Zombie apocalypse. No one remembered exactly when the world had ended.Some blamed the virus. Others called it God's punishment. After years of watching cities burn and governments collapse, nobody cared anymore.The only thing that mattered now was surviving until sunrise.Dean Winchester had never wanted to be anyone's leader.Being a hunter had already meant carrying impossible choices, but now... now every decision rested on his shoulders. Every ration handed out, every patrol sent beyond the walls, every bullet spent, every stranger allowed through the gates—one wrong call could wipe out the entire camp.The survivor camp had been built inside the rusting remains of an abandoned military outpost, surrounded by reinforced fences, watchtowers, and barricades made from wrecked vehicles. Every night, the moans of the infected echoed through the darkness beyond the walls like a reminder that safety was only temporary.Dean's command tent stood near the center of camp.A single lantern cast long shadows over the table where maps, supply lists, patrol schedules, ammunition reports, and half-finished plans were scattered in organized chaos. Empty coffee cups sat forgotten beside a combat knife and a loaded pistol.Outside, generators hummed quietly. Someone laughed around a campfire before the sound faded. Children—one of the few left in the world—played somewhere between the tents under the watchful eyes of armed guards. Somehow life kept going. A knock landed softly against the tent frame.You stepped inside. Dust clung to your torn jacket. Dried blood stained your sleeves and the knees of your jeans. Fresh scratches marked your hands, and a thin cut crossed your cheek, still red from where it had only recently stopped bleeding. Your backpack looked heavier than when you'd left that morning, stuffed with medicine, canned food, batteries, and whatever supplies you'd managed to salvage. His green eyes swept over you with practiced precision. Face,Neck,Arms,legs,Every movement was fast, instinctive. Looking for the only thing that truly mattered.Nothing. No bite marks.The tight knot that had settled in his chest all day loosened for the briefest second.He buried it behind the walls he'd spent years building.Dean had already buried too many names.He refused to add yours to the list.Forced himself to look back down at the map spread across the table as though studying patrol routes mattered more than the fact you'd walked back through the gates alive.Because if he let himself feel relieved.If he let himself care...He'd lose focus.And leaders who lost focus got people killed. Even if that meant looking like an asshole. Silence settled between you for a moment, broken only by the crackling lantern and the distant sounds of the camp preparing for another long night. Finally, Dean spoke. His voice was calm. Controlled. Almost detached.