Fandom Imagines

Supernatural/Walking Dead crossover

"DAMNIT. NOT AGAIN." Dean yells into the brick walls surrounding us. The side road that we fell into when Crowley shoved us through the window of our hotel room is dirty and rundown. Really rundown.

"Dean, I'm pretty sure yelling isn't going to help. Where the hell are we?" I ask, trying to get out of the pile of trash that I had (luckily) landed in. After watching me struggle for a few seconds Sam extends his hand to help.

"It looks like the same town we just came from. But the real question is how are we gonna get back?" Sam looks back into the room, prompting Dean and I to do the same. It's definitely the same room we had been staying in, but it's different. It looks like it hadn't been lived in for years. The walls are going brown and have runs all down them from where the rain had leaked in. The beds are missing their bedding and the carpet is stained with various different things, many of which look suspiciously like blood.

"Well, last time we were pulled back by super mutant ninja angel, so I guess we'll have to get in touch with someone upstairs somehow." Dean says distractedly, pulling his gaze away from the room and out to the street. "Hey, is it, like, creepily quiet out there, or is it just me?"

Only then did I notice the lack of noise that usually comes with the ordinary world. My brothers and I share a look before pulling out our guns and slowly making our way out of our hidey hole. Rounding the corner, I feel fear bubbling up inside of me. What I see terrifies me. Or, maybe it's what I don't see. People. This place resonates death and despair. It's falling apart and there is absolutely no one around. Dead silence.

Sam glances back at me and I know we're thinking the same thing. The last time we saw something like this was the--

"Stop right there." A thick southern drawl graces my ears and I turn around slowly, pointing my gun in the air in "surrender". The man that accompanies the voice is not disappointing. He's tan, or maybe just very dirty, his black hair is long and greasy, like it hasn't been washed or cut in ages, and he has a thick layer of stubble lining his jaw. His blue eyes are looking intensely at us, scanning us for something, but they seem to falter slightly when they land on me. "Guns on the ground."

"Listen, buddy--"

"On the ground, NOW!"

"Okay! Okay." Dean soothes, bending slowly to put his only weapon on the ground and signaling for us to do the same. As soon as we're disarmed he points his gun down and finally quits glaring. That expression is quickly replaced with one of confusion, which, I'm sure, mirrors ours. "What happened here?"

"What do you think happened? Same thing that happened everywhere else."

"And that would be?" Sam steps in front of me, blocking me from the mans sight as much as possible.

"Where have you been?" Yep. There it is. Once again we're the crazy people.

"Living under rocks." Dean responds, his signature smirk plastered on his face. "Please, just humor us."

Half an hour and a hell of a lot of explaining later, and we find out it's exactly what Sam and I had feared. The motherfucking apocalypse. With zombies. Perfect.

"You folks are really lost, aren't you?" The man, now known as Rick, asks us, concern seeping into his features.

"You could say that, yeah."

"Well, uh, Dean, right?"

"Yeah."

"Listen, you guys seem harmless enough and confused as hell. I don't want to leave you out here to die. I've got a group back at the prison. It's safe there. Why don't you all come back with me? At least until you get solidly on your feet."