Work Text:
Caught Between
After Benny finds Dean, purgatory becomes a lot more bearable. It's in the little things mostly. Dean isn't saying that it isn't handy as fuck having the extra manpower at his back in the constant brawl that is life in this shithole, but he could've made it through on his own if he had to. Found Cas, figured out a plan for survival, and hell, he would have cottoned on to the special human-soul-sized door too if a dumb fuck like Benny could find out about it. He would have gotten back to Sam eventually, like always. No biggie. No, it's the small conveniences that make up the difference, make joyriding with a monster in the sidecar worth it — having someone to haul him out of that nest of snake things real fast, someone to watch the tree line while he gets his head under water to clear some of the sweat and grease from his hair, someone who's been here, done that, for a long-ass time. Benny knows purgatory and that helps more than another body in the fight.
The first thing Benny teaches Dean is that physical rules still apply. Dean knows that, of course. Gravity, duh. Not to mention that he's seen things die here, killed a few of them less than ten minutes into his stint, so he'd figured the basics were still in play — eat, drink, sleep, shit, breathe, die, right? But Benny's pretty good for the details, even if he's irritatingly smug that there's a human around who needs the info.
These are the questions Dean asks: Is this … squirrel-bat thing … edible? Is this water safe to drink? What direction now? Does that thing even have a weak spot? and:
"Dude, I need a fucking nap, can you keep watch for a while?"
"Why not?" Benny shrugs then smirks in Dean's direction, all Southern when he drawls out, "Yer pretty enough for a good long look, 'specially all bloodied up."
"Flatterer," says Dean, even as he tries again to scratch away the shifter blood dried on his chin and neck. It's all snagged rough in his stubble. What wouldn't he give for a nice, deep river right now? A stream, a rain shower, shit, he'd take a freaking puddle, he feels so foul. The water he has left is for drinking only, stowed in Benny-crafted monsterflesh leather baggies. Sometimes he wonders if he'll ever get the taste of dragon out of his mouth.
Dean kicks at a patch of not-prickly looking undergrowth and gives up, too worn out to care overmuch.
"Settle on down, now," Benny says, and Dean does. He's able to sleep drunk-deep these days, trusting Benny to keep the monsters at bay and the creepy crawlies off him. Can't let a scorpion-moth be the end of his great exit strategy, now can he?
*
These are the questions Dean doesn't ask: What happens when a soul, even if it's a monster soul, dies in the afterlife? Where do they go then? What will happen to Dean if he messes up and gets to introduce his innards to some nice sharp claws? Will he recycle right back? If so, what's the timeline for that? Is purgatory a span of relentless reincarnation into a never-ending battleground?
*
Cas and Sam occupy much of Dean's thoughts once he and Benny have a routine down for the daily survival shit. It feels like it's been weeks now. Maybe months. He tries not to get twisted up around all his questions: Is Sammy ok? Where'd Cas go? Why did he leave? Is he even alive? Unfortunately, there's not much else to spend time on when they're not in the middle of a hunt or a fight: Think about Sam alone up top, think about getting back to Sam, think about finding Cas so he can get back to Sam, think about Cas weakened, alone and lost in purgatory, and then Sam too, getting into god knows what trouble trying to find them ... Dean prefers the pure physical certainty of monster killing to the churning cycle in his own mind. Some messed up part of him wants the brutality and blood of immediate danger. It leaves no room for the surrounding context.
"Yer worrying again," Benny says, when the night is edging up next to morning and Dean can't close his eyes. It's not creepy — Dean has practice living alongside a partner who doesn't sleep.
"Just wired, dude," Dean says, shifting away onto his side.
"What's in yer head can't help the angel or yer brother," says Benny anyway. "Better to be sleepin', keepin' yer strength up, so we can make it the fuck outta here."
"Shit, Benny, I know that!" Dean says. He sits up and scrubs his hands over his face. From the safer darkness behind his palms he mutters, "I just —"
"Shut up with yer pansy-ass whining," Benny interrupts. "I don't give two craps about some bewinged god slut or yer precious baby bro. I care about you, me, and getting topside. Now either sleep or figure something else to get yer mind clear again, cause I ain't spending another minute listenin' to you sigh like a bitch."
And Dean laughs at that, maybe a twinge hysterically, before he offers Benny his widest, most shit-eating grin. "Wanna fight?" he asks, and Benny's fangs come out with his cocky, smiling agreement. Dean gets like this some nights, too long between leads, and Benny gets that.
Benny understands violence for the sake of violence. Benny doesn't want to talk it out. He can always count on Benny to be honest, which Dean appreciates more than he wants to admit given the last few years of his fucked up life.
*
The second thing Benny teaches Dean is that there has never been a human in purgatory before. Just monsters. None of that unbaptized babies bullshit, or morally ambiguous types working off some bad karma before the trip to the Big H. Even ghosts and poltergeists, warped as they are, funnel up or down depending. Purgatory is of the monsters, for the monsters, by the monsters, and that makes Dean quite the unprecedented little curveball.
Dean says, "Yeah, sucks to be me," like he knows what Benny's getting at with this tidbit, but he really, really doesn't until they run into a family of werewolves.
This is what Dean should have asked: What do you eat if there aren't humans around? Aren't you hungry?
Because fuck everything if these things aren't going for his heart like puppies for a pack of Beggin' Strips, climbing all over each other rabid and not even interested in protecting themselves just because he's got some blood-pumping manmeat held in the fragile cage of his ribs. As he goes down beneath a pile of them, Dean wonders idly whether he will turn into one if they bite him and he survives. Boy, wouldn't Benny love that.
Fortunately, their frenzy makes them easy to kill. Benny's plucking them off one at a time, smoothly, twisting their wolfed out heads clean off and tossing them into the trees, distended jaws still snapping and saliva wet. Dean gets two himself because he's just that good and they aren't dodging his ax. It's barely minutes before it's done, and he makes it out unbitten, scrambling to get out through the matted, musty fur, the limp, heavy limbs of their corpses. Still safely human, though a sorry excuse for one. He's got twigs and leaves in his hair, a baker's dozen of new gashes to look to, and dirt all mixed in with the blood on his hands and face and clothes. Probably lice too — awesome. It's a good thing there's that brook half an hour behind them, because Dean doesn't want to know how Benny will deal with a serious infection.
Just as Dean's getting his feet under him, thinking, hell yeah, eat that, bitches, another one takes him by surprise. He doesn't see it, just feels as it slams him face first into the forest floor and gets up all over his back, holding him there.
"Benny! Shit! Help!" Dean shouts, struggling. "Benny! Be — !" Then his throat stops working, because Benny is the one on top of him. Dean knows the way his hands feel, cold and too-strong. He can see his twisted, fang-mouthed face out of the corner of his eye. Benny is the one pinning him to the ground and wrenching the sleeve of his jacket, his shirts, up from the wrist of his right arm. He rips through them with his sharp nails when the cloth and leather won't give anymore.
The skin of Dean's forearm is mostly still clean, bath just an hour old, except for the bright red blood pooling where one of the werewolves clawed him. Benny shifts over Dean's body, keeps him down with one knee on Dean's spine and the other over his thighs, one hand pushing Dean's head into the ground. With his other, he cups Dean's elbow, jerking it up and backwards uncomfortably so the blood starts to spill out. Oh yeah, he's got Dean good and immobilized, a nice snack for the mid-afternoon.
"I'm your only way outta here," Dean says.
"Just a taste," Benny says, voice slurred and odd. "Been so long. Never feels quite the same, y'know? Drinkin' rabbits, bears, other monsters. Been wantin' to drink ya since I heard you were here. S'the first time I've really smelled ya bleed."
"You do this, I'll be the last person you ever eat. You'll never get back topside. I don't think the escape hatch works for bloodless husks." Dean sounds calm, he's good at that, but he knows that Benny can hear the trippy pitter patter of his heart almost as well as Dean can feel it. Now would be a great time for Sam to get him out of here. Or for Cas to beam back in. It's Cas that Dean's mind keeps repeating like a useless panicky child, Cas, Cas, Cas, help.
"Not gonna drink ya dry, brother," Benny rasps. "Just taste, promise. I'll take care of it." He bends down; his tongue is chilly on Dean's skin.
"You better be able to stop, McFangy," Dean says, forcing himself to relax because what the fuck other choice does he have? He partnered with this creature, it's his own damn fault if that's the end of him.
He closes his eyes through the next swipe of tongue. This — this is when Dean understands that he is the only human to ever end up in purgatory. He is not just interesting, a unique diversion. He is a meal to most of the things out there. He is the only real meal. He is the filet mignon, the Maine lobster, the gourmet dinner they've all been starving for, some for millennia. If he doesn't get out, he will never stop being hunted. He can't be doing this for Sam and Cas; he needs to be doing this for himself.
Miraculously, Benny does stop, and sooner rather than later. He doesn't suck, just licks the blood that drips out of Dean's body drop by drop. He wants it all, but only takes what Dean is already losing. He turns Dean so he can get at other gashes, manipulates him, strips him of his shirts in a weirdly nonsexual way but never gives him enough leeway to get away. It reminds Dean of how his father used to do it, pulling Dean's clothes off when he was too out of it to do it alone. This is like that, this is Benny tending Dean's wounds in a scary monster way. Right forearm first, then cheek and neck, then left shoulder, right upper arm, and a deeper, longer cut beneath Dean's pecs. It doesn't hurt any, except that Dean is cold all over, shivering, and he desperately wants it to be over. He doesn't like the way the wounds look after Benny is through with them, just skin, cut open, and gleaming emptily down all the layers.
Afterwards, Benny is giddy with it and Dean goes back to the brook for another, longer bath. Benny is mending Dean's jacket with a bone needle and too-thick thong of leather that used to be monster skin when he gets back.
The third thing Benny teaches Dean is that he can be trusted to keep his word, but not trusted in general.
*
Everything comes in its time, even in purgatory. Even death, faith, brotherhood, hope. Dean learns what he can from Benny. He's not happy but life is better than it was before Benny came along. Dean eats, drinks, sleeps, shits, breathes. He doesn't die, no matter how many times he lets Benny drink a little bit of him. In a weird way that Dean can't put his finger on and doesn't like to think about, things are pretty good. Take pleasure in the little things, right? Here, a fire-roasted duck-adile makes Dean's day. He can smile about that, and Benny smiles back.
Then they find Cas and everything gets screwed right up again, the three of them doing an awkward dance around who and what they are, alone, and to each other. Dean's not blind to Cas's guilt, nor his mixed-up feelings for Dean (and the ones Dean has right back, a real mess of worship and betrayal and fuck all else). Boundaries have to be established, routines altered. The blood feeding stops. Dean has a good sense about the likelihood that Cas'll agree to have that going on. It's tough to stir Cas into the simplicity that was 'Dean and Benny' but Dean will pull all his own teeth out before he'll let Cas be anywhere but next to him.
A typical exchange between Cas and Benny goes something like this:
"I wish you would not take so many risks," Cas, hands on Dean as he heals some new torn part of Dean's body.
"He's fine," Benny, sulking. Benny doesn't like when Cas touches him, Cas doesn't like when Benny touches him.
"Yes, now he is fine. I have healed him," Cas addresses this to Dean.
"We got along just peachy before we had yer doctoring," says Benny. "Can we be movin' on or does boy-o here need to brush, floss, and rinse before beddy-by?"
"I do not understand. Do you need to perform dental hygiene, Dean?" It's hard to tell if Cas means that or if he's just fucking with Benny.
"No, you — fuck me, but yer one literal sonofabitch. Let's get goin'."
"Certainly, if you would please indicate the direction we must take to, hopefully, reach our ultimate destination."
Dean starts laughing at this point, because it occurs to him finally why this is all so familiar. Dad and Sam, Benny and Cas, and Dean right in the middle. Screw Righteous Man, screw angel condom, screw all of it, clearly it's his destiny to get caught between the people he loves like the prettiest princess at the frat party.
No, it doesn't get better with time, but there are worse places to be.
*
The fourth thing Benny teaches Dean is that purgatory is out to get him in every way imaginable. This includes the flora and fauna, which Dean realized about the time he first spotted a hawk with tentacles. Benny tells him, specifically, that it's important to stay far, far away from the yellow and purple flowers, the beanstalks, and the pigeons. The second part of that lesson doesn't come until it's too late for Dean to learn it any way but the hard way.
See, sometimes Dean needs to wander. It's not a big deal, he just needs to get away, be alone for a bit. Maybe take a dump, or jack off uncomfortably. Stare at the sky through the branches overhead and try to remember the really good things, like cheeseburgers and sex and Sammy's Bitch Face #7. Having Benny around is useful, fun, and Cas, well — Dean's twitchy without Cas in his line of sight at least ten times a day.
But a guy does need his alone time.
He's been wandering for ten minutes or so when he sees vivid color at the edge of his gaze. The flowers are bizarre in the soupy watercolor dullness of the rest of purgatory. Dean's adjusted to a world where the color of Cas's eyes is the brightest thing around, where yellow and purple are only for describing the age of bruises. These, though, these flowers. They're technicolor. Hypnotic neon, gleaming.
One moment they're only a glimpse, the next Dean is in front of them and he can't remember the walking part that happened in between.
The petals are sticky slick under the pads of his fingers. He thinks of the way it feels to stretch open a woman, rubbing two fingers up inside her and pulling them out wet, this is like that. Texture, smell too, and Dean's breathing in the scent with his mouth open, chubbing up in his jeans for a freaking flower. It's not something he wants, to suck his fingers clean, but he has them in his mouth and he's licking the syrupy nectar off and it's the best damn thing he's tasted since the Pepperjack Turducken Slammer. And he does want.
When Dean reaches for a second taste, the first flower snaps closed inches from his fingers. All of them in their bunches follow after, suddenly wrapping up tight in foliage that's the same color as everything else here. Dean flinches back, surprised and strangely … angry. Then he's like — he's not himself, he's someone else. He scrabbles with the bush until he's breathing hard, pries at the knitted leaves, but can't get at the flowers again, just comes away with green stains under his fingernails. He curses, on the verge of stupid girly tears from frustration, then recalls: ax. He brings it down with nice, sleek scything motions, again and again until the bush, the leaves, the flowers, are a pulpy wrecked pile of kindling.
Dean stares at the wreckage of the plant. He doesn't feel better for destroying it. Violence for the sake of violence for nothing. There is no color, just the memory of color, and the want.
*
Cas and Benny are silently warring from opposite sides of a small fire when Dean slinks back into the clearing they've chosen for the night. Cas has his eyes closed, meditating or some shit. Benny sits, turning some kind of meat low over dimly glowing embers.
"For you," he says, not looking up. "Rabbit." He likes to cook whatever poor beast he's fed from that day for Dean. Tells Dean, it's almost like sharing a real down home family meal.
Dean likes the look of the shadows on his face right now.
"What about you?" he asks, distantly aware that something is off about his tone. He sounds like he's coming on to a girl at a bar, randy and overconfident. He's disconnected, bubbling frothy under too-tight skin. Hot and out of control. He's going to do something stupid tonight, something abso-fucking-lutely crazycakes, and he doesn't care.
"Eh?" Benny finally looks up at him, squinting.
"Aren't you hungry?" Dean asks as he tilts his head to the side, rubs the tip of his ax into the side of his neck like he's scratching an itch. He's not.
Benny's eyes go metallic, inhuman. How many weeks since he last got Dean's blood in his mouth? His fangs start to pop. "You offerin'?"
"Dean?" Cas says.
"Yeah," says Dean. He crosses to Benny in four quick strides and straddles him, kneels down over Benny's lap, thighs wide like a pro. With the curved edge of his blade around the back Benny's head, Dean draws him in, leaning back to get a good vulnerable stretch for his throat. His pulse pounds, he can feel each throb of vein stretching and retracting under the fragile, silly layer of flesh he wears. Benny's colder skin is incredible where Dean's feeling feverish, where Benny clutches his collars down and exposes dirty sweat-damp skin for biting.
"Whoa there, soldier, ya sure 'bout this?" Benny rumbles into Dean's chin and jaw.
"Promise not to kill me?" Dean breathes.
"Promise," says Benny, and Dean trusts him like only a crazy person might. Only crazy people trust monsters in monsterland.
Benny is fast, fangs gum-deep in seconds. Pain bursts like signal flares in Dean's mind, warning! but whatever poison is riding him turns it into giddy pleasure.
Never like this, before. Dean's never let Benny bite him and Benny's never tried. Always just with the wound licking. Dean laughs out loud, because it feels so, so good, and, ha wound licking, somehow that's less fucked up than signing on to be dinner just to get a body against his own. He wants to come like this, grinding and bleeding. The straining pressure in Benny's suck is matched by Dean's straining cock, shoved hard against Benny's belly. And that weak moan he makes, that's the sound of a man enjoying himself.
Cas is fast too, once he gets a handle on the situation. It takes him only one hand to rip Benny's head back, the other wrenching Dean up and away so hard he skids through the dirt nearly three feet, breath punched right out of him. He barely misses going through the fire pit. His ax goes flying, lucky he didn't take Benny's head off with it, and he's weaponless. Couldn't defend himself if they both decided to come over here and just take the pieces of him they seem to want. Dean laughs dizzily and moans again, imagining that, arches up into his own hands as he palms down his chest, his stomach, his thighs. The pain of it would be the best part, the violence. His blood is wet and hot and filthy down his throat like a whore's tongue.
"What on Earth, Dean?" Cas booms.
"Jealous?" He asks, grinning and getting his elbows beneath him in the dirt. Cas plays the part of avenging angel well, low firelight glimmering up and setting his bright eyes on fire. He's holding Benny's hair still, a master cuffing a poorly trained dog. Blood is smeared around Benny's mouth, but he's not struggling, just grinning back at Dean. It's hotter than twin redheads in a hot tub, Cas incandescent with power and protective rage, Benny all monster. Dean's cock leaks sticky against his fly, god, he loves that Cas can still look at him like that.
Dean's uses his mouth to show them what he wants, he knows what he can do with it at moments like this one. Soft and open, tongue dabbing out with damp spit. If Cas is capable of human arousal, if the way he looks at Dean means anything, this'll be all it takes. "Quid pro quo, Cas. Good ol' suck and fuck. If you weren't junkless, I'd let you do me too," Dean says. "Could you? Want you to fuck me, Cas. Get up inside me. Need it, need you."
Cas startles physically; he drops Benny and takes a step forward, stops. His hands open and close in uncertainty through another step closer. Dean can see something searing and new in his face when he whispers, "Dean?" His name, so many times, his name like a prayer.
"Aw, hell," Benny says. "Yer drugged out of yer mind."
"What?" Cas half-turns, but his attention snaps back when Dean hooks a foot around his ankle, rubs it up his calf.
"Pay attention to me," Dean says. Want is carving out the core of him.
"Betchya stumbled across one of the succubi patches, din't ya, sweetheart?" Benny asks. He comes to stand next to Cas, and they're both staring down at him.
Dean sees the gods of the new want in his body, hot fantasies of worship spinning out like rave hallucinations every time he blinks. He parts his knees, invitation couldn't be louder. What are they waiting for? He knows that they want him. He's always known.
Lucidity comes and goes in flashes, and Jesus fuck, why is he inviting this at all? He doesn't want — this isn't him. This is color and poison. He might lose words soon, might be losing everything about himself. He needs to get fucked, his body is dying for it, like water, like air.
"Purple and yellow flowers," he manages.
Benny sighs. "Nothing for it. Gotta get 'im through it, else he'll go through the looking glass for good. Usually just lasts til they pass out."
"I do not understand," Cas says faintly. There's something in his voice that makes Dean's cracked heart crack further, something broken underneath the confusion. This is all wrong, it shouldn't be happening between them, not like this, especially not like this if it was ever going to happen at all.
"Cas," says Dean. "Cas."
"Yeah, ya do," Benny says.
Can always count on Benny to be honest, bring it back down to the practical. "Don't worry, brother," Benny continues, reaching down to get a good grip on Dean's arms. He hauls Dean to his feet and right into the solid wall of his cold body, holds him there with an arm around Dean's waist. Dean's less than human reacting to it, clings and ruts into the thigh Benny spears between his legs like all he's got left is the hindbrain. Sorry gets lost beneath the surge of pure empty yearning.
Benny promises hot into Dean's ear, "We'll take care of it," while he forces two sharp-nailed fingers deep into Dean's mouth with his free hand. He tastes like dirt, like camp smoke and greasy meat. Tastes like something alive filling Dean a little, and that's all Dean needs right now. Someone else to take care of it for him.
Another body presses in behind him, Cas pulling hard to dislodge Dean's clutch on Benny. He strips away Dean's leather jacket, soft pat sound as it falls empty to the ground. Dean sags into him, arms limp, head lolling back on Cas's shoulder once Benny lets him go to work through the buttons of Dean's flannel one-handed. He's got three fingers in Dean's mouth now, and they don't taste like anything anymore except all too human skin. Dean likes the give of them under his teeth, the tips of them edging close to his throat.
Cas's first kiss is placed in the unwashed spray of hair over Dean's temple, and it feels reverent despite the vampire licking blood from Dean's neck inches away. Then Benny hauls Dean forward again so Cas can strip the flannel down his arms, right down to the ground with his jacket.
They are three bodies braced in the darkness. The smell of them, no soap or perfume or detergent, just oil and sweat, makes Dean light-headed.
A moment follows when they balance him up between them, when Benny pulls free of Dean's mouth and Dean says, "No, no," meaninglessly, so they can yank his undershirt up over his head. Yeah, yes, Dean wants to be naked. He's overheated. Wants to be more than naked, dissolved completely. But the buttons of Cas's trenchcoat are digging into the bare skin of his back, a tether, because Cas is right there again, pulling Dean's head to the side to really kiss him.
It's not a nice kiss, goes straight to nasty, mouths open wide, and light blasts like fireworks beneath Dean's closed eyelids each time Cas's tongue sweeps behind his teeth. Cas's hand is an iron vice holding him in place while he kisses him fiercely, gets in real deep and sloppy like he could only have learned from pornography. Dean knows kisses, remembers them, but nothing he can remember felt as good as this. The soft white-hot stab of Cas's tongue is paring him down, filling him up until Dean's stomach tightens up like he might scream or cry or come. On the very cliff of not enough, oversensitized, overwhelmed, cooked to overdone crisp in Cas's scarring hold. He'll wear Cas' handprint on his jaw, on his belly where Cas's other hand is splayed, forever after this.
Sweet cool air rushes over Dean's cock as Benny undoes his jeans, kneeling so he can peel them down Dean's legs. Dean gasps wetly into Cas's mouth while his boots and socks and pants are all jerked off. Naked now, caught between them. The scrubby grass and dirt pricks beneath the soles of his feet — it's not like being drunk, except for the loss of inhibition. It's more like being on acid-laced Ecstasy, Dean's hyper alert, senses heightened so much he can't pay attention to all of them at once.
He hears Benny say, "Hold one of 'is legs up," then feels Cas let go of his face, tastes air that's not breath again, released from Cas's kiss, and after that sees Benny past the red, painful curve of his dick, mouthing his own fingers until they're dripping. Cas reaches down Dean's body and grips under Dean's thigh, pulling it towards Dean's chest enough that Dean can feel a good, rich stretch in his muscles. He's curled from it, ass angled for ease of access and his cockhead brushing into the hair trailing down his stomach, delicious scratchy friction. Cas bears his weight. Dean's other leg nearly gives out beneath the rush of being spread like this, shaking and ultimately unnecessary to keep him right where they want him.
"Is this — is this really happening?" he pants. Nothing feels real, nothing real feels this way. Maybe he's writhing alone in the forest, hallucinating the poison from his system, face down in chopped purgatorial plant life. He feels painfully human, opened up by an angel and a monster, armorless where they are fully clothed, weak against their strength, which should in no world be so good. Dean hates this, loves it, hates that he's loving it and he's scared. He's so, so scared of himself right now. "I can't —"
Cas just holds him exposed effortlessly, and Benny begins to work on Dean where he needs it most, ass a tight clench of empty wanting, spasming for something inside like a girl coming just from tongue on her clit. Dean chokes out a laugh because Benny's being impossibly kind about it, petting around the edges of his hole and slipping one finger in with painstaking slowness, added more spit as he goes, and all Dean wants is to be plowed. "Come on," Dean taunts. "Come on, come on, do it, do it, Benny, Benny, dude, come on..."
Benny nips the white, almost hairless skin of Dean's inner thigh. "Want it?"
"Yeah, yeah, fuck yeah, I want it."
"Do not hurt him," Cas warns.
"Feels good," says Dean. "Like it better, hurting."
"I will not — " Cas starts, deep voice vibrating into Dean's ear.
"I will," Benny says.
Two fingers all at once, even saliva-slick, make Dean groan. His body takes them, but not without a toe-curling flinch and burn. In, out, in again fast, Benny got fingers designed to prep Dean good and ready for a cock, rubbing at the clinging walls of his hole. Dean arches, gets the foot that's not hanging in the air already braced up on Benny's thigh — better leverage, he shoves into the thrusts, the scissoring; he rolls and rolls his hips into each new push, whole body off the ground, and no one but Cas would be strong enough to keep him held up as much as he is, when he's writhing from getting thoroughly finger fucked and thinking only of more, asking for it out loud.
Benny twists in a third finger, grinds all of them all the way to the final knuckles, just like in Dean's mouth before, and holds them there on Dean's prostate so Dean can rock in small, hitching circles, each time around punching another high whine from his lungs. Precome blurts out of the tip of Dean's cock — he feels every inch of it's slow slide down the length of him with the same precision that he feels Cas trembling and breathing in stutters at his back.
"Cas, please, please," Dean begs, "'M ready, want you to do it first. Take your cock out, please, take it out and get it inside me, I need!"
He almost doesn't believe Cas will give it to him. Cas leaves him hanging, coming apart, unanswered for a long, long second, but then Cas lets go of his leg, just drops him onto Benny. Benny is barely quick enough to catch one arm around Dean's back, and it's a mess of limbs, gravity bearing Dean onto Benny's fingers and he howls. His vision whites out, maybe from the pleasure of riding them hard down onto Benny's lap, maybe from Benny getting fangs into his neck again, same spot as before, grunting as he pulls more blood out of Dean's veins.
Dean's head swims as Cas wrenches his hips back, forces Dean to shuffle his knees under himself, toes scraping through dirt. He doesn't care how awkward it looks, everything at strange angles with his upper body caught up by Benny and Cas tilting his ass for the best fit, forcing Dean's knees wider. Benny manages to go with it, bending, keeping Dean wide open on his teeth and his fingers so when Cas nudges his hot, sticky cockhead up against Dean's hole, there's a trade off and Cas slides easy in.
And just like that, Cas is fucking him. Finally. The dark wildness knitted through Dean's thoughts eases into a blissed out sort of peacefulness. He can almost think again. One slow push at a time, a tentative slip slide of penetration and emptiness, Cas is in deep, smoothing out the knots of Dean's heart. "Cas," Dean moans, shaking, clutching onto Benny so he doesn't fly apart. Tears prickle in his eyelashes. His body is alight, speared on cock and fangs, "Cas, so good, filling me up."
"This is insane," Cas whispers, resting his forehead at the nape of Dean's neck as he hitches in and out chaotically, no rhythm, barely any force. "He is drinking your blood, Dean, and I'm — "
"So good," Dean repeats, slurry. He could do this all day, this slow happy fucking, lie in a bed and just let Cas get his ass gaping and red with his uncertain, overwhelmed thrusting. He could be that patient guy any other day, maybe even tomorrow, but not tonight. "Come on, Cas. You, you know how I'm wantin' it." Slow like healing is great, but fast like violence comes first.
Benny comes off of Dean's neck laughing and breathing hard, petting all over Dean now with the same giddiness he had the first time he fed on Dean's blood. He wipes at Dean's damp lashes, promises with a red-toothed smile, "Just you wait, brother. Gonna give ya somethin' ta cry about."
Dean licks across Benny's bottom lip and shudders, riding back onto Cas to goddamn show him, and Cas jerks forward in response, grunting, pushes his forehead harder into Dean's neck, so hard it slips in blood and sweat and his mouth comes down over a nob in Dean's spine. Cas breathes there, breathes like he might be sobbing "Dean, Dean," but, thank god, he fucks Dean right through it.
"Gonna take care of me?" Dean asks Benny. He has one hand braced on Benny's thigh now, keeping himself up, but he can use the other the grope at Benny's clothed cock where it distends his slacks. Feels hot and perfect and huge under Dean's hand. He wants that inside him too, shit, pure physical lust blazing through him when it occurs to him, maybe: both?
"Like only I can," says Benny, getting his hands on Dean's ass cheeks and wriggling his fingers down in between. He pushes at the tender skin stretched around Cas's cock. Cas pulls out and thrusts in again like he's seizing, hard enough that Dean cries out. That one hit him perfectly, right where it counts. Pleasure blurs out from there through the rest of Dean's body, all the way to the tips of his toes in ripples.
"Yeah, fuck, like that! Just like that, Cas." Dean pants.
"Get me out," Benny tells Dean.
Dean scrambles, paws Benny's pants open so he can pull out his fat cock. Apparently, vampires really can fuck. Dean shouldn't be surprised really. After all, apparently angels can too.
"Get me wet for you," says Benny, palming the back of Dean's head downwards. They all slip awkwardly again, trying to find a new balance. Dean just goes where they put him, elbows and knees in the dirt, wants to be there if it also means fuller, the poison still alive in him but at least he can sort out, understand, control how the need is gonna play out. Benny shifts up, Cas shifts back and grips Dean's shoulders, drawing him back into each thrust powerfully, which makes sparks fly in Dean's bloodstream. Better, much better, and all of it improved by the heady stretch of his mouth around Benny's crazily cold cock. For having never done this before, Dean's pretty proud of how far down he swallows before he starts to choke out. What matters more are the strings of saliva he lets drip sloppy over his bottom lip, making sure Benny's slick as he can be for the next part.
Cas has really got it now, pounding Dean's ass like a machine, perfect, unwavering speed that slams Dean's sweet spot each time. Dean's a skipping record, bouncing forward and backward between the cock in his ass and the cock in his throat, making the same embarrassing 'uh' sound every time. Uh, uh, uh is their soundtrack, and he's a fucking pornstar god, fuck, maybe he really was made for this. There are hands all over him, he's suffocating, high on pollen and blood loss and getting fucked for the first time and in love with it.
Dean comes like a storm, parts of him lightning, parts of him rain, all of it under the sound of thunder in his ears. He comes so hard he has a headache from it, and his fingers are tingling, near to numbness. He comes all in the dirt of purgatory, wildly changed.
He doesn't pass out.
He doesn't pass out. He doesn't want to pass out, which is the strangest thing of all.
He's a boneless, raw thing as they move him, Benny directing. Benny always knows what Dean needs.
Cas goes onto his back with Dean splayed over him, face to face for the first time. Cas is kissing him softly and petting Dean's sweaty hair back off his face. Dean gazes at him, unable to process the forgiveness he always finds in Cas's eyes, some immortal and frightening kind of love there, even as he slides back down onto Cas's cock. Then Cas's eyes roll in simple pleasure, and Dean grins, pleased to be at the center of that too. It's so easy fucking Cas. Easy though it shouldn't be compared to the rest of the mess they make of each other.
Benny hold Dean's ass wide with one hand, spreading his cheeks in a way that should make Dean want to scream but instead makes him squirm. He's always been an attention whore. It feels like full circle, back to Benny being the kindest of them all, stroking Dean's taut, used hole while Cas fucks relentlessly up into him. One finger in alongside Cas's cock isn't too hard, but two — that burns.
Dean demands, "More." He's at the edge of the end, it's coming at him like a freight train. Can't give much more, it can't, can't be physically possible.
Three thick fingers fuck up into his ass riding the curve of Cas's dick. A half-weeping moan throttles itself out of Dean's mouth, which Cas breathes in, licking over and over at Dean's upper lip and teeth, the chafed corners of his mouth that are over-stretched from cock-sucking.
Benny is the heaviest weight, bracing himself on Dean's lower back, lining up, and pushing. Cas makes a harsh, startled sound, hands convulsing on Dean's waist through the first minute of insane pressure. Dean's eyes are wide open but he's blind, his lungs are empty. All of him is locked down on the sensation of a second, huge cock nudging inside of him. It hurts. It's perfect. It scalds, liquid brand exploding into shards of feral, brutal pleasure. Benny is cold and Cas is burning hot, inside of Dean together. The best and worst of all worlds, all held tight in him. His mouth is helplessly open, soundless. Too damn human for this shit.
After Benny makes it fit, there's movement, there's plain emotionless fucking, like a hundred pornos Dean's watched. His hole is stuffed full of cock, using him up. Dean's vertebrae snap into new places, crack pop, aligning as he thrashes, claws the ground next the Cas's head. They are a sweaty, dirty, mindless beast. And the rest of it, the complications, all get lost to an animal nature shared through the boundaries of their bodies. It's sex boiled down to the purest form.
Dean passes out.
*
If there's one thing Dean never needed Benny to teach him, it's this: purgatory is pure.
END
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