The Last Guys on the Bench // Part 9
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“Did I ever tell you what happened when Zachariah took me to 2014?” Dean asks, super sated as he stretches out under the covers.
He really likes getting fucked, and sex is even better with Cas, the way he thrusts like a hot little punch every time and it jams up against that spot over and over. Cas can hold him down with just a palm on his lower back, and Dean is not admitting how fucking hot that is. And then it’s just as good to get Cas belly-up on the bed and open him up, slide into him and let himself feel greedy while he does it; Cas stares down with moon-wide eyes at where they come together, like Dean’s cock and Cas’ own puffy little hole stretched out to fit him is the most fascinating thing he’s seen in millennia.
“No.” Dean’s come to like all that ridiculous post-sex talk - not that he’s telling anybody that - if only because Cas’ voice sounds really awesome right afterwards.
He loops his arm around Cas’ shoulders. The warmth never seeps away from his body, not really, and Dean loves it. “You were a hippie. This was all messy,” he tells him, ruffling his hair. “And all strung out and uh, kinda sex-addicted…”
“You’ve said as much now,” Cas points out. It’s true, and Dean’s never dissing angel mojo again because it leads to pretty freakin’ awesome angel stamina.
“I guess that’s not the important part. You were just so - you were totally human, but not because of anything you chose other than stickin’ around and the other angels ditching you. And it made you so hopeless, man. Me, I was just - I had to see myself shoot people in the head with no warning, Cas. I was trying to keep shit under control when that’s not me. Sam had said yes to Lucifer.” He lets himself get quiet for a few beats, because what he saw there isn’t ever going to leave his head. “It blew.”
Cas is quiet for a while. “It’s not that this is an ideal situation,” he offers, finally. “But there is hope here. Zachariah was very fond of holding hopeless situations over all our heads, as well. You’re not so alone.”
“Yeah, I know.” A sleepy little smile curves over his lips.
“Not just myself, either. Sam, of course, but everyone -”
“Knew that too.” Dean still slides in a little closer to Castiel, like he’s seeking confirmation. It’s true, anyway, the way Sam’s there for him, and everyone else, the fact that he can play board games with Jody and kick back shots with Sarah and Tamara and freakin’ Meg whenever she’s around. It’s more of a home than anywhere else has ever been, minus Baby.
The world sucks, sure. He’s just carved out an okay little hole in it, and fucked up as it is, he’s the happiest he’s ever been. Kinda figures, but he’s not gonna let it bother him.
*
Sam lets him go on more and more missions and Dean teases him about it, about how he’s taking the locks on the shackles off one by one. For his part, Sam just whacks him on the shoulder, laughs, and tells him to keep walking.
Dean’s impressed at how he’s still in shape. He goes running almost every morning with Kevin or Sarah or Tamara. There was a point in his life - like, all of it before he got to Camp Chitaqua - where he would’ve laughed at the idea of this being the way he worked out, or whatever. Heck, tell him this would be his life the day before he got thrown into Purgatory, and he wouldn’t have even bothered to laugh, just stared at you in disbelief.
(Then there’s the time he went jogging with Cas. He’s pretty sure he’s never gonna do that again, both because human stamina sucks and because Cas apparently can’t resist him with rivulets of sweat dripping down his neck. Which kinda rocked, but he’s not a teenager any more and can only handle so much Cas when he gets enthusiastic, and not really after a run. Pushing himself like that is pretty awesome - when it’s like, once a month. Plus he had swamp ass the whole time and really needed a shower, even if Cas apparently didn’t mind.)
“Lots of Levis,” Gabby warned as they all headed out. “Twenty, maybe.” Finding a clump of them that large was weird; they never traveled solo, but usually, you couldn’t find them in groups of more than four. Dean’s been a hunter long enough to be suspicious of anything unusual, but they’ve got good intel with Gabby’s ridiculous hacker skills - the girl’s hooked up to Doppler radar, or what’s left of it these days - and so many others on the lookout.
They bring extra guns anyway.
It’s just an old, empty warehouse, abandoned probably long before the Leviathan unleashed their shit on the world, weeds tangled in front of it. Kinda reminds Dean of the warehouse where - shit, where they went to save Adam, only to watch him get swallowed up in screaming light and Dean wasn’t sure which was louder, Michael’s cries or his half-brother’s -
Dean’s doing better, but shit like this - you don’t have his life and get over it that easily.
“Hey.” He looks up and Sarah’s offering him a hesitant smile. “You okay? You know you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
Irrationally, Dean’s brain picks that time to note that he still doesn’t know what’s going on with his brother and Sarah. And then he laughs, because really, Sam’s got a few years before Dean has any right to start picking on him about that.
He’s laughing. Even though Sarah’s looking at him just as apprehensively, he’s laughing, because something’s genuinely funny. “Yeah, I’m great,” he sighs, because he’s got his brother totally safe and his dork-ass self by his side, and his angel boyfriend where it took forever for him to figure that shit out but it’s pretty fucking great now that he did, and a whole bunch of people who - actually give a shit about how he’s doing. Even if there’s a trail of regrets behind him long enough to circle the globe a few times - again, it’s his life - he might come out of it okay.
Together, they all head into the crumbling building. It’ll never stop being strange brandishing the absurdly cheerily-colored water gun in front while the actual gun stays tucked at his side, but strange world. Strange world.
The room overflows with swamp pond stink, and Dean makes a mental reminder to get nose plugs next time they go on a supply run, but that thought’s shoved away by the yells among him, the easy arcs of detergent launching through the air to splatter across the Leviathans’ faces, burning them black.
And goddamn, Dean is never going to get tired of Cas with a machete - because if Dean’s fighting, he’s fighting too, and they’ve never talked about it but it seems settled that way - his arm slicing through the air, fucking ending the bad guys with an exclamation point. There’s a lot of adrenaline that needs to get used up after any mission, and that image of Cas has been really goddamn good for burning it off.
It’s so fucking awesome, Cas all wrath and fury concentrated into the play of his body, that as much as he’ll never admit it, Dean has to remember not to get distracted during missions. Normally it’s not a big deal, but there have to be twenty Leviathan bearing down, even if most of them are being driven backwards at the moment. Thankfully, there’s a pretty fucking good distraction: Dean finds himself face to face with - well. Himself.
“Dean,” the Leviathan that jacked his face greets with a sick grin Dean has never had. “Thanks for the pretty suit. As humans go, you know.”
Dean’s seen a lot of weird shit, but nothing quite like his own jaw dropping off to reveal a nasty set of razor teeth. “Guess I still got the looks,” Dean throws out, water gun brandished right at this motherfucker’s heart.
“Whatever you say. I’m probably a lot less fucked in the head.” He taps his temple and laughs, throaty enough to make Dean cringe. The barrel of the gun wobbles. “Some of the shit I’ve seen in here…”
“That was years ago, douchebag,” Dean growls out, taking a step forward. Dude reeks like a goddamn swamp. “I’m working on that.”
Part of it is the bullshit bravado he’ll always throw out there, the kind that let him face apocalypse after apocalypse and make it through ‘em all. But part of it is real, and it’s not like something he decided to do. It just happened, and it’s pretty goddamn funny that it took Purgatory and the end of the world.
No point in being all fucking existential when there’s shit to kill. He pumps the gun, and watches his own flesh sizzle away, etching into the skin going black at the edges like someone had thrown acid on Dean’s own face. The howl that comes out of the Leviathan’s mouth isn’t a noise he’d ever make, nor is the stance where he stands legs splayed wide and arms flung out, shaking as black ooze trickles down his cheeks, lining his chest.
At least Dean’s used to chopping off things wearing his own head at this point. All it takes is an easy slice of his blade, and that creepy-ass imitation of himself goes toppling to the ground with a very wet splat.
“Not bad!” Dean hears Tamara cry out, before he hears the swoosh of her own blade and a couple of heads falling to the ground. Yeah, Tamara’s kind of awesome.
Powered-up Leviathan could destroy angels easily, but this scattered group isn’t much of a match for Castiel. He arcs his hand through the air and they all go crumbling to the floor, where Marin stomps an Adidas-clad foot onto their chests as she slices their heads off and drags them away from the flopped-over bodies.
“That’s all?” Dean asks. He’s exerted and sweaty, he feels it gathering around where his neck dips into his shoulder and along his back, and there’s gross-ass Leviathan splatter over the sleeve of his t-shirt, but all things considered, that wasn’t too bad.
Of course, it’s not all.
As soon as the words are out of Dean’s mouth, a fucking tidal wave of the shits pours into the building. If there were twenty before, there are fifty now. They’re all grinning, sick, and drooling black out the sides of their mouth. “Fuck,” he barks out, pumping the gun until it shoots again. The detergent spray knocks a bunch of the Leviathan back, but most of them keep shuffling forward.
Dean’s reduced to further one-syllable words when he feels how light the water gun is. He keeps pumping, but after a while, all that’s coming out is dribble and foam. The words choke out of his mouth as the rotten scent of them overwhelms him, and his whole universe is getting narrowed down to muffled screams and all that fucking stink -
He thinks he hears a “No!” in a voice he recognizes, firm but soft, without the roughness of anyone who’s spent too much time in Camp Chitaqua, before the world screams into too-bright white, then black.
*
Dean wakes up in - a hospital of all places. Huh. None of the machines are on, not even the lights, and the room’s gloomy in the midday rain. Still, he’s pretty sure the fact that he can register that it’s cold in here, and the scratchy blanket tossed over his midsection isn’t too comfortable, means he’s alive.
That’s good.
When he hears footsteps in the hallway, he tosses the blanket back over his body, because fuck. He’s hoping he can keep his breath shallow enough not to be noticed, because it’d suck out loud to get ambushed by Leviathan in bed -
“Dean?”
It’s that same voice. He shouldn’t trust anything, but he rolls the blanket down from over his face and can only goggle at the tall, willowy redhead in front of him, in a tank top and black cargo pants that are loose on her skinny hips. Not Gabby. Not Marin, either. Not anyone from camp, but not a stranger either.
“Anna?”
“It’s me.” She shrugs, small and almost apologetic. “Here -” and she pulls out a knife from her backpack to cut into her own skin. A long red rivulet drips down her pale inner arm before the wound closes itself up again. “Can’t be too careful, I know.”
Cautiously, Dean sits up and settles himself up in the bed. “What the hell are you doing here? You’re dead.”
“Obviously not.” She’s got the same smile, a bit wounded in the upturn of her lips but still there, and still genuine. “I’m sorry about the last time we saw each other, by the way.”
Dean wishes he had the right words to say to that - it’s the kind of shit where it’s not okay, but he understands - but he doesn’t, so he just nods. “Weird shit happened during the apocalypse,” he offers, weakly. It’s true enough. “How are you here, I saw -”
“Tessa and your brother put together that ritual to get you out of Purgatory, right?” Dean nods again, not sure where she’s going with this. “Everything you gathered, what Tessa did… it’s tricky to explain, and I don’t even get all of it myself, but it was meant to bring an angel and a human back from Purgatory. It did; it also brought back the one thing in Purgatory that knew what it was like to be both at once, and neither.”
Dean hasn’t been too articulate since Anna strode into his room; he only blinks and nods. “Nothing else got out?”
“Not that I’m aware of, no.”
Okay. No freaky Angels Gone Wild to take care of, along with every other friggin’ thing. “So, what have you been doing all this time?”
Anna grins, with all her teeth and everything, the same kind of smile she turned on him the first time he found her in the church. “There were a lot of things that really sucked about being an angel, for me,” she explains. “Commanding the garrison wasn’t one of them.”
As it turns out, Anna’s got her - soldiers, Dean guesses - watching over the hospital. He got out of the Leviathan fight relatively unharmed, but a lot of other people weren’t so lucky. Thankfully there were no casualties, but there were a lot of arms in slings and people walking around propped up with crutches. Without Heaven’s power behind it, the few angels on their side could only do so much.
(Watching Anna and Cas reunite was both kind of adorable - not that Dean uses that word, but whatever - and hilarious. Cas’ idea of hugging was still holding his arms straight out, stiff, and then sorta boxing them around the back of the person getting hugged. Dean wants to whack him on the side, affectionate, and say something like c’mon, man, you hold me just fine.)
There are a couple of the giant four-legged babies crawling around what had been the reception area, their pitch-black skin oily under the light. He’d be freaked, only Anna told him they were harmless, and a couple of them even stuck around her camp; the things got attached, like real children. Dean doesn’t trust easy - understatement - but there’s some sort of understanding there in what Anna said. Maybe it’s the way Cas still looks up to her, clearly, but that’s not the only thing.
She laughs. “We got out of Purgatory, Dean. Don’t think there are too many others out there like us.” And okay, that’s creepy. Before, Dean might’ve tried to run away or worse, gut her, but this world’s made everything and everyone honest.
“Weird way to make friends.”
“Weird world.” And yeah, she’s still got that same smile, the one Dean can’t help but return. Sure, he’s a little freaked by the angel ESP, but there are some forces out there where it’s good to have them on your side, and Dean doesn’t doubt that in this world, one of them is Anna.
He still has to say it. “I know about the shit they can do to you, and not just downstairs. It - I didn’t blame you. I’m glad we both got another chance.”
Her smile’s not as toothy this time, more serious, but it’s still there. Her expression’s almost impressed, something like pleasant surprise. “Me too.”
*
Inais pinches the vial between two fingers, his mouth expanding into a gummy smile. “How did you do this, sister?” Ever since Anna showed up, he’s been walking around practically glowing, and honestly, knowing angels and all their weird shit (and Dean has one in his bed every night - there’s a lot of weird shit), Dean’s expecting him to start actually emitting light any day now.
“Lots of years of old knowledge and research.” She claps a hand on his shoulder, and seriously, Dean thought Inais’ hero worship was borderline creepy with Cas; he really didn’t need to see the look on his face when Anna does that. “I’m sure you helped along the way, honestly.”
“I’m honored.” Dean bites back his laugh, because from Inais, it’s all genuine, but goddamn his huge eyes and slack lips are hilarious.
When he’s confident he’s not going to laugh, he nods at Anna and twists the beaker. “This stuff works?”
“Yep.” He has to whirl around to see where the shaky voice came from, but it’s someone he doesn’t know. Her eyes are dull, her hair hanging down to her waist, and she’s got the swollen body of the poor suckers the Leviathan’s crap got to, only she’s standing up. Wobbly, but on her own two feet. “I’m Michelle, by the way.”
“Dean. Sorry you had some, uh -”
“Bad cake.” Her laugh creeps Dean out, more of a heh heh heh than actual laughter, but it’s alive and that’s what matters.
They keep passing the vial around, swishing the black liquid inside it. “I’ve got more,” Anna explains.
“Lots more,” another voice chimes in, from a dark-skinned man who’s a little unnaturally heavy around the middle, his gut hanging down like he gained a bunch of weight very quickly, then lost it just as quickly. Anna’s got a whole crew that’s around the same size as Camp Chitaqua, popping in and out, busying themselves; until now, Dean didn’t notice how many of them have the same build as Michelle and the other guy. He’s not sure if all of them are human, either, and honestly, he doesn’t care.
Out of nowhere as usual, Cas settles into the seat next to Dean, and balances the small glass tube in his palm. “This is astounding,” he murmurs, holding it up.
“You think Tessa held out on us? All the knowledge, I mean.”
Cas shakes his head. “Anna commanded the garrison long before I did. She was more resourceful and had more connections.”
“Aw, don’t sell yourself short.” Dean likes spearing his fingers through Cas’ hair way too much, though he keeps it quick here.
“Don’t sell the others short,” Anna butts in, friendly. “Ombrinag helped out.” She jerks a thumb in the direction of a whip-thin woman with jet black hair, who grins up at them. With pointy teeth.
In his seat, Dean startles. “I understand you’re a little apprehensive,” she explains. Her voice has a tough bite behind it. “Don’t blame you. But we’re not all bad.”
“Remember Huexkull?” Cas asks Dean, leaning closer to him.
“He’s even weirder than I am.” He’s never gonna get used to that wicked smile across her mouth, more a slash than a smile even, but he still isn’t used to having actual conversations with Meg. Hell, he teases and gripes at an angel all day and then makes him come at night, stifles his cries with a hand over his mouth so he doesn’t shatter the glass again, and that’s not getting any less bizarre no matter how awesome it is.
So, Dean only nods. After a while, he grumbles out, “It can’t be this easy.” Because when you have the life he’s had, you’re suspicious of, oh, motherfucking everything, especially when it’s old mostly-friends showing up with the way to help people, really really help them.
Anna sits in front of him, cross-legged. “It isn’t. We do this big-time and we’re changing the world. For good. I mean, it’s already changed, but the people who get healed… their lives aren’t going to be normal any more. They’ve gotta get a crash-course in Purgatory’s most wanted, and everyone else too.”
“Demons and angels? All of it?” Dean wasn’t expecting to hear Claire.
“Yes.”
Claire nods at Anna, grimacing while she does it. “Well, it sounds like a good idea to me. Might say it’s about time, even.”
Dean bites back nervous laughter. He still can’t quite figure out Claire, just that she spends most of her time talking to the angels in hushed tones and glaring at anyone who tries to butt into the conversation, but he knows that he takes her awfully seriously for whatever reason. “What do you say?” he asks Sam.
There’s a definite smile on Sam’s face. It’s cautious, but there. “You in the mood for a road trip?”
Like he doesn’t know the answer to that question.
*
It’s a cold day, the sky a heavy gray sheet above their heads as Dean helps everyone else to haphazardly stuff luggage into the vans. “Too bad angel airlines doesn’t have baggage check, huh,” he asks Cas with a grin.
Cas shoots him a furrowed-brow glare in return as he hoists up four huge bags at once. Show-off. Well, at least Dean gets to see if Cas is interested in using that effortless strength later on, wherever they end up sleeping tonight. The thought of it makes him grin, and Cas’ glare softens into a questioning glance.
Dean gets distracted by a hard poke on his arm. Meg. “Ow,” he snaps, rubbing at the place where she more or less smacked him.
“I’m outie.” As much as Dean came to appreciate Meg popping into and out of camp - God, she was probably the person Dean had known the longest, outside of Sam, and isn’t that fucked-up - he knew this day was gonna come. Demons don’t exactly plan on taking joyride road trips with humans and angels and the few Leviathan Anna has on her side.
“What are you gonna do?”
Meg shrugs. Honestly, she’s kind of disturbingly normal-looking, placid expression on her face and the straps of a backpack looped around her shoulders. “Hell always runs better with a queen, is what I say,” she tells him, all off-handedly.
“Just you? Against Crowley?”
“I’ve still got connections, friend-o.”
Dean’s just gonna be real happy that she didn’t use those connections to ransack Camp Chitaqua. Then again, while he wouldn’t exactly say he trusts Meg, lying’s not really her thing. So he only nods, and considers sticking his hand out to shake hers or clapping her on the shoulder, but that’s even more awkward than doing nothing. “Good luck, then.”
“If I see you again, I hope you’re not ramming that knife down my throat. Take care of yourself.” She might make a face like she wants to expel whatever the hell bubbles around in a demon’s stomach out from her gut, but she says it. With that, she turns around and walks away, gait firm and strong in a way he’s almost never seen from anyone else before. Dean hates how much he hopes it never comes to that, too.
Next to Dean, Sam grunts as he tosses the last of their luggage into the trunk of the Impala. “I was sad to say goodbye to Meg,” he tells Dean, contemplative. “I know crazy, and man, that’s….”
“This, right? We’re crazy people.” Gabby breezes past them pretty cheerily, climbing into her own van and dumping her backpack, striped pink and powder blue, into the backseat. Tamara looks kinda ticked off about having to sit shotgun, but she’s holding the GPS like a weapon at least.
“You’re tellin’ me,” Dean grumbles. He checks to make sure all the bags are away and everyone else found their car or van, then gets into the Impala. And fuck, he can’t help but smile.
Dean’s got his brother next to him, and the knowledge that he’d do anything for him, plunge himself into Hell or walk to the ends of the Earth - and maybe even more, he knows that neither of them has to do that shit to prove their devotion any more.
He’s got the angel that brought him back to life in the backseat, and it’s funny to think of Dean’s soul and Cas’ Grace snarled together messy but tight when all Dean can see is the top of his messy brown hair in the rear view mirror. It still shocks Dean that Cas, Cas who still didn’t get eighty percent of his pop culture references and was a thing stuffed into a dude’s body, was more or less it for him.
Figures, Dean thinks. It’s kinda fucked up, but glorious too, that he got thrown into Purgatory and came back out to Camp Chitaqua, only to find himself the happiest he’s been in years. He’s had better times with Sammy and Cas than he’s had in too long, even with death and duty and the fucked-up corn syrup zombies as the Leviathans’ parting gift hanging over his head. He’s got friends, ones who aren’t dead, when he used to think he only had space for so many people in his shitty little life.
This is it. But it’s not so awful after all, as it turns out.
He honks to get Anna’s attention, and her minivan - seriously, a minivan, full of people she’s already saved and Chuck who’s also sort of the voice of God and the formula they all threw together, but a minivan - lurches to life, tires rumbling over roads that haven’t been traveled much in the last few years.
“Let’s go save the world,” Dean announces to the two other passengers in the Impala, before he goes to follow Anna’s embarrassment of a vehicle. It’s not a particularly special day, gray and gloomy and there are so many towns that stretch out in front of him full of nothing but death and worse, but right now, he can actually believe it.
“Do you know the main difference between shrimp and prawn?” Cas pipes up, from the backseat. Dean feels Cas’ weight lean forward to balance his elbows against the front seats.
He bites his lip to hide the big sunny grin. “Tell me,” he declares, and he never thought he’d find so much in a world nearly destroyed, his brother and his - Cas - chatting cheerily about friggin’ plankton now, but the world just got weirder and weirder for him. Weird wasn’t always bad, is all.
Dean stops biting back the smile and lets it spread over his face. The road’s easy under his feet, and if the radio’s all static, well, he’s got the nerd-ass conversation in the car and it’s not as bad as he might’ve thought. He travels on, wherever the hell his life plans to take him next.
the end.