The demon was smug as she further taunted Dean. "I gotta tell you… you would've never pulled that stunt if you knew…"
"Knew what?" Dean wasn't really sure why he was asking; he was already painfully aware of this favorite little game the demons seemed to love playing with him. Why he left himself open to be stabbed by word, when he never would have taken such physical abuse, he didn't know. Part of it was need. He needed to know about his father. He needed to know his father was ok and that his worst fears for his father were not true.
"Where your dad is…You should've made that deal. See people talk about hell, but it's just a word - doesn't even come close to describing the real thing."
"Shut your mouth, bitch!" They all seemed to know exactly which buttons to push. Or maybe the wounds on Dean's soul, the ones he hid so well from others, were just visible to these spirit beings. They certainly knew how to dig their claws into each one, opening them back up or tearing at them until he bled freely. And somehow, these wounds had a way of bringing him to his knees like nothing in the physical realm.
"If you could see your poor daddy… hear the sounds he makes, 'cause he can't even scream…"
"How bout I send you back there." It was an empty threat and he knew it. When all else failed, his mouth tended to work of its own accord, as if trying to speak into existence things he could not accomplish through force.
To Dean's utter surprise, the demon shrieked and appeared to flee from the body of the woman before him.
"What? How did I get… here?" The woman looked up at Dean in confusion and fear, and he had no answers for her.
-----
"If you could see your poor daddy… hear the sounds he makes, 'cause he can't even scream…"
The angel drew his sword on the demon hiding in the woman's body. "Enough! Leave now. You will harm him no more!" The angel had gotten new orders, but he was still, first-and-foremost, Dean's guardian. He knew that the physical body is only one aspect the human make-up. Sometimes, death of the mind or heart was as devastating and lethal as any flesh wound. He had his orders. He would protect his charge.
While staring down the business end of the warrior's sword and looking into the angel's burning eyes, the demon saw that the angel was not playing making an idle threat. It feared for its life, so it fled.
"What? How did I get… here?"
"You're safe now." Dean spun on his heals, surprised by the smooth baritone voice coming from behind him. It wasn't often someone could sneak up on him. He saw a huge man walking toward the woman. The man had a light accent Dean couldn't place. He was darker than he was fair, he had brown or black hair, and his eyes were dark brown and almond shaped. The man was probably not taller than Sam, but definitely wider and more muscular. He was wearing solid-black military-style clothes. Dean hoped he was one of the good guys because he would make a formidable foe. For all the danger Dean could read in the man's body movements, there was a gentleness in his eyes that put the woman at ease. She had been too confused to notice the man's sudden appearance. Dean watched the stranger warily. His gut told him that the man didn't feel like a demon, but he was not normal, either. The timing of his arrival was too coincidental, and Dean didn't believe in coincidences.
The man reached out his hand to help the woman up off the ground. "Go into the bar. Ask for 'Mark.' He will get you home safely." The man exuded honesty and sincerity. The woman nodded her understanding, and, in complete trust, she turned toward the bar and walked away.
As the man watched her go, he said, "She'll be fine, Dean."
Dean continued to stare as the man turned to look at him with a warm, albeit amused, smile. "You can call me Joshua," he said while reaching out with his hand in greeting.
Dean shook his hand more out of habit than anything. "How do you know my name? How long have you been here?"
"I know a lot about you, Dean. And I've been here long enough."
Dean still didn't think the man was a demon, but he figured it was better to be safe than sorry, "Cristo."
Joshua actually laughed at this. It wasn't a cruel laugh, but one full of genuine merriment.
"Well, you're no demon. So, what the hell are you?"
Joshua's eyes flashed threateningly. "Mind your tongue, boy." But, the warning passed as quickly as it had come. "I'm an angel," he stated simply.
Dean's mind lagged as if his absorbed what was going on and what the man had said. He was thrown by the sudden lethality that was, again, all encompassing in the man's being; which was followed by the total return to calm. The angel's emotions were so transparent and such a part of his presence, that it almost made him seem bigger than his stature. And when his anger flared, his presence swelled. The return to calm did not have a deflating effect so much as it was a softening around the edges. It was the admission that he was an angel that raised Dean's hackles. Dean didn't believe in angels. He couldn't. "How can you see the things we've seen and not believe there is good out there as well?" Sam had once asked. And his response was, "Because I've seen what evil does to good people." For him it was that simple. His family had suffered too greatly for him to believe there was something benevolent watching but not acting. To him that would mean either the benevolent being wasn't so good, or his family had done something to deserve their punishment. So it was easier not to believe, or at least to ignore.
"An angel." Dean stated incredulously.
"You'd prefer I had wings and a harp, perhaps?" Joshua said with a smirk.
"Right… sarcasm. So, what? Are you here to give me some message of comfort and tell me how everything will work out okay? I mean, that's what angels are, right? Messengers?"
The angel looked at Dean intensely for a moment, studying him. "Something like that."
Dean was doing his best to put up his apathetic and snarky front, but he wilted a little under the gaze of the angel. He wasn't afraid that the angel would harm him. He honestly felt bad for the disrespect. Not enough to change how he felt, though. "So, what is it?"
"I'm here to tell you that the General, the Lord who leads armies, does not make mistakes."
Dean felt as if he was missing something. "What?"
"The General does not make mistakes. You are not here by accident."
Dean studied the angel before him. He thought he understood what the angel was getting at. After all, it consumed his thoughts these days. He had near misses with death most of his hunting life. That was just part of the job. But twice in the last year he should have died. Instead, others died - others who didn't deserve to die. And the weight of his guilt was threatening to crush him. "Are you telling me Marshall Hall deserved to die? Or Layla?...Or my father?"
Joshua shook his head. "I'm saying your perspective is wrong."
"What's the difference? They died, or will, and I didn't. Does that make them more deserving of death?" Dean's guilt was turned to anger. He needed someone to blame. He needed a reason.
"It's not a question of deserving death. Death is a fact of life. All humans die." Joshua knew Dean well enough to know this answer just frustrated him. He offered further explanation. "Marshall was going to die. Sue Ann had already marked him for death. It was decided that you and your brother would have to step in to stop Sue Ann from killing more people. You electrocuted yourself…"
"Yeah. Hell of a lot of fun that was." Dean interjected under his breath.
"Your brother stepped in to save you, brining you to Roy and his wife. You can't see the future, you can only see the past and present, but had you and your brother not been sent, many more deaths would have occurred for years to come."
"What about Layla?"
"It's not for you to know. She served her purpose in your life, giving you a glimpse of what faith is. Whether she lives or dies is not up to you. It never was."
"But I stopped her from being healed."
"You stopped someone else from dying."
As much as he would never believe that his dad's death served any good purpose, Dean needed something - resolution of some kind, to be able to move on. He nearly choked on the words as he said, "And dad."
The angel gave Dean a look filled with compassion and sympathy. The feeling was palpable to Dean as he waited for an answer to why his father was no longer with him, and how he could possibly not be responsible. "You're father made a choice, Dean. He chose to take himself out of the fight. That is not your responsibility."
Though he could feel the truth behind the words, it was not enough. "He would not have offered himself for me if I wasn't dying."
"It was not his choice to make. He did not truly know if you would live or die. He chose to put himself in God's place instead of waiting."
"A reaper was after me! There was no other outcome. I was supposed to die. I am supposed to be dead." The last admission came out barely above a whisper.
"Demons can masquerade as angels of light. You don't think they can masquerade as reapers? Had a reaper been after you - had it actually been your time to go – you would not be here now."
As much as Dean wanted to believe this, another part of him – the part that still thought of his father as Daddy, hero of the innocent and destroyer of things that go bump in the night – could not accept this explanation either. The implication being that his dad had died for nothing. And that wasn't any easier for him to handle.
As if reading Dean's mind, the angel said, "Dean, your father was not perfect. He made mistakes, but no act of love is in vain. 'Greater love has no one than this: that he lay down his life for another.' He had a chance to make his peace."
"Does that mean the demon lied? Is he… is he in heaven?"
"This isn't about him; it's about you." The angel said simply.
Dean sighed. He hung his head for a moment and then wiped his hand over his face. Why do metaphysical beings never answer a question straight out? When he lifted it he asked, "What the h… What does that mean?"
"That means it is not for me to tell you that. You're not ready for the answer to that question. You still have much to learn and do."
"Whatever, dude." Dean was frustrated and tired. He headed toward the impala, trying to put this evening, and all its colorful inhabitants, behind him.
"Roy was telling the truth," the angel said to Dean's retreating back. "You have a job to do, and you're not done."
When Dean turned around to face the angel, he was gone. Dean paused a moment longer. This was a conversation he would not likely share with anyone… ever. Dean shook his head. Nothing changed, nothing had been accomplished. But his weight seemed a little lighter, and the seed that Layla planted months ago had just been watered. Funny thing about seeds. When they first start to grow, they need darkness, dirt and rain more than they need the sun.
The angel watched Dean walk the rest of the way to the car. His feet were re-set on his path, whether he knew it or not. Dean's destiny was calling and he would meet it head on.
The angel smiled and looked to his right. The General was smiling, too.