CHAPTER 6: GUIDING STAR.
His world was splintered into shards, blitzed by the blinding light. The sound of rushing air swirled inside his ears and his body was awash with a searing heat that threatened to reduce him to ashes. Thoughts became nothing more than flies buzzing around his head and all Dean could think was, 'here we go again!'
The world came to a stop and Dean felt his body flex with the impact. Again his senses had been thrown into disarray and with reluctance he peeled his eyes open like he was using them for the first time. His vision was blurred and he swallowed a belch, feeling a weighted sickness roll in the pit of his stomach. Unbearable ringing drilled at his ears and it felt like his heart was beating inside his skull. Constant, every thud was like the strike of a hammer against bone.
But everything fell back into place like before and Dean had sunk to his knees with his head in his hands. It was only after the ringing had stopped that he realised he was screaming. Looking up his eyes met with the intense yellows of a log fire. The crackling sound of burning wood punctuated the saturating warmth that breezed over his face.
His mouth was dry as he panted and struggled to his feet. His muscles felt rusted and Dean crooked his neck to the side half expecting it to snap off. The room was alive with a calming orange that caught and danced with the shadows it birthed. It surrounded him and infected him with its subduing warmth. It was like an embrace from a distant relative, familiar and disarming.
Dean's eyes moved in their sockets, soaked up the scene. A grand bookcase with empty shelves loomed to the left, a mahogany display cabinet showing off an array of trophies was on the far side, a velvet armchair sat in front of the fire and a mounted deer's head hung above it. All of their shadows were streaked across the walls and ceiling, entwined with Dean's like they were trying to pull him in.
Moving forward Dean realised there were no doors, there were no windows. It was a sealed room and as the hairs on the back of his neck stood rigid, he realised he wasn't alone. Another step forward and the floorboards beneath the carpet bowed and groaned with the weight. Beads of sweat began to tickle his forehead and he clenched his hands tight. His eyes fixed on the arm that was slung over the side of the chair, toyed with the glass of bourbon that rested on the side table.
He caught every breath, swallowed it so it exploded inside his head. Pulling a hand inside his jacket, Dean retrieved his colt and bent his legs at the knees into a ready stance. He narrowed the muzzle of the gun at the back of the chair, sure in the knowledge the bullets would be more than capable of ripping straight through it and into whatever was here with him.
"Dean?" A formidable figure slowly emerged from the chair and turned to face him. Instantly recognisable eyes bore into Dean and nearly threw him to the ground.
The voice deep like the depths of the ocean, the straggled beard, stocky build and those sad dark eyes all stole the air from Dean's lungs as he gasped, "Dad?"
John Winchester smiled softly and nodded. "Yeah..." his arms rose in a half shrug.
Not thinking, Dean came forward and wrapped his arms around his father, hugged him tightly and closed his eyes to the world. A grateful relief flooded him and he squeezed harder. "It's so damn good to see you," he said with a fierce sincerity.
John eased him away. Dean stepped back and looked at his father. His face was hardened by the gloom, every wrinkle and crease like a black scar across his skin. Every one was a mark of the many years he had endured rather than lived, a sign of his sacrifices. But his eyes were soft, two pools of impenetrable depth that were assuring in the darkness they held.
"It's good to see you Dean, it really is but if you're here then I can only assume things have gone...badly."
"Here?" Dean looked around the room. "Where is here exactly?"
John smiled a knowing smile and let a throaty chuckle escape his lips. "This is where souls go when they have no home to pass on to. Dean, this is what you would call purgatory."
Dean smiled. "Purgatory huh, doesn't seem too bad."
"Don't let this cosy little setup fool you, this place is as bleak as any nothingness I could ever have imagined while I was still breathing."
Dean felt a blade of guilt caress his heart. It was only in this moment that the coldness of reality set in. His father was dead, trapped here and it was Dean's fault. "I'm sorry dad; I realise I never got to tell you that. I appreciate what you did for me after the crash." Emotion took hold and Dean struggled to hold his tone. "I'm just...god, I'm just so sorry."
"I don't need your apologies Dean. I did what any father would have done. Any way you try and cut it I figure it was just my time to go, nothing you could have done and I would not have it any other way son."
Dean choked back the pain. "Still, I just felt like I should say it."
John sighed. "Funny thing about life, you can never get a handle on it until after you've lost it. I can look back now and I can see everything so clearly. I can see what I should have done and I can see the weakness that prevented me from doing what needed to be done."
"What are you talking about?" Dean asked feeling an unease building with his father's words.
"Your brother Dean, I'm talking about your brother. I know everything that has happened since I've been gone. Your angel friends have been kind enough to fill me in."
"Then you'll know their singing the hymn of bullshit."
John shook his head. "Once upon a time I would have said the same thing yes. But like I said, I'm free from the constraints that still bind you. You remember what I told you about Sammy?"
Slowly Dean nodded, felt a venomous anger rise in anticipation of what might be said next. "You told me that I might have to put him down, that he might become something other than my brother. How could I ever forget that?"
"And you watched that horror become reality didn't you, events came to that point and every time your weakness prevented you from pulling the trigger. You gave your soul up to Alastair rather than find the strength to be who I wanted you to be."
"I never pulled the trigger because I knew that Sam would never turn and I was right, he never did. He may be close now but I still know that he is far from gone." Dean countered angrily.
An obvious sadness descended upon John's face. "Yes he is Dean. He is gone, Sammy is gone and we have failed him. Neither of us could protect him from himself, it was foolish to ever think we could. The fight was over the moment yellow eyes bled into his mouth."
Dean began to pace, the unease inside fast mutating into a typical anger. "You're wrong, why the hell are you saying this. Why now? I don't understand what the hell is going on here."
"You are here because there are things you need to hear. I can accept the truth, I can see things in a light that you cannot. I loved Sammy but I can accept he is lost to us, something you are unable to do, I know. You will never be able to take that final step Dean because you are weak. You're different from Sammy and me. We were always prepared to do what needed to be done. But you, you were so different, so weak..."
Rage took hold of Dean and shook him violently in its grasp. His blood was poison in his veins and he wanted to tear himself inside out. His fears taunted him, yelled at him and scolded his weakness. His thoughts urged him to respond, prove everybody wrong so he reacted, his fist crashing into the side of John's face. The impact sent his father sprawling across the floor. "I am not weak!" he roared
John looked up at him, his teeth bloodied as he smiled. "Yes you are Dean. You doomed us all remember, you surrendered yourself to evil and became its instrument. You shamed me and the Winchester name; you wasted the life I sacrificed myself for you to have."
"Shut up. Just shut the hell up...please!" Dean cried his hands coming to his ears. He was like a child trying to shield himself from the horrible truths of the big bad world. But he could not evacuate himself, his own thoughts agreed with his father. Secretly he had known this was true, he had feared it all this time. But he could not accept it and the opposing sentiments collided with ferocious impact.
"Its okay Dean, I don't expect anything from you anymore. I won't put my hopes on you saving the world. I did that when I told you the truth about Sam and you failed, you sent everyone down the path to ruin and now here you are, showing who you really are."
John went to get to his feet but Dean was on him in a flash. Manic, he slammed another fist into John's nose, a blow that sent him back to the ground. And he was over him, swinging until his arm was heavy. His knuckles felt like they had crumbled to dust, the thick wetness of blood dribbled in between his fingers.
Dean collapsed next to his father, breaths laboured and rasped like they were drawn through grated metal. His eyes were marred by tears, speckles of blood stained his cheeks. His heart was consumed by the bile of retaliatory rage.
John laughed, the sound gargled by the blood that frothed from his mouth. His nose was shattered, an eye swollen shut, his blood pooled around his head. And still he laughed. "Dean..." he panted. "You hold on to that anger, you use it. Please...I know it's hard but you have to finish this."
"But what if I can't?"
John stood over him, his face fresh as it was before. "Then we are all finished, the world will be lost to oblivion and everything we have sacrificed will have been for nothing." His hands gripped Dean's face and he leaned towards him. "So you harness your pain and your anger, use it to do what has to be done. There will be no more second chances; there is no room for error. You must be precise; you must be the Dean you once were. You cannot fail, you must not."
And the world once more fell into bright consuming light.
