When the World Comes Down
When the World Comes Down
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; too bad, so sad.
Pairings/Characters: Dean, Castiel, Sam, Bobby
Spoilers: Through mid-season 5.
Word Count: ~2100
Summary: “I have decided that I don’t like zombies,” Cas says in his calm, measured way.
A/N: Written for the
hc_bingo prompt, “zombie apocalypse”. Title snagged from The All-American Rejects’ song by the same name.
“I have decided that I don’t like zombies,” Cas says in his calm, measured way.
If the situation hadn’t been quite so serious, Dean might have laughed. Cas’ comment, delivered in that tone, is unintentionally humorous. “I don’t think anybody likes zombies,” Dean replies, checking the shells in his shotgun. “Mostly because we like keeping our brains where they belong.”
“What do our brains have to do with zombies?” Cas takes his eyes off the salvage yard to look at Dean, his dark blue eyes wide and curious.
And dammit, Dean had promised himself that he wasn’t going to notice things like that.
“Old wives’ tale,” Dean explains, deciding that more of an explanation will be lost on Cas.
Cas nods, his expression still serious, and Dean smirks. Cas isn’t a bad guy to be stuck in a foxhole with-he’s pretty much unflappable, and even if he’s mostly human, he’s good in a fight.
Plus, he’s hot, and Dean appreciates the nice scenery, even if he has no intention of acting on that fact.
“Perhaps we should go after Sam.”
“Bobby’s driving the getaway car,” Dean replies, swallowing his worry. “They’ll need someone to clear the way on this end.”
Bobby’s place seems to be an epicenter for zombie activity, although they have no way of knowing how far the infection has spread. Dean figures the blame can probably be laid at the feet of either Michael or Lucifer.
It’s just another example of how the war between heaven and hell is fucking the rest of them over.
“I’m sorry I can’t transport you myself.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Dean says. “You’re only human.”
Cas grimaces. “True.”
“Well, maybe a little more than human,” Dean says, wanting to offer Cas what comfort he can. “Buck up, Cas. Being human isn’t so bad.”
“I have seen no evidence of its benefits,” Cas grumbles, keeping his gaze on the gaps in the plywood covering the windows of Bobby’s main floor.
Dean thinks about that for a moment. “The fact that we’re in the middle of a zombie apocalypse doesn’t give much opportunity for enjoying the finer things in life.”
“And what would those finer things be?” Cas asks.
Dean shrugs. “Bacon cheeseburgers, porn, beer, sex.” Cas gives Dean a sideways look. “Hey, you asked.”
“And none of those things are currently available to us.”
“I could probably swing the porn, and Bobby will make sure Sam gets beer if there’s any available,” Dean says, suddenly hopeful. “And I wouldn’t completely rule out the possibility of hamburgers.”
Cas wears a sly expression when he turns to look at Dean. “You once said that I would not die a virgin on your watch.”
Dean raises his eyebrows, shifting a little as his jeans become uncomfortably tight. “Hey, I did my best for you, dude. You were the one who crashed and burned.”
Cas shrugs. “I spoke the truth.”
“And I told you, when human beings really, really want something, we lie.”
Cas turns back to look out of the window. “I don’t like lying.”
“Well, you’re not very good at it, that’s for sure,” Dean says. “Two o’clock.”
As far as Dean can tell, these zombies are actually reanimated corpses-shambling creatures that have little in the way of intelligence. They wouldn’t even be that scary, except that they’re implacable, and almost unstoppable. There’s no way to kill them, although blasting their heads off or chopping them up into little bits seems to be as affective a strategy as any.
The problem is that there are a lot of corpses around, and the zombies just keep coming. Bobby’s of the opinion that they need to find the source of the problem and deal with the zombies that way, but so far, they haven’t had any luck. Zombie research, it turns out, is complicated and time-consuming, and Dean thinks there’s a good chance they’ll be overrun by the fuckers before they find any real answers.
But since they were running low on supplies, Bobby and Sam had gone back into the fray, leaving Dean and Cas to hold down the fort.
Which Cas is doing now with remarkable aplomb, firing shell after shell into the approaching zombies and reloading while Dean shoots.
Dean figures each zombie takes an average of three hits before it goes down, and there are a half dozen of them. He’s keeping a rough total of the number of shells they’ve used and comes to the disconcerting conclusion that they’re using a hell of a lot more ammunition than they’ll be able to replace.
“I sure hope Sam and Bobby make a breakthrough on finding out who’s responsible for this soon,” Dean mutters. “At this rate, we’re going to last another week-tops-before we’re totally out of ammo.”
“There are always machetes or swords,” Cas points out, which is pretty damn optimistic, considering what had happened the last time they’d gone face-to-face with the fuckers. Cas had used the last of his angel-juice to pull Dean and Sam out of a mob of the creatures just before they had their throats ripped out.
Dean’s just grateful that the things aren’t actually contagious. He and Sam would both be dead by now otherwise, since they’d both been gnawed on before Cas showed up with his angelic teleportation powers.
“I’d rather keep a little distance between me and them,” Dean replies. “But yeah, at least there’s that.” He pauses. “I didn’t thank you for saving our asses before, did I?”
Cas shrugs. “Your being alive is thanks enough.”
Dean blinks. That was almost-sweet. He’s not quite sure what to do with that. He studies Cas’ profile for a long minute. Cas had lost his tie in the first fight with the zombies, and he’d discarded his trench coat and suit jacket sometime over the course of the last week. His once-pristine white shirt is stained with blood and grime, and he has his sleeves rolled up.
Cas looks completely human with his hair mussed, a smudge of gunpowder on one cheek, and dark circles shading his eyes.
Human, and even more fuckable than he usually is.
Too bad they’re in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.
“You know, I could probably give you a hand with the being a virgin thing, assuming we’re still alive when Bobby and Sam get home,” Dean says, giving into the urge he’s been feeling for a while.
Dean would really like to get laid one last time before he’s ripped apart by zombies, and Cas seems willing. It fulfills an urge and a desire all at once. Dean can’t hope for more, especially in the middle of this mess.
Cas looks befuddled by Dean’s offer. “A hand?”
“Yeah, you know. A hand.” Dean makes an obscene, but thoroughly explanatory gesture. “Later, after Sam and Bobby get back.”
Cas’ eyes go wide as Dean’s meaning sinks in, and then his lips tilt up in a barely-there smile. “I believe I would like that.” He turns to look out the window again. “There are more zombies approaching, and I believe I see Bobby’s van.”
“About damn time,” Dean mutters. “Now, let’s clear a path. I’d hate not to survive to enjoy our evening entertainment.”
~~~~~
Dean is honestly not sure how they manage to keep the zombies off Sam and Bobby long enough for them to get out of the van and get into the house with their supplies, made more complicated by the fact that Bobby has to do it in a chair. He and Cas have to head out onto the porch to get closer in order to fight them off.
By the time Sam and Bobby are inside the house, Dean and Cas are both covered in blood and brain matter from all the headshots. The fighting was closer than Dean would have liked, but there was no other option.
“I really hope you guys stocked up on shells,” Dean says as he and Cas force the door closed with Sam’s help.
“As much as we could,” Bobby grumbles. “There’s been a run on the damn things, along with bread and milk.”
Dean smirks. “Seriously? Bread and milk?”
“That, and liquor,” Bobby says, wheeling himself towards the kitchen. “Secure the doors and windows, and then Sam and I will spell you two.”
Dean carefully doesn’t look at Cas when Bobby says that. “Take all the time you need,” Dean calls, insincerely. Sam gives Dean a weird look, but he doesn’t say anything, for which Dean is exceedingly grateful.
His plan is only going to work if he can get Cas upstairs alone without Sam or Bobby having any idea they’re doing anything other than sleeping.
Cas and Sam move furniture against the front door, barricading it, while Dean holds off the zombies with his shotgun.
When Sam and Bobby have taken his and Cas’ places, Dean leads Cas upstairs. They don’t have much time, but Dean plans on making the most of it.
Cas willingly goes with Dean, and once they’re halfway up the stairs, and out of sight of Sam and Bobby, Cas tucks his hand in the back pocket of Dean’s jeans.
Dean grins at the promise that simple gesture offers.
One of the spare rooms has a full-size bed, and Dean pulls Cas inside and shuts the door. There’s a lock, and he clicks it, not wanting interruptions.
Cas raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t protest. “Dean,” he says, and it’s an acknowledgment and an acceptance all at once.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Dean replies. “You sure you’re okay with this?”
“I’m okay,” Cas insists. “Better than okay.”
“Good.” Dean meets Cas’ lips with his own, and the kiss turns hot and heavy in an instant. It’s a wet, dirty kiss, and Dean shoves his tongue in Cas’ mouth. “We good?” Dean asks when they get a moment.
“We’re good,” Cas insists. “We’re really good.”
Dean decides to trust Cas’ assessment, and he leans in for another kiss. They divest one another of their clothing in short order, and Dean can’t help but run his hands over Cas’ bare skin.
When they’re naked, and it’s skin against skin, Dean takes Cas in hand, jacking him off slowly as he thrusts against Cas’ hip. Dean is grateful for the friction, grateful for Cas’ hands on his hips, and the slow build of pleasure.
They’re moving towards climax, and Dean loses himself in the sensations, in the feel of Cas’ hands on his shoulders, the movement and the knowledge that he’s Cas’ first. Dean slowly jacks Cas off as he finds the right angle and the right amount of friction against Cas’ thigh.
Cas groans, and Dean swallows the sound with his mouth. Bobby’s walls aren’t thick enough to allow for being noisy, even if it’s gratifying for Dean to hear Cas come apart. Cas’ cheeks are flushed, and his pupils are blown wide, and then Cas closes his eyes and comes all over Dean’s hand.
Dean loses all control at that point, and he follows Cas in short order, collapsing across Cas’ sweaty body before rolling off to the side.
Cas is panting slightly as he says, “I begin to see what you mean about sex. It makes being human far more enjoyable.”
Dean chuckles. “Told you.”
“I’d like to do that again,” Cas confesses, rolling to face Dean.
Dean grins. “Assuming we survive, that can be arranged.” He yawns. “But we should probably catch some sleep. We’ll need to spell Bobby and Sam in a couple of hours.”
Cas yawns, and then smiles sweetly, sleepily. “I’d still like to try a bacon cheeseburger.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Dean promises.
Cas drops off to sleep right away, but Dean lies awake, listening to the sounds of gunfire below. He’s exhausted, but sleep seems an impossibility, so he just watches Cas.
In a few minutes, if he still can’t sleep, Dean will go downstairs and take Sam’s spot, freeing Sam up to research this newest menace. With a little luck, they’ll stop whatever’s creating the zombies, and they’ll go back to their regularly scheduled lives.
Only this time, Dean thinks, his life is going to include sex with Cas, which wouldn’t be a bad outcome to a zombie apocalypse, all things considered.
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; too bad, so sad.
Pairings/Characters: Dean, Castiel, Sam, Bobby
Spoilers: Through mid-season 5.
Word Count: ~2100
Summary: “I have decided that I don’t like zombies,” Cas says in his calm, measured way.
A/N: Written for the
hc_bingo prompt, “zombie apocalypse”. Title snagged from The All-American Rejects’ song by the same name.
“I have decided that I don’t like zombies,” Cas says in his calm, measured way.
If the situation hadn’t been quite so serious, Dean might have laughed. Cas’ comment, delivered in that tone, is unintentionally humorous. “I don’t think anybody likes zombies,” Dean replies, checking the shells in his shotgun. “Mostly because we like keeping our brains where they belong.”
“What do our brains have to do with zombies?” Cas takes his eyes off the salvage yard to look at Dean, his dark blue eyes wide and curious.
And dammit, Dean had promised himself that he wasn’t going to notice things like that.
“Old wives’ tale,” Dean explains, deciding that more of an explanation will be lost on Cas.
Cas nods, his expression still serious, and Dean smirks. Cas isn’t a bad guy to be stuck in a foxhole with-he’s pretty much unflappable, and even if he’s mostly human, he’s good in a fight.
Plus, he’s hot, and Dean appreciates the nice scenery, even if he has no intention of acting on that fact.
“Perhaps we should go after Sam.”
“Bobby’s driving the getaway car,” Dean replies, swallowing his worry. “They’ll need someone to clear the way on this end.”
Bobby’s place seems to be an epicenter for zombie activity, although they have no way of knowing how far the infection has spread. Dean figures the blame can probably be laid at the feet of either Michael or Lucifer.
It’s just another example of how the war between heaven and hell is fucking the rest of them over.
“I’m sorry I can’t transport you myself.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Dean says. “You’re only human.”
Cas grimaces. “True.”
“Well, maybe a little more than human,” Dean says, wanting to offer Cas what comfort he can. “Buck up, Cas. Being human isn’t so bad.”
“I have seen no evidence of its benefits,” Cas grumbles, keeping his gaze on the gaps in the plywood covering the windows of Bobby’s main floor.
Dean thinks about that for a moment. “The fact that we’re in the middle of a zombie apocalypse doesn’t give much opportunity for enjoying the finer things in life.”
“And what would those finer things be?” Cas asks.
Dean shrugs. “Bacon cheeseburgers, porn, beer, sex.” Cas gives Dean a sideways look. “Hey, you asked.”
“And none of those things are currently available to us.”
“I could probably swing the porn, and Bobby will make sure Sam gets beer if there’s any available,” Dean says, suddenly hopeful. “And I wouldn’t completely rule out the possibility of hamburgers.”
Cas wears a sly expression when he turns to look at Dean. “You once said that I would not die a virgin on your watch.”
Dean raises his eyebrows, shifting a little as his jeans become uncomfortably tight. “Hey, I did my best for you, dude. You were the one who crashed and burned.”
Cas shrugs. “I spoke the truth.”
“And I told you, when human beings really, really want something, we lie.”
Cas turns back to look out of the window. “I don’t like lying.”
“Well, you’re not very good at it, that’s for sure,” Dean says. “Two o’clock.”
As far as Dean can tell, these zombies are actually reanimated corpses-shambling creatures that have little in the way of intelligence. They wouldn’t even be that scary, except that they’re implacable, and almost unstoppable. There’s no way to kill them, although blasting their heads off or chopping them up into little bits seems to be as affective a strategy as any.
The problem is that there are a lot of corpses around, and the zombies just keep coming. Bobby’s of the opinion that they need to find the source of the problem and deal with the zombies that way, but so far, they haven’t had any luck. Zombie research, it turns out, is complicated and time-consuming, and Dean thinks there’s a good chance they’ll be overrun by the fuckers before they find any real answers.
But since they were running low on supplies, Bobby and Sam had gone back into the fray, leaving Dean and Cas to hold down the fort.
Which Cas is doing now with remarkable aplomb, firing shell after shell into the approaching zombies and reloading while Dean shoots.
Dean figures each zombie takes an average of three hits before it goes down, and there are a half dozen of them. He’s keeping a rough total of the number of shells they’ve used and comes to the disconcerting conclusion that they’re using a hell of a lot more ammunition than they’ll be able to replace.
“I sure hope Sam and Bobby make a breakthrough on finding out who’s responsible for this soon,” Dean mutters. “At this rate, we’re going to last another week-tops-before we’re totally out of ammo.”
“There are always machetes or swords,” Cas points out, which is pretty damn optimistic, considering what had happened the last time they’d gone face-to-face with the fuckers. Cas had used the last of his angel-juice to pull Dean and Sam out of a mob of the creatures just before they had their throats ripped out.
Dean’s just grateful that the things aren’t actually contagious. He and Sam would both be dead by now otherwise, since they’d both been gnawed on before Cas showed up with his angelic teleportation powers.
“I’d rather keep a little distance between me and them,” Dean replies. “But yeah, at least there’s that.” He pauses. “I didn’t thank you for saving our asses before, did I?”
Cas shrugs. “Your being alive is thanks enough.”
Dean blinks. That was almost-sweet. He’s not quite sure what to do with that. He studies Cas’ profile for a long minute. Cas had lost his tie in the first fight with the zombies, and he’d discarded his trench coat and suit jacket sometime over the course of the last week. His once-pristine white shirt is stained with blood and grime, and he has his sleeves rolled up.
Cas looks completely human with his hair mussed, a smudge of gunpowder on one cheek, and dark circles shading his eyes.
Human, and even more fuckable than he usually is.
Too bad they’re in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.
“You know, I could probably give you a hand with the being a virgin thing, assuming we’re still alive when Bobby and Sam get home,” Dean says, giving into the urge he’s been feeling for a while.
Dean would really like to get laid one last time before he’s ripped apart by zombies, and Cas seems willing. It fulfills an urge and a desire all at once. Dean can’t hope for more, especially in the middle of this mess.
Cas looks befuddled by Dean’s offer. “A hand?”
“Yeah, you know. A hand.” Dean makes an obscene, but thoroughly explanatory gesture. “Later, after Sam and Bobby get back.”
Cas’ eyes go wide as Dean’s meaning sinks in, and then his lips tilt up in a barely-there smile. “I believe I would like that.” He turns to look out the window again. “There are more zombies approaching, and I believe I see Bobby’s van.”
“About damn time,” Dean mutters. “Now, let’s clear a path. I’d hate not to survive to enjoy our evening entertainment.”
~~~~~
Dean is honestly not sure how they manage to keep the zombies off Sam and Bobby long enough for them to get out of the van and get into the house with their supplies, made more complicated by the fact that Bobby has to do it in a chair. He and Cas have to head out onto the porch to get closer in order to fight them off.
By the time Sam and Bobby are inside the house, Dean and Cas are both covered in blood and brain matter from all the headshots. The fighting was closer than Dean would have liked, but there was no other option.
“I really hope you guys stocked up on shells,” Dean says as he and Cas force the door closed with Sam’s help.
“As much as we could,” Bobby grumbles. “There’s been a run on the damn things, along with bread and milk.”
Dean smirks. “Seriously? Bread and milk?”
“That, and liquor,” Bobby says, wheeling himself towards the kitchen. “Secure the doors and windows, and then Sam and I will spell you two.”
Dean carefully doesn’t look at Cas when Bobby says that. “Take all the time you need,” Dean calls, insincerely. Sam gives Dean a weird look, but he doesn’t say anything, for which Dean is exceedingly grateful.
His plan is only going to work if he can get Cas upstairs alone without Sam or Bobby having any idea they’re doing anything other than sleeping.
Cas and Sam move furniture against the front door, barricading it, while Dean holds off the zombies with his shotgun.
When Sam and Bobby have taken his and Cas’ places, Dean leads Cas upstairs. They don’t have much time, but Dean plans on making the most of it.
Cas willingly goes with Dean, and once they’re halfway up the stairs, and out of sight of Sam and Bobby, Cas tucks his hand in the back pocket of Dean’s jeans.
Dean grins at the promise that simple gesture offers.
One of the spare rooms has a full-size bed, and Dean pulls Cas inside and shuts the door. There’s a lock, and he clicks it, not wanting interruptions.
Cas raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t protest. “Dean,” he says, and it’s an acknowledgment and an acceptance all at once.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Dean replies. “You sure you’re okay with this?”
“I’m okay,” Cas insists. “Better than okay.”
“Good.” Dean meets Cas’ lips with his own, and the kiss turns hot and heavy in an instant. It’s a wet, dirty kiss, and Dean shoves his tongue in Cas’ mouth. “We good?” Dean asks when they get a moment.
“We’re good,” Cas insists. “We’re really good.”
Dean decides to trust Cas’ assessment, and he leans in for another kiss. They divest one another of their clothing in short order, and Dean can’t help but run his hands over Cas’ bare skin.
When they’re naked, and it’s skin against skin, Dean takes Cas in hand, jacking him off slowly as he thrusts against Cas’ hip. Dean is grateful for the friction, grateful for Cas’ hands on his hips, and the slow build of pleasure.
They’re moving towards climax, and Dean loses himself in the sensations, in the feel of Cas’ hands on his shoulders, the movement and the knowledge that he’s Cas’ first. Dean slowly jacks Cas off as he finds the right angle and the right amount of friction against Cas’ thigh.
Cas groans, and Dean swallows the sound with his mouth. Bobby’s walls aren’t thick enough to allow for being noisy, even if it’s gratifying for Dean to hear Cas come apart. Cas’ cheeks are flushed, and his pupils are blown wide, and then Cas closes his eyes and comes all over Dean’s hand.
Dean loses all control at that point, and he follows Cas in short order, collapsing across Cas’ sweaty body before rolling off to the side.
Cas is panting slightly as he says, “I begin to see what you mean about sex. It makes being human far more enjoyable.”
Dean chuckles. “Told you.”
“I’d like to do that again,” Cas confesses, rolling to face Dean.
Dean grins. “Assuming we survive, that can be arranged.” He yawns. “But we should probably catch some sleep. We’ll need to spell Bobby and Sam in a couple of hours.”
Cas yawns, and then smiles sweetly, sleepily. “I’d still like to try a bacon cheeseburger.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Dean promises.
Cas drops off to sleep right away, but Dean lies awake, listening to the sounds of gunfire below. He’s exhausted, but sleep seems an impossibility, so he just watches Cas.
In a few minutes, if he still can’t sleep, Dean will go downstairs and take Sam’s spot, freeing Sam up to research this newest menace. With a little luck, they’ll stop whatever’s creating the zombies, and they’ll go back to their regularly scheduled lives.
Only this time, Dean thinks, his life is going to include sex with Cas, which wouldn’t be a bad outcome to a zombie apocalypse, all things considered.