Dean stood before the glowing figure of light, shoulders squared, feet planted, jaw set. He radiated defiance and determination with every molecule of his being, treating his creator the same way he would any other megalomaniac creature.
"So," boomed God, his voice rolling out like a foghorn across still waters, "have you found good people; those for whom the world is worth saving?"
Kate and Sam stepped forward, bracketing Dean, their shoulders touching- a human wall of sheer rebellion, three soldiers battling unfathomable odds. Castiel stood slightly off to the side, dark hair tousled, eyes subtly glowing- he radiated pure menace. God's apathy for mankind had been the hardest on Cas, and his pain and disbelief had hardened into flinty resolve like magma cooling deep beneath the surface of the earth. He was going to stop God or die in the attempt.
"No," said Dean. "We've got something better."
Kate swung her legs over the edge of the lawn chair, the plastic caning sagging after years of use. The early summer sun shone down, glinting off the chrome of the Impala and catching on the dented, scratched tools lying on the asphalt. The heels of Dean's boots scraped over the ground and he scooted for better leverage under the engine of the Impala, just his feet and calves out for passer-byes to see.
"I figured you'd be more upset by this; more anxious," she commented to the scuffed footwear."
"Slide me the oil-pan," asked Dean's deep voice from under the car. Kate rose to do what he asked, shifting her weight idly as the used oil drained out of the car. Momentarily the pan came sliding back out, and soon Dean followed.
He wiped his hands on the dark bandana perpetually kept in the back pocket of his jeans. He methodically unscrewed the cap from a clean liter of oil and began pouring it loving into his Baby. He squinted up at the sun. "I've been playing the game for a long time, Kate. Hell, I have no idea how many times Sam and I have tried to save the world. Part of me agrees with the big fucker in the sky, but Sammy and me, well, we always try anyway. I guess I'm not strapping you and Sam in the car and rolling off a cliff because maybe this time, this time we have an out, and it doesn't involve killing anyone."
It had been eight days since the desert confrontation with God, and so far the search for good people had been one strike-out after another. In Arizona there had been a promising food service for the poor and homeless, but it turned out most of the workers were forced into it for community service. A priest in California had been diddling parishioners, and a non-profit volunteer was skimming money. Sure, they'd met some pleasant people and few who were really quite nice, but as of yet they hadn't found anyone that God would stop the End of Times for.
Cas had popped off to foreign parts, claiming that there was a group of very reclusive Monks up in the Himalayas that might be of use.
Kate had been mumbling about how the term "good" was utterly subjective and that without a way to quantify goodness God could easily brush off whatever evidence they presented. Dean had thrown a copy of Great Expectations at her.
"No, maybe she's onto something," said Sam. "We should go through the Bible and the Torah to see what God considers a good person." That's where he was currently, off in the library pouring through translations of the Torah and the Biblical scrolls.
Sam returned about an hour later and dropped a worn notebook in Kate's lap. "That was a waste of time," he huffed, dropping into Dean's empty chair. Dean looked up from where he was busy waxing the roof of the Impala.
"Yeah? Spill it, man."
Sam sighed. "We've got rules for tithing that involve goats, we've got the New Testament contradicting the Old Testament, we've got lessons about women washing the feet of their guests and just, well, if this is the stuff God is looking for…" he trailed off.
"If this is the stuff God is looking for, we ought to buy out weenies and marshmallows for the fireball now," finished Kate drily.
That evening, after darkness had blanked the earth once more, Sam and Dean and Kate were lined up at the bar of another greasy diner, unfolding another worn cardboard menu stained with mystery sauces, smiling at another tired waitress who worked too many hours and made too little money.
When she returned with their food, Sam and Kate were busy arguing about the possibility of some sins being greater than others. "I've met the seven deadly sins, Kate, it's a real thing."
"No, but all people have sinned, and every sin is a mark against God's laws. That makes it easier to figure out who a good person is, we just have to figure out how much they sin and if they regret doing it. If we did it your way we would have to count and weigh-"
The waitress dropped their food on the table, and Dean abruptly turned to her. "What makes a person good?" he asked, eyes free of their usual flirtatious twinkle.
"Being a good tipper." The waitress sighted and pushed a loose strand of dishwater-brown hair off her forehead. "I'm sorry guys, this is the tenth day I've worked in a row."
Dean smiled up at her encouragingly.
"I guess I agree with that guy who said that people who are nice to people beneath them without wanting something from them. Just being nice to random people without trying to get anything for it." She walked away with a rueful shake of her head. Before leaving that night, Kate slipped an extra bill under her water glass.
The drove through the night, aimlessly bouncing across the country, the growl of the engine a familiar lullaby. As the sun was starting to come up Dean dragged himself into the lobby of a cheap motel, grabbing a paper on his way out.
Once into the hotel room- smelling of stale air and dreams long dead- the three crashed, Sam stretched out on his belly, Kate wrapped around Dean.
Sam and Kate woke up when Dean slammed back into the room, coffee sloshing in precariously balanced cardboard cups. Dean tossed the paper overhand at Sam's head, who appeared to field it with his eyes closed. Things like this had stopped surprising Kate months ago.
"Check this out. Guy here just got commended for running some kind of sanctuary for unwanted animals. Kinda sounds like what that lady at the diner was talking about? People beneath you? That includes animals, right?"
Kate rubbed the heel of her hand over her eyes. "Where are we, anywhere?"
"Bumfuck, Colorado," was Dean's precise reply. He passed her a coffee.
An hour later the three of them were standing outside the gates of Secondhand Hope, Animal Sanctuary. They pressed the buzzer beside the gate, and soon saw a limping figure heading towards them. He bobbed along until the y were close enough to notice that peeking out from the hem of his trousers was a prosthetic leg.
Dean held out a badge. "Hi, we're from the Denver Tribune and we'd like to run a story on this place." He casually slipped the badge into his pocket.
"See the piece in the local paper?" The man asked, coding the gate open.
"Yep, that's what brought us down here," said Dean, stepping up. He stuck out his hand. "Name's Young. This is my associate May and photographer Mary Romanov." Kate held up a pawn-shop camera.
"I'm Mark Russell." Everyone shook hands and then followed Mark up the stairs and onto the wide wooden expanse of the veranda.
"Have a seat," their host said, gesturing to the worn wooden glider and rocking chairs.
Sam propped a notebook on his knee and pulled the cap off a cheap blue ballpoint with his teeth. "How did you get started, Mr. Russell?"
"Please, call me Mark." He rubbed absently at his left knee, presumably where his flesh met the prosthetic. "It started with an accident. I was out for a run one morning, and a car ran a light and clipped me. The driver fled the scene, and I was left barely conscious on the road. My calf was crushed, and they amputated during the initial surgery."
There was a long, quiet pause, and then Mark's eyes focused on Sam again. "My parents passed away a few years ago, and I didn't have any feelings. While I was in hospice care I made an attempt on my life. I was so sure that I had nothing left to live for.
One of my friends mentioned they were adopting a former racing dog on one of their visits. She mentioned a local greyhound rescue that places retired or injured dogs with family homes.
That image stuck with me. I kept picturing these beautiful, aerodynamic racing dogs that were being euthanized because they weren't winning or competitively sprinting anymore. I started checking the website of the greyhound placement program, and one day they posted a picture of a dog named Hope's Promise. The whole thing smacked of fate. At this point I was in the middle of physical therapy, trying to learn to walk again. I told myself that once I was up, once I could move, I'd find that dog and bring her home.
I did it. I called the agency and they held her for me for two months. This place belonged to my family, so I renovated the house and brought Hope home. She saved my life."
He stood up, leaning more heavily on his good leg. "Come on, I'll show you around."
He limped down the steps and set off across the yard. "I got to thinking about how many other animals might be out there like Hope, just waiting for someone to love. I found a few investors and they made all of this possible."
He came to a stop outside a renovated horse barn.
"How do you keep all this going?" asked Dean as he slid back the door.
"Through grants and donations, mostly."
The four humans stepped through the door and into what had to be considered a cat wonderland. There were free-hanging shelves running over the walls, tiny hammocks swing from stall doors and the shelving pieces, and cat-hair covered beds everywhere. One of the old horse stalls had been turned into a glass room that looked out over the backyard. Several cats were curled up in the sun. Kate held up her camera and pretended to snap some pictures.
"We have twenty to thirty cats at any given time," Mark informed them, the door sliding shut as they walked back out into the sun.
"How many employees do you have?" asked Sam, bouncing on the balls of his feet as they proceeded to a larger, lower building, barks emanating from the expanse of wooden fence behind it.
"One full time, one part time, and an army of good volunteers."
Sam, Kate, and Dean spent the rest of the afternoon at Secondhand Hope. They met the original Hope, now stiff and grey, keeping the office manager company. Sam fell in love with a scruffy, floppy-furred mutt that would chase Frisbees for hours on end.
As they walked back to the gate in the long afternoon shadows, Kate turned to Mark and said, "I'm amazed. I'm simply amazed. You are such a wonderful person."
He ducked his head a bit with a dry, "Nah. I'm only returning the favor that Hope did for me."
Dean jumped in with, "Then what does make a person? Because if you aren't one, I'd sure like to meet them."
Mark tipped his head back and thought, his shirt collar shifting to show that his tattoo sleeve wrapped all the way around the bottom of his neck. "A good person," he said slowly, "a good person is someone who puts other people first."
Kate and Sam and Dean shook Marks hand before sliding back into the Impala. They listened to the rumble of the Impala for a few minutes while Sam picked dog hairs off the legs of his suit.
Kate jumped when Cas popped into existence in the seat next to her. "They are very nice in the Himalayas," he said out of the blue. "After they ceased trying to worship me as an embodiment of their god- which was very flattering- we had a discussion on goodness. To these men, goodness and spirituality are the same thing. I do not think many people are deeply spiritual." He frowned.
"S'okay, Cas, I think we're onto something anyway," replied Dean. "We've been asking everyday people what they think makes a person good, and then we try to find one."
"An interesting objective. Your plan is to find everyday good people according to the opinion of everyday good people."
"Sure, Cas, whatever," said Dean, waving his hand dismissively. "Right now we are looking for someone who puts others before themselves."
Cas cocked his head to the side like he was listening intently. "I believe you would like to visit Joseph Barnes."
"Who's that?" queried Sam.
"A man who puts others first," Cas replied as though the answer was obvious. "I hear his prayers."
It turned out Joe Barnes was a man who had given up a spot on the Olympic track team to care for his sick father. Mr. Barnes was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis when he was in his early thirties, as a young single father.
According to Joe, his father kept working long past the doctors recommended it, skipping his physical therapy to work overtime, paying for Joe's college. "He gave up everything for me, without a thought. Of course I don't regret staying here with him. Being here, seeing him, knowing he is being cared for… that's better than any metal I might, or might not, have won."
Sam was sitting forward on the edge of his seat. "You never regretted it? Or resented it?" he shook his head ruefully.
Joe pursed his lips, slicking his hands slowly over his short-buzzed hair, just beginning to grey at the temples. "Of course I have regrets. And sometimes at night I wonder… but every morning I remember that I made the right choice. I would do it again."
"You're amazing," said Sam quietly.
"Man, I just told you I have regrets and doubts. I ain't amazing, I'm a person like you guys."
"Then what would make someone a good person?" inquired Dean softly from his sagging armchair.
Joe had an immediate response. "Getting up every morning in the face of incredible odds."
Sam was very quiet in the following car ride.
Four days later, with sixteen left before the final Almighty showdown, the found a woman who fought every day.
She was fighting inside of her own mind, a war no one else could see. When Cas and Kate and the Winchesters met her, she was living in a halfway house for battered women and mothers with children. Cas and the Winchesters weren't allowed into the building, so the conversation took place on a battered wooden picnic table in the patchy backyard, sturdy perennials struggling to keep blooming despite their surroundings, just like the residents inside.
This woman was soft and small and timid to see, but it became clear that she had a will that could chip diamonds. She battled the scars left by an abusive relationship, wounds no one could see. She talked about how she felt responsible, that she felt that each and every insult and slight and pinch of pain was something brought on herself.
She admitted to wanting to die. She admitted to trying to commit suicide.
And yes she persevered. She was rebuilding her life brick by brick, and she was making herself the foundation under it all. She would live with questions and lingering fear for the rest of her life, but she would live it.
It killed Dean to walk away without embracing her, but that wasn't what she needed.
As they said goodbye, she told them that it was her hope for the future- the advocates for change- that kept her going.
It had been thirty days. 2,914 miles. Seventeen interviews. Kate, Cas, Sam and Dean were down to their final minutes, and they still didn't have a working definition of a good person.
Dean stayed quiet through Sam and Kate's final debate; through Castiel's muttered Enochian threats and blasphemes- and when God appeared, he stepped forward.
"Rebellious as always, Dean," replied God, his mellifluous still managing to sound dry. "I was surprised you and Lucifer didn't get along better."
Dean didn't take the bait. "We spent almost half our time wondering what a good person was to you, what you wanted, what good meant.
And you know what.
There are no good people.
There are only people who try to be good, who do their best and slip up and get right back on that straight and narrow. Because that's all that matters when the chips are down. At the end of the day, hell, at the end of the life, they tried. Yeah they messed up. Fuck, I've messed up so many things I sometimes wonder if I've done anything right, but I tried. People try, and that's more than I can say for you." Dean fell silent, his eyebrows drawn together, his eyes cold and unblinking.
Kate took her turn. "You gave us free choice. You gave us feelings just to see what we'd do with them. You know what, Yahweh, you've never felt what it's like to be human. To be crushed by emotions so much bigger than yourself."
"You can't just decide to destroy everything because it got hard or boring or depressing." Sam interjected. "That's not how this works. You made us- you call us and the angels your children, but where have you been? What have you done for us?"
Dean's voice was even lower now. "This isn't a question about good people. This is about you living with the guilt of abandoning your world. You're ashamed of how we turned out. That isn't our problem. Humanity, as a whole, tries. It perseveres. We struggle through everything, all without any encouragement from you. Why would you ever stop that. You should be proud of us."
"Father, please." That was all Cas said. No begging or arguing. He had his angel blade loosely in hand, his feet planted.
God inclined his head. "As for humanity, I cannot really say how I feel. I don't know if you would comprehend." To Dean's left, Kate bristled. God continued on, "But as for you, the Winchesters, Castiel, and Kate… I can say I am proud of you. You presented your case well. You humans do seem to… strive. Always looking up. I believe they will be safe, at least for now.
God disappeared again. Kate and Cas and the brothers looked at each other. They didn't know where God had gone, or if he would ever make himself known again, and Cas was still coping with the betrayal of his father.
But slowly, slowly, like storm clouds moving away from the sun on a dark, cold day, they grinned at each other. Dean whooped and bear-hugged his brother before pouncing on Cas. Sam spun Kate up in the air, laughing, his dimples flashing deep in his tanned cheeks.
Castiel grinned when Dean grabbed Kate and planted a wet kiss right on her mouth.
It was a good day for the Team Winchester. They'd saved the world and confronted God, and they did it all without killing anyone.
But more than that, more than anything that had happened to them before, this quest gave them hope. It wasn't much, but it was a tiny sprout slowly growing, and like great tree roots can rip through bricks and cobbles and mortar, this hope was slowly cracking into the shields around their hearts.
There were still battles to be won, doubts and fears to be faced, monster's to fight, but that was for another day. Those were for another time.
Cas and Sam and Kate and Dean slid into the Impala, the Winchester's loyal steed and steel-framed home for more than forty years. The engine rumbled, the growl reminiscent of distant battle, looming dragons, trains rumbling in the night.
The drove off, soon merging onto the interstate, heading back across the country without a destination, without a plan. It was a day for the history books, a day the world had been saved by the Winchesters again, but no one knew. No one celebrated their triumph, took their pictures, gave them thanks. History books never recorded how the world almost ended. No one ever knew how close of a thing it had been.
The Winchesters, Kate Monroe, and Castiel- Angel of the Lord- won a battle in a war unseen by the rest of the world. They were veterans with invisible scars, heroes unsung, triumphs unseen. But that day, the day the world did not end, they won something a little more. They united as a family, a family with hope renewed.