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| Banner by Chantel Chambers-Knight |
Authors' Note – This fic is a collaboration between Silverspoon and WelshWitch1011.
As you may or may not know, a certain US preacher recently predicted that a 'Rapture' would occur. Since this involved legions of the undead rising to feast on us, we got to thinking 'what would the Winchesters do?'
The rules are inspired by a post that Silverspoon created on The Fanficaholics Anon Forum. Join us on Facebook if we appear to be your kind of crazy.
So, here it is, the Harvelle/Winchester zombie apocalypse tips for survival.
We own nothing but these ass kicking rules.
No Brainer
"Hey Jo!" he demanded of the petite blonde, who currently sat cross-legged on the motel bed as she worked at Sam's laptop, "you seen this?"
Jo Harvelle looked up briefly from her typing, chewing at her bottom lip, and simply nodded. Dean was somewhat surprised to note that her expression was one of trepidation.
"I don't think you should be making fun of that Dean," Jo said, her tone inflected with a note of sobriety, "stranger things have happened... mostly to us."
Dean let out a snort of laughter and directed a look at Jo that clearly stated he thought she may be teetering on the precipice of insanity.
"You're kidding, right?" he checked, spreading the paper out in front of him as he began to read aloud, " 'Prepare for Judgement Day - Radio Preacher Predicts Zombie Apocalypse'."
Dean chuckled before he read the proceeding article with a mocking grin twitching at his lips. Jo glanced up from the laptop screen.
"Okay, so it's probably a load of BS," she allowed, wincing as Dean collapsed onto the bed beside her and leant back against the pillows.
"You think?" he quipped, shaking his head as he finished reading the article and then tossed the newspaper onto the floor. "The things they print these days."
Jo flipped the lid of the laptop down and inclined her body slightly away from Dean; a gesture that did not go unnoticed.
"It got me to thinking though," Jo began, hesitant, "that maybe it wouldn't hurt if people were a little... prepared."
"Prepared?" Dean repeated, suspicion glinting within his green eyes as he regarded Jo. Her cheeks flushed crimson under his scrutiny and, quick as lightning, Dean snatched the laptop from the bed and settled it onto his lap.
"Dean! Give it!" Jo demanded, suddenly appearing desperate as she pawed at Dean in an attempt to regain custody of the computer. Dean fended her off with embarrassing ease; one arm outstretched and holding her entire body away from his.
Dean flipped the screen up, and surveyed it quickly, his eyes widening before he finally cracked up in peels of laughter.
"What the hell is this?" he spluttered, indicating the screen, which was poised on the editing page of a website entitled 'The Hunter Journals'. "Joanna Beth Harvelle... blogs?"
"Yeah, I do," she sniffed indignantly, "and if we're gonna discuss our internet activities, sweetheart..."
Dean cleared his throat and shrugged lamely, "Touché."
Jo reached for the laptop and found her hands being playfully slapped away once more.
"Hey, I'm reading," Dean scolded, gleeful as he scanned the newly drafted blog entry, his amusement mounting by the second.
Jo grumbled and moved to sit astride his legs, grabbing the sides of the computer and attempting to wrestle it free from his vice like grip.
"Dean, c'mon!" she whined, slapping him across the head for good measure. "Do you always have to be such an ass?"
"Takes one to know one," Dean deflected, shooting Jo a sideways glance as she sat back sulkily on her heels.
"Real mature, Winchester," she muttered, folding her arms across her chest and beginning to grow genuinely irritated. "Go ahead, mock me."
"No, no," Dean replied, attempting to hide a smug smirk behind a feigned serious expression. "This is er... some sound advice here, Jo."
He coughed dramatically before beginning to read, "Things to bear in mind in case of actual attack by zombie hordes. Rule number one; always make sure the gas tank of your car is full."
"Yuck it up," Jo snapped, grabbing for the laptop again and finding herself being flicked in the forehead by an obviously boisterous Dean. Grinning, he began to tap at the laptop keys, his peripheral vision allowing him to see Jo's features twist into a mask of horror.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, growing frantic now as the idea of Dean inflicting his supposed humour on the followers of her perfectly serious blog suddenly struck her like a sucker punch to the gut.
"Editing," Dean explained, triumphant as he added, "there, much better. Rule number one; always make sure the gas tank of your car is full. Alternatively, if your neighbours own a '67 Impala, steal that instead. When the fuzz have become zombie chowder, you'll no longer be breaking the law."
Jo read over his shoulder and smiled thoughtfully, "So if our neighbours read this..."
Dean suddenly shook his head aghast and began tapping furiously on the 'delete' button. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and retyped the last paragraph, grinning as he turned the screen in Jo's direction.
"Oh, much better," she drawled sarcastically. Jo pinched the bridge of her nose and began rubbing her forehead.
"Hey, I figure if we are all about to become a zombie buffet, your little readership could use my hunting expertise," Dean said with a wink. However, he suddenly frowned as he watched an idea clearly flash across Jo's face. Dean swallowed hard as she leaned in closer, her breath ghosting the shell of his ear.
"Dean," she breathed, tracing her fingertip down the side of his neck, giggling as his hands stilled on the keyboard and he appeared to mull over his current options.
With a shrug, Dean continued to clack away at the keyboard, deciding that this opportunity was one that was just too good to miss. Jo groaned and threw her hands up in the air in a despairing gesture. However, rather than make a move on Dean again, she settled herself on the bed at his side and peered over his shoulder.
"Rule number two; to kill a zombie/ reanimated corpse, aim to destroy the brain," Dean intoned, shaking his head as he added, "I think we can do better than that!"
Jo's eyes widened in horror as she watched Dean systematically begin to inject every last one of her helpful tips with his own brand of questionable humour. After ten minutes, not one of the rules remaining even remotely resembled what Jo had initially written. Dean sat back and beamed at the fruits of his toil with pride, whilst Jo, however, simply stared.
"So, whadda'ya think?" Dean inquired, cocking his head to one side as he looked to Jo for approval. He was met with several seconds of uncertain silence before finally the corners of Jo's lips twitched upwards, and she doubled over in laughter. Her shoulders trembled helplessly and tears streamed down both of her cheeks, whilst every so often the odd snort escaped her.
"You like it then?" teased Dean, returning his attention to the blog post and re-reading it with a chortle.
Top Ten Tips for Surviving the Zombie Hordes!
The only set of rules to abide by when Grandma rises from the grave.
1) Make sure your car is filled up on gas. If your neighbour has a better car than you; steal it. They're probably going to die and come back as zombies anyway, may as well give them a reason to chew your brains out.
2) Act dumb. A zombie will pick the brainiac over the moron any day of the week; more sustenance. Stupid people take note; you are NOT safe, you are light lunch.
3) Secure all windows and doors of your home. That includes the cat flap. You wouldn't believe what you can fit through those things. And stray zombie cats? Not fun.
4) Gather a party of kick-ass co-zombie-hunters. Avoid kids, old people, teenagers, and pregnant women. You don't want to be stopping in the middle of a massacre for potty breaks, hormonal outbursts, or to deliver a baby.
5) No zombie lovin'. May sound obvious but with the sudden interest in supernatural/human hook ups in the media these days, some of you may be tempted to try it. Don't. Not only will he rip your heart out ladies, he'll also eat your brains.
6) Do not go outside to investigate strange noises. If you saw those movies you already know it's not a raccoon. When the noise becomes too distracting, crank up some Zeppelin.
7) Locate your nearest Walmart and hole up there. Not one of those crappy little small town stores, one with furniture and clothes. Not only will you have enough food to survive the next six months, but also plenty of fresh clothing. There's no excuse for poor personal hygiene.
8) Stock up on contraception. There's no worse time than the zombie apocalypse for a raging case of herpes or an un-planned pregnancy. See rule (4).
9) The member of your kick-ass co-zombie-hunting party acting suspiciously is likely trying to conceal a fresh zombie bite. Have everyone strip off at regular intervals for safety reasons, of course. If there's a member of your party you'd rather not see naked, consider shooting them as a precaution.
10) Select a suitable apocalypse soundtrack. Preferably classic rock. No Bieber, no Jonas Brothers, and no Miley. People are being eaten alive; they're suffering enough.
"Aww come on Jo," Dean pleaded, gesturing to the screen, "that's funny shit. It'll give people something to read whilst they're waiting for the undead to chew their eyeballs out."
"Yeah, but the point of the blog is to give people tips that might actually be useful, Dean," she argued, arching an eyebrow as he patted her thigh reassuringly.
"Hey, they're pretty damn good rules. You follow those and I guarantee you won't be a zombie 'happy meal'," Dean defended, his eyes roaming languidly across Jo as she stretched out on her front beside him and finally seized control of the laptop.
"Seriously, Dean?" she grinned, glancing over her shoulder at him as she re-read the list, wincing in both amusement and despair, "rule number eight?"
Dean smirked, waggling his eyebrows as he moved across the bed and eased himself down beside her, his hand drifting with obvious intent up the back of her thigh as his lips descended on her neck.
"Damn good advice," he stated as Jo shivered at his touch, "in my professional, bad-ass hunter opinion."
"Well, your professional bad-ass hu..." Jo began, trailing off abruptly as the door of the motel room was flung open, striking the wall at the side and sending the picture frame that hung on it crashing to the floor. A panting and blood splattered Sam was revealed standing upon the threshold. Dean and Jo exchanged glances, before both climbing to their feet and approaching Sam, who was doubled over in an attempt to catch his breath.
"Sammy, what the hell?" Dean barked, ushering his brother inside and slamming the door closed behind him, before sliding the chain into place. Jo moved to the window and parted the dirty blinds, her eyes doubling in size as her gaze befell something stirring in the shadows of the parking lot.
"Uhm... Dean..." she whispered, her voice trembling. Dean lowered Sam onto the bed, noting the hunting knife he still clutched tightly in one hand. The blade was dripping with ruby red blood, which also stained both of his hands and the front of his plaid shirt.
"What happened Sammy?" demanded Dean, moving the now forgotten laptop aside so that he could sit next to Sam, who wore an expression of deep shock.
"I... I just... zombies in the parking lot," Sam stuttered, motioning for Jo to step away from the window. She obliged quickly, taking several steps backwards that almost sent her sprawling across the bed.
"What?" Dean said slowly, his attention shifting from Sam to Jo as he attempted to gauge whether they were united in some kind of prank. "If you guys are messing with me, I swear to God..."
"Three of them," Sam stated, having now regained his composure, "there were more behind them coming up over the hill. I barely managed to get away."
"Outside Dean..." Jo directed, raising one hand towards the window. From outside, strange sounds almost similar to unearthly moans arose on the night air.
Dean strode over to the window, one hand resting on his hip and his expression dubious.
"I'm not falling for this..." he began, trailing off as he squinted through the grimy glass. He could just about discern the figures that lumbered stiffly towards the motel; clothing hung in tatters, limbs stuck out at odd angles, and the street lights illuminated rotting, blackened flesh. With his mouth falling open, Dean turned away from the window. In that moment, precisely two words flashed through Dean Winchester's mind, and succeeded in wiping all traces of amusement from his face; zombie apocalypse...
In a few paces, Dean crossed the room once again, seized the laptop, and sourly stabbed the button that read 'post'.
With a significantly sobered expression in place, Dean turned to his brother.
"Sammy, fill the gas tank. We're headed to Walmart."
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