The night was starless. Dark and silent. The junkyard oddly peaceful, a stark contrast to what Dean was feeling. Never had he felt so defeated and so completely alone. He was done, completely and absolutely and he didn't know how to come back from it.
"Please…I can't…I need some help…Please," he whispered through his tears his eyes skyward as he prayed for someone, anyone to come and fix it all. Make it not his problem or burden, make Sam better, make life normal, make him forget. Make it…over.
He didn't expect and answer. Not really. But how he desperately needed one. He was shattering and for once he didn't know how to stop it.
He waited.
Several minutes passed before he was answered. A slight breeze. Silence. Nothing.
He waited.
More time. The breeze continued. Silence answered.
With a self-deprecating laugh, he looked at the bottle of whiskey in his hand with disgust and hurled it away from him hard and strong. It smashed into an old junker off in the distance. The shatter of glass offering him a small sense of satisfaction, only to steal his mirth when he knew that whiskey bottle was him.
He wiped angrily at the tears slowing drying on his cheeks and tried to find a way to gather enough strength to return to his brother, and pretend to be strong enough to continue on. He needed to be strong enough for Sammy if nothing else.
But even the thought of Sam wasn't enough anymore. Instead, he sank to the ground and let the cold hard ground permeate this skin make his body as numb as the rest of him.
So deep into his own despair, he took him too long to realize that he was no longer alone. The small figure stood back in the shadows, just enough to hide the being, but not the presence. It watched him with silent curiosity. Dean jumped to his feet, reflexively defensive against whatever he was about to face. He squinted and tried to get a better look at what had joined him. It wasn't familiar, not Cas or Bobby. It was too small and it felt…different…than anything he'd ever been around before.
"What the hell do you want?" he called, when the figure moved no closer, sticking to the shadows, watching him. He could feel its eyes boring into him. It pissed him off, at least, until it spoke.
The voice wasn't what he's expected, and rocked him back, knocking him off guard. It was soft, feminine, and sad, "You called. I am here."
His heart skipped pounding painfully in his chest. The belief he couldn't swallow, lodged painfully in his throat. "Who are you?"
She came into view then. Small and fragile in appearance, but Dean knew differently. He could feel the power, the heat, the strength radiating from her. It did nothing to ease him. She stood at average height, her long blond hair mused by the slight breeze of the night as it played around her soft features. Her blue eyes, bright and almost painful to look into. Dean found himself staring into them anyway.
"You know the answer to that question, Dean. You just chose not to believe."
"You're God?" his voice cracked with incredulity. She nodded.
"You're God?" She nodded again, patiently, with amusement in her eyes.
"God?" Again, she nodded patiently. "You?" Another nod.
"You're a hot chick."
She laughed lightly and shook her head. "I am all creatures. I am all beings. This one just happened to be closed enough and willing to say yes."
"She's a vessel? God needs permission?" he let the skepticism and sarcasm drip from his voice, uncaring of his tone, or "God's" reaction.
"I do not need permission, I chose to ask for it. It seems impolite to use someone's body without their permission. Would you not agree?" She stared at him, looking amused at his confusion.
"I suppose if you're into meat suit wearing etiquette," he quipped, his self-defensive sarcasm falling comfortably into place.
To his surprise, the little woman in front of him let out an appreciative laugh. "You are quite crazy."
"It's been said." There was silence for several moments while Dean's eyes searched over the small woman before him. She looked human and too delicate, but it was her eyes that betrayed what lie beneath the surface.
He'd dealt with enough supernatural things in his life that he quickly shook off the shock of seeing God as an attractive woman and let all his anger poor into his words. "I thought you were dead! So if you aren't dead and you are God, where the hell have you been in all of this?!" he screamed at Him, stalking forward to tower over the tiny woman that housed the essence of God. Dean's clenched his fists tightly in an effort not to pummel her pretty innocent face with his sudden fury, knowing that it would be useless, and ultimately painful if he did.
"I have always been here. I sent Castiel to pull you from perdition. I pulled you and Sam from Lucifer's grasp. I resurrected Castiel after Raphael destroyed him. But, you did not ask me here to accuse me of all that is wrong in the world. Did you?"
He glared at Him, wanting to scream his denial and refusal, wanting to make Him understand.
"Dean," His voice was soft, too understanding. He wanted to hit Him so he wouldn't have to hear that sound in his head. When the woman's warm hands touched his face, Dean felt His power and found himself kneeling without realizing he was doing it. The warmth filling him, making him feel whole in a way he hadn't felt in year, since before his trip to hell. It was overwhelming.
"Is it true?" Dean asked.
Those unreal blue eyes stared down at him, unblinking but not unkind. "What part are you referring to?"
"Am I destined to be Michael's sword? Is Lucifer going to wear Sam to the prom? Should we just say yes and get it over with? Let the main event begin?" The shame he felt from the words was too much. Dean lowered his eyes and steeled himself for the answer to the next question, "Is free will just an illusion?"
"Dean, Dean, Dean," His voice still soft and soothing, but now full of disbelief. "After all this, and everything you've done, is that what you believe?" He did look at Him then, surprise apparent on his face.
"All the angels, every last damn one of them, Michael, Lucifer, Zachariah, even Cas, they said that it was our destiny. From Cain and Abel to me and Sammy, we can't avoid it," his voice cracked with his defeat, but he continued, "You set this all up for this moment…why?"
"Oh Dean," He said as He sank to His knees and pulled Dean's face so he had to look up. "What would be the point of creating humanity, if I determined their fate? Why would I cherish the humans so if I knew how it would all end for each of them?"
"But…free will…it's an illusion. The angels – they lied?" Dean looked surprised, despite knowing just how deceptive angels could be.
"They did not lie."
"But you said," Dean stammered, not understanding.
"You misunderstand. Think of it this way, if they believe it to be true, then it is not a lie to them." He let the words sink, watching the understanding dawn on him. He smiled softly.
"There is always free will," He continued. "Just as my angels do what they do now, it is and has always been free will. They believed that I favored humans among all my creations, so I gave the angels what they wanted most: Freedom from what they believed to be the restrictions of heaven. Look at what they have wrought when given the chance to do as they will."
"So what you're saying," Dean swallowed hard, not wanting to believe, not knowing if he could muster up the hope needed so that he could do want he needed to do.
"There is always a choice," He finished for him, when it was apparent that Dean couldn't wrap his mind around the concept.
"So Sammy and I, and a rouge angel…," Dean stopped. He felt himself falling back into that bottomless pit of despair at the thought, "Us against them." Free will is great, except when the odds are stacked so completely and utterly against the three of them coming out on top. It was still hopeless.
He sighed at the man before Him, took his hands in His and stood. Pulling Dean to his feet He looked into his face and smiled. "What you fail to understand, what you have always failed to understand, is what you are able to accomplish. Do you not how important you are?"
Dean stared bleakly into those impossible blue eyes. That was a blue no human eyes could ever have, he thought absently. God had come to him, but he still felt nothing but hopeless despair. He didn't want to hear that he was important. He didn't need anymore weight on his shoulders. His feet suddenly became very interesting and a great way to avoid those all knowing eyes. What could he accomplish when he felt so empty? His shame was almost too much; he wanted to sink into the ground to get away everything. This help wasn't exactly what he had in mind.
"I cannot stay much longer, or this body will feel the effects," He released his hands, and Dean felt the absence immediately, throughout his entire being but couldn't muster the courage to look at the girl…God again. It was too painful.
That soft voice continued, "But allow me to leave you with this thought. Of everything you have done, of all the things you have seen, how can you negate what you invoke in others. Sam would do anything for you. Anything. An angel gave up heaven to help you. There are others that will help in that last moment, those that you cannot even imagine. You must believe in yourself Dean, because there are others that believe in you in ways that you cannot imagine. The choice…is yours. Say yes. Say no. Kill them all. Save them all. They will follow you because of what you have done and what you can do. Believe in that and know that with that passion, comes a faith that is truly incredible. You are broken and hurt, but you are not lost. Let them help you and then you choose your path."
She stood before him for several heartbeats, watching as he took in the words. Then, before taking the vessel back home, God said once more, just to push the point home. "You. Choose."
He knew she -God- was gone without ever lifting his eyes. The warmth and strength once again leaving him feeling as cold and empty as ever. Only this time, there was something else.
Hope.