This was what happened when there was just enough beer, too much free time and not enough sex. With the sex there wasn't so much talking. With the talking there was too much weirdness, and it turned out…not enough beer. Eliot signaled the waitress for a whiskey.
Message sent Eliot turned his gaze back to his drinking partner. "Want to run that by me again?"
"Okay." Dean leaned forward, forearms on the table, beer clasped in relaxed hands. "Let's just say it's the end of the world…"
"Right, " Eliot agreed, "but not the result of a nuclear war because that would, " he used air quotes, "change the rules".
Dean nodded firmly and Eliot shook his head in disbelief as he continued. "Because all this other stuff…vampires, werewolves, zombies…we've got those already."
"Right." Dean approved happy that Eliot was finally on his page. "And we have no idea what radiation will do to those freaks."
Eliot's eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline as Dean continued talking, but Dean was much more concerned with passing on valuable information than determining if his audience actually believed what he was saying. Dean had started in on the whiskey before Eliot had.
"So. End of the World. First, gather the survivors and kill anyone who is infected."
Eliot found Dean's end-of-the-world-by-mutant-virus scenario very disturbing and a little too plausible to discount.
"Find a place that's defensible, preferably high ground, with a self-contained water source that's also defensible….the last thing we'd need would be for the water to be infected."
So far, this entire survival scenario was common sense; it was the next part that freaked Eliot out. It wasn't so much what Dean said, but that he said it with so much conviction. He'd obviously spent a lot of time organizing this plan and that might have been the scariest thing of all.
As Eliot listened, Dean ran down the scenario again. Weapons were a must, but salt was almost higher on the ammunition list than bullets. Having a self-sustainable farm was key, but the herb garden had esoteric plants that Eliot didn't want to know the uses for. Iron, silver, holy water – the list went on and on.
"And that," said Dean emphatically, "is how to survive the apocalypse." He switched his beer for a shot, and Eliot joined him.
Their glasses hit the table simultaneously. "In theory…" Eliot prompted.
For the first time, Dean looked uncomfortable. He pulled away from the table and leaned back into his chair. "In theory. Right."
Silence stretched between them for a moment until Eliot couldn't take it any more. "Hey, how fast can you get out of a pair of handcuffs?"
Dean's answering grin was relieved and his eyes offered a challenge. "Faster than you, I bet." They rose from the table as one. Eliot was confident that Dean had a pair of handcuffs somewhere in that Mary Poppin's trunk of his. This was going to be a much better way to spend the evening.