A/N: Hey gang! Guess what? I'M GRADUATED FROM COLLEGE. Hooray! Now on to law school in the fall! What this means for you at home is that I now have a significant amount of time on my hands. So, you can expect more fic from me in the future. I just wrote this little one-shot as a kick-starter to get back in the flow of things.

This story is AU, and what you need to know is: 1) Cas and Dean are regular ol' humans, living in a pretty pedestrian world, except 2) there's a giant meteor heading towards Earth and it's gonna kill e'erbody. I just wanted to write a fic about these characters facing an apocalypse that they aren't right at the center of. Instead, they're the essentially the extras in some Armageddon-style movie and have to deal with the oncoming cataclysm. I was also recently inspired by The Kiss of the Spider-Woman, which is a really interesting novel about a gay guy and a straight guy surviving prison together, and the author throws out the idea that sex isn't always about sexual orientation. I wanted to play with that.

You know, one of these days I'm going to actually write you guys some fluffy senseless comedy. That's mah roots, you know. Really! There was a time I wouldn't touch drama with a ten-foot pole! *sigh* One day, I swear it. One day.

Anyways, enjoy the fic and please review. I love reviews. If you review, I'll send you a magical winged unicorn made of all the sunshine and happiness and joy that Supernatural viewers forsake when they join the fandom in favor of darkness and angst and demonblood. Supplies are limited, so hurry and place your order now!

Aaand off we go.

It was Wednesday night. On Wednesday afternoon, the scientists had announced that they were pretty sure the world was ending. The president was currently on the television apologizing to the nation with slow, solemn words, and Dean was about eight shots deep but even he didn't miss the careful way the man strung his phrases together as he absolved himself and the scientists of blame. There is nothing we can do now, he said, but pray.

A car alarm blared outside the bar, accompanied by the sound of shattering glass, and Dean laughed out loud.

"What's so funny?" the bartender asked, taking another swig off the bottle of Smirnoff.

"We're supposed to pray," Dean said, unable to stop grinning. "We're supposed to pray to the god that hurled a giant-ass meteor at us. Because maybe, just maybe, he'll change his mind if we ask nicely."

The bartender shrugged. "Hey. If there's even ten righteous men in Sodom…."

Dean squinted. "What?"

"He's referencing Genesis." Sometime when he wasn't looking, a gravelly-voiced stranger had sat down at the stool on Dean's right.

The bartender snapped his fingers and pointed them smugly at the stranger. "Bingo, Constantine. Can I get you anything?"

Dean snuck a covert look at the man, glancing at him sideways. His dark hair had been raked back by a careless hand, and his baggy trenchcoat sagged around him, and his sad eyes and his five o'clock shadow breathed such a familiar scent of neglect that Dean had a funny feeling the guy had woken up this morning on someone's couch instead of a bed.

Then again, everyone else in the bar kinda looked that way too. They had all aged five years in the ten hours since the announcement.

"I would like some liquor," the man said. "Hard liquor. Whatever you have left."

The bartender nodded. "Cuervo it is. Comin' right up."

On the television, they kept playing footage of the brave team that had been dispatched yesterday to destroy the asteroid, dispatched in secret by a government trying to suppress inevitable panic by sending gag orders to all the top astronomers and cloistering them in secret facilities for months before the event. The brave team gazed grimly at the cameras, unwilling to smile cooperatively, smart enough to know that this footage would only be shown after many, many things went wrong.

The stranger turned to Dean. "My name is Castiel," he said. "I thought you should know that in case we die."

Dean arched one eyebrow. "In case?" He shook his head. "Buddy, the world is ending. We're going to die, like it or not."

Castiel frowned and looked up at the television. "The world isn't ending. Only the west coast will be wiped out. And besides, the astronauts are still operating on the meteor."

Dean huffed incredulously. "Only the west coast. Only half of North America. Our half. No big deal." He threw back the last of his whiskey. "And you gotta be fucking naïve to think they'd tell us jack shit unless all their plans failed and there's absolutely no avoiding it. There's looting and riots and anarchy out there, and it's not because the world might end."

The bartender brought over a half-empty bottle of tequila, and dumped it in front of Castiel with a shot glass and a handful of limes. "Feliz navidad, compadre," he said. "It's on la casa."

Dean gestured one hand toward the bartender. "Exhibit A: free booze. A sure sign of the apocalypse." He tapped his empty shot glass on the bar. "Can I get some Jack over here?"

The bartender crossed his arms thoughtfully. "You finished off the last of the Jack. But I do have some Chivas Regal in my personal stash upstairs…"

"Whatever," Dean cut in. "Just make it snappy."

The bartender glared. "Don't get uppity with me or I'll cut you off." He swiped his vodka bottle haughtily and headed toward the back room.

Castiel did a shot, then grimaced. He looked back over at Dean. "What was your name?" he asked.

"Dean Winchester." He took the bottle and poured some tequila in his glass. "What's your story of tragedy and woe?"

Castiel stared at him blankly. "I don't have a story."

Dean chuckled. "Dude. Everyone here has a story. You notice how there's only five of us? We've got imminent doom hanging over us and instead of being with our loved ones, we're in some shitty bar trying to drink ourselves to death before the meteor gets us." He jerked his chin towards the other lonelyhearts in the bar. "Larry over there is homeless, Bryan just got out of prison. I only got one person left in the world, my brother, and he's in fucking New York thank fucking Jesus. So what's your deal?"

Castiel took another shot, choked on it, and then gasped, "I'd rather not go into it."

Dean felt a strange buzzing in his forehead, and he leaned into the reassuring wood of the bar, a little towards Castiel, and he said slowly, "Well, there's at least a reason you came here instead of popping by the quick-mart for a sixpack."

Cas gazed at him then, serious deep eyes and five o'clock shadow, neglect, a face that begged to lean into a soft hand. "I suppose… I thought I might find some company."

Dean blinked, and the buzzing turned into a jab of alarm. He quickly leaned back. "I'm straight."

Cas furrowed his eyebrows, confused. "What?"

Dean wiped a hand down his face, tried to ignore the tightening of his skin under Cas's gaze. "Sorry, it's just that I'm not really up to bullshitting pleasantries, so I'm cutting to the chase. Not interested."

Cas's mouth tightened, and he looked away, and he said, "I wasn't propositioning you. That's not what I meant."

Dean nodded thoughtfully, making a considering face. "Welllll, you kinda did."

Cas didn't reply, just flushed pink and poured himself another shot.

"Dude, don't worry about it." Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "We're all stepping up to the gallows here, so… Don't waste time lying to yourself. If you wanna spend your last evening gettin' some strange, there ain't nothin' wrong with that." He cracked a smile.

Cas shot him a sidelong glance, then threw back his shot. He swallowed it loudly, then muttered under his breath, "I didn't know it until I saw you."

Dean frowned, and opened his mouth, and then –

Breaking news! Breaking news! The television interrupted to inform them that they had officially lost contact with the astronaut team. All transmissions had ceased, and according to the instruments their shuttle had lost power. Sadly, mankind's last hope had failed. The meteor would strike the earth in fifteen minutes.

Outside, several gunshots went off. A second later, a chorus of sirens rose up, and screaming crowds flooded into the streets.

Bryan stood up from his booth and threw his glass to the ground, and it shattered magnificently across the floor. "Fuck this!" he shouted. "I can't take it!" He stormed out the door.

The bartender had reappeared in time for the broadcast, and now he threw the Chivas on the ground dramatically, but the heavy glass bottle simply cracked with a dull thud on the dented hardwood and seeped quietly. "Yeah!" he shouted. "Fuck all y'all! I'm getting outta here!" He brandished his vodka valiantly and charged out the door. "To anarchy!"

And Dean stood up from his bar stool, feeling a need to share the moment. The world tilted slightly and he felt that same disinterested fuck this, fuck it all and at the same time an electric charge of dizzying freedom, so he turned to Castiel and said, "So. Wanna go upstairs and bang?"

Castiel's cheeks flushed deep pink, but it could have been the liquor. "I thought you were straight."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I know. But the world's ending and I don't see any women around here. A body's a body at this point, and I for one would like to get in one more orgasm before I go. Let's at least jerk each other off."

Castiel's eyes widened, and his adam's apple bobbed.

"C'mon," Dean wheedled. "We've got fifteen minutes to fuck."

Cas seemed flash-frozen to the spot, unable to move.

So Dean resorted to a dirty, dirty trick that he'd perfected from years of wooing suggestible women into his bed. He stepped close to Cas until they were breathing the same warm air, reached over and put a hand on his knee, and pushed it slowly up to his thigh and squeezed. Then he murmured low and husky in his ear, "Please."

Castiel got down off of his barstool, and after a second of hesitation he took a long pull of the tequila.

Dean smirked. "That's the spirit."

….

So that's how they ended up in what Dean could only assume was the bartender's break room, falling unevenly into the old sofa as Dean pushed Cas down and tasted the whiskey in his own breath. Cas watched him, unnervingly wide-eyed, his chest rising and falling, his fingers digging into the flat dingy cushions.

The silence in the room was deafening. They could hear every muffled screech of tires outside, every distant shout and shot, and it only made the room seem quieter. Dean could swear he could hear a heart beating, thudding rabbit-fast and painful, but he wasn't sure if it was Castiel's or his own. He took a deep breath and took off his belt, straddled Cas and unbuckled him. "I've never done this," he said, "so let's just make it quick. We don't have much time."

Cas nodded and loosened his tie, and Dean realized belatedly the guy was still wearing his coat. He remembered somewhere in the caramel-colored fog of his mind that if this was a girl he'd undress her first, and a sudden wave of icy anxiety washed over him. I'm about to do this. I'm really gonna do this. He made himself stop thinking and just yanked down Cas's fly and licked his palm and made the plunge, and Cas reached up with shaky hands and did the same, and Dean exhaled a long, heavy breath that felt like he'd been holding it in for years. His body trembled with the sudden sensation of Castiel's hand and he let his head fall forward onto Cas's shoulder, gasped quietly into his neck, and tried to match rhythms.

They continued that way for a few minutes, the springs of the couch creaking every so often. Someone outside wailed and then faded into the indistinguishable noise.

Dean started to breath heavier, and his movements became jerkier, and he could feel his stomach knotting up and at the same time there was a great, terrible hollow growing inside him, expanding like a balloon in his gut, filling him up with emptiness and silence and regret, and instinctively he raised his head and looked to Cas.

He had his chin upturned towards the ceiling, and eyes squeezed shut, his mouth a hard line but his nostrils flaring with the effort of catching his breath.

"Hey," Dean said. "You okay?"

Cas's adam's apple bobbed. "No."

Dean stopped. "What is it?"

Cas shook his head minutely. "Nothing. You're close. C'mon."

"No." Dean stilled his hand forcibly. "No, what's wrong?"

Cas opened his eyes then, and stared at the ceiling. "I'm sorry, it's just that it's all so incredibly awful."

Dean jerked back, stung. He pulled back and rolled off him, sat heavily next to him. "Thank you. Wow. Please, don't sugarcoat it."

Cas continued without listening. "The world is ending, and people are killing each other in the streets, and –" He chuckled bitterly. "Here I am, in my final hour, getting jerked off by a straight stranger above a bar next to an empty pizza box, and I can't…" He closed his eyes again, but softly this time, with resignation. "This is the first time in two years I've been with someone. And I'm suddenly, appallingly aware of how pointless it is."

Dean understood then, and he sighed. "Divorce?"

Cas pursed his lips. "I'm a widower."

Dean blinked. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

They sat there, silent, exposed and dwindling.

"Dude." Dean sat up. "Why the hell did you agree to this?"

Cas turned his head, and gave him a long, open gaze, and all the neglect was laid bare in his face. "I didn't want to be alone."

Something in Dean's heart clenched tight.

And before he realized it he was leaning forward and kissing Castiel on the mouth, and unbuttoning his shirt, and the surprised man made a soft noise into his mouth that Dean knew was a question.

"I'm terrified, and alone," Dean said, sliding off Cas's tie. "And I don't want to die empty. So, let's you and me, let's make this – not pointless, okay?"

Cas's eyes were wild, and he was already breathing heavy again, his chest pumping up and down. "But you're straight."

Dean tugged his t-shirt over his head, and tossed it in the corner. "That's not what this is about." He slid his hand up Cas's exposed chest, just feeling, and he looked at him, really looked at him inch by inch, and when he made it up to his face he met Cas's eyes. "I want to die caring about something."

And this time, the room felt crowded and noisy with their grunts and moans and needy whines, and they writhed frantically in the small humid breakroom as an orange glow of starfire bled through the blinds. The meteor, lighting the night with a false dawn, about to ignite the atmosphere; and here they were burning up, friction heat and tequila blood bursting into flame. "Do you think – we'll beat it?" Dean panted, so close he could barely speak.

Cas answered with a hand raked down Dean's back, and a long shuddering moan that seemed to well up from the pit of his body.

Dean followed shortly after, toes curled and gasping, unable to hold himself up anymore and collapsing on top of Castiel.

They laid together and watched the light through the blinds grow brighter and brighter.

"Do you think we should turn on the news?" Dean asked.

Cas shook his head lazily and draped his arm around Dean.

"The end of the world," Dean whispered. There is nothing we can do now but pray.

They had to squint now, the light shining fiercely into their eyes, and the room began to shake with a roaring that they heard in their bones.

Cas gripped Dean tight and said, "To anarchy."

And the world ended.