So, this is set around S05E21 of Supernatural - imagine Sam and Bobby and Cas had failed to stop the Croatoan virus from being spread, and that's what created the Walkers - and just after season 1 of The Walking Dead, right around when they left the CDC and - obviously - before they found Hershel's farm. Anyway, this is the first Supernatural/Walking Dead crossover I've written, so please tell me what you think!

It was almost gone.

Castiel looked down at his hands, noting the dirt and grime and blood that covered them, and bowed his head in defeat. He'd used his angelic powers during the fight the night before when the Walkers had ambushed them on the road. He'd had to. If he hadn't, he doubted they'd all be there right now.

But Castiel had known for a while. The angels had fled and God was MIA, meaning they were on their own. And since then, since the Walkers had basically taken over, his powers had been dwindling until he was practically scraping at the bottom of the barrel. And last night he'd used up most of his reserves. He had so little left that the only thing he could really do anymore was heal minor wounds.

"Cas?" Dean came up behind him just then, shotgun resting on his shoulder. "Hey, we need to move. I don't want a repeat of last night."

"Nor do I, Dean." Castiel said, turning to him, "I just thought you might want to know that my 'mojo', as you call it, is nearly all gone."

Dean's eyes hardened. "How much is left?"

"Not enough to be much use. I can act as a healer, and that is all."

Dean's lips pressed into a straight, thin line. "I see."

"Dean, I'm sorry –"

"This is not your fault, Cas." Dean cut him off sharply, "None of this is. And neither Sammy nor I blame you for anything. You don't have to apologize." He smiled and Castiel managed to smile back.

"Thank you," the ex-angel said sincerely.

Dean made sure they kept moving, falling into the role of leader like he always did. He kept them safe, he kept them fed, he kept them together, and that was what mattered. Sometimes when Castiel thought about it, he realized that he and Sam would never have made it without Dean.

They had very few rules, just the three of them, but what ones they did have they enforced with a vengeance; don't drink the water without boiling it, no going off alone even to relieve yourself, and don't fire your gun unless it's absolutely necessary. They'd found out through trial and error that noise attracted the Walkers, and since then the guns had been only a precaution. They used machetes and bats and whatever else they could; only turning to the guns when they were really screwed.

And so, they survived. But that was about all they had to show for all their hard work.

X X X

It was only their second day on the road, and already Daryl was feeling tense.

Following the aftermath of their flight from the CDC they'd been heading south without any real destination. Where was there really to go, though? The CDC had been their last hope. And though – as Rick kept insisting – they were alive and that's what counted, none of them felt particularly lucky. And now, thirsty, hungry, emotionally and physically exhausted, and just downright weary, none of them were in the mood for any more surprises. They needed a chance to recuperate.

So when Daryl suddenly saw a car on the road just ahead of them he signaled for everyone else to stop, wary of what could happen. He wasn't quite sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't good. This stretch of road had been completely deserted until now. At the very least, he was waiting for bandits to jump out or something. It wasn't an entirely absurd idea, not now after all that had happened.

People did things they wouldn't normally do when panic set in.

Daryl dismounted his bike and headed toward the car, but he quickly realized it was empty. The windows were rolled up and there was no key inside, and the doors were all locked as well, as was the trunk. It seemed strange, but there was no one else around.

"Anything?" Rick joined him moments later, gun at the ready.

"Nah," Daryl replied. "Nothin' but an empty car."

The car itself was a '67 Chevy Impala. It was a nice car and it was still in good shape, too. It'd be a shame to let it go to waste. It looked, though, as if someone had left it there expecting to come back. Daryl took a wild guess and surmised that the poor bastard probably never would.

"There could be supplies inside," Rick said. "And we could use another car. Our own are packed enough as it is."

"Leave that to me," Daryl said.

Meanwhile the others loitered around Dale's RV and the truck, waiting patiently and giving themselves a few moments to catch their breath and relax for a moment. It didn't take long for Daryl to get into the Impala, though, and soon – after unfortunately having to give up picking the lock and instead smash the driver's side window in – he had it hotwired and up and running.

Rick said he'd drive it, and they transferred what they could over to the trunk, stuffing quite a bit inside. Then Rick, with Glenn in the passenger's seat, got in line behind Daryl and they were off again.

X X X

"Dean!" Sam gasped.

They'd been out, scavenging for food and water. They'd only be gone a few hours, but when they got back the Impala was gone, and all that was left were a few pieces of broken glass.

"Son of a bitch," Dean swore. "We just got carjacked."

"Dean, we cannot survive without the Impala." Castiel murmured, "All your weapons are in it, and without it we're 'sitting ducks', as you'd say."

"I know." Dean massaged his temples. "We'll just have to find it, then."

"How?" Sam queried.

"We follow the trail." Dean murmured, "I'm sure Cas and his angel mojo can help us out at least a little bit, right?"

Castiel nodded, "I can spare some, yes."

"So . . ." Sam frowned, "We're going to walk?"

"No, Sam. We're going to fly." Dean replied sarcastically.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Can we continue on, now?" Castiel interjected.

"Yeah," Dean shouldered his shotgun and started forward, "We'd better start covering some serious ground. It'll be night soon."

Castiel looked up at the already-darkening sky and sighed. This would be so much easier if he could fly them to wherever the Impala was. Unfortunately, his wings were so weak now that he could hardly fly himself anywhere, much less take along passengers. It was rather humbling, to be honest.

"Cas, come on! You're bringing up the rear!"

Pulling his trench coat tighter around him, even though the temperature never bothered him, Castiel followed the Winchester brothers as they walked along the side of the road, hoping that luck was on their side.

At this point, luck and hope were the only things left.

X X X

It was dark when they decided to make camp.

They'd found a place that was perfect. Up high like their old camp, and – as far as they could tell – free of walkers. There was a stream of fresh, running water nearby, and a nice clearing surrounded by trees that gave them room for fires. Rick had told them to settle down, then, and he and Shane had gathered the wood needed as everyone set up their tents.

It was a nice place, and they were hoping they could stay there. Even Daryl liked the idea; it was a good hunting ground.

The car they'd found earlier that day had helped a lot. Before, with just the RV and the truck, they'd been pretty cramped. Even though Daryl had ridden his own motorcycle, there was still not enough space for all of them and their luggage. Carol kept saying it was a miracle. Daryl just thought it was pure dumb luck.

After getting camp set up and the fires started, watches were assigned and those who didn't have their turn yet went to bed, wanting to get an early start as Daryl and Glenn took the first watch.

"So . . . um, Daryl?"

Daryl turned as Glenn approached him, furrowing his brow. This was sure to be awkward. Daryl didn't know the Korean kid very well. He'd worked alongside him in Chicago; and yeah, he'd seen that Glenn was smart and quick on his feet. But, to be honest, the kid was a bit too timid. He didn't belong in this world.

Then again, Glenn had definitely pulled his own weight. Before their final, disastrous trip into Chicago, and before the walkers had attacked them at their camp, Glenn used to volunteer to go into the city to get supplies by himself.

That took guts.

"Yeah?" Daryl replied, turning back to keep watch as he was supposed to.

"I'm sorry, you know."

". . . What?"

"About Merle."

"Oh," Daryl felt his throat tighten up. "Yeah, thanks."

Glenn nodded and fell silent. It felt a bit awkward to Daryl but all in all it was okay. Daryl felt as if he could relax in the Korean kid's presence, as if Glenn didn't judge him like the others did. And it felt . . . nice, admittedly.

"You'd better go back to yer post." Daryl said finally, toning down his normal rough tone to something unlike him; something gentle. "We need to make sure we're watchin' the perimeter all the way 'round the camp."

Glenn started, "Oh – oh, yeah. Of course. Sorry." He smiled sheepishly and shouldered his gun as he went back over to the other side of the camp where he'd been posted.

Daryl watched him go out of the corner of his eye and sighed, wondering what exactly had passed between them. It hadn't felt like just a simple friendly talk. There had been more, like strange vibe in the atmosphere, as if Glenn understood him. And, though Daryl would never admit it aloud, it was comforting. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he turned back to let his eyes roam along the dark horizon, and suddenly he felt okay again. He didn't feel great, of course not. But okay was good.

Okay was a start.

X X X

"Hey, guys! Look!"

Castiel's eyes widened as he saw where Dean was pointing. They'd been walking for hours and hadn't seen anything. But now, obvious in the darkness, was the glow of multiple campfires in the distance. Obviously it was some sort of refugee campsite, but that wasn't what Dean was pointing at. For there, just on the edge of the camp near a run-down RV, was the Impala. Dean looked as if he was having a hard time restraining himself from leaping for joy.

"Aww, baby." Dean cooed, as they approached the Impala, "I'll never leave you again." He opened the door and stuck his head in, and multiple curses were heard floating out moments later as he retreated, his expression now twisted into a grimace. "Damn it, the keys are gone."

"Someone in the camp must have them." Sam said, "Great."

"Can't we just ask for them back?" Castiel offered.

Dean shook his head. "Look, Cas, there aren't any rules anymore. Just because it belongs to us people won't care. They'll come take it anyway. Out here its finder's keepers and kill or be killed."

Sam furrowed his brow, "Dean . . ."

"All I'm saying is that asking nicely won't do anything. We'll get the keys back, just watch. But we're going to do it my way, alright?"

Sam and Castiel glanced at each other before they both nodded. After all, they needed the Impala. Without it they would die, and Castiel was sure of it. All of their weapons and their provisions and things were in the trunk. They needed them.

This was necessary.

X X X

Glenn was drifting a little bit, sort of daydreaming, when he heard the rustle in the woods.

He froze in place, eyes wide and scared like a deer caught in the headlights, and stared hard at the spot the sound had come from. Cocking his gun he stood with it at-the-ready, as prepared as he could be if something came lumbering out of those woods.

But instead of a Walker – as he'd been expecting – he saw a man.

Glenn stared, confused. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Why would a man wear what looked like a business outfit – complete with a clean-cut white shirt, black slacks, shiny shoes, and a London Fog trench coat over top – during the friggin' zombie apocalypse? That was just weird.

Glenn lowered his gun, prepared to call out to the man, but before he could the man disappeared – literally vanished into thin air as if he'd never existed. Glenn stared.

What the hell . . . ?

The Korean stood there, fully convinced that he was absolutely insane for about three seconds, and then the man reappeared right in front of him.

With a gasp, Glenn stumbled back, opening his mouth to shout for the others, but a hand clamped down over it from behind before he could and he found himself quite suddenly unable to move, scream, or fight back.

"Did anyone see, Cas?" The gruff voice of the one holding Glenn grunted.

"No," the man – if he even was a man – in the trench coat replied. "We are still undetected."

"Good. Where's Sam?"

"Getting the weapons."

Glenn inhaled sharply. Weapons? What were these people planning? They weren't going to kill anyone, were they?

Unbidden, Glenn's mind jumped to Daryl and he whimpered softly, afraid for him and the others in the camp. If only he could get free and sound the alarm. But the sound of a gun being cocked cut off his thoughts and he stiffened, trembling in his captor's arms.

"Dean."

"I know."

"Dean, look at him."

Glenn heard his captor, Dean, sigh heavily. "Alright, fine. Do it."

The one in the trench coat – Cas, if Glenn heard correctly – nodded and stepped forward, reaching out for him. Glenn reared back, breathing hard and trying desperately to wriggle free. But Dean was much stronger than him, and it was all Glenn could do not to sob brokenly as Cas put two fingers to his forehead.

Glenn wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but when Cas touched him it was as if his body just went limp, and then suddenly he was on the ground. He tried to move, but his muscles were unresponsive, as if he'd been paralyzed, and all he could do was lay there.

"There," Cas said, crouching down next to him. "I think this will be a better solution."

Another man who looked a bit rougher than Cas – and Glenn guessed that this was Dean – bent down next to him as well. "Hey, kid. I know your thoughts are a little fuzzy right now, but I need you to answer my question, it's very important." He paused for a moment to make sure Glenn was listening before continuing on, "Where are the keys to the Impala?"

Glenn felt his eyes widen slightly, "Impala . . ." He gasped out, having to work to get his numbed lips to respond. "That – that car we found on the s-side of the road?"

Cas nodded. "It belongs to us. All our weapons and provisions are in the trunk."

"No . . ." Glenn distinctly remembered Rick opening the trunk and depositing some of his own things in it. "The – the trunk was empty."

"It has a false bottom." Dean said a matter-of-factly.

Glenn stared. "Who . . . who are you people?"

"None of your damn business," Dean replied in a low growl. "All we want is our car, and then we'll be on our way."

Glenn felt sudden relief rush through him. "You're – you're not going to hurt anyone?"

Dean and Cas glanced at each other before Cas shook his head. "No, we never were."

"Like I said, we just want the Impala back." Dean said, "So, who has the keys, chinaman?"

"I'm Korean," Glenn huffed.

"Whatever."

A flash of déjà vu hit Glenn suddenly as he remembered a similar conversation between him and one other particular male member of their group, but he quickly swept that away. Now was not the time to think about stuff like that. He needed to focus on what was happening.

What could he say, though? Should he tell the two that Rick had the keys? Because Rick also had a wife and son and – even though the two had said they weren't going to hurt anyone – Glenn didn't exactly trust them, not in this world.

"I – I don't know," he lied instead.

Cas frowned at him, "He's lying." He murmured.

Dean suddenly grabbed Glenn by his collar so fast the Korean had no time to react, and then he was inches from Dean's face, his own dark eyes meeting with a pair of jade green shards of pure, hard steel.

"Tell me the truth."

X X X

Daryl resisted the urge to yawn and let his eyes sweep over the horizon once more just to make sure before he left his post. There was no one there, however, so he nodded once in satisfaction and turned to go. His watch was over, and Rick and Shane had been appointed next to keep watch in place of him and Glenn.

Daryl stuck his head into Rick's tent, ignoring the fact that he and Lori were tangled up together, and hissed a soft "hey" in his direction.

Rick was awake instantly, un-knotting himself from his wife as he stood and crept out of the tent, nodding to Daryl. "Did you see anything out there?"

Daryl shook his head.

"Alright, where's Glenn? He needs to get Shane up."

"He's pro'bly daydreamin'." Daryl snorted, "I'll go get 'im."

Rick nodded and reached back into the tent to grab his gun as Daryl ran off, skirting the tents that had been set up to reach the spot where Glenn was keeping watch. But as he approached it he froze for he could see that two other guys were with Glenn, and they were definitely not anyone from their group. In fact, one of them had Glenn by the lapels, holding him close and snarling some sort of demand – or so Daryl gathered from his expression – and the young Korean looked positively terrified.

Daryl could see him trembling even from where he was standing.

"Hey!" Daryl called.

All three looked over at him. And without a second thought or moment of hesitation, Daryl's crossbow was in his hand, one of the arrows ready and loaded. It became instinct from there as he aimed and fired, hitting the man holding Glenn in the right shoulder. The man cried out, dropping Glenn, who scrambled to his feet and yelled, his voice breaking, so he could alert the rest of the camp that there were intruders among them.

Intruders.

Daryl loaded another bolt into his crossbow. Not fo' long there won't be. He thought. He was going to take care of the two before the others even got there. It was their own damn fault for trying to sneak into the camp and scaring Glenn half to death.

The man Daryl had shot before was momentarily incapacitated, and the other – the one in the weird suit – had disregarded him completely (big mistake) and was crouching over his injured friend, trying to calm him down. Daryl had to hand it to the man he'd shot, though. That guy had some serious control to take one of his bolts without screaming bloody fucking murder.

It'd all be over soon, though, so it hardly mattered.

Daryl aimed again, this time for the man in the business suit, allowing a dark smirk to cross his face as he did. This man was turned toward him, perfectly in position, and Daryl had a clear shot that was so amazing it seemed almost impossible.

Just one shot . . .

With a 'twang' the bolt was released from the bow, hitting the man in the suit square-on in the chest, and Daryl saw his eyes widen in surprise. There was a brief moment where the man in the trench coat sort of stared at the bolt embedded in his chest, as if fascinated by it, and then – without even batting an eye – he grabbed the arrow and pulled it out of his chest; shaft and all.

Daryl felt his jaw drop.

"Hey!"

Daryl turned, recognizing the voice to be Rick's as the former-sheriff ran up, Shane and Dale and T-Dog and practically the entire rest of the camp – save for Carol and the kids – following close behind.

"What's going on?" Rick demanded.

Glenn joined them, hiding himself in the group as Rick stared at Daryl and then over at the two intruders, obviously unsure what to think. Another shout sounded from a little ways away, then, and another man, this one taller than the last two, emerged from the darkness and ran up to his comrades, obviously distraught.

"Dean!" The taller man gasped.

"What's going on?" Rick reiterated, angry now. "Who are you?"

"Hey, all we wanted was our damned car back!" The injured one – Dean – growled. "We weren't going to hurt anyone. But that son of a bitch had to go and shoot me!"

"It didn't look like you weren't gonna hurt no one to me!" Daryl shot back. "Ya had Glenn there shakin' like a leaf!"

Glenn stepped forward, "He – he wasn't hurting me." He said, surprising Daryl, "They just wanted me to tell them who had the keys to the car – that black Impala we found on the road today."

"The Impala?" Rick frowned and glanced at them, "Why?"

"It's ours," the taller man said, "We had just gone out to scavenge a bit, and when we came back it was gone. But all our supplies and things are in the trunk and without that car we won't last a week."

"There's nothing in the trunk," Rick replied. "We loaded some of our stuff in there and it was empty."

"It has a false bottom," Dean grunted out, obviously frustrated by the conversation.

"Show me."

"Can you at least give me a moment to stop bleeding to death?" Dean retorted sarcastically. "Or have you forgotten that it was your buddy there who shot me?"

"Dean . . ." The taller man said warningly.

Rick frowned.

"Give me a moment, Dean." The man in the trench coat said suddenly. "My abilities are not as honed as they were a few months ago."

Daryl raised an eyebrow, abilities?

The man laid his hands on Dean then, and within moments the wound from Daryl's crossbow was gone. Just like that, as if someone had snapped their fingers and ordered it to be so. And, not missing the implications of what had just happened, Rick and Shane glanced at each other and then back at the three, both of them looking positively dumbfounded.

"Who are you people?" Glenn gasped.

The taller one smiled, looking sheepish. "I guess introductions are in order, then, huh?"

X X X

There was no word for this.

Glenn kept trying to think of one, though. The three newcomers – who they now knew as Sam and Dean Winchester, who were brothers, and their friend, Castiel – had sat down and introduced themselves then explained what was going on and what had happened and who they were. But that wasn't the part that had shaken Glenn – and everyone else – down to the core. It was the fact that the three had claimed the existence of angels, demons, and just about every other creature ever thought to be a myth.

"If it helps, Bigfoot's a hoax." Dean said, grinning languidly.

Now of course, no one had believed them right away. But then Castiel had given them irrefutable proof. He'd shown them his wings, and his ability to heal, and had even explained to Glenn how he'd appeared and disappeared. And really, despite the insanity of it all, there was no way they could dismiss it as fantasy now. Not with an angel staring them in the face.

They called him Castiel, the angel of Thursday.

And Glenn didn't know what to think anymore. He simply sat there, slumped over staring at the ground. Everyone around him was talking; discussing what had happened and whether or not they should let the three stay with them or just give them their car and send them on their way. Glenn didn't really care what happened, though. He was still trying to wrap his head around all of it.

"Hey, kid."

Glenn's head shot up, eyes widening as he saw Daryl looking down at him. And was that worry in his eyes? No, it couldn't be. This was Daryl. He never showed emotion like that. Anger, sure. But worry? No. That wasn't it. Glenn was kidding himself.

"Hey . . ." He replied.

Daryl lowered himself down to sit next Glenn, his crossbow strapped across his shoulders. "You alright?"

"I guess." Glenn said in a near whisper.

"It's a bit much to absorb, innit?"

Glenn made a face, "Understatement."

Daryl fell silent and Glenn didn't try to start up the conversation again. He had no idea what to think or where to go with this knowledge, all he knew was that he wanted to go to sleep. To just sleep and forget about everything, even for a little while. The world was already messed up with the walkers and everything lounging about, but now they had monsters and demons and angels to add on top of that.

Great.

"It'll be alright, kid." Daryl said suddenly, "Promise."

Glenn bowed his head, staring at the ground. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep, Daryl."