collegedropout | 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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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."

This is the End

Creates a journal for this

hollaaaaaa

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