collegedropout | This is the End

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This is the End

The end of the world just happens.

Well, something like that. Sam isn't really very keen on where it began, other than when the Croatoan virus suddenly hit big in parts of the United States and burned outward in every direction; at this point, Sam had already said his goodbyes to Dean, had picked a hemisphere (non-literally, because he's not so sure he could forge plane tickets to China right this moment), started to try to correct his life. There were dreams, yeah, some Lucifer here and there to intrude on his privacy. But he was managing. Until, y'know. Shit hit the fan. In the end, phones went down, electricity, running water supplies. Places shut down. Boarded up. Humanity, trying to thrive. Lucifer, celebrating in his nightmares.

Sam never did speak to Dean again, after their final goodbye. Now he doesn't know if his brother is alive or dead out there.

Maybe he'll never know 'til it's too late. Or until he's dead. Sam's a pretty lucky guy, all things... considered. He's immune. Been bitten more than once even (covered by his jacket, because if people saw... well, he's not about to get mistaken for infected, even if they're only scar tissue now), though most of it was born out of a sick sense of penance. He's hardly afraid to go barreling into a horde of insane viral carriers if it means maybe saving one life who can't handle getting infected. He can go on supply runs for people, too. The more the world eroded away, the more he finds himself wandering from place to place, directionless and distraught.

This is all his fault. It's all on him.

He should have never let the devil out.

He should have never believed a demon could be anything but a twisted, ugly demon.

He should have... Should have done something different.

Bobby isn't in his home, Jo and Ellen are MIA, no signs of life from anyone he knows. No Dean. Just more people to help. Mouths to feed. Croats to kill. By the time he reaches a little place in California, he's exhausted, seeking out an abandoned building to rest up there. He uses his pack as a pillow and listens for any sounds of the infected. Or survivors. It's not like he can deny someone in need of help, in a mess he made. There's probably some big issue just around the corner. Danger. Right now, his only concern is actually getting a few hours of rest before the Devil comes to poke around inside his noggin.

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"She'll be fine," Dean replies, thinking that Sam's desire to go back and let Polly know he's alive is a stupid one — of course. She's better off not knowing that Sam can't be killed, otherwise she, too, may wind up believing it's better for Sam to be dead, given that the supernatural is the only explanation for something like that. Plus, Dean truly believes that a little bit of horror in a kid's life is a good thing. It prepares them for their future — otherwise trying to survive in a Croat-infected world will be a shock when she's older and has to start being a productive member of her camp.

Dean shrugs, even though Sam can't see the motion through the seat. "I got my morals," Dean replies vaguely. "They ain't the same as yours, but I got 'em." He's not feeling this line of conversation, as it gets into territory that Dean isn't keen on exploring. It's bad enough that he's allowed Sam to become a liability in his life again — he doesn't need to admit to that weakness verbally.

Even though Sam has a point. He could have gotten himself killed. He may still get himself killed over Sam in the future. But they don't need to sit here and analyze that fact.

So he leaves it at that.

"Yeah, well, figure out if you're going to be popping morals when it's convenient — getting them just to die for me is a pain in the ass," he says, voice rough. He closes his good eye and is quiet for a long moment, drifting in his exhaustion. Of course, Lucifer can't leave him alone; he mumbles in his sleep, twitching, mostly incoherent; the best to get out of it is why didn't you let me die. When he opens his eye again, he finds the other still isn't cooperating. His face is smashed against the bottom seat cushion.

"Dean," his voice rumbles, nervous, "What are we going to do if the gun doesn't work?"

It's tempting to snap back at Sam, to return to bickering, but Dean ultimately lets silence stretch between them instead. He doesn't want to give Sam leeway to keep questioning, and he could use some time to think.

As he drives, he can hear Sam murmuring in his sleep. Dean ignores it — doesn't try to wake him up, since some sleep, however fitful, it better than none. He needs Sam to heal up some more, to watch his back on stops so they can make it back to the only safe camp out there.

In those quiet moments, Dean thinks about how Sam is still alive. Because of the freaking devil — but alive nonetheless. As is typical for Dean, especially these days, he attempts to quell any potential emotional reaction to that — Sam's still here, and they have a job to do. That's that.

It's bad enough that Dean lost his tightly kept control once already.

After Sam speaks, Dean answers, without any hesitation. "It'll work."

It has to work. It's their only chance.

"Or it'll be the end."

And that will be that.

"There's got to be something else," Sam says softly. It's not just because he wants to be rid of these dreams — it's just... Something good needs to happen for once. Something needs to work out. Anything. The Devil dying... that would be the best possible thing that Sam could ever witness. After that, everything could repair itself. Get better. "I thought we weren't supposed to give up until we're dead? I can research. I can look into it; there's got to be something. Why else am I alive, if not to try to help kill the Devil?"

Why bother, otherwise? Other than his penance?

The silence lulls, and he says hesitantly, "I lost sight in my left eye, pretty sure. I think the devil wanted to leave me a souvenir." Actually, that was exactly it. Lucifer had told him that, exactly. See what people are capable of, Sam? See what you're defending? They're rabid apes, your brother included. But you're special, aren't you, Sammy? That's why I chose you. Always you.

"Oh, I won't give up," Dean replies easily. "But I don't think I'm gonna walk away from Lucifer alive if the Colt doesn't work."

Dean's fully prepared to die, whether he succeeds or not. He figures even if he manages to shoot and successfully kill the devil, his cronies will take him down regardless. Dean figures it'll be the end either way — for him, at least.

Which is the price someone has to pay.

"But knock yourself out. Do all the research you want."

Dean has done enough over the years to convince him that the Colt is the only way, which is why he places so much stock in that plan.

He glances up in the rear view mirror, trying to get a glance at Sam's eye. "Give it a few days, let the swelling go down. Everything else healed up for the most part." Sam was a wreck after the beating he took — and now look at him.

Not that Dean would put it past Lucifer to leave a souvenir like that — but he thinks there's a possibility Sam will regain his eyesight.

Sam shrugs. Everything healed up, sure. Physically, anyway.

"... If you need me to drive, tell me whenever. I don't need both eyes to drive."

He lays down, closes his eye, and pretends to sleep.

It's more restful than sleeping, at this point.

Less to dream about.

Dean drives for a long time, but eventually, he and Sam do switch off. It helps them cover more ground — being able to take turns, catch a few hours of sleep while the other drives. They make a couple of supply stops, too, and are able to stock up on a few things — food, mainly, which is a good haul, because for all the supplies Dean managed to get from the camp, he hadn't been able to take much food for their trip.

The end up making surprisingly good time, and before too many days pass, they arrive at Camp Chitaqua.

Dean drives right by the Impala — which sits there, unused and rotting away, difficult to see in the overgrown vegetation. He doesn't even spare it a glance as he pulls up to the gate. A couple of people, posted to keep watch, see him — recognize both the van and the driver, and call out to get the gate opened for them.

"Home sweet home," Dean tells Sam, holding the brake and waiting for the gates to open up.

Sam sits up, body aching, glancing toward the gate.

Well, it's not exactly any worse than the other place they've been to. Regardless, his stomach actually twists for a moment. "... What if your people know my face? You can't exactly hide who I am from them; shouldn't you be taking me in as a prisoner?"

They won't bother you if I tell them not to.

[Have a little faith in the way your brother runs this show, Sammy.]

They know that I do what I do for a reason.

[And they also know he'll fill them in when they need to know what that reason is. Dean doesn't have to explain himself, and if they want to stick around and reap the benefits of his camp, they know better than to go bucking the system.

The gate opens and Dean pulls the van inside. By the time he puts it in park, Chuck is standing beside his door, clipboard in hand. He hesitates just a moment as Dean steps out of the van, then asks, "The others?"

Dean shakes his head, then gestures to the back of the van, not allowing even a moment of grief before giving instructions.]

Got some supplies. Take inventory.

"Okay, sure, su--holy shit!" Chuck looks back in there to face Sam, and nearly jumps out of his skin. His voice lowers as he leans in. "Sam?! You're -- no way. We all thought you were -- we haven't -- " He looks at Dean, looks at Sam, looks at Dean. "What, was he just in the road with his thumb out or what??"

"I was... staying in an apartment for shelter; we ran into each other. Hey, Chuck."

Sam smiles thinly, softly, and Chuck smiles back. There's relief, but then --

"Holyyyy crap, you're, uh. You're covered in blood, man..."

Yeah, it's a shock — Dean gets it. And they can all have a grand union with each other after they get settled in, but there are things that he needs to do. Most importantly, he needs to find out if anyone has managed to get word of the Colt in his absence — seeing how California didn't pan out.

Chuck does have a point, though. Sam is pretty bloody, and Dean doesn't need anyone getting any ideas about what kind of blood he's covered in, so Dean points to one of the cabins not too far away.

"That's where Cas stays. Go talk to him and he'll tell you where to go to get cleaned up. Chuck will run and get you some clothes after he takes inventory. He's in charge of tracking supplies."

"I — alright. Got it. It's good to see you, Chuck; see you again soon." Sam turns away and starts toward the cabin, giving the prophet a small smile. It's sort of insane, that he's seeing all these faces again. He tries to imagine what Cas could be like, if Dean's changed this much; the idea scares him a little. Cautiously, hesitantly, he knocks on the door. For some reason, now that he's wandered away from Dean, he feels exceptionally lost here.

He feels like he doesn't belong anywhere, but this place is sort of a bigger deal, right?

It could be home.

If there is anything that Castiel has learned from being human, it's that with humanity — especially humanity set against the backdrop of the end of the world — comes with drastic ups and downs. Maybe that's how it starts — the bitterness that slowly begins to eat away at him, the resentment he feels at feeling every literal and figurative snag, the desire to mellow himself out at the even keel at which he used to exist as an angel.

Or maybe he's just looking for excuses.

Regardless, Castiel tempers each up and down with drugs and sex, and he never gets quite there — to mellow — but he gets close enough, so he keeps on going.

He has a woman in bed with him — a blond named Jennifer, whose story he doesn't know beyond the thirty minutes they spent sharing pills and talking about existential experiences before they wound up in bed together. He's dozing, but she nudges him she hears the knock.

"Company," she states, standing up and beginning to pull on her clothes.

Castiel does the same and walks her to the door. She's the one who opens it, coming face-to-face with a guy she doesn't recognize. She isn't immediately suspicious, though — they bring in new people sometimes, and the security here is good enough that she personally doubts that any demons or Croats can make their way in. But she's spoken to Dean a few times, trying to get his blessing to go on some of the bigger runs, and she knows he considers her far too optimistic for the "big" responsibilities.

Tossing a smile back at Castiel, she says, "Let's do this again," before she steps by Sam.

Castiel, meanwhile, is focused on the man before him, eyes a little wide, like he can't quite believe what he sees. He does, though — there has always been a part of him that believed he would see Sam Winchester again. It is, perhaps, the one last true belief onto which Castiel held.

"Sam."

That's it — just a name. But he speaks it with warmth, genuinely glad to see Sam again. The blood doesn't escape his notice, and neither does the state of Sam's eye, but right now, Castiel is just genuinely glad to see Sam again.

Messed up as part of Sam's face is right now, his eyebrows shoot straight up regardless at the sight of the woman in Castiel's room. Last time he'd seen the angel, he'd... well, he wasn't anything like this. Though, the moment Castiel is staring at him, he feels self-conscious. He looks down at his feet for a moment, willing himself to face his past — part of him will always, always feel like anything horrible in the world is his fault. Castiel's had to deal with this world, too. He must be hearing something wrong, if Cas is happy to see him. Bobby... maybe. Maybe. But...

"Hey Cas."

He finally looks up a bit hands twitching a bit at his sides.

"It's, it's been a while, huh? You look..." He pauses. "A little different."

Castiel has had a lot of time to think about their situation — not only the state of the world, and what has caused it, but also the aftermath of Dean and Sam's decision to split up. He's watched Dean harden and change into a person that even he has difficulty getting along with. Castiel doesn't agree with everything that Dean has done and will do — though he will follow him until the end — and he has always been of the belief that if Dean and Sam had stayed together, things wouldn't have gotten this bad.

Seeing Sam — still free of Lucifer, still alive, and now here, in this camp — Castiel can almost remember what it was like before.

He laughs at Sam's comment. They're all different now.

"A lot has changed," he replies. Then he steps aside. "Come in, before someone sees you with all that blood."

Blood is too much of a concern, these days.

"How did you find us? Dean?"

Sam nods, stepping forward. He's admittedly kind of awkward and nervous walking into someone else's home. But, well, Cas is right. Someone seeing just how bloody he is would be pretty bad. He closes the door behind him, trying to find the willpower to keep looking at Cas in the eye. "Yeah. Yeah, he... sort of happened to run into me. I was shacked up in an old apartment complex. He figures... I'd be good bait for Lucifer, if we need it, so I decided to come back with him."

He nods. It's a good plan.

"He's looking for the colt still."

"Bait?" Castiel replies, surprise in his tone, even though there shouldn't be. "That's why he brought you here?"

It's hard to imagine the Dean of years back being comfortable with a plan like that, but a lot has changed. Part of Castiel had been holding out hope that meeting up with Sam would have reminded Dean of some of the humanity he had left.

He laughs, bitterly. "Our fearless leader always has the job on his mind." He walks over to his cabinets and opens one of them, rummaging around. "If we do manage to kill Lucifer, I don't know if he'll be able to handle having nothing to obsess over."

Cas finds the bottle, pulls it out, and takes off the cap. He takes a deep slug, then holds it out to Sam. "This stuff's rare these days, but I've been lucky enough to hoard a few bottles."

He shrugs. "No better reason to bring me."

Sam knows. He knows it's all fucked up, that Dean's not really Dean anymore, not where it matters, and that hurts. A lot. But there was a spark of something back in the camp... Probably squashed out the moment Sam died. He sighs.

"I hope we kill him. Maybe then... Dean could have some kind of life again. Maybe he can't go back to the old Dean... no, I know he can't, but. But maybe he'll be able to at least be something in-between."

He touches his swollen eyebrow gently, quiet and sad and exhausted.

At the pills, he frowns more deeply.

"Cas, you're a pill popper? This is a horrible time to pick up human fads."

It's a joke, sort of, but he looks nothing but concerned.

"I thought he could be," Castiel responds, suddenly a little more serious. He had thought Sam would be the key, somehow, to helping Dean back along. To reminding him of what is important. Now, hearing what Sam has had to say, he's not so sure.

Maybe he and Sam just haven't had enough time.

"This is the best time to pick up human fads, Sam," Castiel counters, and since Sam isn't keen on taking any, he reaches to put the bottle back in place. "It's the end of the world. Might as well."

That has become his justification for everything he does, these days.

"Come on. You can get cleaned up back here." Castiel starts walking toward the back of the cabin. There's no running water in his cabin, but Castiel brings in fresh water every day, and there's plenty in the back.

Sam staggers after Cas, rubbing his arm.

"S'not the end. Books don't say The End at the bottom and then keep on going." In case you were wondering if parts of Sam's old self were in-tact, there you go. He uses his hand to brush against the wall, for support in case he decides to suddenly faceplant. Being upright is a bit dizzying, now that he's been on his feet for a bit. Then again, he did very recently die. So there's that. "I was... dead. Got killed in a camp. Lucifer — he brought me back."

He's not sure if he's glad that he did. But it wouldn't change what the devil was doing to the world... would it have? No, he'd die, and people would die after him. His death didn't exactly fix anything. He swallows hard. "I'd wondered... if... if letting him possess me... then trying to take control long enough to use the colt... if that'd work. I don't know if Dean's considered it, but if we're gonna use me as bait and we're dead if it fails, I thought..."

He sighs.

"I don't know. I wish I could fix this."

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This is the End

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timeskip?? :)

sure

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I have no idea how I managed to do action on that last tag. i guess bc i tagged distractedly at work

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Creates a journal for this

hollaaaaaa

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