Sam didn’t look for Dean. Not this time. And Dean hadn’t really expected it, or even wanted it, once he’d settled into the idea.
And Dean made a protest of this very fact, but the truth was, it didn’t bother him as much as he had to make loud protests about it as a matter of course.
There was something pure about Purgatory. Something dark and pure. No demons in sight, so Dean was able to stand and fight harder and stronger than he ever had when he was Below. And of course there was always the fact that he’d met his match.
He never wanted to forget Benny, even for a second. Finding him, it was the first time he thought really and truly maybe he could get out of the game, be his own person, live his own life.
He would do anything to sustain that feeling. He would do anything for his blood brother in the darkened shades of Purgatory.
He had found his happiness somehow, standing beside a monster as a brother, perhaps just the way he had always had it after all.
Benny felt like home, and the way that he held Dean as they rested between moments in the never-ending onslaught could send him straight out of Purgatory and to the moon.
He imagined getting out of there with Benny, knowing by now Sam wasn’t coming for him at all, knowing it in his bones (and he didn’t blame Sam, exactly, he knew they were both tired, and that it wouldn’t matter, it wouldn’t matter if there was Benny.)
Maybe topside or whatever he’d call it this time, he might feel differently. He might remember Benny’s true nature and not be able to deal with it. But when he was in Benny’s arms, he didn’t care. When he thought of all the ways the story could go from here, he didn’t care. He could grow old with the one who fought by his side. Fought by his side.