(A/N : I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters! This may be slightly ooc because I am dealing with the future!gang. Lucifer = Samifer, Castiel = Man-hoe, Dean = Hardass. Rated T for later chapters. Please, please, please R&R! I'd love feedback. )
Women, decadence and amphetamines. The adult version of the sugar plum fairies. He didn't know how long he had been lying there and truthfully, he didn't care. This place was quiet and peaceful. Gaps in the cabin walls provided a nice draft most days. The world outside the cabin wasn't that bad. The camp was a stronghold of sorts, wasn't exactly Nirvana but compared to the real world which lay beyond their cloaking magic and gates, it was almost like paradise.
It had been a long day filled with speaking , teaching, connecting, then more connecting. That was almost all he did; unless their fearless leader called on him for a consult or they needed to get the convoy up and out in search of supplies. Aside from that he was generally in one cabin or another, almost always with a female beside, on top or underneath him. A mere five years ago the thought of sinning, succumbing to temptation would have made him as nervous as a teen stealing his fathers coveted issue of Playboy Magazine. Now the prospect of of sexual relations or just seeing naked women put asmile on his weary face. None of that mattered now though. God wasn't watching and Hell had quite literally broken loose.
Oh, how things changed over the years.
The muffled sounds of yelling and heavy footsteps did nothing to rouse him. However, when those sounds flooded into his cabin it was enough to make him rise out of his near-comatose state. "Cas, I hope you've got pants on!" The voice that had called out to him was that of a sleep deprived and fairly panicked Chuck. The prophet was the first one to burst into the cabin. Followed closely by Dean , behind Dean a small group people that had followed him from wherever the hell he had come from.
Someone switched the light on and Castiel let out a low groan, rubbing his eyes as the glow assaulted them. "Get up!" Dean barked, "We need the bed!"
Castiel didn't even ask. Dean sounded pissed off, extremely so and he was – well he was hungover. Not the time to get into one of their little arguments, as amusing as they were. His body was heavy and sluggish and he couldn't stand up sooner. The second he had gotten off of the bed he saw what had everyone in a frenzy. There was a woman in Dean's arms. An unconscious and blood covered woman who was quickly deposited onto the bed.
A crowd of ten or so people were now gathered outside the doorway, most look like they had just woken up. Castiel could feel their pain. Chuck scissored his way back through the crowd with a woman who he knew as Lisa by his side. One was carrying a large Rubbermaid container that normally housed some of their first-aid supplies, and the other was carrying a bed sheet.
"Where did she get hit?" Lisa asked anxiously as she pushed her way to Dean's side. Cas wasn't quite with it, in fact he felt like he was just barely following along. He was standing at the head of the bed, looking down at the womans face while people were in a frenzy all around him. Her dark hair was matted and tangled, there was either blood or mud on almost every inch of her face. His eyes traveled down her body as Lisa rummaged through the contained for supplies. Someone had said 'hit'. Had she been shot? Castiel's eyes stopped at a blossoming stain on her lower abdomen, on the right side.
"What happened?" For a moment he barely recognized his own voice as he spoke. Both Dean and Lisa looked up, then Lisa promptly shot a look at Dean. If looks could kill, their leader would have been lying on the floor.
The woman clearly had no intention of answering his question and no one else seemed up for it. Lisa went back to work, taking a pair of scissors and cutting the side of the woman's top to make it easier to remove. She needed the area to be unobstructed if she was supposed to tend to the wounds. Lisa was more or less the camp medic. She slowly pulled it back, revealing a tell-tale bullet hole underneath.
She turned to Chuck, ushering him to come forward and hand off the bed sheet. Castiel finally pried his eyes off of the woman and turned them to Dean, who met his gaze with a cold one of his own. "She was going to shoot me."
Castiel was used to Deans generally emotionless tone, but he could have sworn he saw a hint of guilt in his eyes. Just for a second before it was gone. Dean and six others had gone out to sweep a town a state over, looking for survivors and supplies. The Croatoan virus had worked fast and furiously through the general population that made up the USA. As far as he knew, the thing was global. This was the first time that he had seen Dean in two days. So far, it didn't look like the trip was a successful one. In plain English, Dean had more or less just confessed to shooting the woman. Funny how she didn't look like much of a threat to him.
Lisa was staring intently at the wound, a grim look prying at her lips. She and Chuck had strategically placed the clean bed sheet over top of the woman's bare abdomen, cutting a decent sized hole out so that there would still be access to the wound. "It doesn't look deep and there's no exit wound. I've got to get it out. That or she bleeds to death." Chuck's eyes widened like a deer in the headlights
"You're going to pull the bullet out…but,we don't have any...This is a bad idea."
Now it was Lisa's turn to glare at Chuck. "Got a better one?" She snapped back.
He could see why Chuck would be alarmed. They didn't have any anesthesia and Lisa was going to take the bullet out try to sew up the wound. That would hurt. Even though the woman was unconscious, having a pair of forceps poking around her delicate insides might just be enough to wake her. Lisa took a step back and removed her already bloody latex gloves, trading them in for a new and cleaner pair. As if following some silent order Chuck picked a standard hospital operation kit out of the box. The type that were kept in those plastic bags, only to be cracked open for the main event. Chuck slowly peeled the first layer of plastic off and set it on top of the sheet. Then he grabbed a flashlight, flicking it on and turning it to the wound. Lisa wielded a pair of surgical forceps, glancing from the stainless steel implement then back to the wound. It became apparent even before she had begun that she was going to need to make the wound bigger.
"Dean, hold her legs. Cas? Keep her arms pinned." Both men followed the gruff orders silently. Castiel leaned over the short headboard o f the bed, placing his hands just above her elbows. Applying just enough pressure to make her arms sink into the poor quality mattress below. Dean did the same, securing the girls legs should she wake up. Then the cabin fell silent.
Chuck was no longer looking at the girl. The flashlight was pointed at the opening but he was staring out the door, already cringing. Lisa shut her eyes for a moment and picked up a capped scalpel. Castiel idly wondered if she was praying to some invisible deity. From where he stood it certainly looked that way. The brunette was nervous but she was trying to keep it together. What she was about to do was reckless at the least. The woman could wake up, she could bleed to death, she could go into shock, or the wound could get infected. Any number of possibilities. Lady Luck never really seemed to be by their side.
Lisa took a deep breath, slowly removing the plastic protective cap off of the razor sharp instrument. "I'm going to cut on three." Her left hand poised at the bottom of the wound; hovering just above the skin.
Chuck squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could. This horror story wasn't his thing.
Dean looked up from the woman only to find Castiel staring intently. He looked stoned, much like he usually did. Totally lost in his own little world. He pressed down harder on her ankles, planting his own feet to the ground.
He did have some sympathy for the woman. Now he knew what pain felt like. Castiel had yet to be cut open but he had broken his foot a year back. That had hurt. On three the room fell deathly silent. The men focussed on their tasks while Lisa fought to keep her hand steady. The scalpel lowered to the woman's skin, just pressing. Lisa bit her lip, as if giving it a second thought. Instead of pulling away she pressed the scalpel into the previously untouched skin.
Flesh parted, blood slowly began to flow.
Then the woman began to scream.