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the state of nature

(read on ao3)

state of nature (m); philosophical concept; the idea of a world without rules, government or laws; after t. hobbes, british philosopher: a world where humans, living without any rules, are reduced to their core desire: self-preservation, and thus being at a constant state of war in order to self-preserve.

When Dean Winchester had first heard of Purgatory, he’d imagined it as a kind of limbo, a blank space, filled with monsters who weren’t really doing anything except existing. He had heard, of course, that they were fighting, and that it certainly wasn’t a pleasant place, but he couldn’t quite grasp it, like a known information hovering in the back of his head, but never quite making it to his mental image. Dean had expected some kind of nowhere land, a foggy place with faceless creatures, somehow living yet unreal.

His expectations came nowhere near reality.

All creatures, no matter if vampire, werewolf, leviathan or human, were living in a state of constant alert; kill or be killed. In the matter or a split second, self-preservation became Dean’s number one purpose in life. It was living reduced to its core: Staying alive, the very first basic instinct of every life form existing. And everything else, every other life choice, was based on that instinct. You’re tired, you don’t sleep, you rest. You’re hungry, you get food from somewhere, even if it means killing your way there. You can’t see straight because of all the mud in your face, you may wash yourself in the lake, but stay alert. Danger is always close, and the tension of that is tangible in every single atom of Purgatory, it is the blood that runs through its veins, it is its very soul. Because self-preservation, in this place, meant killing everything and everyone that could potentially kill you first. There were no laws, no moral rules, only basic urges, instincts. It could best be described as a constant state of war, all creatures always being alert, disposed and ready to fight each other if necessary. Everyone lived in a state of fear, aggression and danger of violent death, and life was nasty, brutal, lonely and short.

The only silver lining Dean held on to, held on to so desperately that he was even more ready to kill everyone in his way rather than just for the sake of staying alive, was the thought of Cas. His angel. It was the thought that kept him going, kept him searching, kept him shouting a furious “Where is the angel?!” into every monster’s face just before chopping their heads off in lack of an answer. It was the thought of finding Cas, returning Cas safely home, being reunited, that made him bond with Benny (although that transformed into something much deeper, much more powerful later on, and Dean has never ever regretted that decision, because Benny was so much more than just a team member or a helpful tool, but a confidant, a friend, a brother.)

And when they finally found Cas, alone, at the end of his powers, but alive, hunched over at the rim of Purgatory’s dirty, dirty lake, Dean was primarily overcome with emotions, things he thought he’d never experience again: happiness, relief, joy, a warm flooding sensation in his stomach he couldn’t quite understand, maybe the final absence of guilt and desperation after a long, long time. It made him feel all those things and even more, a strange, slow, burning sensation that could be described as power. Because with Cas and Benny by his side, Dean had something that the other creatures down here didn’t have: Something worth fighting for, the chance of more than just surviving, but actually getting out of here. It made him work, encouraged him, that feeling of power, a firm bond between the three of them, the feeling of a little bit of friendship and love in this brutal, lonely place.

The feeling of loss that followed came like a hit to the gut, like a punch in his stomach by a powerful invisible fist, responsible only the small crucial slip of a cool angel’s hand out of Dean’s warm, blood-spangled one and a last look in his angel’s desperate eyes.

Because Purgatory was a battlefield, and battlefields mean wars won, but people lost.

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