A/N: This chapter was originally posted as the latest chapter of The Winchester Travelling Picture Show. I have received numerous requests from folks who wanted to see Sam's POV. Your wish is my command. My muse informs me that Bobby has the honors for the epilogue. Fic title taken from Robert Frost's poem Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening. I would have posted this as a Xover fic, but FFnet does not have tags for Battle: LA. The first line is taken from Battle; the rest is pure Dean. I figure this fic would be rated a soft T.

A/N #2: Black Horse and the Cherry Tree will resume very shortly. That fic was temporarily delayed because of illness. It's nice to be able to breathe again.

Summary: Supernatural/Battle: Los Angeles Xover. Sam and Dean Winchester fight for their lives during the alien invasion of LA. Warning: Impala death straight ahead. Part 1 of 3.

Journal Entry – Dean

Retreat? Hell, we just got here.

If anyone finds Dad's journal, if we don't make it, I want people to know that we went down swinging.

Sam keeps saying that none of this is my fault, that if he didn't want to come back to Cali he would have pulled a major bitchface about it. I know he's just saying that. We're here because I wanted to see those stupid friggin' meteors land in the stupid friggin' ocean. We should have gone to Bobby's place. Shoulda, coulda, woulda.

It's quiet now. We're holed up in this storefront. Got the perimeter fence rigged with tripwires and grenades so if anything fugly tries to sneak in we'll know it. I'm sitting here writing in Dad's journal. Sam's got first watch. Tried to talk him out of it, but you know how stubborn he is. That German shepherd dog we found this morning is sitting here next to me with his head on my knee.

His name's Glenn. At least, that's the name on his tag. Who the hell names a dog Glenn any damn way? He's a good dog, but I decided to name him Jack, after my man Jack Nicholson. Jack's gonna have to toughen up if he's going to hang with me and Sam. This thing's not over yet.

At least Dad's journal didn't burn. Everything else we have did.

Okay, Winchester. From the beginning. March 11th. Yeah, that was a massive clusterfuck. We were on the beach with the rest of the looky loos.

Those meteors hit the water, and right then and there I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up. They were coming in too slow. Hell, I don't know much about space, but even I knew that was wrong. Everybody was standing there cheering like it was fourth of july fireworks.

Sam frowned. "Dean?"

I shook my head and took a step back.. The hair at the back of my neck stood up, hard and painful.

We were screwed. All of us were, I could feel it. I felt naked all of a sudden. I mean, I even left my Colt 1911 back in the car. Sam wasn't packing either. Hell, I didn't have my knife with me, either.

Then those shadows came out of the water and the fireworks really began.

People ran.

We did too. I don't feel good about it. We were outgunned. Outclassed. We ran, and I hated doing that. Dad taught us never to go in blind, and we were as blind as bats that morning. Bright, sunny day, lots of ladies around in various stages of undress. I figured we'd stand there and watch the show. Like I said before, chicks, sun and surf. Figured nothing could go wrong.

I figured wrong.

Whatever the hell those things were firing hit the ground all around us. Sam and I helped as many people as we could, but we couldn't help or save everybody. Some people were blown to bits when those charges hit them. I remember the shells zigzagging in the air. The things that came out of the water were seven feet tall. They were skinny, with these big damn heads, flesh and metal and their guns were attached to their arms. Some of them were red. First thing I thought of was demons, but I'd never seen a demon that looked like that before, not even when I was down in Hell with Alastair.

Couldn't drive out of the parking lot. Some nondriving SOB boxed us in pretty good. I was cursing by the time I got my girl's trunk open, started tossing stuff in I thought we'd need into the duffels. Sam's shotgun, mine, knives, spare ammo, you name it. I slipped my Colt into my back waistband.

That bad feeling stayed with me.

Since the fugs were going after the humans, I hoped they'd leave my car alone. We could double back, get her out later on.

Well, that's what I hoped, anyway. Didn't turn out that way.

I took a quick glance around the corner of the open trunk and saw red.



"Dean!" Sam yelled at me as he grabbed his duffel. "Damn it, come on!"

Second time today I ran like a friggin' rabbit. Sam dug his fingers into my arm and pulled hard, and I still didn't want to move. There was fire and smoke all around us, gas tanks exploding, incoming everywhere. I turned around just in time to see one of those things hit my baby. Direct hit, right in the passenger side door panel. The impact knocked her up into the air.

I heard someone yelling out "NO!" over and over again.

Something hard slammed into me from the side. I realized I was the one yelling, and then everything went black.

I woke up hours later. We were in this apartment building, and I could hear gunfire and explosions in the streets around us. We had our two duffels, and that was it.

My baby was gone. Those bastards killed her. My fault. This was all my fucking fault…

What I was thinking must have shown on my face, because Sam turned from the window and gave me the worst bitchface I've ever seen. "Don't start, okay? It's not your fault."

I laughed, even though there was nothing damn funny about this. "The Impala's gone. We're stuck here. So whose fault is it, Doctor Phil?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's nobody's. You don't own this one, Dean. It's not your weight."

Dumb kid's said that a lot this past week. Not gonna argue with him. We're here because I wanted us here. I know this clusterfuck is mine. All mine.

We hit the streets an hour later. We couldn't hide from this. It was too damn big.

I think we've been out here a week, maybe two. I'm not sure. These alien critters aren't all red like the ones that killed my baby, but they're all fugly. So they all need to die.

Sammy and I make sure that they do.

Damn bastards have aircraft, too. Doesn't seem fair in a fight. Sam figured out that they zero in on radio frequencies. We tested that theory one day at a construction site. I found some explosive charges in a shed.

I like loud noises and things that go boom. I did mention that, right?

Blowing up stuff was pretty sweet, and we saved people too. There were a lot of civilians that got left behind. We got 'em out, got 'em clear, and then Sam and I went back in.

We picked up weapons and ammo where we found them. Got a shitload of stuff from this abandoned police station.

Some of it we find on dead Marines in the street.

I always think of Dad, then, what he would think about that. I know what he'd say: "Do what you have to, son. Look after your brother, and look after yourself," so I do. I whisper that I'm sorry, and I close their eyes when I can. We don't have time to bury them, and I feel bad about that.

We finally met some live Marines one day. Red's not my favorite color, but those fugs showed up too.

There were civilians out there, a woman and her two kids. I went to get them while Sam laid down some pretty heavy cover fire. I still can't remember exactly what happened next. My M16 was knocked out of my hand, and I found myself staring at a fugly.

A red fugly.

The red ones killed my girl.

Apparently this ET wannabe mixed it up with somebody before. He'd lost that fight, and he also lost most of his left gun arm. Bad for him. Good for me.

I snarled at him. I remember the weight of my Bowie knife in my hand. I charged forward and I still don't know how I was able to knock him down. I straddled him, pinned him down, and I went to work with the knife. Bits of slime and bone fragments flew up and hit me in the face. I didn't care. Next thing I knew the thing's chest was nothing but gooey brown mush. I could feel it dripping down my face but I didn't give a fuck. I was smiling too. I was happy.

I finally came back to myself. When I looked up I saw this reporter and his camera man standing there staring. Dude had his camera aimed right at me, but I didn't care.

I saw Sam.

And I saw Sam wasn't alone. There were seven Marines standing around him, and everybody was staring at me. Even Jack the dog.

The Marines finally lowered their guns.

I got the feeling the one closest to me was in charge. He quirked an eyebrow at me. "That seemed kind of personal, John Wayne."

I stood up slowly. I took deep breaths and I had a death grip on my Bowie. Couldn't feel my hand anymore, but it was okay. It was all right. I looked down at what was left of ET and smirked. One less fug in the world.

"Yes sir, it was extremely personal. Sonsabitches killed my car."

We had company that night. There's safety in numbers, no doubt about it. One of the soldiers was a woman. I think her name was Santos. She was an Airman, and hell, she was cute, even in camos and with mud smeared on her face. Handled that assault rifle like she was born with it. I winked at her and she rolled her eyes at me.

That's okay. I think I'm in love.

Staff Sergeant Nantz reminded me of Dad. Didn't look like him, but I recognize a Devil Dog when I see one.

"You boys ex-military?" he asked me.

"No sir. Our Dad trained us."


I nodded. "Corporal. 'Nam."

"What company?"


"Been out here long?"

"Couple of weeks."

"Why didn't you head for the FOB?"

I shrugged like it didn't really matter. "My Dad said there aren't any promises in combat, but I promised these things I'd give 'em a world of hurt."

"You did, huh?" The expression on Nantz' face softened then. "That what your Dad said, huh?"

"Yes sir. He did."

"What's his name, son? What's yours?"

Sam flicked a look at me like he thought I was saying too much.

Dude, it's okay.

Hell, the world was pretty much FUBAR all around us. Names didn't matter.

And besides, I'm damn proud of my dad.

"His name is John Winchester. My name's Dean. This is my brother, Sam."

"Winchester, huh? Like the rifle?"

"Damn right."

We went our separate ways the next morning. Before they left Nantz told me that they'd heard of me and Sam back at the FOB. Thought we were some kind of urban legend, until more and more civilians showed up safe and talked about us.

The Marines gave us names. I'm the "Grim Reaper." Sam? They call him "Einstein."

Samantha likes it. I can tell.

These sonsabitches started on the coastlines. I'm hoping, I'm praying that Bobby and Ellen and Jo are okay. Maybe Bobby saw that tape. I can see him sitting there staring at the screen, shaking his head. "Idjit."

I'd give anything to hear him say that again. Maybe I will, after this is all over.

Sam heard a rumor that these fugs came here for the water. I don't know how true that is. I'll tell ya one thing, though: water doesn't hurt 'em like it did in that Mel Gibson movie, Signs. Wish it did.

That's okay, though.

Regular ammo works just fine.

We'll move out in the morning. One red fug down, but the way I remember there was more. I got a promise to keep to them, and the rest of them, too. A world of hurt, remember? I don't know if this is gonna end bloody. It probably will, but that's a promise I intend to keep. It's me, Sam, and Jack. Jack's not that scared anymore. He's definitely one of us now. That's good, 'cause we need all hands on deck for this one.

We got work to do.

A/N – FOB: Forward Operating Base.

"There are no promises in combat." Spoken by Staff Sgt Nantz in Battle: Los Angeles. Glenn the dog makes a cameo in the movie. I'd like to think he made it out alive.

Sam's journal entry will be posted this weekend.