Dean Winchester Is Saved
Season 4 from God's perspective.
12.14.12 / dedicated to the families of those affected by the Newtown, CT shooting.
Dean Winchester was saved. Dean Winchester Was Saved. Dean Winchester was SAVED. He wasn't resurrected. He wasn't brought back from the dead. He was gripped tight and raised from perdition, he was saved. Because Hell was so horrifying, so brutal, that he needed saving. He was so important that angels from heaven were sent to his rescue, Castiel of Thursday fought through those fiery depths to save him. And when Castiel of Thursday found that man, he cried a cry that echoed through heaven, a holy shotgun heard 'round the world. It woke me from a slumber, a hiatus from my reign. He cried it with such force that he reawakened Anna Milton's connection to the angels, one that should've been long gone. "Dean Winchester is saved."
Dean Winchester was so important that I took notice. I came out of the depths of my own making for this man, this boy. This tiny human with the world on his shoulders. Dean Atlas Winchester.
But he was only saved in the flesh. He'd spent his entire life as Daddy's Blunt Little Instrument, having been raised for nothing but killing, for defending his little brother, for cleaning up his father's messes. He'd been told he was worthless from the night his mother died, and no matter what he did, he came to know that he could do nothing to change that. So he grew complacent, accepting the fact that he was simply taking up space. Even when I proclaimed him the savior, he said no, find someone else, I am nothing. Even when the heavenly chorus sang his name, even when my soldier Castiel marked him as property of heaven itself, Dean Winchester deemed himself unworthy. Deep down in his soul, all I could find was this dark, bleary emptiness. All I could see was darkness. All I could hear were the lamentations of this empty man, mourning his failures, his father's failures, a torrent of pain and misplaced self-loathing.
And then, I found love. Abundant, never-ceasing love. Love that had burdened him since before he knew the difference. Love that had sent him to hell and love that had brought him back. Love that would save the world. Love that hurt, more than any torture, any demon. This love, this… pain.
I felt this pain.
And I cried.