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The Boys of Summer: part 1
The Boys of Summer: part 2
The Boys are Back in Town: part 1
The Boys are Back in Town: part 2
Feels Like the First Time: part 1
Feels LIke the First Time: part 2
Lovin' Touchin' Squeezin': part 1
Lovin' Touchin' Squeezin': part 2
Run to the Hills: part 1
Run to the Hills: part 2
Hammer to Fall: part 1

Hammer to Fall: part 2

“Go!” Bobby cried, and Kurt grabbed Puck’s wrist and ran pulling him left into the maze of cars. Puck kept up easily, keeping pace with Kurt. They heard the hellhound behind them roar, and charge, but didn’t dare stop to look behind them.

They couldn’t go to their van; the wards were crap against Leviathan, and they’d be sitting ducks. Kurt pulled them to a stop behind an old earthmover. “Shit,” Kurt panted quietly. “This is like the most fucked up game of hide and seek ever.”

Puck snorted. “Olly-olly oxen free.”

Kurt spared a moment to smile fondly at Puck. “The random things you know,” he said.

Puck grinned back. “You love it.”

Kurt grabbed Puck by the back of his neck, and kissed him once, quickly and fiercely. “For luck,” Kurt whispered against Puck’s mouth.

“Aw, young love,” said a voice behind him. Kurt spun away from Puck, raising his gun as Puck did the same. The big mouth watching them was balding, overweight and wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off. “How sweet. I bet you still taste of innocence.” His mouth opened wide, wider than should be possible, showing rows and rows of sharp teeth in inky black. Kurt fired, straight into his face, and the big mouth reared back. Kurt shot it again, and Puck darted forward, machete out and with one solid swipe, took the monster’s head clean from its shoulders.

The head dropped, and rolled towards Kurt. Kurt looked down at the head, up at Puck who looked between the blade in his hands, the head on the ground and Kurt; he shrugged. Kurt stepped back, hearing the beat in his head, and kicked sending the head clear over the house and out of the yard.

“Touchdown,” Puck muttered. He grinned at Kurt. Kurt bowed his head, but their fun was cut short by another of those inhuman cries.

“Come on,” Kurt said. “We have to keep moving.”


When Leviathan battered down his door, Bobby watched as Kurt pulled Puck left, Dean and Sam ran left, and the hellhound, unseen for a trail of thrown-up dust, took off towards the horde. And it was a horde.

“Holy shitballs,” Bobby said, eyes wide as he and Castiel watched the bodies poured into the salvage yard. The first wave was caught by the hellhound, and Bobby heard Crowley;

“Tear ‘em to pieces.”

But the big mouths rallied, and turned, biting at what looked like empty air, and it wasn’t until Crowley started swearing that Bobby realized they were eating the hellhound. More kept coming in behind them, crawling over those feeding and spreading out into the yard.

Fuckballs!” Bobby swore, and ran into the house. “Come on,” he called back, and he heard a single set of footsteps follow him. When he looked back, he only saw Castiel. Figures he’d disappear, Bobby thought, then there was no time to think as he grabbed a super soaker with borax and holy water he kept by the back door, tossed another to Castiel, and they were out the back door and into a ring of big mouths.

There were eight of them, each different and none of them looked particularly threatening. There was a teenaged girl with a Team Edward shirt, a nurse, an older man with a beer gut, two cable repair man, an elementary school teacher, and a little old lady with a white handbag.

Bobby stopped short, feeling more than seeing Castiel behind him, and didn’t waste a second, simply lifted the pistol and fired. The big mouths looked bemused until the water hit them and their skin blackened and burned.

And that pissed them off.

They rushed and Bobby fired, and Castiel fired behind him, slipping up to stand back to back, but there were too many and they were too close, and Bobby used his gun like a club to get the teen to back off, and reached for his machete, but Granny was there and she bit his arm. Bobby cried out, and Castiel was there and he cut off Granny’s head, and spun into the repair men. If Bobby ever had a hard time remembering that Castiel was a soldier, this would have solved it.

Castiel moved like he was still invulnerable, with a dancing grace and singularity of purpose that managed to tear through three more big mouths before he was knocked off his feet by the elementary school teacher, and landed on the ground next to Bobby. Granny was reattaching her head, and the nurse was holding the one repairman’s head out to him, and the others were watching Bobby and Castiel and closing in.

“Hey,” Bobby heard. “Sick ‘em, boys.” There was a ripping crunching sound, the howling of hell loud in their ears, and the leviathans closest to them went down under invisible weight, their heads gone, bitten clean off.

“Don’t just stand there,” Crowley said. “Run.”

Castiel grabbed Bobby by the arm, and pulled him up. Bobby staggered to his feet, letting Castiel help him balance, and ran with the intent to put some serious distance between him and those creatures.

“One more you owe me,” Crowley said in Bobby’s ear as they ran.

“Shuddup,” Bobby said. “And I might thank you later.”


Sam followed Dean around the cars, heading towards the front gate, flanking the hellhounds. It was, quite probably, the stupidest plan Sam had ever followed, and that was including the chupacabra disaster of ‘98.

But what else was there to do. Leviathan had to be stopped, and if they didn’t do it, well--

Just ahead of them, the hellhound reached the gates and--

“Puppy chow from hell,” Dean muttered.

Sam looked at Dean, incredulous. “Dude.”

Dean looked at Sam and shrugged. What?

Sam shook his head. They both spun on high alert, when the Leviathan cried out--they were closing in.

“Shit,” Dean said, and that was all Sam needed, and they were running, firing their guns behind them, not looking to see if their buckshot had any effect, but knowing that getting shot would slow most things down, just a little, and doubled back the way they came. They burst free of the cars and stopped in the driveway.

Leviathan. All of them; there were easily sixty crowded into the space, and more still came through the hole in the fence.

“Fuck.” Sam said, and exchanged a look with Dean. Dean squared his jaw, Sam did the same. They faced Leviathan, weapons raised. Dean opened his mouth, and Sam could already hear the taunts, was ready with his own, when;

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Butch and Sundance.”

Sam’s blood ran cold. No, no, it was too soon. Gabriel wasn’t back yet, they had just started to fight, it couldn’t be--Gabriel, you fucktard, you better get your holy ass back here, a.s.a.p.! I can’t do it without you.

Dick Roman stepped through the big mouths like Moses through the sea. He smiled at them. “Sam and Dean. Won’t you join us for dinner?”


Dean tightened his grip on his machete. “No thanks, Dick,” he said. “Never did like food that bites back.”

Dick laughed like Dean was some kind of talking parrot--the kind that swears and whistles--and boy was Dean really freakin’ tired of that smug attitude, of every super-bad they faced looking down on them. It was one thing to look at him with vengeance--that made them kinda-equals-- or as food--monsters that hunted humans for food were generally animals; it’s hard to take offence when you’re part of the food chain. But that better-than-you smirk--demons had it, angels had it, and Dick here had it in spades; not just “we’re going to eat you,” but “we’re going to eat you and do it with our hoity toity manners, pinkies out.”

Just wasn’t right.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Bobby, Cas, and Crowley round the corner of the house, and stop when they saw the crowd. Cas stepped forward, fierce with righteous anger, ready to take them all on, but Bobby stopped him with a hand on his arm. Cas shook Bobby off, but Bobby hissed something at him, and Cas stayed where he was, staring at Dean with those wide-fucking-eyes. Damnit, Dean thought. Goddamnit!

He wanted to look over at Cas, wanted him here, by his side, wanted to tell him everything would be okay and mean it, wanted--fuck--wanted this not to be the end.

But he couldn’t look. If he looked, he’d draw Dick’s attention, so he was stuck, wound tighter than a bowstring.

“What’s the matter, Dean?” Dick said, stepping forward. “Where’s that famous Dean Winchester sarcasm?”

Sam shifted next to him, and his eyes flickered over to what had drawn Sam’s attention; Puck and Kurt were just in sight behind a car on the other side of the horde from the house, watching. Kurt had his shotgun in hand, balanced so just the end was braced on the door of the car. Puck was behind him, black-stained machete in hand and looking ready to do some damage.

Dean stood a little taller. They were going down, they were far too outnumbered, but they were sure as hell going down fighting.

“I have to say, I am disappointed,” Dick said. “I was so looking forward to a little dinner entertainment.”

“Hey Dick,” Dean said. “Eat me.”

The smug grin fell from Dick’s face. “Gladly,” Dick growled, and roared, racing forward. Dean just had time to fire once before he was down, straining to keep Dick off of him as Dick snapped and bit.

“Sam!” Dean bit out, and then Sam and then Sam was there, swinging his machete like a golf club, and Dick’s head was gone and Dean was covered in black ichor, and pushing the body off. Sam grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled him up and they were running; Dick wouldn’t stay down for long. They raced for Kurt and Puck, who had left their car, and were fighting their way towards the house. It was too close for guns now, and Dean swung his like a bat, knocking big mouths left and right. Kurt and Puck worked seamlessly, slicing and dicing, but they couldn’t move forward. Sam swept through the big mouths in their way, and Dean had never been happier that his little brother had grown into a giant-killer. Dean followed, playing clean up.

“Move!” Dean yelled to Kurt, and Kurt nodded, the two junior Hunters freed to help, and the four of them spun through the horde until the big mouths started to fall away, taken down by Crowley’s hellhounds.

Bobby was on the porch, alter spread out before him, flipping through the book looking for the right spell.

“It’s too early,” Sam said. “Gabriel’s not--”

“We can’t wait,” Bobby said. “We’ll be dead either way, and at least if it’s manifest Gabriel has a shot at it afterwards.

“Do it,” Dean said, and took up position between Cas and Kurt. He looked at his lover, and Cas looked back, and everything that needed to be said, everything that Dean hadn’t known needed to be said, was right there in Cas’s eyes.

“Cas, I--”

“Me too,” Cas said. Dean nodded.

“If we live through this.” Dean said. “We’re not getting out of bed for a week.”


Dean looked over at the others. Kurt and Puck still stood close, but alert. Sam was next to Puck, rolling his shoulders and swinging his machete. Crowley was on the stairs, drink gone, and no weapon in his hand but snarling. Bobby had a handkerchief tied around his arm, and his hat was missing, but he had found the spell and was mixing ingredients. Dean looked back to the horde just as the last hellhound fell. He heard Crowley slump behind them, then there was no time, because they were on him.

Dean cut and hacked, slashing this and that, kicking heads away when they fell to his feet. One managed to bite his ankle, and Cas was there knocking it free. Behind them, Bobby’s voice raised in a chant, there was a flash of power, and--nothing.

“No,” Dean heard Bobby say. “No!”

Dean’s heart sank. It didn’t work. It didn’t--

The next big mouth came at him, and Dean raised his machete, but it was too late; it was caught in the big mouth’s hand and Dean kicked, but there another had his legs. Another grabbed his other arm and the three pulled Dean off his feet, and held him on his knees. Dean heard Cas shouting and fall, heard Sam cry out and double his attacks, but Dick was in his face, smiling around too many teeth. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean sneered. “Didn’t your momma ever teach you not to play with your food?”

Dicks’ smile faltered and he reared back, mouth impossibly wide, and Dean closed his eyes because this was it, and--

“Hold it, Dickie-poo,” Dean heard, and cracked his eyes open. Dick stopped, everyone stopped, and Dick turned, his face falling back into his mask. Gabriel stood just behind Dick. He was taller than Dean remembered, and when Dean looked, he saw that Gabriel was standing on the bodies of two headless big-mouths, his angel sword in his hand, shining from beneath the icor. It should have been funny. It really wasn’t.

Dick let go and Dean dropped to the ground, crawling away to Cas. He put his hand on Cas’s shoulder, his neck, and felt a pulse. Dean felt dizzy with relief; they weren’t dead yet. Cas groaned, and Dean helped him roll over, keeping an eye on Gabriel and Dick.

Dick looked down at the sword in Gabriel’s hand. “You really don’t think that’s going to kill me?”

“This?” Gabriel held up the sword, and tossed it away. “Nah. But I’m not here to fight you.” Something--shifted. Dean didn’t know what it was, couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but suddenly it was as if Gabriel was the only real thing, like everything else was shadows and dust. “I have a message for you.”

Gabriel raised a hand, pointing his finger at Dick. Dick stepped back, tripping over himself in his haste. “No,” he said. “No!” Dean looked away.

When Gabriel spoke it was the Will and Might of God. “You are Unmade.”

There wasn’t even a scream.

When Dean looked up, the yard was empty of Leviathan, no bodies, no horde--just a broken fence, five beat up Hunters, The King of Hell, and the Word of God, who casually plucked a Snickers from the air, and took a bite with obvious relish.


Death frowned at the not-chess board, and then pursed his lips at Formerly Chuck.

“Drama Queen,” Death said.

Formerly Chuck just grinned, ineffably.


Bobby sat back against the wall of his house, looking out over the yard. The place was a disaster; the front gate was as good as gone, the ground torn to pieces, and there were more cars reduced to scrap than not. Still, somehow, everyone had survived.

It was almost enough to have Bobby believe in miracles.

Bobby looked over the others. Puck and Kurt were standing just in front of him, checking each other over for wounds, efficiently if a bit more intimately than Bobby was used to seeing. Bobby was proud to say they did well today, but was also glad they’d be heading back to school in a few weeks; they were still both so young. They deserved the time to be kids.

Dean and Castiel were-- “Good Lord,” Bobby said covering his eyes. “I didn’t need to see that.” Bobby was happy for the idjits, fuck knows they’d been through enough--literally hell and back--but Bobby could die happy never seeing that. Especially not on his front lawn.

“Get a goddamned room!” Bobby called to them. Dean barely registered Bobby’s shout enough to wave a hand at him, and Bobby was pretty sure Castiel just doubled his enthusiasm. Bobby narrowed his eyes; looked like Castiel was picking up some of Dean’s bad habits as well. Bobby groaned. Lord, there was gonna two of ‘em now. Balls.

And Sam--last time Bobby had gotten a good look at Sam, he had been covered in black big-mouth gunk, but when the Leviathan was unmade, it disappeared completely, leaving Sam clean of gunk, but wild-eyed. Sam was staring at Gabriel, who was staring back wearing that damned angel-blank mask of a face and Bobby was too old for this shit.

Sam took a step forward, and Gabriel snapped his fingers; the two disappeared. Maybe they’d be able to get their shit sorted without Bobby having to see it. Somebody--and Bobby was ignoring the fact that is sounded a lot like Dean--chose that moment to moan loudly. Bobby squeezed his eyes shut, as he heard Kurt giggle.

Somebody sat next to him on the porch, and Bobby cracked an eye to see Crowley offering him a tumbler of whiskey. Bobby looked at it. It was probably a trap of some kind. Crowley was a demon, after all, and the King of Hell to boot.

“It’s not a trick,” Crowley said. “It’s a drink. Fucking take it.”

On the other hand, they had just killed the freaking Leviathan. He took the glass, raised it in a toast, and knocked it back. He lowered the glass too see Crowley leering at him.



Sam didn’t quite know what to think. One minute he’s fighting Leviathan, pray for and cursing Gabriel as hard as he can because he’s just not there, then he’s back and Leviathan is unmade and he’s just standing there, staring. So Sam steps forward and Gabriel snaps and they’re sitting on a bench on a boardwalk facing the ocean. To Sam’s left begins the attractions, rides and games, and the smell of funnel cake wars with the briny salt of the water. Gabriel is holding a pink stick of cotton candy, and Sam has to watch as he pulls it apart piece by piece, licking the colored sugar from his fingers.

It shouldn’t be hot. It is.

Sam shifts in his seat, so many thoughts in his head and he doesn’t know what to say first. Gabriel doesn’t seem inclined to help, but after a moment he starts to fidget, and finally bursts out:

“I heard you, you know. Praying for me.”

Sam ducks his head. “I know.”

Gabriel swallowed. “Did you mean it?”

Sam didn’t ask what he meant; I can’t do it without you. Sam swallowed. He was really only just learning how much he meant it, but he did--Fuck, did he ever.

So all he said was, “Yes.” He reached over and pulled a piece of cotton candy off of Gabriel’s stick, popping it into his mouth. It was so sweet his teeth ached, but he let it dissolve on his tongue, and watched Gabriel through half-lidded eyes.

“Sam,” Gabriel said, sighing. “We have fun. But this?” Gabriel shifted into his co-ed form. “This is just an illusion.”

Sam shrugged. “So is your vessel, technically. I’m pretty sure you’re actually taller than me.”

Gabriel snorted and shifted back. “She’s not real, Sam.”

“She’s you,” Sam said. “You’re real.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, smug look back in place, but Sam could see past it now. Gabriel was hurting. “You don’t love me.”

Sam looked down, and took one of Gabriel’s hands in his own. “Yeah,” he said. “I really think I do.”

Gabriel was staring at their hand with something like shock on his face. Sam wondered, idly, if Gabriel had taught himself emotion, or if it had come from being in a vessel for so long. But Gabriel wasn’t convinced. “Think?”

Sam nudged Gabriel’s shoulder with his own. “You’re the all-powerful angel. Read my mind if you’re not sure.”

Gabriel looked into Sam’s eyes, and Sam marveled at the color, so bright and so familiar. Gabriel never changed his eyes; Sam had fallen in love with those eyes. They widened.

“You--,” Gabriel laughed, delighted, grin wide. Sam felt his heart swell, cupped Gabriel’s cheek, and kissed him. It wasn’t the best of kissed, the two of them grinning to wide, laughing just a little too hard, but it was perfect.

Sam pulled back. “I love you, not your vessel.”

“I see that,” Gabriel said. He ran a hand through Sam’s hair. “It’s mutual, you know.”

Sam grinned. “I know.” He stood, and pulled Gabriel to his feet. Gabriel raised an eyebrow when Sam took his hand, and started to walk him down the boardwalk towards the rides.

“The way I see it,” Sam said as they walked. “We’ve been doing things backwards.”

“You want a date?” Gabriel stopped, just short of incredulous, but there was the hint of a pleased smile around his mouth.

“I want to go on the roller coaster. I want to kick some ass at those dart games. I want to play skeeball, and then gorge on pizza and fried Oreos,” Sam said. “And I want to do it with you, because nobody makes me happy the way you do.”

Gabriel smiled softly and started walking again. “Throw in the haunted house and it’s a deal.”

“Aw,” Sam groaned but he was grinning. “Those things are so lame.”

“You obviously haven’t been in one with the right person.” Gabriel grinned at Sam. “Play your cards right, and I’ll blow you in the House of Mirrors.”

Sam grinned. “Deal.”


Puck couldn’t believe Summer was almost over.

After Sam and Gabe had disappeared, Bobby had sprayed Dean and Cas with the hose, and the ensuing mud-fight lasted until Aunt Jody had arrived, responding to a “noise complaint.” Jody had looked at them in bewildered horror as Puck, covered in mud, reenacted the fight for her, complete with his dinosaur sound effects, and the occasional assist from Kurt.

Thankfully, Bobby had waited until he was done with his story before blasting him with the hose, saying there was no way he was tracking half the yard through his house.

The rest of the night was spent celebrating, drinking beer and eating too much pizza, and after Jody left, finally escaping to Kurt’s room for some truly spectacular holy-shit-we-saved-the-word sex.

The next day was less fun, hung-over and almost too sore to move. They stayed inside to rest and heal, venturing down to the kitchen for food, then into the study to gingerly tidy before they all collapsed in the general vicinity of the sofa to watch bad kung-fu movies and eat popcorn and ice cream, and anything else Gabriel snapped up.

The next day they cleaned the yard. The less said about that day, the better.

The following Tuesday, almost a week after they had defeated Leviathan, Puck and Kurt were in their van, windows and back door open for a breeze against the late August heat, when Kurt suddenly started and said, “oh.”

“What is it?” Puck mumbled. They were spread out on the blankets; Puck was drowsy with the heat.

“I’m supposed to be driving back to Lima in a few days.”

That woke Puck up. “Shit.” He said. He can come out here with a one way ticket, planning on buying the return from the station, and had completely forgotten that he’d have to travel. Fuck, he hated buying tickets last minute; the seats sucked.

“How’d you get out here?” Kurt asked.

“Bus,” Puck said, already dreading the return trip in this heat with that stank-ass smell. Fuuuck. “I still have to buy a ticket.”

“Oh,” Kurt said. “Well, in that case, you want a ride?”

Puck opened his eyes. “What?”

Kurt turned to face Puck. “Well, why spend the money on a ticket when I can drive us both back. I mean, we’re heading the same way. Just--chip in for gas food, and we’ll split the cost of the hotel room.”

Puck blinked at his boyfriend. “Hotel room?”

“What? It’s a long drive.” Kurt smirked. “And if I want to take advantage of our last day to real privacy before we’re back in Loser Lima...” Kurt trailed off, shrugging one shoulder with exaggerated delicacy.

“I like that plan,” Puck said. “I am on board with that plan. It’s a great plan.”

Kurt grinned and leaned in to kiss Puck. “I thought so.”

The Winchesters left the next day the same way they came, blasting ACDC and on the trail of their next Hunt. It wasn’t a long goodbye, filled with, as Kurt said later, “manly posturing and machismo to hide the bitter sweet sting of goodbye.” Puck was pretty sure that meant that they had to leave before Dean started to cry. They had promised to let Puck or Kurt know if they would be near Lima in the next year, and Puck was looking forward to it.

Dean drove, like always, but with Cas in the passenger seat. Sam was spread out in the back, and as they passed through the newly repaired gates, Puck was pretty sure he saw Gabriel wave back at them through the rear window.

The last few days were filled with packing, making sure that they each had everything. Puck returned Jody’s bike, making sure he had everything from her place before she drove him back to Bobby’s. Jody stopped him as he made his way to the car, and pulled him in for a tight hug.

“Stop by whenever you want,” Jody said. “And call me if you mom gets crazy.”

Puck snorted. “Then I’ll never be off the phone.” He ducked his head. “But thanks.”

When they arrived at the yard, Kurt was standing next to his car, the Nav already packed with their things. He was still dressed in simple jeans and a single white tee-shirt, but they were more form fitting than they had been, and there was a gold design on his left shoulder. But the new clothes only showed how much Kurt had changed, the new strength in his arms, the shape of his jaw. Puck was one lucky guy.

Puck climbed out of the car, and went to greet his boyfriend, pushing him against the car. Kurt smirked at him and Puck had to kiss it away; after all, he had a rep to keep.

“You boys got everything,” Bobby asked, rounding the car. “Oh, balls,” he said, and they broke apart.

“We have everything,” Kurt said.

“Good,” Bobby said, “Here.” He handed Puck a large envelope. In it were two cell phones, matching fake ids declaring them FBI, and a stack of business cards.

“Bobby?” Puck asked.

“You’re Hunters now,” He shrugged. “Use ‘em sparingly until you graduate. The cards have the number here, and the phones are programmed with here, Sam, Dean, and Cas.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” Puck said.

Bobby shrugged. “Thank me by graduating and not gettin’ dead.”

“Deal,” Kurt said, and hugged Bobby. Bobby looked surprised, but hugged back.

“Drive safe.” Bobby said.

“Will do,” Kurt said, and backed away.

Bobby looked at Puck. “You don’t have to hug me.”

“‘s Cool.” Puck said, and hugged Bobby anyway. Bobby just sighed, and patted Puck’s back. They climbed into the Nav, and Kurt drove them down the drive, and on to Lima.

Once on the highway, Kurt rested his hand on the center console, and Puck reached down to take it, twining their fingers together. Senior Year was gonna rock.

Epilogue: Carry on My Wayward Son

Date: 2012-06-12 08:23 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I loved this So Much<3
I really Did<3
Favorite Fic Ever<3

Date: 2012-06-12 04:57 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
mission: accomplished. :D


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