Phase I: Dream And The River
It’s been hours since he’s awoken and he feels on edge — nervous, worry constantly gnaws at him. He’s anxious and unsettled — has been for days, perhaps weeks — and part of him wants to stay awake for as long as he can, keep watch, afraid to let himself be vulnerable. He feels restless; his system is swimming with endorphins and adrenaline—he's been on full alert for days, and his head feels woozy like it's full of hot wax, his muscles ache dully, his throat's dry and throbbing.
It's been three weeks since Lucifer appeared to Castiel and Dean's nerves are still on fucking edge; he knows the camp's secure--there are banishing sigils drawn across the entire camp, devil traps on their ceilings, under their beds, the carpets--but there is an anger inside of him that scares him; it makes him feel hungry, rage seething under his skin, and the weight of it presses down on his sternum, his throat, his ribs, runs deep into the cavity of his chest, the hollows of his rib cage. He's not just angry that Lucifer's got the upper hand. He's a walking, breathing ball of rage. His mind is out of sync with his body, and he feels entirely exhausted.
Lucifer knows where they are. He knows where he is, and he doesn't care--he's been toying with them, and the fact that there's nothing they can do but anxiously wait for Lucifer's next move is setting his fucking teeth on edge. Essentially, he feels useless, trapped, held fast like a caged animal, helpless, the metaphorical mouse dangling itself in front of the jaws of a cat and it's fucking infuriating--let alone the fact that they still have no fucking idea where the Colt is.
It's three past midnight and he's standing at the foot of his bed, staring at the wall behind him that is covered by a large map of Kansas City. He sweeps his finger along the paths Cas drew out, eyebrows furrowed and his mouth forming a strong, hard line. He has dark circles under his eyes, and he looks pale and exhausted, and more than a little sick but he's determined to stay awake for as long as he can help it, waiting, wracking his brains for an idea, something that could help him come up with an actual plan--with something, anything that could help--defiant and sweating. Anger rumbles around in his chest and he roughly bangs his fist against the wall, exhaling sharply through his nose.
"Fuck" he releases a disgruntled sound that is on the verge of a growl and punches the wall again.
He's so sick of it, of Lucifer constantly being one step ahead of them.
Fuck.
Fuck,fuck,fuck. Fuck it all.
It's gonna be another long night, he realizes as he finishes off his whiskey, running his index finger across the side of the glass, the moisture on his fingertips grounding him, helping him focus.
He rubs his forehead, then glances at the map and turns around, but just as he's about to make his way over to the cabinets to retrieve another glass of whiskey, he hears someone scream in complete agony--he flinches and sharply glances at the door, the voice taking him so much by surprise that at first he doesn't react. He clenches his teeth and grabs his rifle off the table, a muscle in his jaw spasming spastically as he lurches forward and throws the door open, runs down the porch steps.
There’s someone,something,out there, he realizes, the flicker of distant flames the only light in the thick darkness that surrounds him. He’s tired, exhausted, his skin stings, the tightness in his throat hurts like fire, and he swallows the sick feeling in his stomach, clenches his jaw, determined as he heads towards Cas' cabin, as a ripple of fear sweeps over him and a steadily escalating sense of foreboding envelopes him.
Somebody screams in the distance, groaning in pain; the noise slams around his head, and he feels a spike in his pulse, a vein ticking spasmodically in his forehead.
And then a scent hits his nostrils that makes him pause: Croatoan, the rank, musty smell of decay, tangible in the air.
"Shit. Fuck" he hisses and runs towards the gates. Vernon catches up with him and Dean roughly grips his shoulder, pausing mid-step. "What the hell's happening?" he yells, because the guards on the southern part of the camp are shooting at the Croats that are crawling over the fences now, and there are women and children screaming, terrified, people running around, thronging into the path leading to the northern part of the camp, noise rising and bursting in the air, making the entire camp vibrate and rattle violently with it.
"There're at least three dozens of them, tore the fuckin' fence down" Vernon exhales sharply, sweat dripping down his forehead.
Dean swallows thickly and nods. "Get the others and secure the south-west corner, eyes open, watch your sectors" Dean says firmly, a command, getting into Leader Mode easily, and heads towards Cas' cabin, yelling at the mothers and their kids to go back to their cabins and lock themselves in, keep an eye out for Croats.
