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End of the Line: 4

From the side of the parking lot Benny watches Dean get out of the black car that always reminds him of the days when things were easy and his unlife had seemed good. Dean don't look easy nor good as he walks away from the Impala. Benny notices the slump of his shoulders, the tight set of his jaw and how he's lost weight in the six days since he last saw him this close up. There’s no knowing why Dean looks the way he does but whatever the reason it makes something twist hard under his ribs and the nerves in his hands and fingers sing with the urge to move, to hold. He continues standing in the shadow of the dumpsters and watches ‘til Dean closes the door of the motel room behind him.

Every day for weeks now he's told himself it’s finished, that he’s done stalking the Winchesters, that he ain't going to follow Dean like a lovesick in-breed, ain't going to worry about him getting killed or hurt bad. Once or twice he's managed two or even three days without moving from wherever it is he finds himself, but most days the pull towards Dean near overwhelms him. He sold the van 'cos it was way too recognisable. He's got himself a cheap, small, windowless thing, brown and dusty and pretty much invisible. He can just about stretch out in back but he has no real need to sleep, so what the hell. There’s no need to literally stalk the brothers either; he knows, unerringly, where Dean is at any given moment. He's not sure how he knows, just feels a sense of direction, like the man's a great fucking magnet and himself a scattering of iron filings.
Being this close is a whole lots easier than far away tho’. He tried that straight off, tried getting as far from Dean Winchester as he could. He’d almost reached Alaska when he grasped that ‘distant’ meant ‘worse’. Distant means he gets to feeling more and more strung out, unable to think straight and real low in his mind. The only good thing about any of what’s happening is he almost never thinks about feeding now, seems like one hunger has replaced another. Part of him wonders if he's starving and too far gone to realise how deep in shit he is. Most of him’s relieved there's no need to think about blood.

He can't exactly pick up Dean thoughts but this close he gets his emotions real clear and what going on now hurts like a bitch. Benny rests his head against the fence beside the dumpster and closes his eyes, letting Dean's sadness flow through him. After weeks following him he's sure Dean has no sense of his proximity, but he's wondered once or twice if letting himself take on what Dean feels maybe helps for a moment or two. He likes to think it might, but guesses it probably can't. After all, Dean ain’t feeling what he’s feeling, so most likely everything’s just going round and round in his own immortal fuckin’ head, like a specially crazy person. He’s just beginning to understand why some real old vamps go in for voluntary decapitation. Hearing a sound he opens his eyes and sees the tall guy, grocery bag in hand, glance at the Impala, stalk towards the room and vanish inside.

It's all quiet for a moment then he hears an angry kind of roar followed a few moments later by the sound of a loud slap. He feels himself falling sideways and grasps at the dumpster. His face burns and his gut is suddenly in knots. "I can't do this" he thinks for what has to be the hundredth time, "I can't fuckin' do this". The urge to kick the door down, knock the brother into next week and take Dean in his arms is so overwhelming he feels his muscles spasm with the need to move. Instead, he stands, both hands grasping the soiled metal of the dumpster, upright and stationary only by a mighty act of will. To feel so close and be powerless to act is almost beyond bearing, but the alternative is a fuck of a lot worse.

He moves, walking quickly round the building ‘til he's leaning against the back wall of the Winchesters' room. It's the middle of the afternoon and real quiet so he rests his head against the brick. Creeping behind lowdown motels is some crappy shit, but he's stopped judging himself on stuff like that. Ever since he realised what was happening to him, that day Dean called and they’d said "end of the line" he's known there's no point fighting any of it. He lives with it, or he dies, for real, again. The thought of purgatory, alone, fills him with a kind of empty dread. At least here there's a chance he might be needed one day, might make a difference to whether Dean lives or dies if things go bad for the brothers on a hunt. And there's another thought that's been growing in the back of his mind, something he’s not brought out or examined yet; a possibility of freedom.

A wave of anger, confusion and sadness washes over him so that he nearly falls to his knees. "Jesus!" he whispers, "Dean, brother ... " The back of his eyes burns, a sensation he's gotten familiar with recently. He takes a deep breath and concentrates on staying upright. He's just about managing when his throat contracts like he's being choked and he falls hard onto his back in the dirt. He lies for what might be seconds or minutes then there's a rustling sound right beside him. His blurring eyes open on a hand reaching down to him. He can't see beyond the hand but reaches up anyway and immediately recognises the more than human grip as he's lifted to his feet.
"Yes Benjamin, it is I. Are you acquainted with other angelic beings?"
Benny starts to laugh ‘cos unless he mis-heard the angel is being fuckin' ironic. Realising he sounds near hysterical he stops and holds out his hand again. "Man, it's good to see you! How are you here? How did you get out?"
Castiel smiles and takes the proffered hand, "To my surprise I find I am happy to see you also vampire."
Benny feels a kind of flowing warmth from the angel, accompanied by a sudden lifting of his spirits.
"I cannot answer your questions however.’ Castiel says, ‘I do not know how I got out, how I am here, or why I am on this plane once again."
Benny shakes his head, "You don't know? That's real strange, but good ... right? It’s good that you're here?" He releases the angel's hand and feels a dizzying onrush of pain that makes him almost cry out, “Dean, fuck … ah no, no!”
Castiel looks at him curiously, “You can feel that?”
“Yes!” Benny gasps, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph …”
“Indeed” Castiel says, “but they are unlikely to offer present succour, given that you are a vampire and I have lost my Grace.”
“He’s hurtin’ so much, I can’t … “
Castiel says, “I know. If you wish I can take you …”
Despite the angel’s hand on his arm and the warming calm flowing over him once again he almost shouts, “No! Don't ... don’t.” Then there’s that rustling followed by a sense of being wrapped in something vast, airy yet almost fluid. Daylight seems hazy and abruptly he realises the pain of just seconds before is already dulled and vanishing fast. “What the …?” Reaching out his hands he touches softness, fingers sinking up to his wrists in a deep mobile substance that can only be … “Your wings?” he whispers in a kind of astonished awe. “Am I feelin’ your wings?”
Castiel says, “Yes, Benjamin, I have wrapped you in myself. Do you feel less pain yet?”
Startled by the sudden absence of what he has been feeling for weeks Benny struggles to speak. ‘Y … you can do that? Take pain away, jus’ … take it away?”
There’s a smile in Castiel’s voice. “Sometimes, but you are not human so that is not what I am doing here. My wings are merely shielding you from the worst of what you are experiencing from … from what Dean is experiencing.”
He hears the catch in the angel’s voice. “You feel it too then, his hurtin’?”
“Wherever you are?”
“No. When I am on another plane of existence I do not feel what he feels. It is a very great relief.”
“Is that why you disappeared in Purgatory?”
Castiel is quiet, then says. “No, that was not the reason.”
Benny nods, accepting. “It gets worse the further I move away from him. How do you live with it?"”
"Strictly speaking I am not alive, but immortal as you are. I am an angel, my task is to witness human emotion without experiencing it."
Benny says, "But you do experience it tho', don't you ... his feelings."
Castiel shrugs and the wings undulate and quiver like a breath of air or a wall of water. They are both silent for a moment. Muffled words reach them from the room beyond the wall, angry sounding words then a sense of violence, of threat. Despite the protecting wings Benny says, “Ah, no … not that … Stop it, you can stop it can’t you? Don’t let this happen … Castiel, please .” Then he feels the angel behind him, arms wrapping tight around him until he’s pinned to the slight body, feels its thrumming power as Castiel says quietly in his ear, “Rest vampire, what happens between those two is not for us to change. Only they can do that.”
Benny lets his head drops back onto Castiel’s shoulder and he’s held up, suspended in a place where hurt is far, far away. Something breaks in his chest and he starts quietly to weep.
Castiel says, “I have seen your pain and know it is your love that causes you to suffer. At first I thought I was mistaken because we angels are taught that monsters cannot love, so I did not believe what I saw in you.”
“Didn’t believe it myself." Benny lifts his head but can’t wipe his wet face ‘cos Castiel's still pinning his arms to his body. "It’s a vampire thing.” He feels the angel’s power holding him up, holding him steady, like someone has stapled him to a warm rock.
Inside the room blood is being spilt, he can smell it, the wrongness of it. “They’re really hurtin’ each other man, you sure you can’t stop it …?”
“I could but I will not. Both of them have a very great lesson to learn here.” Castiel laughs quietly, “And if you know Dean as well as I believe you do then you know he is much, much stronger than he seems, much stronger than he thinks himself to be. Neither of them will break today.”
Benny nods, silent. They’re fucking now and even with angelic wings and arms keeping him from the full impact of what’s happening he’s struggling not to crack wide open.
“Ah!” Castiel says suddenly, “He’s thinking of you Benjamin, thinking of you with … with …”.
Dean’s fucking his brother while thinking 'bout him? “With what?”
The angel hesitates, “I am not certain I should have spoken.”
“He’s thinking of me with what? With what Castiel?”
Silence. Then, for the first time since the angel appeared Benny struggles to free himself. Yeah, it feels great not to hurt, but if it stops him feeling, stops him knowing what’s going on with Dean ...?”
“Be still!”
There’s command in Castiel’s voice and Benny gives up trying to free his arms. “Please,” he whispers, “tell me.”
“With love,” the angel replies. “He’s thinking of you with love and with … sorrow.”
With love? Sorrow? Benny says, “No. That ain’t possible, you mis-heard.”
The angel smiles against the side of his neck. “I know I mis-understand things people say and I know this makes me a source of humour, though I do not fully grasp why that should be so. But I assure you vampire, it is not possible for me to mis-hear.”
Castiel relaxes the hold on his arms and as he does so a wave of physical sensation crashes over Benny as he feels, even through the wings that still wrap him, some of what is happening just feet away. “Ahh,” he whispers, sensing Dean fucking into Sam hard enough to snap his spine, “too much, it’s too much.” He has a sudden memory of himself wide open under a gentle, loving Dean so different to this ... this ... to ... . Before the memory can rip at him he turns quickly to face Castiel and lets the strong arms encircle him once more. He rests his forehead against the angel’s shoulder. “I never wanted this. Never thought it was even possible between a vampire and a human, an’ surely not one-sided like this. Don’t know how long I can keep goin’ brother.”
“That is why you have considered speaking with Sam?”
“You have been considering death.”
Given where his head is literally at and being as he’s wrapped tight in angelic arms and wings, lyin’ seems pretty pointless.”
“Yeah. I wanted t’ know a few things.”
“Like, can you die and not return to Purgatory?”
“Yeah, like that.”
“But you have not approached him?”
Benny smiles against the shoulder of the trench coat. “Thought he might just kill me ‘fore I’d a chance to say my piece and I’d be back in Purgatory anyways. The guy has a powerful dislike of vampires and this vamp in particular.” He breathes in the odourless scent of angel and says, “That Sam, I’m guessin’ he wouldn’t hesitate to finish me but I was fearin’ Dean might learn of it an’ be angry, that it might make things harder between them, harder than they already are ... you know?”
“Yes, I do,” Castiel murmurs, “things are indeed very hard between them.”
Benny lifts his face. Did the angel just make a really crass joke? He'd bet his cap on brotherly incest being a smite-worthy offence, so what's with the levity? Twisting his head ‘til he’s speaking directly into the ear beside his mouth he hisses, “Did you just say what I think you said? Cos if you did it ain’t funny …”
The angel says, "Hm,” and after a pause during which he seems to be listening to something intently, says, “It is over.” He unwraps his arms and steps back a little. Still within the arc of wings Benny takes a deep, unnecessary breath, then the wings are gone too and it’s no longer afternoon and dusk is falling.
His sense of Dean rushes over him again like a train, but that’s OK, he’s ready for it, almost welcomes it.
Castiel says, “Listen”, and to his astonishment Benny can hear the brothers’ conversation. Even with his preternatural abilities he’s never done that and even if he could it might’ve felt kinda wrong. Now, amplified by Castiel, he hears even their breathing. Hears Dean, clear as anything, soothe his brother who doesn’t sound so fuckin’ tall right now. Dean says, “I ain’t mad at you Sammy, or at myself …”
And oh, just the sound of Dean’s voice again makes him happy so that he smiles, a wide, probably foolish smile. He stands up straighter and says, “Thanks Castiel, appreciate you helpin’ man, I've been feelin' pretty alone with this ... with everythin' I guess." He smiles again, "I know you didn’t have to help, me bein’ a monster an’ all.”
“Ssh”. Castiel raises a finger, “Listen Benjamin. Listen and you’ll hear …”
Eyes fixed on the angel’s face he listens as Dean says, "Everything’s good. We're good." Then a silence and Sam says, real quiet, "You love him, don't you Dean." Dean sighs, then says, "Ssh, Sammy. Sleep now, I'm here".

Castiel bends his head and closes his eyes briefly. “I will leave you now. If it gets very bad call out to me and I will come to you if I can.”
Still stunned Benny says, “Did he mean m … me? Is all that hatin’ just now ‘cos of …? Please, tell me it ain’t!”
The angel looks at him with what can only be compassion in eyes that are blue like his own.
“It was never hate Benny, just love turned inside out by need. Those two could never hate each other.” He looks sad and says, “For your own sake you should remember that.”
Castiel steps away and Benny sees how tired he looks, how fragile in his too loose shirt and ridiculous coat. Without thinking he steps forward and pulls the angel back into an embrace. “I’m thanking you mightily for this,” he says into the soft dark hair. “I know you love him too.”
Castiel snorts. “I am an angel, albeit one who has lost his Grace. It is my particular task to love him.”
“Yeah,” Benny says and smiles, “But he makes it real easy don’t he …”
Nodding, Castiel turns away, hesitates and says over his shoulder. “You are not a monster, Benjamin Lafitte … and yes, he did mean you.”

He’s alone again, still leaning against the outside wall of the Winchester’s now silent room, when his long undead heart starts beating.

End of the Line. After that phone call ...

Author: wirtleberg
Rated: R
Pairing: Dean Winchester/Benny Lafitte
Warning: some graphic flashback

He slams the van door then gropes for the phone that always seems too small for his hands, too fragile. The rush starts in the pit of his stomach. "Dean?" Just saying the word warms him. "Dean … I’m thanking you mightily, bud, I’m in a hard way here. How close are you brother?" He feels himself starting to relax, the tension of weeks spent alone and hungry beginning to drain. He wants to smile, just hearing Dean's voice can do that for him these days.
"I’m sorry man, I’m not going to make it.”
Benny turns abruptly and moves to sit on the nearby wall, oblivious to the sea, to boats and distant forest. Nothing exists except the anchor of the voice in his hand, the voice that means he's not alone here. He closes his eyes.
"You mean now, or …?"
"Listen, Benny, I’ll never forget everything you’ve done for me man, but this is it."
Something lances through him: panic, pain? Someone not him says, "End of the line?"
There’s a pause, a hesitation. Everything now is focused, concentrated on the next moment, the next second. He doesn't really need to breathe but feels his lungs go still anyway. Then,
“End of the line.”
He speaks without thinking, his mouth seeming to open and close, involuntary and ridiculous. "Yeah, well, I never liked these cell phones anyway."
"You stay good, alright?"
He can hear the almost smile in Dean's voice and behind that, the warning. He should hate that, the conditionality of what they have. Had.
"You too Dean."
Is this it? Panic flares threatening to choke him. So much he wants to say, to show, but what comes out now is the least part of what he really feels. "Thanks brother. Thanks for the ride."
There's that pause again, he feels it like a void around which everything that is him circles. He opens his eyes to the darkness behind his shades. Dean says, "Yeah man. Adios."

He gets up from the wall, suddenly aware that it's no longer day. Lights have come on along the harbour and there are fewer cars, fewer people about. He walks stiffly towards the van, his body feeling almost human, old and tired. He’s hungry, really fucking hungry. Hungry and needing, not just the blood but the feel of something warm and alive in his hands, a body yielding to him, giving him what he needs, what he's needed for decades and denied himself. Taking the last bag of blood from the cooler box he's about to twist it open when he remembers how he got it. Dean. Closing his eyes he remembers sitting slumped and bleeding and Dean, Dean coming towards him lifeblood literally in his hands. He touches the soft plastic with callused fingertips, almost reverently. Dean gave him this, helped him mightily, yeah that was the word, when he couldn't help himself. The thought 'that will never happen again' strikes him with an agony so powerful, so shrill, that he clutches at the sides of the van to stop himself falling. There’s an unfamiliar burning sensation behind his eyes then there's water, (is it water?) running down his face. The bag is still in his hand and he considers laying it under his shirt next his skin; that won't warm it, but having it close might feel good? Dropping the bag into the cooler he slams the back of the van shut.

It's getting light when he reaches the edge of the Adirondacks. He drives into the forest, not wondering where he's going or why, seeing the occasional cabin, the occasional road leading to camps, to homesteads, invisible behind the trees. When even the dirt road is no more than a track he slows and winds down the window. It's cool here and shadowy. The giant pines tower above the van, above him. There's a narrow road overhung by trees and blocked after 100 m or so by a log barrier. He turns into it, shuts off the engine and sits for a moment hands still on the wheel. He stares out the windscreen, wondering how the fuck he got here, how he drove from the Catskills without seeing a thing.

Coffee. Yeah, he’d said he wanted a coffee. It didn't sound so much, not put like that. But of course that wasn't really it, not at all and Dean had known that, for sure. He opens and closes the van door quietly, starts to walk fast, moving between dark tree trunks, feet silent on the thick carpet of needles. Daylight doesn't reach down here, there's a twilight feeling, a stillness that is almost damn perfect. He stops and looks around smiling. Purgatory. This place is the nearest he's gonna to get to Purgatory. And to Dean. He throws down cap and jacket, and dropping to his knees digs his hands hard through soil and rotting pine needles then rubs them over hair and beard, over hands and wrists. Moving on all fours he crawls to the base of a tree and sits, legs stretched out in front of him. Somewhere out there, somewhere on the other side of the country, Dean is maybe sitting with his real brother, maybe sharing a beer. Benny smiles tentatively, like he's trying it on for size, picturing Dean with the tall, hard-eyed man he’d met for just those few, angry moments but would have fought for, maybe even cared for one day, had he been allowed. "Look out for him brother, look out for my Dean," he says.
He knows Dean’s never, not ever, gonna tell Sam what passed between them in Purgatory. And it’s good that Sam shouldn’t have that to stick on his Benny hate list. He smiles for real. Fuck! There wouldn’t be enough big country to put between them if Sam ever learned about Dean and him.
He lays his head back against the trunk of the tree and closes his eyes, lifting his hands to his face, breathing in the rich scents of damp and decay. He knows, how could he not know given how often he’s done it before, that he can call Dean up any time. Not on the stupid plastic thing still sitting in his pocket, but inside, in his mind's eye. Ain't that what they call it? Minds eye? Except the Dean he's feeling ain't in his head at all but somewhere around his chest and gut — and lower. He lets himself drift there, to where Dean is at and …
“Jesus God!” There it is again, the same piercing agony that had almost dropped him on the road beside the harbour. Instinctively he tries to pull away from it, to step back into the half numb, half accepting state of just a moment before and realises it’s too late. “Fuck, fuck, oh fuck!” He doubles over arms wrapped around his belly. "Dean … brother …". Grief rips through him, blinding and he does the only thing he knows to do. Lies down on the ground and holds out his arms to the pain, to Dean, and pulls it in close, real close. He can feel Dean's heat, the solidness of him, muscle n' bone n' blood, everything thrumming, thrumming like the engine of that ol’ black car of his. Dean, present and erect. Despite everything he chokes out a half-laugh. That was Dean, always ready for something, fighting, fucking, and killing. He’d been good at that, the killing, like he got a powerful pleasure from it that he needed again and again. Benny’s eyes squeeze tight but his face is slippery wet. He can't remember the last time he wept before today, maybe when he was human, maybe not even then. He feels Dean under him, around him, drawing him in. In to the blind merging he's always craved and found only once before with Andrea, and he’d died for that.

It’d always been that way, him fucking Dean. Sometimes it would start out kinda like fighting, pushing and shoving at each other, not sure what was really happening, like animals trying for position, never turning their backs to one another. Dean was strong, quick, a lifelong hunter, which said something, sure. But when it came down to it, which it usually did, he lacked the one thing made all the difference. He was no predator. So, they'd sucked quick and dirty on each others mouths and cocks and teats and that place where the neck joins the shoulder and if the monsters stayed away long enough they’d fuck their way around Purgatory with him buried as deep inside of Dean as a body could get and still be separate.
He shudders, that feeling of being peeled, turned inside out, rushing through him again. ‘Cos Dean could do that to him easy as blinking. Dean could spread his legs for Benny, or bend over the stump of a tree, pants around his ankles, could take it all, fingers, cock and even, once, his fist. That fist had hurt, really hurt, and seeing the pain on Dean's face he'd wanted to stop, even though the feeling of slick, wet warmth gripping his hand had been a rush almost better than blood. But before he could start to pull out Dean’d hissed through tight clamped teeth, “Do it man, jus’ fucking do it! I ain't no pussy you need worry ‘bout bruising …" So he’d punched right on in and up and been amazed at how Dean's body finally drew him in, smooth flesh rippling along his forearm like some underwater creature while Dean keened like a dying man.
Benny runs one dry hand along that arm, memory fresh and alive. Oh yeah, Dean’s ass hole was just like the man himself, wide open and hungry. But even moaning an’ grinding like a $20 whore, Dean could still leave him feeling like he was the one who'd just given it all up and burned.

Then there was the one time, just the one, when he'd looked at Dean and said "Fuck me," and good ol’ Dean’d recognised it at once for what it was, an invitation and not a cussin'. They'd been sitting facing each other across a small fire and Benny remembers the light that danced in Dean's eyes when he’d said "Sure, man. Let’s give it a go".
Even now, he's not certain why he did it, why he let it happen, why he wanted it to happen. He’d never had a guy in that way, so maybe it was just curiosity. He'd thought it likely Dean would take the opportunity to fuck him raw, to hammer him down into the dirt and get some payback for all the bleeding and whining, all the face-down he'd given up for Benny. At the time, that’d seemed only fair. But it wasn't like that, not at all like that and he'd been transfixed and finally terrified as Dean made love to him, all softly sweet and relentless, stroking and licking at his most secret places, teasing him open until he'd felt himself dissolve in Dean's hands.

Benny rolls onto his back, feeling Dean's weight on him again, a wonderful, crushing weight, warm and alive. He wraps his arms round his body and closes his eyes. And Dean is in him and moving slow, slower until he sees Benny's used to it, to this new stabbing pain that relaxes down into a feeling, a sensation of pleasure he's never imagined. He writhes, wanton and sweating, and wants to laugh as he makes those whining whore sounds he’s used to hearing from Dean's mouth. Even fucking him Dean is gentle, tender. Stroking and kissing him, lips and fingers caressing and soothing. It’s all so unexpected he feels dislocated, awkward, but loving it too with a fierce joy so that he wants to shout and hit the ground with his fists. Then it's real intense and he’s suddenly aware of himself, of him, Benny Lafitte, split open on another man’s cock, exposed and overwhelmed. Shyness, equally unexpected, sweeps over him so strong and raw he starts to shut his eyes, but instead glances up at Dean who hangs in the air above him, braced on taut shoulders, breathing hard. Firelight flickers on the side of that face, on those wide, clear eyes, fixed on his own. Looking into those eyes Benny feels like something’s being shaken loose, like he’s starting to come apart… not just his body, but him, the thing that IS him, separate and whole. Then he’s seeing himself through Dean’s eyes and with a terrifying jolt of fear and yearning realises he can’t tell where he starts and Dean ends.
And that's when it had happened.

Blinking he sits up, slowly. The sun has passed overhead and somewhere behind the trees is starting to drop toward the horizon and night. He shakes himself, shakes out his wrists and shoulders, wipes a hand across his face. Christ he’s hungry! But that's OK, because he knows now, knows for sure, what happened in that moment and why he's turned into a needy fucking bitch. Not his fault, really not his fault. "Dean, brother ... what have you done to me?" Grasping the tree trunk he stands up, fingers digging into the soft bark as he sways, steadying himself and only then realises, with a shiver, that he's fully dressed and it had never even occured to him to touch himself. Christ! He's so utterly (not) fucked. He starts to laugh, small hiccuping sounds that die away leaving just the silence of the forest.

He'd known it could happen, been vaguely aware that it was possible between vamps, a kind of urban myth, something whispered but never witnessed. Never between a vamp and a human tho’ and never, ever, one-sided. Some vamps … Jesus! even thinking it makes him want to weep again … some vamps, the ones who didn’t just fuck but loved hard, mated for life, bonded to each other until death or eternity swept them apart. Benny shivers, fear and a growing awareness of future grief starting its way through his belly and up into his chest; his head bows. This is it then, his life from here on in, if he chooses to live it. No Dean, not even his voice at the end of a line; always longing, always hungry. He could try an’ get himself killed - some good ol' boy hunter would surely oblige - slip quietly out of this world and … and back to Purgatory. To Purgatory with no Dean in it.
He starts to shake. Hunger, it's just hunger. He has that last bag of blood back in the van. Can’t think past that ‘last’ just now. Brushing pine needles and dirt out of his hair and beard he starts walking through the trees and towards the road.