She grins as Tessa bounces excitedly on her feet before sitting across from Dean.
“So can I ask why you two have gone all Stepford Wives on me?” he finally asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Cause it’s your birthday!” Tessa squeals from her seat, excited for him.
He chuckles at them as Anya sits down at the table.
“Typically, there’s a celebration with a cake and alcohol depending on the age of the person,” she says with a small shrug. “But considering we had a very limited time to do something without you knowing and Tessa is not allowed to consume alcoholic beverages, we figured breakfast in bed would suffice.”
“You like it?” Tessa asks, elbows propped up on the table as she leans forward in her seat, an infectious grin on her face.
Dean never wanted that American dream, not really.
But it hits him as he sits there with homemade pancakes and scrambled eggs piled in front of him. It hits him with Anya and Tessa sitting down with him at the table eager to celebrate his birthday while Paulie munches on a long forgotten pancake in the other room.
He has a family.
He has a girl.
He has a kid.
He has a dog.
He has the American dream.
“Silence tends to mean bad things,” Anya interrupts his thoughts.
He looks up at them, and he smiles, truly smiles, and he can’t help but to think this is why his brother always wanted that damn normal life.
“No, it’s awesome,” he says with a nod. “Best birthday gift ever.”
Anya leans over and kisses him as Tessa sings happy birthday.
He has the American dream.
He just wishes it wasn’t in the middle of a nightmare.
******
Dean has always been a light sleeper, a side effect to being raised a hunter, but he sleeps even lighter nowadays.
He hears Paulie one night pacing the hallways, a low rumble in the dog’s throat. He grabs his rifle, slowly pulling himself from the bed as not to wake Anya. The dog stops its pace near the top of the stairs, and Dean steps up to him.
“You hear something?” he asks the dog as if he’ll answer.
Paulie’s hackles raise on the back of his neck, and that’s when Dean hears it. He can hear the sounds of movement outside the house, at the door.
He swallows hard, pissed that the bastards are trying to get into their house like they’ve done so many other homes on his block. He starts down the stairs, Paulie at his side.
He can hear them at the front of the house. They long boarded up the windows on the first level, better to keep things out that didn’t need to be in, and now he can hear them as they try to work on the windows and the door.
He waits outside the front door, ear laid against the thick wood as he tries to listen. He waits until the sounds stop, and he pulls open the front door, ready to lay waste to everything in his sight.
But there is no one on the porch.
“Bastards,” he mutters under his breath as he takes one step out the door and onto the porch. He scans the porch, the dark street before him, as best as he can from his spot, before turning and stepping back into the house.
He turns when Paulie doesn’t follow.
“Paulie, come on,” he says, slapping his thigh.
The dog continues to stand near the stairs, ears folded back against his head and hackles still raised.
“Paul,” he hisses, “get your ass in the house right now.”
Paulie growls deep in his throat before taking off like a bat out of hell. Dean’s primal instinct is to follow after the dog, to pull him back, and he gets as far as down the steps before he stops.
As he loses sight of him in the black of the night, he can still hear Paulie barking and then nothing but silence.
He stands for a moment, torn, before he yells out the dog’s name in anger, his voice echoing in the night.
“Come on, Paulie,” he whispers to the dark, hoping that he’ll blink and the dog will be back.
He can’t wait anymore, and it kills him, breaks something in him he didn’t think could break, as he backtracks back into the house. He waits at the doorway for a second longer before shutting the door and locking everything up again.
He rests his back against the door, sliding down until he’s seated, his rifle balanced against his knees.
He sits there the rest of the night.
******
Tessa puts food out on the porch for Paulie every night, a bowl of kibble and her favorite candy bar since he always had a bad habit of trying to steal hers.
Anya stands on the porch one night as the sun sets, arms folded across her chest as she studies the horizon. When he steps up to her, she doesn’t turn to acknowledge him, just knows he’s there.
“He was a stupid dog,” she says, gaze unwavering from the oranges and purples ahead.
“Well, his name was Paul,” Dean teases quietly as he steps up beside her.
“Dogs are wired to be loyal, man’s best friend and all that,” she says with a frown. “They should have been wired like us, to protect themselves. It makes more sense.”
Dean wants to tell her that he’ll be back, but he can’t even believe his own lie.
He hates that they’re all torn up over a stupid dog, but Paulie had come along when he and Anya had thought they were alone. He’d brought a bit of normal into their messed up world, and he’d been a constant companion for every single one of them in the house.
He slept with Tessa. He went on hunts with Dean. He curled up on the couch with Anya as she read magazines or researched.
He was family.
“Stupid dog,” she mutters again, wiping quickly at her eyes with the back of her hand.
Dean wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him as she wipes at her eyes again. They stand in silence, watching the sun finally set, before going back inside.
Tessa leaves an extra candy bar out that night.
******
He sits at their bedroom window, blinds pulled up, window open, and sniper rifle balanced against the edge. He looks out the scope, searching for any sign of the undead or his dog.
Mainly his dog.
It’s been almost a week, and things have been relatively quiet. He doesn’t see many zombies creeping around the streets like before, and he wonders if Sam was right about them killing off their own kind.
And he doesn’t see Paulie, even though he checks every night from his spot at the window.
He sits back in his seat with a quiet yawn, glancing over at the bed.
Tessa lies in his usual spot, curled next to Anya’s sleeping form. It surprises him how much of a security blanket the damn dog is for the girl, that it hits her the hardest of all of them. And it pisses him off that he can’t do anything to make her feel better, to make her feel safe in her own bed again.
Dean wonders if this is what his dad felt like, always having to be the protector, always having to reassure that things are going to be fine even if they aren’t. He wonders if Tessa’s real dad was better at this crap because right now, he’s starting to feel like he’s failed the girl.
And all because he’s lost a damn dog.
He pulls his rifle from the window ledge, balancing it against the wall as she closes the window and quietly lowers the blinds.
He climbs into the bed, easing Tessa more towards the center to make room for himself. She doesn’t wake, just curls up tighter into herself, her head resting against his shoulder.
“I’ll find your dog, kid,” he quietly promises the top of her sleeping head.
If this is what it feels like to be a dad, to be a dad that fails their kid, Dean would rather take a bullet to the gut than live through this again.
******
Nearly two weeks pass before Dean’s silent prayers are answered.
They’re all gathered in the living room, Dean researching as Anya entertains Tessa with a puzzle. He hears the scratching sound first, loud against the front door of the house. The girls quiet, puzzle forgotten for a moment.
Dean grabs his gun from the side table and goes to the door, Anya and Tessa watching from their spot on the floor. He waits a moment for the scratching sound to stop before pulling open the door.
And Dean can’t believe his eyes.
Looking a little worse for wear with twigs sticking out of his fur and parts of his coat matted down with mud and debris, Paulie stands on the doorstep. He trots in like he owns the place, shaking some of the debris off and onto the carpet.
“PAUL!” Anya exclaims as she and Tessa nearly tackle the dog to the floor in hugs.
Dean runs a hand across his face, relieved to see the dog alive and well, if not skinnier than when they last saw him.
“Guess you’re not such a stupid dog after all, huh?” he grins as the girls continue to love on Paulie, who licks them back eagerly in response.
That night, it takes all three of them to bathe the dog and get him back to looking like his old self.
For the first time in nearly two weeks, Tessa sleeps in her own bed, Paulie curled up at her feet.
******
Dean hates to admit it, but he’s starting to think Sam is right. That they’ll never find an end to this damn apocalypse, that their only chance of survival is waiting the zombies out and hoping for the best.
It goes against everything he believes, everything he’s ever been taught. You don’t just sit back and let things happen to you. You kick and punch and draw blood and fight until there’s nothing left to fight for.
He stares down at the reference book open in front of him, words blurring together in front of his tired eyes. He rubs at them as he hears footsteps enter the kitchen over his shoulder.
He knows her footfalls by heart now, that distinct tapping of her bare feet across the linoleum. He doesn’t even look up as Anya’s warm hand finds the nape of his neck, giving a firm squeeze.
“You were on that same page when I put Tessa to bed,” she says, sliding into the seat beside his.
He looks up with a weak smile. “What can I say, I like to absorb what I read.”
She raises an eyebrow at him, and he knows she’s about to call him on his crap. Sometimes she lets him live in his little lies, behind his cocky smile, but other times--times when he needs to be truthful--she sets him with a look.
And he knows she’s not gonna let the façade last.
He sits back in his chair with a sigh, rubbing a hand across his burning eyes again. “Remember when all this started? And I asked if you thought we’d win?”
“And I asked you whether you preferred the lie or the truth?”
“Yeah,” he nods slowly. “You sticking to that story? That we’ll win this thing?”
He wants to know he’s not the only one tired, not the only one thinking about giving up here. He wants to know if someone in this house still has some sort of hope, even if it’s barely recognizable.
Her lips curl into a frown as she tilts her head at him, studying him. “You’re tired, Dean,” is her response. “Go to bed. I’ll check the perimeters.”
“I’m not tired, Anya,” he says with a slow shake of his head, even as his body screams at him to get some much-needed rest.
Her frown doesn’t waver. “You are, I can tell. When you get tired you get all introspective and negative and frowny, and your forehead crinkles up in a very unattractive way.”
“Anya,” he reaches across the table, taking a gentle hold of her wrist, “do you think we’ll win? That’s all I want to know.”
She stares defiantly at him, and something in his chest breaks as he watches her eyes start to shimmer with tears she refuses to let fall. She swallows hard, her fingers balling up and unclenching as she finally shakes her head.
“No,” she manages, a hitch in her voice at that simple word.
He gently pulls on her wrist until she’s out of her seat, pulling her into his lap. He wraps his arms around her as she rests her head against his, hand reaching up and wiping at her eyes.
“Me neither,” he sighs as she drapes her arms around his neck.
“I’m not giving up though,” she says after a moment. “The last time the ground tried to open up and swallow us whole, I finally understood why people keep fighting. Even when the odds are obviously stacked against them and it seems silly and naïve to even try, people will still fight.” She stills for a moment, and Dean can feel her trying to steady her own breathing. “I want to keep fighting, Dean.”
He nods, holding her a little closer in response. “Then we’ll keep fighting.”
Dean doesn’t think they’ll win this thing, that they even stand a chance, but he’s not gonna give up fighting just yet.
******
He thinks he’s hallucinating when he hears the sound of an engine.
It’s been nearly seven months.
Seven months with zombies.
Six months with Paulie.
Five and a half months with Tessa.
And now there’s an engine.
A loud engine.
He grabs his rifle and quickly climbs out of bed, jolting Anya awake in the process. He goes to the bedroom window, yanking up the blinds to peer outside, and he would swear he’s hallucinating….
But he sees it as clear as day down the street.
A military truck slowly making its way towards them.
“Get Tessa,” is all he can manage to Anya as he rushes out of the bedroom and downstairs, Paulie at his heels.
He stands on his front porch, rifle at one side and his dog at the other, and he begins to wonder if this is gonna end like some of those old black and white movies he’s seen.
Where the hero thinks he’s being saved, only to have the military wipe him out to keep the “quarantine” active.
The truck stops two houses down, two armed military men stepping out. Dean continues to stand on his porch, his free hand held to Paulie’s collar to keep him in his spot.
“Sir?” one of the men calls to him.
Dean lays down his rifle, now not the time to get shot down in accidental fire from the military, not when so many other things could have taken him down in the past seven months.
He orders Paulie to stay as he finally steps off the porch and approaches the two men, his hands held up in front of his body in the universal sign of “please don’t shoot me.”
The men seem shocked to see him, to see him looking alive and healthy, and Dean wonders how many dead and half-dead bodies they’ve come across in the past few days.
“You alright, sir?” the second, taller, man asks, his gaze looking Dean over for any obvious signs of infection.
“Yeah,” he nods, “Kinda surprised to see you guys, actually.”
“You alone?”
Dean shakes his head before motioning over his shoulder, where Anya can now be seen, Tessa in her arms. “Me and my family. We’ve been bunkered down for a while.”
“You’re pretty damn lucky,” the tall man says. “You all are the first living people we’ve found in the city.”
“So is it over?” he asks. “I mean, you guys wouldn’t be out scouting for survivors if it wasn’t over, right?”
“For the most part. The military has been able to wipe out the few infected sects left. All quarantines should be lifted by tomorrow evening.” The man nods towards the house, where Anya continues to stand watch with Tessa wrapped in her arms. “Looks like you did good by your family, sir. Not too many who didn’t go to the safe zones we set up managed to survive.”
Dean nods as he glances over his shoulder. “Yeah, we’re a family of survivors.”
“Please remain in your house until tomorrow evening, sir. Electricity should return to service by then.” Both men nod at him before heading back to their trucks.
“So that’s it?” he calls out to them.
He’s not sure what he expected, a big final showdown in a rain of bullets, zombies marching full force down the streets in complete chaos and mayhem, but the quiet end is almost unnerving.
Almost as unnerving as the quiet beginning.
The shorter man turns back to him as the second man gets behind the wheel of the truck. “You really want something more than this? You’re alive, sir, take it and be grateful.”
He climbs into the truck, and they slowly drive by Dean, continuing on their search for anyone living in this town. Dean watches them disappear around a corner as Anya joins him in the middle of the street. She’s still barefoot and in a faded t-shirt as pajamas, Tessa’s legs wrapped around her waist as she rides along.
“Did I hear right?” Anya asks, her voice hopeful. “This is it? Things can go back to their non-zombie ways now?”
“Seems that way,” he says, finally turning to her.
“No more hiding?” Tessa asks mid-yawn.
He smiles over at her, smoothing down her wild bedhead. “No more hiding, kid.”
“Hmm, well, that was a bit anticlimactic,” Anya shrugs, and Dean has to laugh as she echoes his own inner thoughts. She looks abashed at his laughter. “Well, it was.”
“No, I’m in total agreement here, babe,” he reassures her, a hand at the small of her back as he leads them back to the house.
She frowns a bit, her expression serious as she looks over at him. “Dean, what do we do now?”
They have spent seven months of their lives living in pure survival mode, living a life where it’s normal to have a rifle or gun just within grasp. Living a life where when the sun sets, doors close and locks lock. Living a life where outside of a phone call from Sam, Buffy, or Bobby, it’s been them against the world.
It’s a damn good question.
“We eat some breakfast,” he smiles over at her as Anya finally lets Tessa down as they cross back into the house.
Dean stands in the doorway a moment longer, looking at his empty neighborhood street with new eyes. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that he doesn’t really want that climatic ending with its rain of bullets, its explosions and bloodbaths.
He’ll take the quiet instead.
Because they’re a family of survivors.
And just knowing that is enough for him.