First off, today is January 24th which means I get to say a BIG happy birthday to Deanna Kripke (Eric's wife), Dean Winchester, and Jessica Moore!
Secondly, if you haven't read any of sweetkiwi604's work you should. It's gold, I tell ya!
Lastly, I've been studying transcendentalism for a couple of weeks so the beginning of this chapter is my salutation to the greats like Emerson, Whitman, Dickinson, and Thoreau. It may be a bit dry and dull so I do apologize. I thought it'd set up a good foundation for the rest of the chapter.
Happy readings! And rememeber to RR&R: Read, Refresh, and Review (cheesy, I know)
wandertogondor
P.S. Hope everyone was able to catch last night's episode. Dean had William Wallace in the bag! Spot on, my fair handmaiden, spot on!
Max's POV
Driving a 1968 Dodge Charger, in Kentucky, at midnight, under a bright moon, without having in my thought any occurrence of special good fortune, I have enjoyed an immaculate vindication.
Though the clouds hung low in a white mist over the dew stained grass, music wearily played from the speakers of the muscle car. I can only sit and soak in the perfect ethereal cadence and glow of each note that rose and fell like the vast green landscape that I was driving past. Each strum of the guitar that I heard, each blast of the drum, each word that was sung brought me closer and closer to tears; the psychedelic tune and the hypnotizing moon.
If a man could enhance the mind-altering experiences of a philosophical sonnet, then he would not be without friends. To discover the even beat would be like to discover the blue in the sky or the green in the grass. And to linger behind the large wall that a man would have built for himself to escape the tyrannical bureaucracy and to remain faithful in many marred relationships would be to crumble into his own self. The men who hold such lofty positions in the ruling of a nation would like no more than to separate themselves from lesser men. No innocence or goodness lingers in such a world!
Rising from the pillows of my own self-pity I find myself standing in a golden topped forest. The tall trees rise far above me. Each branch is sturdy with the knowledge of the ages. The sun streams through the leaves and through my very being as if they think that they can reflect the pure rays of sunshine into the black soul that every man may possess. A slow breeze rushes through the open window, furling and spinning with the soft slide of the music that gently slithers out into the black night and toward the pale moon. Every illuminated cloud in the sky whispers the songs unsung by the earth below. Every raindrop, every tear, every symphony, every cacophony that comes out the mouth of nature will transpire into a bastion of vindictive measures of each star that shines.
The psychotropic rhythm and the rolling hills that span the land from left to right. There is no telling where the sky meets the land or where the land meets the sky. One can lose themselves behind a single knoll that can cover any man's sin. I am the singular manifold of every tune caught by the gust of wind that blows through the overgrown heads of rye that stands about the hillock. The range of musical styles and the multi-genre undertones tribute the fallen kin that are buried in the six foot trench beneath our feet, deep under the lush timeless wind.
Every shiver that peppers my arm or every wave of distress that reddens my face cannot compare to the moment that the natural order of things pressed on the brake. The sky stood above me. The ground lay before me. The convoluted curve of the rambling wind wisps around me. The creatures of the darkness chirp in the savanna enveloping me. The music plays on. The music plays on and with it takes the goodness of the world and the innocence of a child. Every chord hypnotizes my very being. It pulls me back into the world that is rid of each and every influence of the corrupted human nature that is tainted with guilt. Each wave of goodness and the purity this grunge is so deprived of floods back over me and to the downtrodden. Each light that reflects from the invisible sun is changing to shadow. It casts its mournful shroud over all we have ever known. Despite this, the song remains the same. I can only sit and soak in the perfect ethereal cadence and glow of each note that rises and falls like the vast green landscape that I am driving past.
And for this, I am glad to the brink of fear.
***The Proof of The Pudding***
The full moon was almost mocking Dean and me with its brightness. It was as if we had given it an olive basket and it was just spitting in our faces for the hell of it. I entered the modern motel room first, not knowing why I dared to be so close to Dean when the forces of supernatural physics were so evident. It would only take an accidental touch for the both of us to become wall pancakes. Then, why was I still here? It was a question that my brothers and I conveniently left untouched. As they bustled in, I pulled my knees against my chest, resting my chin on my legs and I curled up in the love-seat.
"You can't be serious," Dean groaned as he closed the door behind Sam and kicked off his shoes. "The proof of the pudding is in the eating, Sammy. Max, tell him that bow hunting is an important skill."
"Bow hunting is an important skill," I repeated with the same cadence that my brother had spoken with.
"See," Dean grinned smugly, vigilantly stalking toward the bathroom at the other end of the room. "Love me some pudding."
Sam just scoffed, his hair falling over his eyes as he set a portable radio on his lap and sat next to me, the couch cushions dipping under his weight. He fiddled with the dials for a bit, trying to find any noise but the static.
"What's up?" I peered over his shoulder, reaching over his arm to tinker with the antenna. I extended the long metal rod out toward the window but the static only increased.
"Am I early?" Crowley reclined on the bed with his hands behind his head and his ankles crossed. "Who ever thought I'd be the punctual one?"
I laughed mockingly, my nose slightly wrinkled.
"We don't need that condescending crap, Crowley." Sam put in.
"Oh, do forgive me, jolly green," The demon threw his legs over the edge of the bed and stood to saunter over to us. "Because as far as I can see, you need me."
"You must be shortsighted then." Sam sneered, getting to his feet and standing almost a foot over Crowley.
"Why can't you ruffians ever say hello like normal people?"
"'Normal people'? Wow, an asshole and a comedian. You're well-rounded, Crowley." I sarcastically said while grabbed a handful of Sam's shirt and yanked him back onto the couch.
Crowley stuck his hands into the pockets of his coat and looked around absently.
"Where's the other Hardy boy? I need him to hear what I've got to say."
"Dean's behind you," My youngest brother retorted.
"Speak," Dean commanded in a low voice, standing between the King of Hell and his little siblings like a protecting wall.
"What do you remember about hell, Miss Winchester?" The demon glanced past Dean's shoulder. "You remember? It was that time you got some from a behemoth and croaked."
"Everything," I managed to reply pointblank.
"No. False. Incorrect. Wrong. You," Crowley stuck his finger at me. "You were never in hell, Nancy Drew. You fabricated the entire vacation in your sick little mind."
"That's impossible," I was almost too skeptical, but when wasn't I?
"You were full of guilt." The King of Hell raised his voice. "You only saw what you wanted to see because you thought you deserved it."
"Then where was she?" Dean said.
Crowley snapped his fingers and, in the blink of the eye, we were standing in well-furnished living room, the glass walls reflecting the blood red sunset that shone outside. The little switch that controlled my memory suddenly came back to play. The room that I had stood in so long ago was the same. The sunset was the same. The furniture was the same. Everything was the same.
Talk about proof of the pudding, huh?
"Why would I dream of hell?" I finally cried. "Where would I have been for those ten months that I checked out?"
"You were here." Crowley answered, settling into the wing chair and folding his hands on his stomach. "You don't remember because you don't want to. I claimed you the moment you died. All we needed was the coin and now that we have that…you will finish your end of the story. You can't lay a finger on your denim-wrapped nightmare now but you can get close enough to waste him." We were back in the motel room in a flash when I said,
"Awesome. You know, I thought I made this clear, asshole," Carefully circling Dean and pressing my hand against Crowley's chest, I pushed him back menacingly. "I'm not killing him. He's mine. Not yours. Not Castiel's. Mine. Got it?"
"Gee, monkee, you could have said that to my face."
"Can it, Dean!" I growled; my eyes still locked on Crowley's. "You can either be with me against God or you can be sleeping with the fishes."
"Your abilities to persuade, Miss Winchester," He spoke slowly and superciliously. "are in need of a tune-up. Lucky for you, I was on your sniveling little side to begin with. Either you kill brother dearest or he kills you."
"Uh, sorry to break up the party but we're not alone." Sam motioned to the silent figures standing at the door. I felt the heat of the amulet burn starting to burn into my sin.
"Awesome," I muttered as I pulled off the brass figure-head and held it at my side by the long black string.
"Thanks Doctor Newcome," Dean sarcastically said to Sam, going to one side of the room. Crowley gripped my wrist, placing me at an equal distant from both of my brothers before approaching Castiel.
"Angel of Thursday, you try your kitten hands at flipping the coin, see if you can't kill off your pet squirrel."
Anticipation swelled up in my stomach. Cas pulled the coin from out of his pocket, turning the mintage between his fingers and glancing at his father. God didn't seem to be into the whole thing because his eyes were locked on me.
"Do it, Cas," I shifted my eyes off Chris just to hear Dean say.
With a deep breath, the angel flicked the coin vertically. The world seemed to stop altogether and the coin just kept on turning like the wheels in the sky that churn out our destiny. It turned and spiraled and cajoled in front of my waiting eyes. This couldn't be the end. Not for Dean. Finally, with a loud thump it fell on the worn carpet.
"Heads," Cas said in barely a whisper.
"No!" I yelled in opposition. "Flip again, Cas."
"Relax, Nance," Crowley picked up the coin, not hesitating to toss it through the air and catch it in the palm of his hand. "Hello, what's this?" He held up the head of the coin.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked.
"It means," The ground shook under our feet as God spoke. "Two heads can't make a tail. Another tribunal will be held at the next full moon."
"That's it?" Dean spoke, his arms outstretched to the side. "Come at me, bro."
"You two better beat it before I kick your ass back to hell and your ass back to wherever you came from, Cas." I snapped irritably turning to the angel and the demon.
"Until next time, Winchester's." Crowley kissed two of his fingers and put his hand in the air before disappearing.
"Alright, alright," I said to my brother's reasonably. "This is good. No. This is awesome. We just cheated death again. We've bought ourselves another month."
No answer.
"Look, I'm just trying to be optimistic here."
"Yeah, well, the only time you're optimistic is when you're scared to death, Max." Sam stated in a low voice.
"I'm fine, Sam."
"Right," Dean snorted with a smirk. "and Hannibal Lecter's a good psychiatrist."
"See, that whole wise-ass attitude isn't helping any, Dean." I put in.
"This is hard for you, Dean." God said. I hadn't noticed that he and Cas were still standing at the door. Awesome. "You throw away your life because you've come to assume that it'll bounce right back into your lap. The human soul is not a rubber ball. It's vulnerable, impermanent, but stronger than you know... and more valuable than you can imagine. Your sister may feel the need to challenge my authority but you know that what I am saying is the truth. Learn from it. Take what I say to your heart. If you do, you will live."
Dean eyed him, his whole body tense and still.
"It would be wise to fear me, Maxine Winchester. If you don't then everything that you hold dear will crumble around you while you stand alone in this dark world."
"I want to know," I began slowly. "have you ever seen the rain coming down on a sunny day? Yesterday, and days before, sun is cold and rain is hard, I know. Been that way for all my time. Till forever, on it goes through the circle, fast and slow, I know. It can't stop, I wonder.*"
God chuckled scornfully. "You can try and hide your true feelings but I know you heart, my daughter. And what your younger brother said is the truth. You don't want to die. Just a little part of you hopes that Dean will die for you."
"That's a lie!"
"Is it? Nobody wants to die."
"Just because you think that everyone is afraid of you and what you can do doesn't mean that I am." My argument was weak and childish but I was too far in to back down now.
"You should be, Maxine. Don't think that you're anything significant in this world. You are but a speck of dust in the universe. Small and worthless."
"I thought you were supposed to love me," I was talking to God but my eyes were begging for Cas to say something…anything.
"I do, my daughter. But you have tested the LORD's anger. That cannot be easily justified. I am sending my prophet to guide you from your sinful ways and onto the path of righteousness."
"Your prophet?" Dean scowled. "We don't need any more holy baggage around than we already have."
"My prophet will come. And when he does you will know the truth."
With that, God and his son disappeared.
"Awesome," I groaned.
"You say that a lot." Dean pointed out.
"Look who's talking." I snorted contemptuously. "So, what now?"
"We could look for a job." Sam suggested. "We could wait it out. But we won't know when Carver Edlund's going to pop in."
There was a knock on the door and a scraggly dark haired man, who was all scruff, stood with a smile.
"Hello, Sam, Dean, Max."
"Chuck?" I blanched, ransacking my memory for his familiar face.
"How do you know him?" Dean asked, standing at the corner of the bed a few feet away.
"Chuck's a trucker. He gave me a ride a few years ago. How do you know him?"
My brothers shared soulful looks.
"Awkward," Chuck said with a grin, twiddling his thumbs.
"Chuck's the prophet of God, Max." Sam informed.
"That escalated really quickly. While we're at this whole second identity thing: I'm Padme Amidala and Chris is really Anakin Skywalker."
"It's funny how that worked out," Dean chuckled. "Seeing that he's trying to kill you."
"I guess I'm catching a ride with you hardcore Winchester's now." Chuck playfully punched my shoulder.
"Don't touch my sister, Chuck." My older brother ordered.
"Sorry," He timidly folded under Dean's frown.
"So, what's the truth?" I asked, sitting on the couch so Dean could grab a drink at the kitchenette.
"The truth," Chuck stammered. "What do you mean the truth?"
"God said that you would know the truth." Sam said, looking over his long hair.
"Truth?" He rubbed his chin and kept repeating the word as if that would help him remember any faster. "Oh, the truth! The truth, right, the truth. Well, the truth is that Max didn't actually go to hell. She just dreamed about it because she was filled with guilt."
"We got that," I said deadpan.
"You know?"
"Yeah," Dean cocked his head sardonically. "our friendly neighborhood moral officer spilled the beans."
"Then, do you mean about the Colt?" Chuck rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
"Whoa," Sam took a few steps from the sidelines. "what about the Colt? Why does everything come back to the Colt?"
"There's a story—it's just a story, I don't know if it's true—but when Cain was claimed by Phthonos it was said that Phthonos gave him a sharp rod to kill Abel with. Samuel Colt somehow got a hold of whatever was left of that rod and melted it down to make the bullets to the gun."
"Did the coin come off of that rod too?" Dean asked with a glass of whiskey in his hand. Chuck nodded. "So, we find the rod and then what?"
"Well," The Prophet of God, with all his powers and abilities, hesitated. "the original metal oar is long gone. There's one more bullet floating around."
"Where is the bullet and what do we do with it, Chuck?" I was nearing hysteria. The man was just going around in circles.
"You have to shoot God."
"But nothing can kill God," Sam paced back and forth, between me and Dean.
"It's not supposed to kill God. It's supposed to kill God's vessel."
My brother's eyes narrowed and turned to me in one swift motion.
"No." I stated in a low voice. "We're supposed to save people, not kill them off. And not Chris. Swear to me, Dean, that you won't do it."
"Monkee,"
"No!" I leapt to my feet, and if looks could kill I would have had to bury a few bodies. "There has to be another way."
"God only has one vessel. He can't jump from meat suit to meat suit. This was predestined." I just wanted to drown out Chuck's explanation with my own music. "Either you kill God's vessel and keep him out of your hair or you or your brother die."
"Are you guys seriously considering this?"
"Max," My little brother started for me but I bound out of his reach. "You know that all of this could be over if you just cooperate."
"Zip it, Sam." I snapped, looking Dean square in the eyes. "We're going to end this the way it's supposed to end, Dean Winchester. I don't want you to put up a bitch fit. I don't want you going to the crossroads or making some deal with God. Chuck, if worse comes to worse and Dean or Sam are on the brink of death, I want to know where the bullet is."
"It's not anywhere you would want to go, pumpkin."
"Don't. Call. Me. That." My teeth were ground so hard together that I thought I may lose the ability to eat chips. Pumpkin was what Bobby called me and he was the last thing that needed to come up right now. "Just tell me where the bullet is. No more beating around the bush. I swear to God, you're making my upchuck reflex come back and I haven't had a drink all day."
"The bullet is in Rock Ridge, Colorado. While you're at it, a marathon runner face-floored there the other day, I suggest that you bow-legged giants better hit the road."
"You know what I hate more than God perving on my man?" I sneered in Chuck's face. "It's when a Rob Benedict doppelganger tells me what to do. You should scram and go back to that heavenly shithole where you came from."
"You really have issues with higher power, don't you Maxine?"
"What can I say?" I smoothly let out, my ruffled feathers calming down as I shrugged, palms pointed up. "I'm a rebel without a cause, and I don't bode too well with the Man, thank you very much."
When I turned to Chuck, he just smiled, looking from each of my brother's faces then to me.
"Dude," Dean chided. "quit looking at her like that."
"If you need me," Chuck reminded. "I'll be writing my book. Just holler." Then he disappeared in the air.
"I should get some angel mojo on me so I can do that too." I snickered.
"You don't need angel mojo." I could tell that Dean's voice was straining to stay even, even as a boyish grin crept over his mouth. "You have to be Batman. And you all know that I'm the Batman in this relationship."
As if it were a subconscious element that was seared into our brains since adolescence, Sam and I said 'I'm Batman' at the same time.
"Did you forget what day it is, Dean?" Sam asked, trying to distract our brother while I ducked behind the couch.
"No," Dean crossed his arms against his chest. "It's January 24th."
"Happy birthday, Dee." I stood with a broad smile etched on my face as I handed a neatly wrapped box to Dean.
"No way," He gawked as he fumbled through the old cassette tapes that Sam and I had spent a lot of money trying to find and collect. "These albums are so hard to find: Led Zeppelin: BBC Sessions, Paranoid?"
"Sam was griping about how you listen to the same two albums over and over again," I talked to their reflections while I washed my hands at the sink.
"How did you get these?"
"Eh," I shrugged it off like it was nothing. "I saw a few sights, caught a few rides…broke a few laws. No biggie."
"You know," Sam started out slowly. "Maybe we could stop in Lawrence before we go to Colorado."
"Sam—" Dean and I said at the same time.
"Just hear me out." He quickly interrupted. "Whatever God does to break us up we'll just prove to him that we can regroup in hell. That's what dad trained us to do, right? He trained us to stay together, and I don't know about you, but that's what I'm aiming to do."
"Easy for you to say, Sam," Dean said, sitting at the table and rifling through his new collection of cassette tapes. "You don't have voodoo on you."
"Maybe he's right," I was surprised to hear myself talk but the words just spewed out on its own. "This may be the last chance we have. I haven't seen mom in a long time."
And, for once in his life, Dean didn't put his dukes up and fight back, though reluctant. Thankful for that much, I just shoved my clothes into my bag and walked out to the Charger. I didn't regret anything. That may not sound like much to you, but if I could find right words to explain how vindicated I felt at that moment I would pay good money to…because the proof of the pudding is in the eating. Dean knew it from the very beginning.
It just took me a few years to work out.
*Have You Ever Seen the Rain?—Creedence Clearwater Revival
The Road So Far...