The Last Ones (Walking Dead/Supernatural)

Just the Beginning

Dean's POV

I just wanted a day of peace. One day. A day where we weren't being bombarded by stupid werewolves or wendigos or any other supernatural piece of shit. Of course, we didn't get that. The apocalypse just had to start on my day off.

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8 Hours Earlier

"Sam, I've decided, we're going to relax today," I said to Sam, smirking. Sam gave me a confused look.

"What do you mean, relax? You mean we're not going to try find a case?" Sam asked completely sincere. The first sign that you overwork, is when you don't even know what the word "relax" means anymore.

"Yes Sammy that is what relax means. It means no work, just bliss," I leaned back into my chair and rested my hand on my leg. Sam scoffed then started laughing. "Who are you, Dr. Oz? I don't need to relax. I need to be on a case," Sam got up and got his fourth cup of coffee, in just the last hour.

I rolled my eyes and pointed an accusing finger at my brother. "Yeah, you totally need to be on a case. Sam, you're exhausted, look how much coffee you're drinking. We've been so stressed out lately, we deserve at least one free day. Come on, man. Lay off the coffee, get a few more hours of shut eye, then we'll go do something semi productive. What do you say?" I asked him, already knowing what his answer would be.

Sam considered this for a moment and then looked down at his coffee. I think he realized that he really was tired, and he needed the sleep. He set down his coffee. "Okay, maybe your right. I am a little tired. Maybe, just another hour of sleep. Then, we can go do this semi productive crap you're talking about. Deal?" Sam looked hopeful, and I chuckled at his expression.

"Deal," I said in a deep playful voice. Sam grinned and picked up the newspaper off the table. I cleared my throat and held my hand out. Sam gave me a perfect bitch face, but I held my ground. He finally sighed loudly and handed the newspaper over to me. He stuck his tongue out at me, like a child and stalked off.

I dropped the newspaper down on the table and got up from my chair. I figured since it will probably be a while until I really needed to do anything, I would get some reading done. Walking over to the shelf, I picked the dustiest book I could find, and opened it to a random page. I coughed as the book slammed down against the table.

I flipped the book over so I could see the title. The Final War. Strange name for a book, I thought to myself. Then again, all of these books were extremely strange. I skimmed through the book until a particular picture caught my eye.

The very familiar name of a certain trench coated angel was written in large letters on the top of the page. There was a picture of a painting, which dated back to 4 BC. He had brown hair and was wearing a long white robe. His body looked like it was glowing, and he had a faint halo around his head. I scoffed, of course that's how they would depict angels back then. I knew better though, angels are dicks.

I continued to read the page and it went on to describe the angel's heroic actions. How he saved hundreds of towns from the wrath of God, by convincing him to give them second chances. How he was one of the angels to reach his full potential. I started to wonder why I hadn't heard of him before we met him a couple of years ago. Then, I figured it was because one of his greatest achievements was saving humans. The angels don't really care about humans, I'm guessing to them, it wasn't an accomplishment. I chuckled, and a burning appreciation for our angel started to form inside me. "Even back then you cared about us, Earth's little savior, good job man," I whispered to no one in particular.

All the sudden I heard a large pair of fluttering wings behind me. I rolled my eyes and turned around in my seat. I was faced by a small angel, smiling slightly. "Hello, Dean," he said in his usual low voice.