Before The Worst

Super short finished fanfiction from the tv show Supernatural.
Dean doesn't have coffee and the world got a bit shitter overnight, crap writing guaranteed...

Dean awoke to a throbbing headache. He was long past throwing up from a hangover but the pounding in his skull told him the head pain was non-optional.

Sam had abandoned his bed, probably to fetch some decent coffee, not this half assed attempt at real coffee the motel provided.

He had a shower, got all presentable, made sure he had the room and car keys and left the room with a do-not-clean-my-room sign in hand. Opening the door half way, he slotted the sign in place and looked up, just in time to see a large figure lurching towards him. A frikkin zombie, great.

Having just finished a hunt, Dean was not in the mood. However he closed the door, sighed and grabbed the shotgun from the duffel, beside the bed.

Loaded and ready, he propped the door open with his foot and shot, the sound vibrating around him.

Walking back to bed, he put the gun away and dragged the dead creature inside. Later he would have to go and burn the son of a bitch but he needed his coffee, pronto.

10 minutes later; Sam was still not back.

Fan-freakin-tastic. That meant Dean would have to brave the big bad world of coffee for himself.

Dean slotted a pistol into his jeans waistband and left the room, closing the door behind him, sign still on the handle, zombie still...-not still on the floor. A blood line had appeared, trailing around the side of the motel.

Dean looked up past the railings and was greeted with a sight of pure chaos. Cars had swerved off the road, a house was on fire and there was no person in sight, anywhere.

He abandoned the decking and went back inside to look in the window that was at the opposite side of the room. The window was cracked-when did that happen?-and the shards of glass cast a multicoloured light on the room.

All that caught Dean's attention was a body lying on the street below him. An arm had been severed off and intestines gathered around its waist, torn up in places and bloody as hell.

Making a snap decision Dean grabbed the bag of firearms and ammo, the bag for clothing and a couple of pricy water-filled bottles from the mini bar. He left the room with this items in hand, not bothering to ensure the door was closed this time.

The only explanation was a zombie apocalypse-a real life 28 days later which Dean scowled at.

He walked down the stairs, two at a time and basically ran to his car. He unlocked the boot and shoved his bags inside, slammed the '67 Chevrolet Impalas door closed and started the car. He got eight blocks down before running into a cluster of the walking dead. He couldn't drive past them, for one if the paintwork got damaged there was no way to replace it.

He got out and fired six perfectly aimed headshots for six dead humans, each of them dropping down without a noise. The street to the left made a groaning noise and as Dean looked over at it, more of the undead came out. Deciding maybe the gun wasn't the most effective methods, Dean hastily unlocked the boot, pulled up the hidden bottom and grabbed a shiny machete.

It was a make his Dad John had given him when he was 14, a unique design shipped from Japan. Maybe it was not the weapon for the job. Instead a beat up baseball bat was used.

Sam was still not in sight.

There was a Starbucks Dean had spotted on the drive in so he headed that way, it was a start to where Sam could be. He pulled up to the coffee house, exited his baby and pushed the door open. A bell chimed on entrance.

A few zombies lay, almost too mashed up for recognition, around the shop. The counter was covered in sticky blood and a chair was discarded in the corner, a leg missing. The shelves behind the counter were empty, one slanting down but all empty of the jars that usually held coffee beans and sealed coffee granule bags that could be purchased and taken home. Smashed glass covered the floor and tables where upturned.

Dean knew Sam wouldn't be any further inside the building. Outside Dean drove down the road; he had to make sure Sam wasn't stranded somewhere remote in need of severe help.

He spotted a huddle of zombies in the middle of a field of poppy's hunched in a circle. Dean wasn't an expert in zombies but he had seen enough films to tell this was irregular behaviour.

He decided to check it out. Dean leapt over the wooden fence and sprinted over to the clump, bat in hand. Just as he was reaching them, a head flew backwards towards Deans own and he whacked the smushed up flesh away from him. It was still too crowded to see who was in the center so Dean helped to batter, smash and pummel every diseased human until they were definitely dead.

He looked at the array of creatures lying before him. His shoulder ached and his clothes suddenly felt too heavy for him but he managed to clutch his side before blacking out.

*****

Dean felt a splash of wet cold run down the side of his face. Wearily opening his weighty eyes Dean blinked twice and was greeted by a punch in the arm by his ever forgiving brother. Surprisingly he looked half decent, the only change from when Dean saw him last night was a line of dry red encrusted on his pale skin.

"Dean you ass, could you have at least warned me before passing out! How many times have we hacked apart a coven of vamps and you go out cold at some mushy zombies," Sam looked down on Dean with disappointing eyes.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Dean raised his head to press a kiss to Sams smiling lips and dragged him down with his hands around Sams neck.

In that moment even if the Winchesters were going to have to stop the apocalypse-for a second time- Dean knew everything was going to be fine. He had found Sammy and that was all that mattered.