The dead are walking. That statement may sound shocking to others, but to Nevaeh "Baby" Winchester, it's just another messed up day in her crazy life.
SUPERNATURAL/THE WALKING DEAD.
Co.Written
Mhxirii
"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains." – Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, Jane Austen & Seth Grahame-Smith
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BLOWING OUT A BREATH, NEVAEH WINCHESTER wiped sweat from her forehead as she confided to dig the now-open grave, surrounded by the smell of fresh earth and dankness and her own sweat, intent on getting through the last half-foot of dirt to the grave when she heard a moan from topside.
"Dad?" She looked for Eldest Winchester, "Uncle Sammy?" Mused the teen as she stared at the two, "Did you hear that?"
Sam stopped digging and leaned on the shovel, brows furrowed. Nevaeh looked towards her father who had his head tilted in concentration. The night was quiet. Far away, a car engine droned.
"Huh," Dean said, and shrugged. Sam wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and got back to digging while Nevaeh couldn't shake the feeling of unease.
The ex ghost was now ablaze in his coffin when they heard it again.
"That was definitely a moan," Sam said, swiveling around to survey the cemetery. Dean switched the flashlight back on to give them more illumination and quickly got a hold of his daughter, keeping her close.
Nevaeh squinted to the dark, spitting the human shape, "Hello?" She called towards the stumbling shape. "Are you all right miss?" Another low moan floated over to them.
Dean picked up the salt-loaded shotgun from the ground, and Sam pulled his handgun out from the back of his jeans. Nevaeh holding the flashlight steady, they slowly approached.
The figure had stopped with its back to them, but now they could see that it was a woman. She was wearing tennis shoes and a plain blue dress, some kind of service worker uniform, with a dirty jeans jacket over it. Her brown hair was matted with dirt and leaves. She was round-shouldered, hunched over with her arms hanging limply at her sides.
"You okay, lady?" Dean asked. "You hurt?"
Slowly, the woman turned around. Her eyes were vacant, her face slack and unintelligent. A fine line of drool trailed from her open mouth.
Dean let out a huff of breath, not quite a laugh. "Man, she is hammered," he said.
"That's why drugs are bad." Nevaeh muttered with a snicker, "she's out of it." Sam grimaced at them, because it wasn't really funny, wandering a graveyard too drunk to speak or keep a straight line.
"You shouldn't be out here," Sam told her. "Let us walk you to the sidewalk, call you a cab."
The woman took a few hesitant, shuffling steps toward them and said, "Nrghhhh."
