Sam awoke with the keen, painful awareness that Earth, along with its seven billion inhabitants, no longer existed. This factual information, which up to this point had been a dull buzz in his over stimulated mind, had asserted itself in the night and was now a throbbing, unavoidable presence in his gut. Sam Winchester was coming to the realization, as any healthily self-centered human would have been bound to do, that with the exception of his brother, who given his alien upbringing and lack of memory of his home planet and didn't really count, Sam was quite possibly the last Man in the Universe.
This, understandably, is a rather stressful situation for any being, let alone a person of high, and, let's be honest, occasionally oversensitive, moral and ethical standards such as Sam, to be in. Luckily Sam's over thinking, which probably would have led to some emotional and unnecessary internal vow to be a worthy representative of the human species for all alien cultures, was interrupted by a knock and the arrival of Jody.
"Morning sunshine," she greeted, poking her rumpled head in the door, "Are you decent?"
"I am the last Man in the Universe," was all Sam could respond with. Jody blinked a few times.
"I guess so," she said at last, lips pursed contemplatively. Then: "Join the club."
There was a beat of silence before Sam screwed up his face and laughed at his own existentialism.
"Come on," Jody urged, tossing Sam a plain ceramic mug and brandishing a couple of empty pitchers, "You look like you could use a Not Coffee."
"A 'not coffee'?" Sam repeated, shrugging on his robe as he scrambled after the woman, empty mug in hand.
"You'll see," Jody called back, following the twists and turns of the passageway with ease.
Eventually a sharp left turn revealed an alcove containing several extremely sophisticated looking vending machines, the largest of which resembled the coffee dispensers found at ritzy Earth bus stations and airports. At Jody's prompting, Sam placed his cup under the machine's spout, and with a buzz and a whir it promptly began spewing a steaming liquid that was just a few shades too purple to be considered normal coffee color. As it neared the brim the steady stream ceased, and Sam reclaimed his mug, suspicious but comforted by the familiarity of a warm drink in his hands.
"It also makes Not Tea, Not Cider, and Not Orange Juice," Jody supplied cheerfully, sticking one of her empty pitchers under the spout. Sam eyed his mug of deep mahogany beverage dubiously before taking a sip.
"Ugh," Sam said, shuddering as the strange, bitter liquid burned his tongue, "That is not coffee."
"That's exactly what I said!" Jody agreed, "Dean got a kick out of it so the name stuck."
"You guys drink this by choice?" Sam asked incredulously.
"Dean hates it," Jody confided, "But Castiel drinks it like water. He says it's the most popular drink on Eden, comes in all kinds of flavors."
"Blech. Whatever floats your boat I guess," Sam mused, grimacing as he took another diplomatic sip of the non-coffee beverage.
"It's a caffeine fix," Jody admitted, "So it works for me. Besides, with four sugars and a healthy splash of Not Milk, it's no worse than the gasoline they used to serve at the station."
With the mention of Jody's former workplace came the revenge of Sam's melancholy from a few minutes before. Had this been an ordinary morning, Sam would have looking forward to the pleasant afterglow of a first date, or if he were really lucky, the pleasurable afterglow of a night of tentative, but emotionally healthy sex. As it were, Sam was on a spaceship with a drink that didn't quite pass as coffee, and sweet, lovely, perfect Jess was floating somewhere in the cosmos, existing only as a cloud of disintegrated atoms, along with the rest of Earth's population.
Jody sensed the shift in Sam's mood as a human sensitive to weather related headaches would notice a sharp shift in the barometric pressure. She quickly filled his empty hand with a pitcher of Not Orange Juice before squeezing him on the shoulder.
"I know," she murmured, reaching higher to tuck a loose strand of Sam's unruly dark hair behind his ear. The intimate motion on Earth would probably be interpreted as romantic, but Sam understood it for what it was, from one member of an endangered species to another: You are not alone. Sam nodded, blinking back the moisture from his eyes and offering a tentative smile, which Jody returned, delicate lines around her brown eyes revealing a life filled with laughter, despite the pain that went with it.
"There he is," Jody smiled, picking up her own pitcher of Not Coffee for the breakfast table, "Come on. I'll show you the kitchen, and then you can help me make Almost Toast, Nearly Eggs, and Basically Bacon."
The kitchen was…well, shiny, but otherwise very similar to what Sam had grown up with on Earth. They deposited their pitchers on round table with three well used chrome chairs, Jody pulling over a short stool in order to add a place for Sam before going to rustle through an industrial sized refrigerator. In short order Sam had been assigned toast duties while Jody arranged an alien facsimile of eggs and bacon.
"Do you always take care of breakfast?" Sam asked as he popped slice after slice of a fibrous, bread-like foodstuff into the toaster.
"We take turns," Jody informed him, beating a large bowl of pale magenta "eggs" before dumping them into a sizzling pan, "Except Cas, but only 'cause he's so terrible at cooking. He only really eats to be polite anyway."
"Huh," Sam mused as the toaster ejected its latest occupants and he added them to the crispy stack, "So Dean's pretty good then?"
"He's the best of us," Jody admitted, shifting the curling bacon around its pan, "We'll have him make French toast sometime. You'll see."
"Sounds like a plan," Sam agreed readily, eager to get to know his brother, "Where are those guys anyways?"
Jody shook her head ruefully, depositing the cooked meat to a platter before adding it to the growing pile of food on the table.
"Knowing those two," she guessed, "They're probably trying to squeeze in one more round before rejoining the waking world."
"Ugh, there's a visual I didn't need," Sam groaned, sinking into one of the seats at the table as the final dishes were placed down.
"Yeah, just be grateful I let 'em sleep in," Jody laughed as she joined him, scooping herself a healthy serving of bacon, "They can get all their fluffy couple-y tendencies out of their system and we can mope undisturbed."
"I do appreciate it," Sam said quietly around a mouth full of eggs, "Thanks, Jody."
"Don't mention it," Jody deferred, "Us homo sapiens gotta stick together, right?"
"Yeah, all two and a half of us," Sam joked, taking into account Dean's otherworldly culture, "You don't think there's more of us, do you? Like, a secret Vulcan colony or something?"
"I wouldn't be surprised if there were a few black sheep floating around some dark corner of the Universe or other," Jody mused, "But as far as I know, you, me, and Dean are the only humans left at this point."
"We're not gonna have to…repopulate the human species or anything, right?" Sam asked, red faced. Jody actually snorted into her Not Coffee, laughing so hard that Ellen chimed in, offering to initiate anti-choking protocols.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Jody waved her away, still chuckling, "Kiddo, not that you're hard on the eyes, but that ship has sailed."
"In addition," Castiel interjected, as he and Dean joined them in the galley, "Seeing as you, Jody, and Dean, appear to be the only humans remaining, the lack of genetic diversity would ensure the extinction of the species within five generations regardless of your reproductive efforts."
"Good morning to you too, Cas," Jody muttered, rolling her eyes fondly. Sam laughed, though he couldn't help but track his brother and Castiel as they made their way to the small table.
Dean led the way, hair looking a little singed in places, but otherwise post-orgasmically relaxed, slinging a short white motorcycle jacket over the back of a chair before claiming a plate full of breakfast foodstuffs. Castiel, following close behind, looked unflappable as usual, though Sam would have ventured to say there was a new spring in his step.
"You look chipper," Sam noted petulantly as Dean stretched across the table for the Nearly Eggs.
"That's cause I just got laid properly for the first time in three months," Dean informed him frankly, yelping in surprise as Castiel smacked his ass playfully in retaliation for his crudeness. Castiel's expression remained stoic, smiling secretly as he buttered some toast, but Dean grinned rakishly.
"Trust me, man," Dean grinned, slapping an arm around Sam's shoulders, "You ain't been had till you've been had by an inter-dimensional wavelength of celestial intent."
"Are you wearing gold leather pants?" Sam asked, ignoring the unwanted visual of his brother's sex life in favor of eyeing Dean's outfit doubtfully.
"Yeah, what about 'em?" Dean hedged, flipping adjusting his chocolaty silk tie defensively as he reached past Sam for what passed as orange juice in space, "Sheesh, just 'cause Earthlings have no sense of style…"
"Speaking of Earth…" Sam began uncertainly.
"What about it?" Dean asked around a mouthful of eggs.
"Well," Sam continued, "It's, um…gone. And I just wondered if you were okay."
Dean looked momentarily confused, fork raised halfway to his mouth, before his brows drew together in irritation. "What," he asked dismissively, "You mean like my feelings?"
Castiel's eyes flicked between Sam and his husband, perhaps trying to send some subtle warning, but Sam figured he was in too deep to back down now, and he did want to get to know Dean.
"Yeah, maybe," Sam offered, "I mean, I know you never really spent a lot of time there, but if you wanted to talk-"
"You're right," Dean interrupted him, igniting a flicker of hope in Sam's chest before extinguishing it just as quickly, "I haven't spent a lot of time there, because, frankly, to me Earth is like the deadbeat dad who could never even bother with a phone call to explain himself to his kid. So yeah, sorry if I'm not exactly devastated."
"Dean," Castiel admonished quietly, no doubt seeing through Sam's attempt to hide his hurt feelings. Dean took another stubborn bite of pink eggs, before throwing down his fork and staring sullenly at his plate.
It is an intransmutable fact that regardless of cultural upbringing, healthy romantic attachments, or lives lived in an alternate dimension, Dean Novak is not good at talking about his feelings. Unfortunately, with the exception of his husband, Dean's attempts to alleviate emotional situations with gruffness or humor are often misconstrued by his companions as callousness. This has led to more than one estranged friendship, and after Dean's poor attempts to comfort a rival nation's ambassador following the death of her father, nearly ignited the third Chevolonian-Chrysleri War.
"I'm sorry," Dean grunted at last.
"Dean-" Jody tried to interrupt.
"No, I am," Dean continued, more genuinely, "Whatever my issues are Earth was your guy's home planet and that's a big deal. So…yeah. Sorry."
"Thanks, Dean," Sam said quietly.
"Don't mention it," Dean replied, "Really." Dean seemed lost in thought for a moment before a shudder rippled down his spine. Castiel ran a comforting hand down his husband's back.
"Ugh," Dean commented at last, "The more I think about the whole thing the more I want to get totally shit-faced." Sam couldn't disagree. It would be stupid to pretend his restless sleep the night before hadn't been plagued by more than one Leviathan, laughing through its razor maw as Earth disintegrated in the background.
"In fact…" Dean continued with a sly glance around the table.
"I think we all need to get shit-faced," Dean declared, "And I know just the place."
"Dean," Castiel began, "I'm not sure Sam-"
"Ellen? Get ready for hyperspace," Dean called out, "We're headin' for Baz n' Benny's."