The Universe's Mixer

Jo's number was in Dean's phone. He told her he would get the supplies needed, to keep in close contact, call him every hour and if he didn't hear from her, he was gonna hunt her down to make sure she was okay. He needed all the trusted hunters he could find with him.

This was, this was just so .... Dean was getting flashbacks of the place down below. Screaming, blood, fires, terror. Dean reached next to him, taking another drink from his bottle of whiskey. Keeping a buzz seemed to keep him going. He needed flame throwers or lots of bottles like the one he was drinking from.

And then there was Sam. Dean grabbed his phone and instantly, in speed dial, he punched the number for his brother. "Sammy, you better answer," Dean grumbled as again, his car hit another zombie that tried to rush out at him. He winced, not for the body but for his car. Lucky, his car was made of metal, not the cheap plastic stuff they were made of now.

"Sam, please ... pick up," Dean half pleaded as he heard the phone ring.

Somewhere, not too far away, someone was singing. Pietro could not make out the words, and the tune was foreign to him, but the song had a good beat and was surprisingly cheerful given the ongoing zombie apocalypse. Zombies. At least, where he was from, the dead stayed dead.

Usually.

He was back in the black suit that Fred had suggested he abandon some time prior, but he had a long coat on over it and it helped to mask the ridiculousness of the outfit. Hey. His X-Men costume was aerodynamic, albeit slightly unfashionable in most places. With the walking dead wandering the City, he wanted to be prepared.

He was on high alert, and therefore a little more twitchy than usual. He had a bat in hand, and he kept hefting it experimentally. He moved in bursts, running a block or two and then slowing to look for people who seemed to be walking instead of shambling along like something from one of those corny movies that he'd seen on the television since he'd come to the City.