Author's Note:
The Meta Testament takes place immediately after Season 9's "The Meta Fiction" episode. For my purposes I'm ignoring the Gadreel and Abaddon story lines.
"The First Blade locates and opens the stairway to Heaven?" Dean scowled as he stepped over the debris littering the hall's floor.
Sam swept his flashlight's beam behind them. The sound had probably only been a startled rat.
The Book Tower was an abandoned skyscraper of slowly crumbling Gothic majesty, looming over the heart of Detroit. Ever since they'd broken in and ascended the cracked stairs strewn with fragments of broken plaster and shreds of peeled paint, Sam had felt the burlap-wrapped First Blade he gripped to his chest shuddering with urgency like a divining rod. There was an alarming absence of graffiti, trash, or any other evidence of human activity throughout the building. The place was thick with a spiritual miasma, which apparently warded off trespassers. Sam wondered how many uneasy ghosts occupied the dark, damp rooms.
Dean's impatience grew with every step. His agreeing that Sam should hold the Blade didn't mean he liked the idea. "Why didn't you know this before, Cas?"
"Because," said Castiel, his dry voice scraping the darkness, "before his," Cas hesitated to say the word, "death, Kevin only recently discovered and translated the lore of the First Blade and its relationship to the secret entrance to Heaven."
"Where did he find that lore again?" asked Dean. He knew. But his present irritation was goading him to be even more irritated.
Castiel muttered, "On the back of the Angel Tablet."
"Right." Dean snorted. "So we bust our humps getting the damn thing and no one thought to turn it over and look at the back?"
"Kevin was stressed," said Sam, watching Dean carefully.
The door at the end of the hall was plain and wooden, with a tarnished brass knob and hinges. Judging by its state, no one had given it a thought for decades, if ever.
"So I asked the Blade to lead us to the hidden portal to Heaven and here we are." With his boot Dean shoved aside the detritus and explored the door with his flashlight. "Tell me why no angel has ever found this before?"
"The secret entrance to Heaven has been hidden in shadow for millennia," said Castiel, a bit defensively. "But we have flashlights." He clicked his light off and on to demonstrate how dark it was without artificial light. Aiming it at the door he revealed a small, square, brass sign with black marks.
"Is that Enochian?" asked Sam.
Castiel nodded.
Dean grunted. "Well? You gonna translate or are we supposed to read your mind?"
"You aren't able to read my mind, Dean. Not unless the Blade is providing you with-"
"What's it say, Cas?!"
The angel read aloud. "THE FIRST BLADE ALONE SHALL UNLOCK THIS HEAVEN." He paused. "P.S. DON'T LET THE CAT OUT."
"Cat?" said the Winchesters.
"Actually it says 'FELINE,' but in your vernacular it means domestic cat."
"I thought there were no animals in Heaven?" said Sam.
"There aren't. Animals have their own Heaven." Cas paused again. "It's very loud."
Dean reached for the burlap. "Gimme."
"Dean…"
"What? You think I'm gonna Hulk out?"
Castiel shone his light on Dean. "I didn't know the Blade had that effect. How do your pants manage to not rip off when you suddenly grow ten times your normal size?"
"Shut up, Cas," said Dean.
"Are they stretchy denim?"
"You're getting grabby about the Blade," Sam said to Dean. "I see your hand twitch whenever we bring it out, even if it's wrapped."
Dean snorted a laugh. "You think I can't control myself? You don't trust me?"
"Yeah, absolutely I trust you…except when I don't. Listen, I don't trust the Blade. It's like it's trying to dig its claws in you."
"Aw, c'mon. Look." First raising his hands to show that he wasn't being grabby, Dean took the wrapped weapon from his brother as if it were only burlap and nothing more. He hesitated. His eyes crossed. He crouched as if he were in pain, clutching the parcel to his chest and petting it while he squeaked and drooled. "Oooo, precious! My precious!"
Sam grabbed the bundle while Dean laughed and wiped the spittle from his chin with the back of his hand. "It's not funny!"
"Dammit, Sammy, you think I'm gonna turn into some dehydrated hobbit wearing a loincloth!"
Castiel sighed. "Hobbits aren't real, Dean."
"I know, Cas, we've been over that."
"I firmly believe those stories were metaphors for Tolkien's experience in World War One and Two. Hobbits are a mixture of romanticized down-to-earth rural Englishmen and rabbits."
"Yes, Cas, we know," said Sam.
"So let's open the door and gank Metatron already." Dean held his hand out for the Blade. Sam unwrapped it but held the ancient weapon's grip with the burlap, glaring at it.
"If you don't trust me with it, you do it!" Dean snapped.
Castiel grabbed the burlap and the Blade.
"Whoa, hey!" cried Sam. "What might happen when an angel holds it?"
"It's what Cain used to kill Abel," said Dean. "Think it'd be off-limits to the Holy Host."
Castiel shined his light on the weapon and squinted, inspecting it with analytical curiosity. "I know. I remember Gabriel told me about it when it happened. 'Hey, guess what those crazy bipedal primates just learned how to do? Kill each other! Dad'll be so proud.' I believe that was when Gabriel invented sarcasm. It being new the rest of us didn't understand sarcasm. Gab sulked for days. Which he also invented."
"Well, it's pure evil," Sam emphasized. "Even if you don't have the Mark, maybe you shouldn't touch it."
"Don't worry, I came prepared." Cas reached into the right pocket of his trench coat and pulled out a small, damp square of white cloth.
"Handi-Wipes will protect you?" said Dean.
"They're anti-bacterial." The angel dropped the burlap from the knife and wiped the handle with the Handi-Wipe. He wadded it up and looked around.
"What are you looking for?" asked Sam.
"Waste basket."
"What?"
Castiel shone his light on a smaller sign bolted to the wall next to the door. "NO LITTERING. HAVE A NICE DAY. GOD."
Dean huffed. "Stuff it in your pocket!"
"I can't."
"Good god, why not?"
"My gum's in there."
"I've never seen you chew gum!"
"And I've never seen you use the bathroom. There are just some things you keep private." Castiel opened his hand. He muttered Latin over the scrunched cleaning cloth lying in his upturned palm. It burst into flames and dissipated in white smoke.
"Did you just exorcise a Handi-Wipe?" Sam asked incredulously.
"It was dirty."
"Unlock the door, Cas!" said Sam impatiently.
"Stick it in already!" Dean demanded.
"Isn't that a line from one of your Casa Erotica videos?" asked Cas.
Dean grabbed the Blade, rammed it into the lock, and turned it with a grunt. Air gasped around the door, which was then outlined with pure white light. Dean put his shoulder to the wood, Sam pushed with both hands above him, and the door slowly inched inward.
The Winchesters shielded their eyes from the radiant light. Castiel stood in awe, his mouth parted, his eyebrows forming confusion. Dean tried to yank the Blade from the keyhole but it refused to budge. Of its own accord the door swung shut behind them, locking the Blade on the other side and beyond their reach.
Slowly, their eyes adjusted to the light. They heard music.
Sam tilted his head, listening. He laughed. "It's the Blues! I thought Heaven would be full of Lawrence Welk muzak!"
"Naw, that's Hell," said Dean. He shuddered from the memories.
The room was about the size of a garage or a finished basement, and resembled a composite of both. A string of LED fairy lights ran along the ceiling, illuminating walls plastered with posters from what looked to be every Blues, Rock and Metal band that had ever had a poster. There were three lamps that looked like they came directly from the '70s, with tall, beige cloth shades, one seated on the floor, one on a three-legged end table of questionable stability, and one on a large amplifier.
There, on two large, side by side, threadbare Persian carpets, Crowley, the King of Hell, in a black suit with a red lapel carnation, was energetically playing a drum set.
Next to him, sitting on folding chairs, were Gabriel the archangel, in jeans and a moss-green, long-sleeved t-shirt with a picture of a toadstool, which read I'm a Fungi, his fingers nimbly manipulating the strings of an electric guitar, and a young black man in brown trousers, white shirt, and suspenders, strumming an acoustic guitar while a cigarette dangled from his lips.
The young man spotted them first. He stopped playing. The cigarette fell from his mouth. "Oh, that ain't right."
Crowley and Gabriel stopped in mid-motion. Their eyes widened.
"BOLLOCKS." With a snarl Crowley smashed the cymbal with a drumstick and spat, "Why didn't we kill you three when we had the chance?!"
"Seriously, Castiel?" sputtered Gabriel in a tone of betrayal. "Seriously?"
Castiel's mind was unable to process what he was seeing. "What...what is this?"
"This isn't Heaven?" asked Sam.
"It's Heaven," said Cas, "but not part I recognize."
Gabriel jumped up, put his guitar on the chair, and went to his brother angel, gripping his shoulders. "No, it's not Heaven. It's a hallucination. Turn around," he swiveled Castiel about-face, "go back out, go to sleep in one of those nice, cozy, bug-infested motels with suspiciously-stained mattresses the Winchesters are so fond of, and you'll wake up fresh in the morning."
"You're supposed to be dead!" said Sam.
"And so are you!" Gabriel snapped. "Several times over! But you're not and I'm not! Oopsy! Natural order of things circumvented again, so sad, bye bye!" He tried to herd the humans and the angel to the door.
Dean slipped past the archangel and approached the young man. Hi eyes were bright with reverence. "You're…you're Robert Johnson."
Robert Johnson grinned. "Busted, man."
"No, he's not." Crowley came around from behind the drum set and pointed a stick at Dean's head. "He's an illusion resulting from the many concussions you imbeciles have had over the years."
"Don't lie to the man," scolded Robert. "Y'all can't lie in Heaven."
Crowley grunted. "Read the fine print."
"I'm a big fan!" Dean stepped past the King of Hell and shook Johnson's hand.
Sam pulled an expression as if this was news to him. "No, you're not. You like Rock."
"My tastes are wide and varied," Dean stated, still shaking Robert's hand.
"No, they're not. You like Rock."
Dean released Robert, who rubbed his hand. "This man is the father of Rock!" Beaming, he told the musician, "You should hear what Eric Clapton says about you."
"OK. Never heard of him." Robert querulously glanced at Gabriel.
"Not dead yet," said Gabe.
"That explains it."
Castiel stood in one place, slowly turning and taking in the room with an expression that indicated that his brain was working very hard. "This makes no sense."
"Exactly! Which is why you have to leave!" Gabriel again tried to manhandle his brother toward the door, but Castiel stepped sideways and Gabriel almost fell past him.
Sam walked toward a doorway on the opposite side of the room. Crowley quickly blocked his way. Looking down at him, Sam asked suspiciously, "What is this, a private annex for angels and visiting scum?"
"Looks like Heaven can only afford Goodwill," said Dean.
A loud click came from the larger room, followed by voices that sounded as if they were coming from a television.
Another, human voice called, "Dudes! WordGirl's on!"
Everyone went stone silent. Crowley's upper lip twitched.
"Who is that?" Castiel demanded.
"Roaches," said Gabriel.
"Roaches who talk?" said Dean.
"It's Heaven. The bedbugs sing hallelujah and tap dance."
Sam and Dean headed for the other room with determination. With equal resolution Crowley planted himself in their path. "NO no NO!"
Robert Johnson retrieved his expired cigarette, stood up, and put it in his mouth. "Looks like y'all got some family business t'deal with. And I know better than to get in the middle of a," with both hands he formed air quotes, "'family discussion.'" He grinned at Sam and Dean. "Air quotes. Damn, wish they'd been around when I was walking the earth." To Crowley and Gabriel he said, "You want me, I'll be playing The Garden with Jimi Hendrix and Mozart." He explained to Sam and Dean, "Mozart's screwed up, but damn, he know how t'have a good time." He placed his hat on his head and vanished with a ripple of air.
Together, the Winchesters shoved aside the King of Hell.
The demon yelled at Gabriel, "You're a fucking archangel, smite them already!"
"I can't, not here!"
"Try anyway!"
Flashing silver, his angel blade slid into Gabriel's hand. He lunged toward the humans. With a swift, determined and vengeful motion Sam spun and kicked directly into the archangel's crotch.
"Apologies to the meat suit," said Sam grimly.
Collapsing into a fetal position on the rug Gabriel whimpered, "Fuuuck…"
"Not for a while," said Sam.
"That's for the Nutcracker Show, jerk!" Dean yelled over his shoulder. He asked Sam, "Why didn't we ever think of doing that before?"
They entered through the doorway. Intense light, warmer, more golden, momentarily blinded them.
Blinking rapidly, the Winchesters heard a voice, polished and professional, like an announcer's, say, "Wordgirl is brought to you by viewers like you. Thank you."
The human voice they'd heard before chuckled and yelled, "Far out, it's a Dr. Two Brains episode! Crowley, Gab, Robert, get your asses in here!"
The Winchesters' eyes adjusted. Their arms dropped. They stared. Castiel came beside them and stiffened as if he'd been hit on the back of the head with a board.
Crowley, fuming, and Gabriel, wincing, entered the room.
It looked like the large apartment of a college dropout, circa 1971. The walls were exposed brick, fronted by shelves made of two by fours stretched across cement blocks and stuffed with books ranging from mass market paperbacks to classic MAD Magazines to leather-bound tomes. A massive 24 inch screen Magnavox TV console of heavy, dark wood squatted in the center of the room. It faced a wooden coffee table of the same chunky design holding down a horror of a burnt orange shag rug, and a sofa long and deep enough that two people could sleep on it, feet to feet, if the Mud Brown, Sunset Orange and Golden Yellow stripes didn't keep them up all night.
At one end of the couch was a wicker peacock chair with an Avocado Green seat cushion; at the opposite end was a mini-fridge which seconded as an end table and a La-Z-Boy recliner of the same disturbing green shade. The couch and the recliner were mercifully muted by Granny Square Afghans of autumn colors. Ferns and spider plants dangled in macramé plant-hangers before a huge window which didn't look out at anything, but only glowed with warm, golden light, like sunshine through frosted glass.
In the corner was a small kitchenette with slightly hysterical yellow walls, countertop, refrigerator, dishwasher and stove, and hulking dark wood cabinets. If you stared at the yellow, green and brown pattern of the linoleum floor it seemed to crawl. The only sane section of the room was a wet bar in the corner, composed of a dark wood island with two tall chairs, behind which was a black countertop with a small, steel sink. The glass-front cabinets behind it were full of liquor bottles, whose dust indicated they were rarely if ever touched.
The Winchesters had seen a lot of motels rooms which defied the progression of Time and Taste, but this place was aggressively contemptuous of it. The one thing they hadn't ever seen before was the impressive collection of pop culture images of Jesus that littered the place. From lamps which lit up The Lord's glowing red heart, to a clock with a crucified Jesus whose arms told the time, to a bobble-headed Christ holding a scroll which read The Holy Land Experience, ORLANDO FL, peeking out from the middle of a fern, the number and variety were stunning, as if someone had been collecting these pieces for decades.
A man was lounging on the sofa. He wore a faded, light brown t-shirt with a yellow logo of Monty Python's Life of Brian. This clashed, though not too alarmingly, with his baggy madras shorts. Over this was a faded purple terry cloth bathrobe. His house slippers matched the robe.
The man's hair was light brown, slightly wavy and shoulder length. His beard and moustache were a bit darker. Holding an almost empty small glass Coca-Cola bottle, he grinned widely at Crowley and Gabriel. The grin collapsed when he saw the Winchesters and Castiel.
It was only then that the boys and the Angel of the Lord noticed the pale but unmistakable halo around the man's head.
"Oh," said the man on the couch. "This is so not cool."
"Lebowski?" Dean blurted.
"Aw, man, Jeff Bridges is dead!" Sam cried.
The man laughed. "Hey, they get it!" He paused and added quickly, "Wait, no, man, I'm not Jeff Bridges. But the Dude thing, I was totally going for that!"
Dean glanced at Castiel, who'd gone rigid. "Cas?"
Castiel dropped to his knees and bowed his head.
The couch man sighed. "Don't do that, man."
"Cas, are you OK?" Sam asked.
The angel's voice was gravelly. "Kneel."
"What?"
"Get on your knees before Him!" Castiel commanded.
Dean snickered. "Dude, that could be totally misconstrued."
"This is no time for your blasphemous humor!"
"My what now?" Dean tensed. "Excuse me?"
The man rose from the couch. "Castiel, man, not good. It's OK. You know, like, I don't care about that crap." He set the Coke bottle on the coffee table next to a copy of Sky & Telescope magazine. "Hey, Cas man, you missed me when I was waving to you in Ixtapa! You were, like, doing that thing you do, looking to get stoned…NO, no, looking for a stone! Or something? What the hell were you doing?"
Castiel didn't look up as he whispered, "You waved?"
"Yeah! I appeared on your tortilla, man. Well, it wasn't your tortilla, you don't eat tortillas, it was the tortilla of the guy on the stool next to you at the diner counter. You must've had some tough shit going down, you didn't even notice. But the waitress did. I hung around on the tortilla till she sold her story to the tabloids for enough money to send her kids to college." The man nodded enthusiastically. "I felt pretty good about that."
Sam broke his stare with a blink. Quietly he said, "Cas…this isn't…"
Dean beat him to it. "Jesus."
The man looked at Dean. "Yeah? Oh, wait, do you mean Jesus as in me or jesus as in generic swear word when fuck's too strong but shit's too scatological?"
Cas stuttered, "But…but…I don't...what…"
Gabriel, fully recovered, rolled his eyes. "Someone smack him, his needle's stuck."
"No one under the human age of forty-five understands that reference," Crowley reminded the archangel. "Get with the times."
"Oh. Right." Gabriel clasped his hands in front of him and said to the Winchesters, "Once upon a time there were these things called records. You played them with something called a needle, which was placed in a groove, and sometimes the needle would stick and repeatedly-"
"They're still around, shut up," snapped Dean.
Castiel continued to babble. "This doesn't…how are you…but…"
"Oh, I'll do it." Crowley soundly whacked Castiel's head.
"How is this possible?!" Cas cried to the bearded man.
"Hey, siddown." Jesus demonstrated by sitting back down on the couch. "We got ice cold beer, nachos, cheese doodles, hummus…you Buddhists? I got vegan stuff in the fridge."
Dean's eyes narrowed. His smile was dubious. "Sorry, but…you don't look like…like…"
"Like a two thousand year old Jewish carpenter," said Sam.
Jesus' head bobbed in agreement. "I can dig your doubt. Peter was the same way. Y'know, I told him not to walk on that water. They rewrote it. C'mon, Castiel, stand up, you're embarrassing the crap outta me, man."
Sam breathed in astonishment, "Jesus Christ."
"Don't take his name in vain," barked Castiel as he rose to his feet.
"He's not. C'mon, man, lighten up." Jesus asked, "What's that mean anyway? How do people take my name in vain? Does it mean vain as in vanity, because that makes no sense whatsoever, or is it vain like, uh…" He snapped his fingers as he grappled. "What's that word, it means vain but it's not vain…Where's the dictionary?"
"You're Jesus Christ, the Son of God," Sam stated.
The man's smile was reserved. "I'm Jesus, youngest son of God and a very sweet fifteen year old Jewish girl who was already betrothed to a very understanding but totally confused older Jewish dude who was my step-dad."
They stood there, silent, not moving, awash in awkwardness.
Jesus startled them by clapping his hands and rubbing them together. "So, the Lebowski thing, yeah, y'know, I was born into my own real meat suit -hate that term. Isn't that just the creepiest shit? Seriously?—anyway, so it got pretty fucked up on earth, blah blah blah, been to the theme park, got the t-shirt and the shot glass, so, yeah, it got all healed and stuff after I got out of Purgatory –." He stopped and looked at Dean. "Hey, you've been to Purgatory."
Dean's surprise that this man knew that didn't stop him from nodding.
"Sucks, doesn't it? Whose idea was that?" He stopped and grimaced. "Oh. Right. Anyway, man, I wanted a new look. I don't have much juice, being all constrained here in my," his forefingers made air quotes, "'room', but I got enough to make a few alterations. I spent about two hundred years as a woman. That was fucking amazing! Except every 28 days. OK, that's on nature, not Dad, Dad's sadistic streak is more, well, Purgatory."
Jesus dropped on his hands and knees on the shag rug and dug a pile of papers from under the coffee table. He hauled himself back on the couch and spread the papers on the table, moving aside a citrus-scented Jesus candle. "I was going through all the images of me that've been created, all the way back to, like, ancient Greece, like a catalog, y'know, trying to pick a look." He laughed and showed them a copy of The Watch Tower. "Check this out! Oh, c'mon, everybody siddown. It's so cool to have new people to talk to! Crowley, stop looking like you're gonna shit a brick."
In a fog, Sam and Dean sat on the couch on either side of Jesus. Gabriel glared at Crowley and took the La-Z-Boy. The demon sneered ruefully and sat in the wicker chair.
Castiel stood where he was, staring at Jesus.
Jesus opened The Watch Tower and indicated an illustration bright with primary colors. "Look at that. Can you believe it? That's GQ Jesus, cats. Look at that hair! It's fricking layered, man! Where were there hair salons in Jerusalem? Cas, lookit this, man, you remember those days, isn't this some crazy shit?"
The Angel of the Lord remained immobile.
Crowley leaned forward, peering at Castiel. "He's not blinking."
"He looks like a monitor lizard in a trench coat," said Gabriel.
"So anyway," Jesus continued, "I used to do a kinda Ted Neely look - y'know, from the 1971 movie of the Jesus Christ Superstar musical - that, by the way, is the closest t'how it really went down. 'Cept we didn't do all the singing and dancing." He lowered his voice intimately. "You're the only people I'm telling this, but Superstar is actually divine revelation. I appeared to Andrew Lloyd Webber. Well, he was actually high on something, or maybe he was drunk, but he thought it was all his idea."
"Did you appear to Tim Rice?" Gab asked.
"Shit, Tim Rice thinks he is God."
"This is all really fascinating, uh, Jesus," said Dean, "but could you explain –"
Jesus, having an audience, had too much momentum to stop. "Dig, yeah, but the look, I saw 'The Big Lebowski' on the tube – I get TV here in Heaven, every channel on earth, including cable, which isn't as cool as it might sound- and went, yeah, YEAH. Skip the booze and the bowling and that was what I was after!" With a satisfied smile he leaned back in the couch and spread his hands. "I decided to abide, man. I'm the Jesus. His Jesusness, Jeser, El Jesuerino. And The Jesus abides, man."
Sam's voice was tight. "No." His jaws muscles clenched. "No, he doesn't! He shouldn't!"
Jesus' eyes widened. "Whoa."
"Sam!" said Castiel with alarm.
Sam jabbed his finger at the bearded man. "The world is full of poverty and misery and," his hands flailed with frustration, then made fists to restrain themselves, "fucking monsters, and you're an old hippie watching –" He pointed at the colorful animation on the television. "What is that?!"
"Wordgirl." Gabriel was enthusiastic. "Public television kids cartoon."
"Great show, man." Jesus scooted forward and watched the screen. "The main character's a little girl of color, how often do you see that, right? She's from the planet Lexicon –get it, Lexicon?- so she has this indomitable vocabulary, it's to get kids excited about words, y'know. She fights these far out villains like Doctor Two Brains, who was a brilliant scientist and her friend until he melded with a vicious lab rat named Squeaky—"
"You're watching educational children's cartoons while the world is suffering!" yelled Sam.
Jesus nodded empathically. "That's good, man, that's righteous anger and you're owning it!"
Gabriel sunk into his chair. "Oy, this is so not good."
Dean shot up from the couch and rounded on the archangel. "This one of your tricks! One of your goddamn set-ups!"
"Yeah, I did it just for you, Deanarino, because, as always, you Winchesters are the center of the fucking universe. Pluheeze!"
"Who is this guy really?!" With both hands Dean grabbed Gabriel's shirt and hauled him to his feet. "Tell us!"
"He's my brother."
"I said I want the truth!" Dean slapped the angel, whipping his head to one side.
"He's my father," said Gabe. Dean slapped his other cheek. "He's my brother." Slap! "My father." Slap! "My brother." Slap! "He's my brother AND my father!"
Crowley fished around the nut bowl on the mini fridge. "And you think you have a dysfunctional family, Squirrel." He popped a cashew into his mouth.
"He's real, Dean." Castiel's voice creaked. "He's Jesus."
Dean pushed Gabriel away from him.
"Dudes, I am so not cool with the whole violence thing." Jesus' halo darkened slightly. "You OK, Gabe?"
Gabriel rubbed his right cheek and glared at Dean. "It beats a sharp stick in the gut."
Sam grabbed the TV remote from the coffee table, clicked off the set, and tossed the remote behind the couch. "You've got a lot of explaining to do."
"Mind your manners," Castiel ordered.
Jesus lifted his hands to signal that everything was fine. "Hey, if anyone's earned the right to righteous anger it's these cats."
"Where were you when Lucifer was freed?" Sam demanded. "Where were you when angels were killing innocent people? Where have you been?!"
"Here, man," said Jesus quietly. "Right here."
"This whole time?" asked Dean. "Over two thousand years?"
The bearded man sighed, ran his hand over his face and leaned back. With his house-slippered foot he indicated the mini-fridge. "Siddown, have a brew."
"I don't feel like drinking," said Dean as he sat.
"I want a clear head to hear this excuse," said Sam.
"Like, it's not an excuse, it's an explanation. Cas, could you unstiffen enough to sit down?"
Cas plopped like lead into a bean bag chair facing the couch. He sank until his knees were level with his squinting eyes.
"What is this place?" Sam asked Jesus.
"My Heaven. My," he formed air quotes again, "'room.' My prison."
"Prison?" said Dean. "Who would have the power to imprison the Son of God?"
"Who do you think?" said Gabriel with exasperation.
"Let's go slowly on this, Gabe," said Jesus. "There's a lotta myth-busting gotta go down."
"What are these two doing here?" Dean jutted his chin to indicate Gabriel and Crowley. "The King of Hell, of all non-people, jamming in Jesus' personal Heaven? And that asshole."
"Right backatcha," said Gabriel with a curled lip.
"You killed me over a hundred times, dude."
Jesus patted the air to indicate that tempers should lower. "All will be revealed, OK?"
"I'm not turning my back on those two."
"They can't hurt you here. They can't hurt anybody here, not even each other. This is a neutral zone. That's kinda the point why they hang around. At least have an ice cold Coke." Jesus reached around Sam and yanked open the mini fridge. "Shit, we're out." He leaned back again and glanced at Gabriel. "Are they with the order?"
"Yeah, they're coming."
Jesus rubbed his face with his hands. "Here's the deal. The part that's left out, like, from everywhere." He pointed at Castiel. "He doesn't even know. None of the angels do, man, arch or otherwise. He," this time his finger indicated Gabriel, "only knows I'm here 'cause I took him in after half-brother Lucifer skewered him." Jesus shrugged. "I had enough healing mojo to patch him up."
"Lucifer's..?" Sam hesitated. "Your half-brother?"
"Well, yeah. Think about it. No one ever thinks about that, right? I mean, we've got the same Dad." Jesus drained the last of his Coke. "Y'know, that's really why Lucifer lost it. He wasn't jealous just 'cuz Dad told him to bow down to humans. He was pissed because they got all the good stuff. Y'know, taste, touch, smell, love, lust, hatred, sorrow. He thought, 'What the hell? We're His first kids, why didn't He give that to us? All we got was obedience, jealousy, pettiness, arrogance and submission.'"
Gabriel twisted the cap off a bottle of Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill. "He's right." He poured a tablespoon of sugar and three aspirin into the bottle, capped it, shook it, and gulped down a third of it. He glared at Sam. "What? I've got a headache!"
"But, it wasn't like that," Castiel politely insisted.
"Good little soldier." Crowley chewed on a pistachio. "Daddy can never be wrong."
"Shut up, Crowley." Gabriel's voice was taut. "Don't pretend to understand my family."
"Heh. I'd like to see you make me."
"I could make you and not pay you, beeyotch."
"Stop stretching your wingspan, luv, no one's impressed."
"At least I didn't have to sell my soul to measure up. How's the equipment on the current vessel? I've heard that literary agents are pricks, but how much of one is he?"
"If you're so curious, angel cakes, I can drop trou."
"See, this is why I hang with these guys," said Jesus. "You think the apostles ever had conversations like this?"
"Crowley," said Dean, "you don't want to get in a comparison match with him."
"What? Why?"
"You'd lose," said Sam.
"Big time," said Dean. "So to speak."
"How would you know?" asked Crowley indignantly.
"Aww!" Gabriel smirked. "You guys watched all of Casa Erotica!"
"No!" said Dean.
"Not together!" Sam reddened. "I mean, no, just no!"
Dean pointed at Sam. "He watched it and told me about it!"
"Dude, you so said that you watched it too!"
Crowley dusted a pistachio crumb from his lapel. "Well, you haven't seen me, boys. I don't go shopping for a vessel unless it has all the proper accessories."
"I'm so happy for you," said Sam. "So how about we stop talking about the pricks in the room and get the answers to some questions?" His expression was no nonsense. "Jesus, God imprisoned you, is that what you're saying?"
Jesus ran his hand through his hair. He sighed. "You ever heard 'for the lord thy god is a jealous god among you, lest the anger of the lord thy god be kindled against thee, and destroy thee from off the face of the earth?' Huh? Shit, at least your dad did things with you! He wanted you guys to follow him in the family business."
With discomfort Gabriel said, "Lord, you shouldn't talk about this in front of –"
"Never tell the family secrets, right Gab? Aw, man! I thought you above all people would dig were I'm coming from! You rebelled, man. You ever realize that in Dad's opinion your rebellion wasn't that much different from Lucifer's? Ever thought what He'd've done if He was around when you did it?"
"If He'd been around I wouldn't have done it." Gabriel's voice was quiet but insistent. "Our family would've been…we would've been happy."
Jesus leaned forward. "You're saying that? Say it again with a straight face."
"Awww," said Crowley. "Gabby misses Daddy. I'd vomit but it'd be redundant."
"I am still an archangel," said Gabriel sweetly, "and even though I can't touch you here, I can fry you like bacon outside."
"Cool it, OK?" Jesus indicated Crowley and his smirk. "This is why I let this dude visit. It's family tradition, y'know? Dad used to hang with the previous Kings of Hell. You've heard of God and Satan's bet over Job, right? Dad only did it because - and this is me saying this, He'd deny it - He got bored. He couldn't talk to His fave son Lucifer anymore, for obvious, y'know, reasons, and He wanted somebody who'd challenge Him. The archangels weren't gonna tell Him stuff they knew He didn't want to hear. But a person needs that, to keep your head, y'know, straight."
Jesus indicated Crowley. "I invited him because I need some plain, honest cynicism to cut through the lies. He's got no power here, and if he did try something, well, like, I am the Son of God." He wiggled his fingers. "Really sucks to have power and no way to use it locked in my 'apartment.'"
Jesus looked at Gabriel. "I talk to you, only you, of all of Dad's First Born, because you chose the humans, man. So just because you're bathed in my fucking glory don't be a hypocrite to protect my feelings. I've got no more feelings to be hurt when it comes to the Big Guy."
Jesus stood up. He paced a bit, and then turned to the Winchesters. "Like, once upon a time Dad got really insecure. He wanted all humans to love him. But a lot of them were loving other gods, y'know? As far as Dad was concerned, humans were being insufficiently grateful. So He came up with Hell. And then He came up with me. Hell didn't exist until I did."
Castiel scowled with confusion. "But Lucifer was sent to—"
"In the old, old days, Hell was just Dad's Time Out room for disobedient angels," said Jesus. "Humans didn't go there. After death, human souls got to choose. Wanna be reborn but you don't get to choose as what? Sure I'll take a chance, give the ol' Wheel of Karma a spin. Want to explore the universe as a wave of sentient particles? Shit yeah, sounds great. Want to just reenter the circle of life as organic material that other organic material feeds on? Cool, I'm weary, gimme that. There was no judgment."
Jesus sat on the edge of the TV and crossed his arms. "Well, Dad didn't like that. Dad was all about judgment. Dad didn't want humans to have options other than you love me and do what I say and you go to a nice place or you disobey and you suffer forever."
"But, that's not how I remember it," Castiel protested lightly.
"Cas, love ya, bro, but do you really think you were in the loop on everything? Did you even know, Gabe?"
Gabriel's cheek twitched. "No. No, this is all news to me."
"Yeah. Dad had no reason to fill any of you in on His plans." Jesus looked at the Winchesters and continued, "So what do you need if you're gonna threaten your kids with punishment? A way to escape punishment. That was me. First create Damnation. Then knock up a teenage human girl with a demi-human whose blood sacrifice will ensure everyone a Get Out of Hell Free pass if they pledge their eternal love to Him." He pointed at himself. "To me. See, that part Jealous Dad didn't think through."
"But why are you stuck here?" asked Sam.
"Because after my resurrection Dad didn't need me anymore. He had the Brand. Jesus Christ Inc. He didn't need the spokesman. Shit, there were plenty of spokesmen on Earth, doing all Dad's work for him. The apostles were the CEOs of Jesus Christ Inc., and Dad sent them to out with brochures and pamphlets and well-edited sales pitches, telling them whoever sells the most gets the bigger section in a thing called the New Testament." Jesus sat cross-legged on the shag rug. "So they sold, man. It was Glengarry Glenn Christ. But me…I'd inherited the irritating primate traits of curiosity and asking questions."
"I don't understand," said Castiel.
"Dad wasn't used to being questioned, not in Heaven. Because cats like him," Jesus pointed to Castiel, "never, ever question anything. Am I right?"
"But—"
"But you," Jesus looked at Gabriel, "you're the exception. You're the exception. Well, you and big brother Lucifer. You got that in common."
Gabriel tensed. "What do I have in common with him?"
"Lucifer questioned, so Dad gave him the eternal spanking, and, admit it, man, you didn't see it as just. You started being unhappy even then, because you thought about stuff. Like maybe Dad went too far with Lucifer. The other archangels, they didn't want to think." To Castiel he said, "But you've changed, man. You question now."
Cas replied, firmly, "I have never questioned God."
"Denial ain't just a river." Jesus leaned back on his elbows. "The thing was, the threat of the eternal spanking didn't bring out the better angels of humans' nature like Dad thought it would. Oh, humans wanted Hell! Because they all wanted to have box seats with me in Heaven, watching everyone they ever hated burn. They imagined JumboTron screens showing their 5th grade math teacher burning, the friend in college who dumped them burning, the boss who didn't give them a raise burning, the waitress who didn't bring their menus fast enough burning. Because they all believe they're not going to burn. Ever notice that? How many people you know who claim to believe in me really worry that they're going to Hell? No, they think they're saved with a big ass capital S, and are going to Paradise because they have a personal relationship with Jesus. Fuck! Like I'd so much as have coffee with those assholes!"
"So what happened?" Sam asked.
"I'll tell you, verbatim, man. After I came home from Camp Purgatory, all squeaky clean and shiny, I was like, 'OK Dad, what do you want me to do now?'
'Oh, I don't know. What do you want to do, son?'
'Well shit, Dad, I've spent my whole life prepping for the ultimate sacrifice. When you know you're gonna die horribly it's hard to plan for the future.'
'Well son, just wait around for the Apocalypse. After that you judge all the souls and rule earth for a thousand years.'
'OK, cool, Dad. What do I do while I'm ruling Earth?'
'What do you mean? You'll rule Earth. What's difficult to understand about that?'
'Seriously, Father, what does ruling earth involve?'
'You'll sit on your golden throne at my right hand and look beatific. What the hell do you think?'
'But with no sin, no suffering, no death, shit, no one ever questioning anything ever again…What's the point of ruling?'
'You'll oversee the souls living for all eternity in ecstatic bliss.'
'Really? No other emotion except ecstatic bliss?'
'What's wrong with that? '
'Won't that get boring after, I dunno, a decade or two?'
'They won't get bored! Ecstatic bliss has no room for boredom!'
'So, are the souls gonna be blissful willingly, or because they drank some kinda Paradize Kool-Aid?'
'They'll be blissful because they're free of pain and want!'
'Are they just gonna stand around grinning at us in our Glory or will they have lives?'
'Lives?'
'Hobbies, amusements, stimuli for creativity, book clubs?'
'They won't need those.'
'But isn't Heaven doing what you love?'
'I suppose!'
'So some people love being creative. What kind of books and art and music will people make when there's no suffering or unhappiness? Oh. Right. I've read those books. They sell them in the bookstores named after me. You ever read one? Gab brought me one. By the third chapter I wanted someone to crucify me again.'
'I don't read.'
"OK. What do you do in your copious spare time? You don't really have your eye on every sparrow, do you?'
'What's a sparrow?'
'You don't listen to the prayers? Because if you don't you really should. Those poor bastards are suffering down there.'
"Dad was looking seriously pissed by then. He said, 'They're praying to you. Not me.'
'Well, that was your idea, wasn't it? '
"He looked even more pissed." Jesus sat up cross-legged again, and rested his elbows on his knees. "You gotta remember, I'd only just met my real father. All that time I was on Earth, He didn't visit, didn't send birthday cards, nothing, man. I didn't know this guy, I didn't know His limits. So the last thing I said to Him was, 'If I'm gonna be at your right hand, what are you going to be doing?'
"Dad got up and said, 'I'm going out.'
'Where, Dad?'
'I said I'm going out!'
"I tried to follow, but…the way out was shut to me. I was stuck, here. It was pretty much 'destroy thee from off the face of the earth,' since I can't go back. And He hasn't been back since, not to Heaven or Earth."
"You drove out God?" said Sam.
"Wow," said Dean. "God went to the 7-11 for cigs and a 6 pack."
Gabriel quickly wiped a finger under his eyes. His mouth was grim.
Jesus sighed. "Gabe, Cas… I'm sorry."
Gabriel straightened and set his jaw. "Don't be. I always suspected."
Castiel looked like a puppy staring out a window as his owner disappears from sight. His dry voice whispered, "No goodbye?"
Pounding rattled a door which had suddenly appeared in the living room wall. The Winchesters and Castiel were on their feet, weapons drawn.
"Be cool!" Jesus raised his hands for calm. "It's only—"
The door flung open and immediately shut behind the person who entered. He was brown, lean and wiry as a whippet, dressed in dusty, worn beige jeans, a yellow tank top with several small rips in it, leather sandals and a leather fringed vest. His wide brown eyes and mop of curly dark brown hair were wild. He held a stack of four pizza boxes. His manic grin was enough to make anyone reach for their phone.
"I GOT PIZZA!" He moved with the enthusiasm and energy of an entire children's birthday party cranked on sugar and caffeine. He dropped the boxes on the coffee table. "BEST FMEEKING PIZZA IN THE WORLD!" The man stopped and stared at Castiel, then threw his arms wide. "CAS!"
"Oh no," the angel groaned.
The man ran over to the bean bag chair, his arms still open wide. "CASTIEL!"
Cas tried to sink deeper into the bag. "Hello, Simon. It's been a long –OOF!"
The man had reached down, yanked the angel to his feet, and wrapped his thin, muscular arms around his chest with the power of steel cables. He bounced Castiel as he hugged him. "BEST FMEEKING ANGEL EVER!"
"Simon?" said Dean.
"As in, the Zealot?" asked Sam.
Simon the Zealot's eyes popped open at the sound of his name. He released Castiel, who fell backward into the bean bag, and whipped around to grin maniacally at the Winchesters. "PEOPLE! PEOPLE IN HEAVEN! LIVE PEOPLE! I FMEEKING LOVE PEOPLE! THEY'RE SO GODDAMN—"
"Peopleish," said Crowley, watching it all with detached and partially amused boredom. This quickly changed to alarm when Simon whipped about again and saw him in the wicker chair.
"CROWLEY!"
"No, Simon!"
"GODDAMN KING OF HELL!"
"Do not touch me or I swear—"
Crowley was grabbed out of his seat. Simon encased him in a hug, strapping his arms to his side while he was bounced up and down.
"BEST FMEEKING DEMON EVER!"
Jesus interrupted. "Hey, Simon, you forgot the Cokes." With his hands he demonstrated what size they should be. "The little six ounce glass bottles? Ice cold?"
"SHIT!" Simon grabbed his head in shock, releasing Crowley, who dropped to the floor. "I FORGOT! NOT COOL! GOTTA GO TO MISSISSIPPI! BEST FMEEKING LITTLE COLD COKES EVER! I'LL BE RIGHT BACK!"
With a rapid goodbye wave he launched himself out the door and slammed it behind him. It vanished instantly.
"I think he and John the Baptist did too many 'shrooms in the wilderness," said Jesus.
Standing, Castiel approached Jesus. "Lord, why are you telling all this to the King of Hell? To the humans?"
Dean huffed. "Oh, so we're 'the humans' now? Huh."
"Class always comes out," said Sam. "Bet he wouldn't let you marry his sister."
Castiel scowled with frustration. "Angels don't have sisters. Angels are genderless. We only take on gender when we enter a vessel. And we don't marry."
Jesus jerked his thumb at Castiel and said to the Winchesters, "Try two thousand years of that kinda talk, man. You wonder why I'm so happy to see you?"
"Cas has a point," said Dean. "Why haven't you told this to anyone else? To the world?"
"I want to!" Jesus cried. "But how do you think people would take it? Hey, Jesus can't come out and play right now, Daddy grounded him! "
Crowley finished straightening his suit and tie as he addressed the boys. "You forget, the rest of you meat sticks aren't aware that there is a problem. They're sucked into the centers of their banal little lives and think hurricanes are caused by God's wrath on gays but strange lights plummeting from the skies are caused by space trash burning in the atmosphere." He chuckled contemptuously. "If the groveling worms knew what the hunters know you'd be heroes instead of pathetic vagrants."
"See?" said Jesus. "This is why I let him hang around. "
Crowley continued as he walked over to a wet bar. "And if they knew that Jesus lives, hallelujah, what good would it do them? Eh? You already have a problem with Christian fundamentalists trying to turn the world into a Disney version of A Handmaid's Tale – that's the version of the novel with everything except the sex. Let's say they have proof that Jesus does actually exist but He's not coming to Earth right now. They'd think, oh, it's because we haven't tidied up enough. Very well, let's scourge this place of everyone we don't like, who of course Jesus doesn't like, and then He'll show up. First they'll get rid of all the non-Christians, then the Protestants and the Catholics and the Baptists will go after the Amish and the Hutterites before turning on each other." He set out a crystal tumbler and filled it with cognac. "Me, I'm rooting for the snake handlers." He downed the liquor.
"What he said," Jesus agreed.
Gently imploring, Castiel said, "Lord, perhaps it was all just a misunderstanding. Perhaps our Father now regrets—"
"No, Cas." Gabriel's vehement interruption startled them all. "No, fucking no."
Everyone stared as Gabriel gripped the arms of his chair and stood up. His eyes were shining with damp and anger.
As he faced them Gabriel's laugh was a short, bitter bark. "You know what we all need up here? Individual copies of family psychologist John Bradshaw's Homecoming. Because we are in some goddamn dysfunctional denial about how we really, I mean really, feel about the old man."
"Brother, don't." Castiel's words were a warning and a plea.
"Oh, screw it, Castiel!" Gabriel pointed at the Winchesters. "If nothing else, these chuckleheads got my head straight about why I ran in the first place. I'm the kid under the blankets with the pillow clamped over his ears, singing la la la while the family yells at each other over who betrayed who, while never, ever blaming the person who should be blamed."
"Our Father, you mean?" said Cas.
"Who else?"
"Lucifer rebelled." Castiel's face was swept with sadness. "It broke Father's heart—"
"Did it? But why did it? Yeah, Big Bro rebelled, and that's on him. But why did he rebel? Because he was jealous? Maybe it was because once upon a time Dad called him the Light of the Morning and then turned around and said, oh, wait, you're no longer special. See that disgusting lump of flesh and hair and shit picking gunk out of its nose and eating it? That's better than you. How would that make you feel?"
"Was it really that harsh?" asked Sam.
"You ever go to Sunday School, Sammy?" asked Gabriel.
"No."
"Good." Gabriel's voice soured. "Then you won't be too disillusioned. Here's one of my special days with Pops. He takes me down to Earth, points to some old fart and tells me –no, orders me – to tell the guy that he has to kill his only son. Yup, I have to instruct him to truss up his kid, throw him on an altar, and slit his throat. And I was supposed to watch! Some fun, huh? So, me being an obedient son who loves his Dad, I tell this guy. Without a question, without a second's hesitation, the guy ties up his terrified kid and sticks him on an altar on a lonely mountain in the middle of nowhere! The kid's struggling and begging, "Why, father?! What did I do? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" His father's got a face like a rock. He pulls out a knife, grabs his son's hair, and yanks back his head to expose his throat. Then, then, at the very last moment, my Dad tells me to tell the guy to stop." The archangel shut his eyes while his nostrils flared. "My Dad loved the dad who was willing to bleed his son to death. How do you think this makes a person, even an archangel, feel about his father? I looked at Him grinning with pride at Abraham and all I could think was, 'So, are you ever going to order someone to kill me, Dad?'"
They were silent.
"Y'know," said Dean, "I think it's time for group to take a break for some pizza."
They sat glumly and stared at the pizza boxes.
Crowley shook his head and refilled his glass. "Speaking as the only father in the room, I can't see what you're all so bloody upset about. I wanted to slit Gavin's throat god knows how many times. So to speak."
"Shut up, Crowley," everyone said.
The door suddenly formed in the living room wall. Simon the Zealot popped in, holding two wooden carriers of six ounce glass bottles of Coca-Cola, frosted with ice.
"I GOT COKES!"
"Get lost, Simon," everyone said.
"COOL WITH THAT!" He set the Cokes on the floor, twisted the cap off one, took a long swig, and dove out the door, which closed and vanished.
Dean broke the silence. "So what is it with dads?"
They mumbled and shrugged.
"Let me enlighten you," began Crowley as he came around from behind the bar.
"Yes please," said Dean sarcastically, "since your kid hated you so much that a couple hundred years later his ghost ratted on you."
"As the t-shirt says," said Sam, "any prick can be a father." He looked at Castiel, Gabriel and Crowley. "I never thought of it before, but you guys never had a mother, did you?"
Crowley sneered and swirled the cognac in his tumbler. "Huh. Please. My mother was a witch. Which I don't say instead of the word bitch because she one of those as well."
"So you have an excuse for being evil?"
Crowley coughed in mid sip. He chuckled at Sam. "I'm sorry, Moose, were you hoping to hear me whimper about how my pestilential upbringing turned me to the dark side? If only I'd had the love of a good mummy I wouldn't have ended up as King of Hell?" He walked behind the couch, leaned his forearms on its back, and grinned maliciously at the taller of the Winchesters. "I love being King of Hell. Let me emphasize: Loooove. Sure, with the title comes the occasional spot of torture and addiction and ruining my best Savile Row suits with the guts of minions and humans and demons, oh my. But I've never, ever, regretted it."
"You ever met your mother in Hell?" Dean asked.
"Who do you think scrubs the toilets?"
"Ugh," they all said.
"With her tongue."
"Ack!" they all said.
Castiel spoke quietly as he realized something for the first time. "Our Father was our mother."
"I don't mean just the female who biologically gave birth to you." Sam searched to identify what he meant. "I mean…there's a different feeling from a mother. And a mother doesn't have to be blood related. Or even a woman, I guess. It's..a different approach to love.."
Castiel squinted querulously. "But you don't remember your mother."
Sam's mouth opened, paused, then shut. He looked lost.
"He's right." Dean clasped his hands between his knees, his thumbs rubbing together contemplatively. "You get something different from your mother."
"Yes," said Crowley. "They don't whip you with chains quite as hard as daddies."
Dean snapped over his shoulder at Crowley, "Yeah, some moms are evil. We get that." To everyone else he added, "Maybe daughters would say I only think this way because I'm a guy. But mothers are—"
Jesus stood up, gesturing for the conversation to stop. "Uh, let's not talk about moms here, dudes."
"What?" said Sam. "Why?"
Lowering his voice, Jesus explained, "Because this Heaven of mine is responsive to my thoughts. Like, I was hungry and Simon showed up to go get pizza. If you talk about-"
The door reappeared in the living room wall.
Jesus sighed and made a Look what you've done gesture to indicate the door.