So . . . I'm gonna need to ask some questions concerning Benny. Specifically, one question.
What's his accent? Seriously, it's beautiful. My gosh, if I could bottle that voice . . .
. . . Well, I'd keep it in a titanium safe with bodyguards and hit men in the rafters for anyone who tried to touch it. An overreaction? I think not.
But seriously. I need the answer to the question, dudes. What's his accent?
Warnings: Rated for Dean's (admittedly magnificent) mouth. And thoughts.
Disclaimer: I own them, I own them all! Heh, heh, heh . . . sob . . . Okay, okay, I own nothing except Benny . . . what? Oh, fine. I own absolutely nothing. There, are you happy now? I hope you're satisfied. I'll get you for this, I swear . . . sob, sob . . .
And . . . go.
It's a world full of heartbreak drive bys
They've seen their fair share of hard lives
Looked right into the face of a goodbye
While we walked on the edge of the dark side
Dean stood over the empty hole where Benny's bones should be buried, where his grave should be. Nothing was there.
His arm burned coldly, as if it had been frozen over and left that way for too long. He glanced down at it. "What the hell, Benny? Did you give me the wrong directions or something?"
No one answered. Which was expected, considering the only part left of Benny was the part currently residing in his left arm.
He cursed beneath his breath and began to walk. The burn was getting worse. He brushed passed the tree branches in his way, gritting his teeth as the searing ice that had taken over his arm throbbed.
Once he got out of the clearing, however, something seemed to stretch and pull, trying to cling to his skin. The feeling faded, but not before whatever it was snapped, sending a shockwave down his body and making a sharp sensation seem to resound in his head as a shudder traveled down his spine, and created a feeling not unlike needles in his fingertips.
He shook his head to clear it, muttering, "What the . . . ?"
He stood deadly still for a moment, Purgatory knife in his hand.
When nothing seemed to happen, he slowly began to walk again, muscles tenser than before the air tried to dig into him.
He strode out of the brush, only to find himself in the parking lot of a motel. A motel he recognized. It was the one he'd found Sam in when he'd come from Hell. The Astoria.
He was in Pontiac, Illinois. Shit. No wonder he couldn't find Benny's bones.
He shook his head, thought about it, and decided that Sam would appreciate it more if he took a shower before just suddenly showing up at his doorstep.
Hell, so would Dean.
He'd somehow managed to keep his wallet in the pocket of his jacket, and used nearly all that was left in it to pay for the room. The teenage employee didn't even bother to look up from his magazine as he gave Dean the key.
Seconds into the shower, and he came to the conclusion that he'd forgotten how good it felt not to have blood on you.
Forty minutes later (Purgatory was not kind, and he figured he probably deserved a few extra minutes under the warm spray of clean-impossibly clean-water), he stepped out and considered the only clothes he had.
They had been matted with dirt and blood (not all of that was red, either) and other things (what was that anyway, acid?), but since he'd brought them into the shower with him, they were soaked through. Significantly cleaner than before, but still soaked through.
His left arm trembled. He would have already let the earth absorb Benny's blood, but he just . . . couldn't do it. He owed him, and he always tried to pay his debts.
He raised his right hand and let it settle against his left shoulder, trying to still the constant tremor. It felt like his arm was both on fire and completely frozen at the same time.
This could pose a problem.
Suddenly, a shudder caught him by surprise, and his breath hissed out as the burning increased. It was like he was being branded. He looked down at his arm, and forgot to breathe.
Mostly because he was being branded.
A strange tattoo was being burned into his skin, an odd, shimmering red. He couldn't look away as it seared and froze him, sinking into his flesh, and abruptly, the pain ended.
He looked down at it, an odd expression he couldn't see on his face. "Benny?"
No one answered.
He stood there for several moments, just looking down at the tattoo in his arm.
He would bet anything it couldn't be removed by anything less than a knife to the skin, and only then if he let it bleed out of him.
There was no worrying over something he couldn't change, though.
He was just putting on his (wet, clinging) pants when a sound caught his attention. It was coming from the next room over, sounded like laughter.
It was wearing away at his nerves. Laughter wasn't something he heard often in Purgatory, and even then, it was harsh and maniacal and rang in his ears like someone dragging their nails down new glass.
He buckled his belt, straightened up and grabbed his (dripping, cold) shirt, putting it on before leaving the room. He went to the room beside his and knocked on the door. A woman with long dark-brown hair answered the door, wearing only a shirt that reached passed her hips.
Immediately, a charming smile came to his lips.
It felt new, and strange, and he wanted it off as soon as possible.
(Why? It's not as if he hadn't smiled in Purgatory, even-oh God, especially-when there was this one moment where a Leviathan caught up to them and he was on the monster in less than two seconds and he had the black knife that went with the black blood staining his skin and the Leviathan and for some twisted reason it was so, so hard not to just fall back into Alistair's torture, his training-)
"Excuse me. I don't mean to bother you, but could you keep it down? I just got back from a long trip, and I'm still trying to get used to it."
A smile flirted with the woman's lips, despite the fact that the room she stood in clearly wasn't one she'd paid for herself and whoever had paid for it was still there.
(Did this seem familiar? It was familiar, why was it happening again? He knew this, remembered-)
"Who is it?" a familiar voice asked.
Dean watched, overcome by déjà vu and a sickening sense of the familiar.
His brother stood there, tall and straight and oh, God, this was him before the Cage. This was Sam before Lucifer got out, before betrayal and everything else tore them apart. Before the hallucinations, before Bobby died, before Cas sided with Crowley, before they broke each other and themselves.
Sam.
He didn't realize he'd said the name aloud until Sam had him pressed against the wall with a knife to his throat and his brother's name ringing in his ears.
Why?
Why was he here?
Sam?
"Sam, you stand so tall." The whisper escaped his lips, unable to be held inside.
Sam-this Sam, unburned by Hell, unmarked by the angels and their unending war-looked back at him, familiar hazel eyes hard as they stared into his.
God. Oh God, his brother was strong, so, so strong. His brother. Sam.
(Fuck.)
"Sammy, we keep coming back. Why do we keep coming back?" The words were said in such a low, deep voice, he wouldn't have heard them-wouldn't have even recognized them-had they not come from his own mouth.
Sam heard them.
"You heard me," Dean said. Just to say something to his brother. "Can't believe you heard me."
Sam tightened his hold on him.
"Missed you," Dean said, the words tumbling out. "Wasn't the same without you. Blood and monsters are all well and good, but my little brother wasn't there to fight them with me."
Sam parted his lips, then didn't seem to know what he wanted to say.
"S'alright," Dean said, tone almost comforting but for the rasp to his voice. "Not like I expected a warm welcome or anything. You die too many times, and you stop wanting one, anyway." He chuckled. It sounded rougher than usual, but then again, Purgatory could do that to you.
Purgatory had done that to him.
God.
"Got pie?" he asked. "I'd kill for some pie. Seriously, Sam. Do you know how long it's been since I last ate anything that's actually supposed to be edible?"
"Dean?"
There it was.
'Dean.' There it was.
"Hey, Sammy," he whispered, squeezing his brother's wrist. "I'm home."
After the brunette left
("Bye, Kathy."
"It's C-"
"Yeah."),
Dean found himself sitting in a chair across from Sam, a beer in his hand (wouldn't have lasted a week in Purgatory with alcohol on his breath, in his blood) and Sammy gazing at him like he'd just solved Einstein's greatest math problem in record time.
Geek.
Sam asked after his health, both mental and physical, several times ("Are you sure you're alright, Dean?").
It was getting irritating.
(He loved it.)
"Dean, are you-"
"I said I'm fine," he interrupted.
Sam's expression was breathtaking in its total disbelief. "Fine? You've been in Hell, Dean."
He frowned. "Been there, done that. Didn't even get a T-shirt for my troubles."
From the look on Sam's face, you'd think he just told him the empire state building was theirs for the taking.
"Dean," Sam said slowly, "you just got out of Hell. How can you just be alright?"
Dean slapped his hands down on his legs. "Fact is, Sammy, that's old news."
"How, how on earth can that be old news?" his brother demanded. "It was four months ago! You were . . . Dean, you had to have been tortured."
"I was," Dean said bluntly.
That didn't seem to make Sam feel any better. In fact, it made him go a paler shade than he already was.
Damn. Maybe he should have phrased it differently.
"It's fine, Sammy."
"Nothing's fine, Dean. It can't all just be fine." He paused. "How did you get out of Hell, anyway?"
"An angel named Castiel 'gripped me tight and raised me from Perdition'," he said, deadpan.
"An angel?"
"An angel."
"They're real?" He looked like a huge, excited puppy.
Dean snorted. "Yeah, real douchebags."
"Dean," his brother said disapprovingly.
"What?"
Sam looked at him disappointedly, hazel eyes big and sad.
Dean gave up. "Look, I'm not saying all angels are douchebags . . ."
Sam made a face and sighed.
Dean gave him a grin.
He had the feeling it looked way more happy than he wanted to let on.
Too long since Sam had sighed at him.
A year was too long. A week was too long.
It was too long no matter how you said it.
"-ean. Dean."
He blinked, looking up. "What?"
Sam gave him an exasperated look. "You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"
"Nope," Dean replied, completely unrepentant.
"Look, Dean, are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine, Sammy. Quit worrying about it."
"I wasn't the one in Hell, Dean," Sam retorted.
Dean froze.
The thought, 'God, no, I won't let you be' ran through his mind.
Sam would never, ever be able to say otherwise.
He wouldn't allow it. Couldn't let it happen.
Not to his brother. Not to his brother.
"Dean."
He met his Sam's concerned gaze.
This was a chance to make things right.
"You're okay?" Sam asked, reaching out to lay his hand on Dean's shoulder in a gesture of worry and support.
Dean smiled, letting his own hand come up to rest around Sam's wrist. "I'm fine, Sammy."
Hell had no chance.
The gate was right there, the Leviathans behind them.
It was right there, glowing a shimmering blue as they climbed the rocks, waiting for them. For him?
It wasn't enough. Not enough strength, not enough time. Just . . . not enough.
And then the Leviathans were ripping Benny apart and they were there, he and Cas, and he was standing in the blue and reaching out to the Angel who had snatched him from Hell, but Cas was letting go and slipping from his grasp and this shouldn't happen because they were both getting out, they were all supposed to get out, he and Benny and Cas and oh, God, no, Cas was going to be there alone, he'd have to fight by himself, he'd have to hurt and kill and break all on his own. Oh, God, it hadn't been enough.
It hadn't been enough.
"Wake up now, Dean."
Why hadn't he been strong enough? He could have . . . he could have pulled him out.
Pulled him out like Cas pulled him up.
"You have to wake up."
Why had he let Cas go? It wasn't . . . God, it wasn't supposed have happened like that.
"Dean."
It shouldn't have gone that way.
"I need you to wake up now, brother."
Sam was worth getting out.
"Dean."
But Cas was worth staying in.
"Wake up."
Dean woke up.
He opened his eyes to darkness.
"Dean."
The utterance brought him up faster than he'd thought possible, his head jerking around to stare at the man standing beside his bed.
Benny smiled in that way he had, as if it was a reflection of his voice, a slow, thick-as-honey drawl. "Good to see you finally listenin' to me, brother. Now if only you could learn to keep doin' it." He nodded toward Sam. "That your brother, Dean? The one you told me about? Sam, was it?"
"Yeah, but I . . . I didn't bleed on your bones," Dean said, stunned to see the vampire alive and well in front of him. He lowered his voice when Sam mumbled in his sleep and turned over in the bed next to his.
"Figured you hadn't. Just don't know why not."
"Your bones weren't there, Benny."
The corners of Benny's lips turned down. "They shoulda been in that grave. And I'd know."
Dean shook his head. "There wasn't a grave. We're in the wrong place. Take it from me, your bones are somewhere else." He paused. "How are you here, anyway? No one . . . ah . . ."
Benny waited a moment before saying, "What, Dean?"
"Gripped you tight and raised you from Purgatory," he said before he could stop himself.
Now Benny looked amused. "What makes you think that?"
"Nothing," he dismissed, embarrassed. "Stupid thought."
"It musta been some thought."
"Yeah, maybe." He paused. "Wait, you're not a hallucination are you? Dammit, Sam's had enough of those for both of us."
Benny chuckled. "I'm not a hallucination, Dean."
"Then how're you here?"
Benny nodded toward him. "I have a feelin' it has somethin' to do with that."
He looked down at the red tattoo on his arm. "Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. What, uh, what's it like, being . . . well . . . this?"
Benny tilted his head. "Well, it's a lot like Purgatory, 'cept without the big old monsters tryin' to take you out of the food chain. Don't have the hunger, so that's one less thing I have to worry about."
Dean nodded. "Well, that's good."
"Yeah." Benny paused. "Hey, what happened to your little angel buddy? I thought he was gettin' out with you . . ." He stopped talking at the look of pain on Dean's face. "Forget I said anythin', it's none a' my business, anyway."
"No, it's fine," Dean murmured, lowering his gaze to the bed as his hands clenched in the blanket. "He . . . he didn't make it. The gate closed before he . . . before I could . . ."
"Hey, you doan need to tell me that." Benny moved on before Dean could say another word. "Where are we? I can't remember nothin' before those Leviathan tossed me over with all those intense anger management issues of theirs."
"We're at a motel." He paused, then decided to just say it. "Five years in the past."
This was news to Benny. He turned to Dean with all of his attention. "Now how the hell does that happen?"
"You'd be surprised," Dean said dryly. "I was once sent five years into the future, and trust me, it wasn't pretty."
"You got yourself some interestin' stories to tell, don't you?" Benny remarked.
Dean snorted. "Oh, you have no idea."
Benny smiled. After a moment of thoughtful silence, he asked, "What should I do while you're sleepin'? I doan think I sleep, Dean, an' I get as bored as the next vampire."
Dean nodded. "You can read whatever Sam's got out." He hesitated. "D'you think Sam will be able to see you?"
"Guess we'll have to find out."
Yeah. Great. If it went well and Sam could see Benny, he would think that Dean was insane for befriending a vampire instead of killing it.
If it went badly and Sam couldn't see Benny but at some point saw Dean talking to someone that wasn't there, Sam would still think that Dean was insane. Only a lot less Are-you-kidding-me? insane and more Oh-God-what's-the-number-for-the-local-asylum insane.
He watched Benny pick up a book that was on the table.
God, he was going to be stress-eating like crazy no matter what happened, wasn't he? Might as well start the moment he woke up.
He turned on his side, only to stare at the back of Sam's furry head.
The kid seriously needed a haircut, bad.
He contemplated how he was going to go about convincing his brother of that. The last thought he had before falling asleep was, "Better get the Tasers before I try anything."
(But he already knew he wasn't going to do it.)
After all this time
Yeah
We're not gonna fall now
We're not gonna bleed out
Never gonna break down
No, oh . . .