Chapter Text
Dean closed the door to Anna’s tower, his hand feeling numb against the handle, his eyes vacant, his thoughts far away. It was quiet in the clearing. Raphael and his quarter-souls were sat together by the wall of spears, talking in hushed voices. They no longer patrolled the boundaries, for Castiel’s hold on them had been severed, like a shackle worn away by rain. With the sound of the door closing, they looked up. Raphael stood, and walked over to Dean.
“You are leaving?” he asked him.
Dean nodded.
“Where are the others?”
Raphael turned and pointed beyond the gate. Jo and Bobby were standing at the top of a hill shrouded by trees. They were bending over something.
“They are saying goodbye to your friend,” the quarter-soul stated indifferently.
Dean nodded, and left through the gate. He was glad to leave this place.
He walked up the hill, the figures of his group becoming clearer. Ash was laid down on the ground, his hands resting together on his stomach. The blood of his head wound had been cleaned, and the folds of his hair covered the worst of it. He looked almost peaceful, as if he were only sleeping. Jo was crouched over him, placing flowers she had found around his body. The petals were mostly brown and shrivelled, some had wilted all together—but there was a beauty in them nonetheless. Dean bent down next to Jo, and picked a flower up.
“Here,” he said kindly, “let me help.”
Jo wiped her eyes and sniffed.
“We don’t have any way of burying him,” she said bitterly, arranging a lock of hair so it fell against Ash’s cheek.
The flowers had been placed, and Jo and Dean stood up.
“It’s perfect,” said Dean, and he saw the corner of Jo’s mouth turn upwards, in the slightest hint of a smile.
“Jo,” said Bobby from beside them, “would you like to say a few words?”
She opened her mouth, tried to speak. Her chest hiccuped as she forced back a sob. Jo grit her teeth, and shook her head.
“I will, if that’s okay,” said Dean. Jo looked at him quickly. He thought she would refuse him, but instead she nodded.
“I didn’t know Ash for very long,” he said, “but from the little time I spent with him, he proved he was a good person, and that he cared about you, Jo, so much.” He heard Jo sniff from beside him, but continued. “From the minute I first got here, people have sacrificed themselves for me, for what they believe I can accomplish. I never wanted that to happen.” His chest felt tight. He looked down at Ash, and realised he didn’t look peaceful at all. Blood was running down his head again. His skin had shallowed to a pallid white. His face, though still, seemed to be twisted in anguish. Dean couldn’t look at him any longer.
“I let them down,” he said, almost to himself. “Goddamnit, I’m supposed to save people.”
“Dean.”
Jo was looking at him. Her face was wet but she was no longer crying. She tried to say something else, but Dean stopped her.
“No, it’s okay,” he said. He forced himself to look back at Ash, settling his gaze on the man’s closed eyes. He could not let his last memory of him be a bad one.
“Ash died braver than I could ever be,” he said then. “I won’t forget that. I won’t forget his sacrifice. None of us will.”
They left Ash’s body, and travelled back down the hill. They passed the Tower, and Dean looked up towards the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Anna on the way—but she wasn’t there. The three walked together in silence, for there was nothing anyone could say. Not only that, but Dean was exhausted. He had not had a minute’s rest since he had been transported to the labyrinth three days ago. He was desperate for a release, for the walking and fighting to end, for Castiel’s face to disappear from his mind, for Sammy to be safe and warm in his arms. Dean was so lost in his thoughts that he did not even notice the trees clearing, the feel of pebbles under his boots, and the soft sound of water lapsing against the shore.
“Dean,” he heard from beside him, “that must be the island.”
He stopped, blinking.
There was a huge body of water ahead of him, a lake so big it could have been an ocean. In the middle stood a body of land, slightly steeped, but too far away to discern what was on it. Dean stared at the island. The Righteous Weapon was there, somewhere, waiting for him; the last piece of the jigsaw.
“Look, a boat.”
There was a battered rowing boat lapsing by the shore, two oars placed inside, and two seats.
“We ain’t all fitting in that,” Bobby said gruffly, his hands on his hips.
“I’ll go alone.”
Jo put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, her eyes hard but anxious.
“No,” she said. “Let me come with you. Please.”
He had no right to refuse her. He walked over to the boat, reached inside, and handed Jo a paddle.
“Okay.”
They had been rowing long enough for the sight of Bobby to disappear. There was nothing around them now but water, and the sound of stillness against their oars. They had said nothing since leaving for the island. If Meg had been there, she would have undoubtedly made a quip or derisive jest by now, mocking the situation or events to come, but at the same time, it would have made Dean laugh. There was no point thinking of her now, he thought. She was gone, and she had proven Jo and everyone right by betraying them, by betraying Dean.
Despite his feelings, Dean couldn’t help but wonder…
“Thank you,” he suddenly heard, and any thought of Meg disappeared to the back of his mind.
“Thank you,” he heard again. Jo was smiling at him sadly from her seat in the boat, rowing slowly with her left hand. “For what you said about Ash.”
Dean tried to smile, to say thank you, but the words wouldn’t come out. It just didn’t feel right.
“I… I never wanted anyone to die for me, Jo,” he said stiffly. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you are,” replied Jo. “I was angry before; I realise that now—but this is bigger than all of us, even you. We knew not all of us would survive. I knew that; Ash knew it, too.”
“But it’s tearing me apart.”
Jo used her free hand to squeeze Dean’s knee.
“Have you not forgotten what you told me before we left the Pool?” she said, “You said their sacrifices weren’t for nothing, because you were going to make a change.”
Dean couldn’t look at her. He felt like a fraud, somehow.
“But I’m scared,” he finally forced himself to say. He stared into the lake, the water so dark it was bottomless.
“Don’t you think we all are?” he heard Jo say. “But, Dean, more than anything, we’re hopeful. We know you can do this. I know.” She put a hand on him. He looked up, finally, and she was smiling. “I believe in you.”
She meant it; she really did. Dean squeezed her hand tightly.
“Thank you,” he said.
“When all of this is over,” Jo said then, letting go of his hand, “when Castiel is dead, and we go back home—will you come and find me?”
He thought of her then, what it would be like to see her in the real world. It was a pleasant thought.
“I promise.”
They rowed in silence again for the next few minutes, until Dean’s oar brushed itself against raised earth, grazing the pebbles.
“We’re here,” Jo said.
Dean turned around. They had arrived at the island at last. Only, it did not seem much like an island now—the cave in which he was to enter made up the entire mound. Like a black hole, it had consumed the space. It seemed to call to him in little whispers, through the wailings of a wind that did not exist.
“That cave…” Dean said quietly, getting out of the boat. “It’s like I recognise it somehow. Like I’ve been here before.”
“That’s impossible,” Jo said from beside him, dragging the boat further on to shore.
He looked at her quickly, then back at the cave.
“I know,” he said simply, but he could not escape the familiarity of it all.
Jo overtook him, grabbing his arm as she did.
“Come on. Let’s go inside.”
“Password?”
Before they had a chance to enter, a woman had appeared before them, as if out of thin air. Dean’s stomach lurched in surprise—her eyes were bright white and staring right through him.
“Shit,” he uttered. “Jo.”
For a moment they just stood there, the woman staring at them with unfocused severity. Then, her mouth flickered, lifting at the sides. Before Dean could even process it, the woman had doubled over and was laughing ceaselessly, her hands on her stomach. When she was finished, she looked back up at Dean, and gave him a grin.
“Oh, I’m just joking with you, handsome,” she said jovially.
Dean blinked.
“Are you a demon?”
The woman crossed her arms, unamused. In the back of his head, the face of Meg appeared. This woman reminded him of her.
“I find that offensive,” she feigned. “Don’t you know the difference between demon eyes and blind ones?”
“She’s telling the truth,” perked Jo. “She’s a soul.”
The blind woman winked.
“Thanks for vouching for me,” she said. “Now, how can I help you?”
Dean cleared his throat.
“Um, we’d like to go inside the cave, please.”
She nodded.
“You can, but I’m afraid your lady friend is going to have to wait outside.”
“Why?” Jo asked, scowling.
“There’s a lot of, um, let’s put it simply—Hocus Pocus in there. Anyone but the Righteous Prince goes in and it would be, well… it wouldn’t be pretty for you, darling.”
Jo sighed, but knew it would be pointless to argue.
“Fine,” she said, taking a step back. “I’ll wait outside.”
“Oh, don’t be like that,” the woman said. “I’m wonderful company, grumpy.”
She focused on Dean now, her blind eyes drinking him in.
“Now,” she said ominously. “I believe you have something for me, handsome.”
Dean raised his brows. He looked at Jo for answers but she was sulkily picking at her fingernails. He looked back at the woman and blinked.
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said stupidly.
The blind woman chuckled.
“Did Anna not give you anything before you left?”
Anna?
“Well no, except—.”
Except a kiss.
Somehow, the woman knew exactly what he was thinking; could see the look on his face.
“Bingo,” she said, smiling.
She beckoned him with a single finger. Dean approached her nervously. She closed her eyes—you know, he found himself thinking, she really does remind me of Meg, and put a hand around his neck. They touched lips softly then, and deep within the recesses of the cave Dean could hear a shifting, an awakening. When he pulled away, the blind woman put her mouth to his ear.
“I think we made your lady friend jealous,” she whispered.
Dean looked at Jo, who in turn was very deliberately studying a pebble by her feet.
“The cave is ready for you,” the woman said, stepping aside. “Good luck in there, handsome.”
Dean smiled, and took a step forward.
“You know,” he said, pausing at the entrance, “if you can’t see, how do you know I’m handsome?”
“Please,” the blind woman guffawed. “I’m blind, not stupid. Castiel wouldn’t be kicking up such a fuss if you weren’t.”
The cave was nothing but blackness stretching for miles. It truly was a black hole, devouring him with every step. He could not tell of any ‘Hocus Pocus’ as the woman had warned, only the torturous dark and cruel silence in which he could not escape his own thoughts.
His foot knocked against something in his path. He put his hands out to break his fall, but there was nowhere he could dive into. He was at a wall—a dead end. Dean’s stomach dropped. He had not noticed any turns or extra pathways—if this cave was a labyrinth in itself, and he had gone this far blindly, Dean worried he would never find his way back out.
Before he could lose hope completely, he noticed something in front of him, a light of sorts. As he studied it, he realised that they were bright orange words searing—burning themselves into the cavern wall:
What am I?
I am bottomless, never-ending
The more I consume the more I’m extending
Craving, lost, forgotten and violent
Inside me, your world will never be silent
“A riddle, really?” he said aloud.
The wall remained as it was. Dean sighed, rubbing his eyes, and forced himself to read it again.
And again.
And again.
The words jumbled in his mind until they were echoing. What could it mean? This whole place, this entire labyrinth was never-ending and violent, and all the creatures in it were lost and forgotten.
Then he remembered another place he had been while inside Castiel’s world, a place so awful he had willed it from his mind, a place preceding that beautiful white ballroom where he had given himself to a greedy man so willingly…
“The Pool of the Lost,” he said to the wall. “You’re the Pool of the Lost.”
The stone instantly began to crumble, falling away until the path had cleared completely and Dean could step though. Immediately he could see that the end of the cave was nearing. He could see something at the edge, but it was not clear enough to discern. He began walking faster, almost running—until he saw it.
There was a man, hanging from the wall ahead of him. His head was bowed and his arms were outstretched in crucifixion. He was suspended with chains, and on the ends of them were hooks that pierced him in place, cleaved through his skin. As Dean got closer, the man looked up. His eyes were glassy and far away, as if Dean was an apparition, barely there. Though half-dead, Dean thought, the man was still beautiful, or as close to beautiful as a shadow could be. The man’s eyes finally settled on Dean’s. Despite his weakness, he tried to smile.
“Hello, Dean,” he said, his voice a cracked whisper.
“W-who did this to you?” It pained Dean just to look at him. He put a hand on a grapple that dug into his side.
The man let out a troubled, tired sigh.
“A man I loved, long ago. There’s no need to try and free me, Dean. The chains don’t hurt me anymore.”
Dean reluctantly put his hand back down.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Michael,” he said. “I am the Righteous Prince.”
“What?”
Michael laughed, then winced.
“You can’t have thought you were the first brother to come here? I am the one who came before, the one who was meant to free this place, and all those in it. I failed.”
“Your brother was Lucifer?”
“He was the Damned Prince,” nodded Michael. “He was meant to rule and conquer this land, and he did. The war we waged was long and bloody, and in the end he was just too strong. He loved me, my brother; that was why he kept me in this place, hid me from those that would use me against him. But he forgot me, eventually. He promised me he wouldn’t… and then, one day, a thousand years later, a man stumbled into my cave, and asked me the very same questions you just did.”
The flicker of an image settled itself in Dean’s head, of a man with dark hair and bright blue eyes, eyes that were beautiful, but cruel.
“Castiel.”
“He said he’d gotten lost,” Michael mused, “that he’d found the cave by accident. I was so desperate with loneliness that I believed him.”
Dean recognised that loneliness. He’d seen it in Anna’s Tower. Watching Castiel kiss another man had filled him with a childish envy, but now he felt nothing but guilt.
“I saw a memory,” Dean said quietly, “of the two of you.”
“I gather I must have looked quite foolish,” Michael replied. “You see, I loved Castiel more than anything, and I thought he loved me, too. I told him of a way to trap Lucifer. He would have to cage his sister as Lucifer had done to me, and in return, he would free us, all of us, and be with me away from the dark.”
Michael’s voice was getting stronger now, louder.
“Of course, it was all a lie,” he said, and now he sounded hateful. “Castiel wanted the throne and nothing else. He shackled me, put hooks through my skin, and then he abandoned me forever.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Dean lamented the First Brother’s fate. To be alone for so long, and then to be alone again, only now helpless to move; his body a catalyst of pain and regret—Dean could barely comprehend it. But Michael no longer seemed to mourn. He shook his head kindly.
“Don’t be,” he smiled. “I have learnt to love my wounds. These chains have become my only friends.”
“But the pain.”
Michael smiled again. He was beautiful. He wasn’t a shadow; he was a man. Dean could imagine himself through Castiel’s eyes, then—it couldn’t have been hard, pretending to love him. That kiss he saw in the memory was real, which is what made it all the more harrowing.
“I do not feel such things anymore,” Michael said. “I have only waited, until the next brother came.”
Dean took a step closer, holding his breath in prescience.
“Do you have the Righteous Weapon?” he asked, his voice eager and fearful, both at once.
“I do,” Michael nodded. He did not say anything again for a moment; he only stared at Dean, eager and fearful as well.
“Dean,” he whispered then. “Touch my face. Let me feel something.”
Dean lifted his hand. Michael’s face was the only part of him not marred by hooks. As he laced his fingers against the man’s cheek, he was startled to realise the temperature of it: Michael was scalding. It was like touching raw flame.
Before he could pull his hand away, something changed—a flash of orange, a smell of burning. Michael’s face, his entire body, was licked in fire. He was alight before Dean’s very eyes.
“Michael!”
It did not take long. Within a few seconds, the First Brother had been consumed by the flames entirely. He loosened from his shackles, the hooks dissolved from his flesh. His body fell to the floor, and now he was a shadow again.
Dean stared at him, his heart fit to burst in his chest. He had done that. He had touched Michael’s face and ignited him. How many more were to die by Dean’s hand?
He closed his eyes, helpless and despondent—and when he opened them, he saw something that made the world stop turning.
From the flames, she had been reborn. She stood, her hair long and golden, dressed in the nightgown she had worn that night, six months ago. She was smiling at him.
“M-mom?”
He could not stop the tears from falling. Mary opened her arms and Dean fell into them. She smelled the same, of lilac soap and fresh linen. Dean buried himself into her neck.
“Hello, baby,” Mary said as she held him. “I’ve missed you.”