Supernatural: Manic Pixie God Girl Part 9 – Miracles

Crowley invited Dean out for a drink that night and Dean, being Dean, said yes.  He would have never admitted it to a blessed soul, but he missed Crowley sometimes.  

What he hadn’t known, when he said yes, was that Jovi was coming too.  Sam, who also hadn’t known that Jovi would be there either since if he had he would have never trusted Dean go it alone, begged off.  He and Castiel had decided to warn as many of the lesser gods as they could track down, that Lucifer was on the hunt.  Or that’s what they said, anyway.  Dean figured that it was most likely all part of their not-so-secret plan to de-God-ify him so he let them alone to pretend like they were accomplishing something.  So he and Bobby found themselves accompanying their frenemies to a dive bar in a place called East Wenatchee that looked as if it hadn’t seen rain for 400 days and 400 nights.  Everything was coated with a thick layer of beige dust and Dean’s beer tasted gritty.  But after the first few drinks he didn’t much care.  

Jovi had done the librarian transformation, taken off the eyeglasses, let her hair down, and was wearing a dress that stopped just above her knee.  It was coral and made of some sort of silky clingy stuff that didn’t leave much to the imagination.  He hated her for that.  It was easy to hate her after learning that Lucifer, who she had created AND freed for some nefarious purpose, had found a way to gain strength and would possibly get strong enough to destroy either or both of them eventually.  He was really regretting the energy he’d expended on resurrections.  Even though he knew he would probably be recovered by the time Lucifer was strong enough to move against him, it was still energy Dean wished he had in reserve.  He was primarily worried about Jovi, now that he fully understood just how much the act of creating him had to have taken out of her.  The idea that someday Lucifer might be strong enough to harm her caused a lump to rise in his throat.  One that was hard to swallow away.   But maybe that was just the grit in his beer.

Instead of enjoying his drink or joining Bobby and Crowley in the game of pool they’d begun to play, he found himself making contingency plans.  He wondered what would happen if he himself started eating the lesser gods – an altogether unappetizing notion – or if he and Jovi just killed them all in one fell swoop to prevent Lucifer from sinking his teeth into them.  But then he thought of the decent lesser gods he had met and calculated the energy it would require for the two of them to do that…probably more than they even had between them…and realized what a stupid idea that was.  Even if she agreed to it, which was unlikely, they’d be very much weakened by the endeavor and Lucifer was already more powerful than ever.  He’d just have to find some other way to get stronger. And more importantly, for Jovi to get her strength back.

She must have known what he was thinking, or at least that he was fretting, she seemed to have the knack of reading people that way.  He didn’t.  Here he was, God, supposed to be like, omniscient and everything, and he still didn’t have a clue what anyone was thinking, her least of all.  “How are you holding up?”  She shimmied her way onto the barstool beside him and her skirt slid up a little.  She had on what his mom had always called panty hose but modern women seemed to refer to as tights.  They were ever so slightly sparkly.  He tried to hang onto his hate but it dissipated.


“Did you have any questions, maybe, or anything?”  

“Yeah.  Wouldn’t you rather have wine?”  Her little hands were wrapped around a bottle of beer.  Her nails were the exact same shade as her dress.  Dean wondered if she actually had to paint them or if she could just will them to be whatever color she wanted.  Then he wondered if her toenails were painted the same coral color, or a different color, or not at all; her shoes were closed at the toe and didn’t reveal any secrets.  “Seems more Biblical.”

She laughed.  “This vessel isn’t super into wine.  Kind of gives me a headache?”

“It’s the sulfites.”

“Yeah.”  She took a sip of beer.  “But the sulfites are what keep it fresh.  So much of creation is necessary evil.”  During the course of his experiments, Dean had drawn the same conclusion.  A lot of things he had always believed to be universally bad, like mosquitoes and cancer and monogamy, were simply necessities that had to be tolerated for the whole ball of wax to work as well as it did.  He tilted his glass to acknowledge her point.  “I meant, questions about the job, you know.”

He had a thousand questions like are you avoiding me and if so why and why are you making angels out of demons and how do you cut pieces of yourself off to make stuff with does it hurt and how come you never told me we could do that but he tucked them away for another time.  “Why can’t I make things like you do?”

“It’s cause you’re trying to jump in in the middle, Dean.  Not even in the middle.  Hm.  It’s like you’re trying to do professional brain surgery on your first day of medical school.  You might be the most talented surgeon in the whole wide world eventually, after your education and an internship and a residency and 20 years of practice, but you aren’t going to be able to do that on your first day of school.”  

“I know, I know, it took you millions of years to learn to do all this.”

“Trillions, actually.  But don’t be so hard on yourself.  You’re going to outpace me in no time.  I honestly can’t even get over how well you’ve already done.  And all on your own.” 

Dean felt a swell of pride in spite of himself.  “I could go faster if you helped.”

“You probably could, but I didn’t think you were interested in my help.”

“I’m not interested in being your companion.  I’d love your help.”  She looked hurt, then covered it up with a fidget and a smile.  He played it back in his head and realized it sounded too much like a rejection.  It was a rejection, of course, but, but maybe he could have sugar coated it better.  “Hey, uh, look.  Jovi, look, ok?  That’s not…that wasn’t exactly what I meant to say, there.”

“Hey, no, no.  I knew it was a longshot going in.”

God damn it.  Of course she had to be nice about it.  He was such an ass sometimes.  “So am I supposed to be like, answering prayers, or anything?  I been ignoring them up till now, I figured you were handling that part.”

“Prayers are…prayers are tricky, Dean.  Let’s not worry about prayers till we get this whole Lucifer thing sorted out, ok??”

“How come?”

“Well, because it’s not like Publisher’s Clearing House.  There are a lot of things that have to come together where prayers are concerned.  A lot of variables have to be taken into consideration.  You can’t just give everybody 10 million dollars and make all their dreams come true.  Some people will be completely destroyed if their prayer is answered, sometimes when you give one person what they want it makes someone else worse off.  The world is a place of limited resources, and some people have too much already, more than their fair share, and it’s ok to maybe…dial things back for them a little, let somebody else win for a change?  And that’s not even taking into account that every prayer you answer is a piece of your energy that you may need to do something else, something more important, for someone more deserving, the next day.   And even when you think you get it right, it’s all just a drop in the ocean, there’s like a bajillion more prayers the very next day to weed through, and most of them are junk prayers, like about algebra tests and stuff like that.  Why can’t they just study, lazy little jerks?  To be honest with you, I hardly ever answer prayers any more, it’s just too depressing.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just saying, I done a lot of praying over the years and it doesn’t feel like any of them ever got heard, let alone answered.”

She snorted.  “See, this is exactly what I was talking about with the prayers thing, Dean. People always want more.  And then even when you give it to them they’re all like, ‘Well what about that time in 1982 when I didn’t get the GI Joe under the Christmas tree?’”

“What about that time in 1982 when I didn’t get a GI Joe under the Christmas tree?”

“I made you God, Dean, try to be satisfied with that, would you?”

Crowley showed up then and boy howdy, was Dean ever glad to see him.  “My Lady, wouldst thou favor me with a dance?”

“With pleasure.”  And just like that she was gone.  The conversation he had hoped for, for months, was over, and he didn’t feel it had gone well at all.  Not at all.  He had hurt Jovi’s feelings without even meaning to, and he hadn’t learned a freaking thing.   Dammit.  Dean drained his beer and motioned to the barkeep for another.   Once he got it, he turned around to see what was going on behind him and he very nearly crushed the bottle in his hand.  He actually felt the glass start to flex beneath his fingertips before he stopped himself.  Super strength, dude.  Don’t forget.

Jovi and Crowley were dancing.  It was a slow song.  Love Hurts.  A song he normally liked.  But it was a real slow dance.  Not a polite, keep-your-distance dance between friends or coworkers.  Intimate.  It was a dance that meant something.  Her arms were twined around his neck, her head was resting on his barrel chest, his disgusting British sausage fingers were down there pret-ty darn low on the small of her back and she was leaving the offending hand there and not slapping at it and kneeing him in the nuts like Dean thought that by all rights she ought to be.  And while Dean couldn’t see her face, the look on his, Good God, the expression on that punchable, punchable face was not in any way shape or form angelic.

Of course.  It was obvious.  When women are slumming, going dumpster diving, they don’t do what men do.  They don’t go out to bars and go home with strangers.  She would have never done to herself what Dean was doing for himself.   Women don’t do that.  Women like Jovi didn’t, at any rate.  Women like that find the nearest cockroach they can pick up from the gutter and pretend like they’re having a real relationship with the insect.  And Crowley certainly fit the description.  A cockroach.  An insect.  Dean watched them a little while longer and then he realized he had learned something after all.      

He was a jealous God too.


The first time, Oriphiel had cried afterwards.  He couldn’t help himself.   He cried and begged for her forgiveness for all the wicked things he’d done.  And it wasn’t like the shedding of a manly tear or two, oh no, it was full-on sobbing, blubbering like a blithering idiot, crimson-faced with shuddery breaths and a perfectly terrible amount of snot.  It had happened after the second and third times as well.  She assured him sweetly, gently, repeatedly that he had already been forgiven, long ago he had been forgiven, his sins had been laid bare before her, and he was washed clean, but he still cried.  

It took him 4 times!!  FOUR!! before he recovered a modicum of self-control, and by that point he had humiliated himself so fully it didn’t seem there was even a fragment of his carefully constructed Crowley persona left to hide behind.  It was infuriating.  She had destroyed him and remade him; he was Crowley no more.  He had played at being Crowley for hundreds of years and perfected the routine, but Crowley had been burnt away.  She knew him, the real him, to his very marrow, and he couldn’t even slither back into his comfortable old skin and pretend otherwise because of all the bloody crying.  She knew he wasn’t Crowley really, she knew that he never had been, and he knew that she knew.  He hated it, the vulnerability, the need, the good burbling up inside of him, and most of all he hated the unbearable sense of gratitude he felt that she let him, of all beings, touch her, after the dank and dirty places he had been.

She was very nice about it all.  Naturally that only made it worse.  She never lost patience, she assured and reassured him, she forgave him 10,000 times.  She forgave him in all the languages of the world.  She forgave him in languages that hadn’t been spoken for thousands of years.  She forgave him in every demon tongue.  She laughed at his jokes and made him cups of tea and ironed his shirts for him.  She brought him breakfast in bed and changed the sheets when he got crumbs all over the place and rubbed his back when his newly-formed wing muscles ached.  She told him that she wanted him because he had been so long in the dark, not in spite of it.   She wanted him because he wasn’t an angel, not really, not an old school angel.  He was a new kind of angel, a better kind.  She told him the old angels bored her and she told him that he was perfect the way he was because she never made anything that wasn’t perfect.  And then she washed his feet and he cried again.   She told him that she would forgive him until even he believed it.  

He felt both the luckiest and the most cursed being that had ever lived.

All along he knew that she was for Dean.  Eventually.  He knew that it would happen someday as surely as the sun rose and set, that eventually Dean would claim her.  And he wanted that for her.  He loved her so that he wanted it because he knew how she wanted it, and he wanted her to have everything.  He felt such a great pity for her, knowing for how long she had been alone, how much love she had to give that she was literally overflowing with it, how badly she needed someone, anyone, even a wretch like him, to cleave to.  Heartbreaking was what it was.  Utterly heartbreaking.  The fact that she had settled upon him, Oriphiel, of all creatures, as a tolerable replacement for what she had expected to have been true love only proved to him how desperately lonely she must be.  And so with one side of his heart he hoped and prayed most fervently that Dean would come soon to end her suffering.

The other side of his heart was a bit black around the edges yet, it seemed, and it was that side that decided perhaps he would kill Dean, instead.  There simply had to be a way. There was always a way.  

And once Dean was gone, she would forgive her faithful Oriphiel one last time and turn him into God instead.  He would be a proper God, very just, very hands-on, all business, no drinking and carousing as Dean had done, squandering her exquisite gift upon dalliances and self-indulgences.  After all, he had management experience, he had been the King of Hell.  If anything he was overqualified for the position.  It may take time but she would realize that and forgive him.  And then she would love him the way she loved Dean and they could live happily ever after, forever and ever, amen.


When Bobby looked back on it, as he did many times over the weeks to come, it was that night that things took a turn for the worse, and he blamed himself for not seeing it right away.  It was Jefferson Starship, that’s what he should have seen.  Dean was listening to Jefferson Starship.

Bobby had thought they’d a decent enough time at the bar.  He surprised himself by actually enjoying doing some reminiscing with Crowley, laughing about all the times they’d screwed each other over and talking about all the crazy-ass things that had happened while Bobby had been away – the first all-demon presidential election, for example; nobody won – and having some laughs about how ridiculous it was that they were both angels now.  He wouldn’t have took that bet, for damn sure.  Never in a million lifetimes.   Crowley said the same, only not in a billion.  And he was a critter who knew how to win a bet, so.

But Dean was pissy afterwards.  Surly.  When Bobby asked him what his damn problem was, he blurted out, “Silk pajamas.  That’s what my problem is.  Silk, frickin, pajamas.”

“Ok, princess.”  The jibe didn’t even seem to register.  Whatever beef Dean had against silk frickin pajamas, apparently it ran deep.

They had drove to the bar.  They didn’t have to, but Dean still liked driving the Impala and Bobby hated poofing around from place to place like some kinda airy fairy.  So they drove, and so they had to drive back again.  And on the car radio came a song Bobby hadn’t heard for a while that he remembered kinda liking cause the 45 of it had been playing on repeat this one time while he was getting laid.  Maria Cerno.  “Miracles.”  Good times.  But he figured since it was Jefferson Starship and Dean hated Jefferson Starship, he’d insist on changing the station.  He didn’t though, just sat there listening to the words and then he looked over at Bobby with a disturbingly intense look on his face.  “This is actually a pretty good song.”  It was embarrassing though because it was, well, kind of racy, that was why Maria Cerno had liked it and why he had liked Maria Cerno liking it.   And Dean, who despite his best efforts, Bobby could never quite think of as anything other than an overgrown kid, was listening to it so hard he had the feeling the boy was about to start taking notes or something.   Bobby rolled down the window and waited for the moment to pass.

It was downright weird was what it was.  Jefferson Starship.  But Dean was older now, you mellow out when you get older.   At least it wasn’t Barry Manilow.

But then he listened to it again when they got back to that bunker place where Sam and Dean lived now.  Like 20 times in a row.  The kid went in a room and closed the door and listened to that damn song 20 times in a row and Bobby didn’t even want to know what was going on in there.

And that was it.  That was when it all started.  He was sure of it.


Dean got to thinking that maybe the whole companion thing might be worth a second look.  Like maybe it was something a guy could do for a day or two or a week, before fully committing to the endeavor.  Like maybe it was something he could try on for size.

He could feel her pulling at him.  It was like quicksand.  The more he struggled, the harder she sucked.  That sounded funny.  Heh.  He remembered the thing he had always heard about quicksand was that if you stopped fighting it you could float right on top of it, and it couldn’t pull you under, so he tried that.  He just tried to float atop the sensation like a blob, not moving, not thinking, not breathing.  Somewhere along the way Dean had realized he didn’t always have to breathe;  sometimes he did, but other times he’d realize 10 minutes had gone by and he hadn’t inhaled once.

When he lay still like that, he could hear the prayers.  They were always there a little bit in the background but sometimes when he lay still and quiet he could really hear them.  He thought about what Jovi had said, that prayers were too much for him to handle yet.  Well, screw her, maybe he hadn’t managed to make a dodo yet but surely he could handle a little prayer or two.  So he opened up to them and started listening.  Damn, there were so many.  She hadn’t been kidding about that.  There were so many of them and a pretty high percentage of them were, like she had said, junk prayers.  People praying to pass drug tests or win the lottery or get into someone’s pants.  Idiots.  It was hard to find the legit prayers because of all the junk prayers in the way gumming up the works.  But eventually he found one, a family with a dying child, and he found he could extend himself out from his body, like letting out a fishing line, little by little, till he could be where they were, a part of him anyway, his consciousness maybe, while the rest of himself was still in his vessel.  

When he went in for a closer look he was nearly blown away by the pain that they were feeling, the family and the child.  It stunned him how sharp it was and intense it was, not like something in a movie, not at all.  Their pain was guttural, fundamental, devastating, they emitted pain with every breath they took, and then he was blown away again by the relief he felt that he could fix it for them.  So he did.  He willed that the cells in that little body would grow normally again…not too fast, he didn’t want to be too obvious about it, but he fixed it so that very slowly over time the child would get better and better and the doctors would scratch their heads and have no explanation.  

The joy he felt was as big as the ocean.  He had wasted all that time on dodo birds when he could have been answering prayers.

He pulled himself along like a kite on a string, moving from place to place, following the prayers.  Somewhere in the back of his mind he recalled Jovi had told him not to do much, that it would sap his strength, and he further recalled he needed all his strength to defeat Lucifer, but he didn’t want to stop.  Stopping meant that he would be letting a kid die, that his actions or his inaction would cause a child’s death, and he couldn’t do that.  He fixed child after child after child, and then he realized it was kinda racist that he was just fixing up the American kids and so he pulled himself across the ocean to Asia and Africa and there he came to a crashing halt because the suffering was so huge it overwhelmed him.  

There was so much grief and pain and sickness and suffering in those places that he felt it would take him forever to get through it one child at a time, and it wasn’t like a child in America that had cancer or had got hit by a car where he could patch them up and they’d most likely stay fixed.   He could fix up these poor kids but they wouldn’t stay that way, most of them.  Something else would happen to them tomorrow…they’d starve or get sick or be shot by a warlord or pressed into slavery and there were just so many of them, how could he get through them all only to have to start again the next day fixing whatever new problem they had in the meantime?

Humans sucked.  They really sucked.  Dean had generally attributed human misery primarily to the actions of demons in the past, but nope.  Most of it was really just themselves.  He wondered why Jovi even liked them so much.  I mean, why not let Lucifer have some fun, thin out the herd a little?  Give him a “scumbags only” rule and let him go hunting?  But Jovi would not approve.

Dean snuffed a couple warlords just for fun, made one of them choke on a hunk of meat and gave another one a heart attack, and then he gave some customers in Thai brothels various types of crotch rot to maybe teach them a lesson, but he knew it was pointless.  There would just be another warlord the next day.  More customers at the brothel.  Why did people have to be like that?  So selfish and greedy, so willing to hurt others so they could have a little bit bigger piece of pie or cross another experience off their sexual bucket lists?  He didn’t know, couldn’t wrap his brain around it, and considered how to possibly improve the species via a careful program of selective breeding coupled with a little bit of genetic manipulation.  Manipulation had too many negative connotations, Dean thought, so he decided to call it genetic engineering instead.  Engineering.   That was a clean, modern, efficient-sounding word.  Less invasive than manipulation.

Then from around the world he felt a matched set of prayers come in, special delivery.  Urgent.  He flew back across the world to Schenectady, New York where a clueless teenage boy running late for work backed out of his garage headed straight towards a toddler who had wandered into his driveway after a ball.  He didn’t even see her.  The girl’s whole entire family stood there watching.   Someone screamed.  Dean realized he wouldn’t make it in time, he couldn’t get there fast enough, and he severed the kite string that tied him to his body so his consciousness could move quicker.  He was still too late.  The car hit the little girl, went right over her with a gruesome grinding thump, and when the teenager saw what he hit he shrieked and it made Dean ache with sympathy.

Dean willed the little girl to sit up and start crying, so she did.  He fixed her injuries and gave her a big ol’ goose egg and the girl’s family rushed over to scoop her up and take her to the ER for a very thorough examination during which absolutely nothing would be found wrong with her other than some scrapes and bumps and bruises.  Satisfied, he moved off to find more miracles to work.

When Dean woke up from his adventures, back in his body, back in his bed, back in the bunker, Jovi was there.  She was sitting forward with her elbows resting on her knees breathing hard like she had just run a marathon or something.  She peered at him through her eyeglasses but didn’t speak.  He mulled over what he ought to say to her, if it would be strange if he asked her to maybe go get a pizza or something.  It seemed so right and natural that she be there, that it didn’t even occur to him to wonder why she was.  “We need to talk about Africa.”

She laughed and seemed very relieved.  He peered at her and realized beneath the eyeglasses there were dark bags under the eyes of her vessel and her skin was sallow.  She looked like she needed some sunshine and a Flintstones with Iron and a strong cup of coffee or two.  “You scared me.”


“You don’t even know how long you’ve been out, do you?”

“I don’t know, an hour?”

“Three weeks, Dean.  A little shy of three weeks.  You left your vessel.  You aren’t ready to leave your vessel, not yet.  I can’t even believe you figured out how to do it.  That’s like, some upper level God stuff there.  I’d say good job, but.”  

“Oh.  Whoops.”

“Whoops, he says.”  Dean sensed she was more than a little bit mad at him and hoped he hadn’t given her reason to be.  “You just had to stick it to me, huh?  Had to show me who was boss.  I say, don’t answer prayers just yet, and what do you do?”  She ran a tired hand over her forehead and he noticed that her hands were trembling and for the first time, her fingernails weren’t painted.  She had bitten them to the quick.  “It took me a lot to cram you back into yourself again, Dean.  A lot.”   He swallowed, guessing that the reason she looked so worn out was because she’d been sitting there at his side for a little shy of 3 weeks trying to bring him back to himself.  And then it all came rushing back, not off in the distance somewhere like it had been when he was busy answering prayers, but with a real world urgency and he realized just how badly he had screwed up.  Lucifer.  He had made her wear herself out even more.  “Get it now?”

“If Lucifer comes, he’ll kill you.”  

“No, Dean, he’ll kill YOU.  I think he has other things in store for me.”

“Don’t worry, he can’t.”  Dean decided to get up then, and he swung his legs around and realized with a chill that he was very, very tired.  He had been tired before, after the resurrections he did, but this tired was a different thing entirely.  This tiredness felt positively interdimensional, as if he was exhausted right down to his bones in multiple universes.  “I’d never let that happen.”  He tried to stand up and all of a sudden he wasn’t so sure what would transpire if Lucifer popped in right then.  He felt like he’d gone 25 rounds with Apollo Creed on one side of him and the Incredible Hulk on the other.  His legs gave out and he sat right back down again like an invalid or an old man.

“You’ve been performing miracles 24-7 for 3 weeks straight, Dean.  There’s not a lot of gas left in your tank.  How else do you think I was finally able to get you back here again?  You’re so weak right now that even I was able to beat you.  Not that it was easy.”

“Where is he, Jovi?”  Dean would have prayed for enough time to get his strength back before Lucifer returned but who would he have even prayed to?

“It’s kind of a funny story.”  That was all she would say.  He tried again to get up, and managed it the second time through.   She didn’t help him, she didn’t let him lean on her, and he had the distinct impression she didn’t want him to touch her at all.  He was curious about why that might be, but had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other without collapsing so he couldn’t ask.  He expended what little remained of his strength just to limp his way out of the room and down the corridor with his hand against the wall the entire way.  He had to stop and rest twice.

Sam and Crowley were playing X-Box, exchanging witty insults and laughing.  Dean remembered about Jovi, remembered what Crowley had done and was probably still doing and up swelled a surge of white hot jealousy in his throat and chest and scalp and behind his eyes.  He ground his teeth and felt power crackle in his fingertips, desperately wanting to obliterate the demonic angel for daring to rise above his station, for borrowing without permission what belonged to Dean just because Dean didn’t happen to be using it right that minute.   He was greatly dismayed when the power fizzled and wouldn’t come back when he called it.  

It was only then he realized just how bad things really were.  He had nothing.   Nothing left.


Sam gasped when Dean came in.  He couldn’t even help himself.  Sam had seen Dean looking like Hell lots of times, sick, injured, old, dead, in chunks, but nothing compared to this.  Dean was stooped and skeletal and gray and the whites of his eyes were nearly pure red with broken blood vessels.  His hair was greasy and he stank.  Crowley must have thought the same because he shouted.  “Bloody Hell!”

“What happened?”  Because Dean hadn’t looked like that before Jovi had insisted, no, demanded that she be left alone with him.  Well, maybe the greasy hair and stink part, but he’d been lying in bed for 3 weeks, what could you expect?

“It took a lot to get him back in his body.  Took a lot from both of us.”

Dean grabbed at a dark-screened cell phone lying on a nearby table and used it to look at his reflection.  “Holy crap.”  He half-fell into the nearest chair and held out his hands to look at them.  His fingers were like skin-covered bones and his fingernails were blue.  “Sammy, am I dying?”

Sam ignored the question because he honestly didn’t know the answer.  “Jovi, you have to wait.”   She couldn’t go through with her plan, not with Dean in that condition.  They had to postpone.  “He can’t do it, not like that.  Look at him!”

“Sammy, what’s going on?”  Dean looked beseechingly at Sam and then at Jovi.

She ignored him.  “We can’t wait, Sam.  We can’t wait any longer.  Time, is UP.”

“You HAVE to, you have no choice!  If you go through with this, it’ll kill him.”

Crowley stood up then, rising to his mistress’ defense.  “Perhaps he should have thought of that before he decided to take a holiday from his body.  And his responsibilities.”

Jovi sighed.  “Oriphiel, come on, be a team player.”  Then she turned back to Sam and he felt his throat getting tight with rage.  Dean could NOT be allowed to go through with this insanity.  “It’s ok, Sam, for reals.  I’ll just, I’ll just, like, take more from me than from him.”

“I am being a team player, my lady, I am the only one who is being a team player, and you most certainly will not.  50-50.  It’s only fair.  Half from you and half from him.  That was the deal.  And they will abide by the deal.   You’ve done enough for him.  More.”

“Look at him, Crowley.  He can’t even stand up!”  

At Sam’s urging, Crowley inspected Dean.  “He’s looked worse.”

“Somebody better tell me what’s going on here, right now, or…”

“Or?  Or what, Dean?  The state you’re in?  You couldn’t manage to smite a baby!  Have at me, Winchester, do your worst.”  Dean did nothing and Crowley snickered.  “You’re utterly impotent!”  Crowley rolled the word “impotent” around on his tongue as he said it to make it seem even more insulting.  Dean still did nothing, and Sam realized how weak his brother truly was.  “That was the bargain you made with me, Sam Winchester, don’t you recall?.  That was the agreement, that they would go into it 50-50.  I’m not going to let you destroy her, for him, when it’s his fault things have gone pear shaped to begin with!”

“What. Deal?”  Dean, as ever, absolutely hated being out of the loop.

“Oriphiel.  Enough.”  Jovi and Crowley exchanged a look and Sam realized that even though he would always despise Jovi and could never trust her in any other arena, that come what may, she would keep Dean safe, at all costs to herself.  “Don’t make me fight you, too.”  Crowley squirmed and clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes and sighed noisily and then once he’d made his displeasure known, gave in with a gesture.  “Fill in the gaps, would you, Sam?  Oriphiel and I have some preparations to make.”    Sam nodded.  “You have the coordinates.  In an hour.”  She looked at Dean.  “Eat something.  It will help.”  She and Crowley vanished and Dean stared blankly at Sam.

“So we think that Lucifer…”

“Are they involved?  Do you think?”


“You know.  Like THAT.  Like in a hoo-hoo haha kind of way?”

Gawd.  “I have no idea Dean, would you like to hear about Lucifer now?  Think you can pencil that into your schedule, because it’s slightly important!”

“Yeah, I guess.”  Dean toddled over on his withered polio victim/unwrapped mummy legs and started eating pretty much anything he could get his hands on.

“We think Lucifer and Michael have gone back in time.”

“Oh.  So?”  Dean spoke through a mouthful of Cheetos.

“I don’t think she meant eat Cheetos, Dean!  Eat some real food!”

“I will!  This is an appetizer.”

“So, we think the reason why Lucifer and Michael went back in time, probably, is so Lucifer can eat the lesser gods back then, you know, when there were more of them, and they were at the height of their following, you know, the most worshipers?  And so they were at their strongest.”

“And you guys are all worried about that?  Geez.”

“You aren’t?”

“No, because time travel, Sammy, time travel.”

“What about it?”

“Because time travel ain’t easy.  We know that Michael has been de-archangelized, he’s just an plain old angel now, and just like Cas, well, old Cas anyway, he can travel through time, but it’s hard.  It wears him out.  So that means Lucifer gotta be taking himself, and Michael, through time.  And even for Lucifer, that takes some energy.  So he has to expend energy on traveling, and then on killing a demigod, and then absorbing their power, and then he has to do that all over again.   And again.  We got all the time in the world to defeat Lucifer, Sam.  It’ll take him forever at that pace.”

“Well, I’m sorry to tell you, Dean, but that isn’t true.”

“Why not?”

“Because Lucifer found some way to make Michael back into an archangel again.”

Dean chewed slightly slower for a second in consideration and then swallowed.  “Oh, well.  Huh.  It’ll still take him a good long while, though.”

God, he was so dense sometimes.  “You realize, Dean, that the lesser gods have had…kind of a lot of impact on human history, right?  The religions they inspired, they were, they were pretty big deals, for thousands of years.  You get that, right?  In all those books you read, there had to be something about all those primitive religions, didn’t there?”

“I guess.”  Sam actually thought Dean might be looking a little bit better around the edges.  Less green-gray, more pink-gray.  The Cheetos were helping.  “Honestly, Sammy, I kinda skimmed all that, didn’t seem that germane to my unique situation.”

“Well, Dean, you see, if someone goes around killing all those gods and goddesses that those ancient religions worshiped, it has a little bit of a ripple effect on humanity.”

“A ripple effect, huh?”

Sam had to take a moment to press his lips together very firmly before speaking.  “Yeah.  Dean.   It matters.  So.  We can’t exactly just let Lucifer go around doing that, even if it doesn’t happen to affect you, personally, directly, within the next 10 minutes, it’s still bad, ok?  Undesirable?  I mean like, in an altering the course of human history completely kind of way?”

“Well you don’t have to be a jerk about it.”

“Sorry!”  Sam wasn’t sorry.  Not even a little.

“So what’s the plan then?  What’s all the 50-50 about?”

“Dean, this is going to be another one of those things that you don’t like.”

“It’s ok, Sammy, I’m downright getting used to it by this point.”


Supernatural: Manic Pixie God Girl Part 8 – Wham!

Jovi still didn’t come.  

After Dean pulled his resurrection act and archangeled Bobby, he found himself extremely tired.  He was actually kinda relieved that Sam didn’t bring up the idea of bringing back Mom and Dad, or completing the process with Jess, because he wasn’t any too sure he could bring anyone else back, at least not for a while.  They tabled the Jess Matter for consideration at a later point in time and put Jess herself into a closet in a room that they rarely went into.  

He had hoped that Jovi might sense the flurry of activity and swing by to investigate, to scold him, even to undo what he had done.   He would have a chance to talk to her then and explain that maybe Sam had been…not wrong, because he wasn’t wrong, he was right, but maybe a bit overly harsh, and maybe Dean himself didn’t exactly feel the same.  And maybe they could start over again and be friends.   But nope.

He could still feel her pulling at him, like a vacuum cleaner.   He tried, but he could never really shake her presence, no matter how much he drank or how many skirts he got up into (there was something that felt a little skeevy, morally speaking, to Dean about getting laid in his new and improved form but since Sam never said anything against it, he figured it couldn’t be that bad).  But he couldn’t forget about her.  He barely knew her for an hour but he couldn’t forget about her.  He wondered if it felt the same for her, and if it did, if she was doing the same kinds of things he was doing to distract herself from it.  Crawling from a bottle into a stranger’s bed and back into a bottle again.  He doubted it, she seemed more classy than that, but he was kind of afraid that she was.  He had no claim to her, it wasn’t that, he wasn’t even interested – desperate chicks, ewch, no thanks – but he just didn’t like the idea.  For her sake.

So he was pleased to show up to the scene of a peculiar murder in a pretty little place called Cashmere, Washington and find her there.  He and Sam were pretending to be US Marshals because they’d been FBI guys the last time.  That’s how they did it usually. Alternated.

The murder had taken place in an apple orchard; the main reason why Cashmere, Washington was so pretty was because it was surrounded by fruit orchards, and the peculiar part was that the trees in the murder orchard were just…gone.  As if they’d never been there.  There were holes in the dirt where the tree roots had been and that’s it.  That was all that was left.  Somehow between when the farm workers had left work the night before and when they showed up again for work early the next morning, the owner had been killed and all the trees vaporized, or kidnapped, or cattle rustled. Abducted by aliens or something.  Hell, maybe they just up and walked away.    

It was Crowley he saw first.  He’dve recognized the back of that head anywhere.  Like a lumpy round red potato only with hair.  Crowley was busy talking to the local sheriff.  Dean smacked Sam in the stomach with his hand, intending to point out Crowley, but the crowd parted and he saw her, standing to the left of the sheriff and nodding with a very serious expression and he found he couldn’t speak for a second.  Her hair was up and she had on eyeglasses.  Another thing he never liked.  Desperate chicks and eyeglasses.  Bleah.  Still, he felt a peculiar fluttery feeling in his stomach that he hadn’t had since he was a teenager he didn’t think, and the suction on the vacuum cleaner went all the way up to eleven.  “What?”  Sam was asking why Dean had smacked him for.


Dean had often wondered in the past if Crowley had magically delicious hearing, and if he hadn’t before, he certainly did now.  Right on cue, practically as soon as his name left Dean’s lips, the former demon looked up as if he had heard his name mentioned.  A slimy grin broke across his face, and for the millionth time, Dean thought how it truly was a face made to be punched.  “Hello, Boys.”

The sheriff’s standing right there, dude!  “Oh – you know these guys?”

“Why yes, of course, Officer.  They’re colleagues!”

Colleagues.  Ok.  Crowley already had the setup in place. Good ‘nuff.  “We’re US Marshals…”  

The sheriff looked confused and glanced back and forth between Dean and Crowley a few times.  Crowley closed his eyes for a moment.  Dean and Sam exchanged a puzzled look.   Sam figured they’d guessed wrong and tried again.  “We’re, uh, FBI agents?”

Crowley stifled a laugh through his nose.  “Ah, that sense of humor.  NO…”  Crowley sent Sam and Dean a warning look.  “These are our colleagues from the BBC.  Michael George…”  He gestured at Dean.  “And…Ridgely Andrews.”  Sam pressed his lips together.  “I always forget about you, Ridgely, and then wham, there you are.”  

“And are they the ones who witnessed the…abduction?”

“No, I’m afraid not, they’ll pop round when they can to give their statements.”

“Jeez, mister!  How many people do you need to make a documentary on apples?”

“We’re the BBC, mate, we spare no expense.  Now, may we have a moment, if you’d be so kind?  Our whole bloody shooting schedule for the day has been ruined.  We’ve got to get it sorted.”

The sheriff nodded and moved away.  They closed into a circle.  Dean couldn’t help but ask.  “A BBC documentary on apples?  That’s the best you could come up with?”

Finally she spoke, in a perfect crisp upper crust English accent.  “You’d be surprised what people will believe when you say it in a British accent.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows in agreement.  “You really would.”

“Why are you here, Crowley?”  Sam.

“My name is Oriphiel, and we’re investigating, Moose.  What else would we be doing?”

“Investigating a tree abduction?  Seems kind of small time for…you.”  Sam looked at Jovi out of the corner of his eye with disdain.  “Don’t you have more important things to do with your time? Lives to ruin, or something?”  Tch, get over it already, Sammy.

Jovi played with her hair as she spoke.  Why did women do that?  Eff with their hair constantly?  She tucked a practically microscopic strand back into her bun.  “These weren’t just any apple trees, you see, Sam.  They were the fabled golden apples.  Of legend.  The food of the gods…the lesser gods, that is.”

“Lesser gods?  You mean like Kali, Baldur, those lesser gods?”

“Prometheus.”  Dean felt a twinge of guilt about Prometheus.  

“Yes, precisely, Dean.  I’m well aware you’ve dealt with lesser gods before.  But not all of them choose to take human sacrifice to survive in a world that no longer worships them.  Some of them – the majority, actually – live on golden apples.  A lesser god can survive indefinitely eating nothing but golden apples.  The golden apples keep them immortal, keep them young.  The woman that was murdered has grown them for a very long time.”

“That was a woman?”  They had walked by the body on the way in.  It had looked more like a cantankerous old man.  What was left of it had a lumberjack beard and a flannel shirt.  That was pretty much all that was left, actually.  Dean had jokingly asked Sam if he knew were Bobby was.

“She was a goddess, Dean.   She was actually very beautiful.  She had taken a different form for her protection.  Remember, some of us are capable of being rather more flexible in the boy-girl department.  Just because you aren’t, doesn’t make it a character flaw.”

The British veneer was wearing thin.  “Would you stop talking like that?”

“How do you know this isn’t my real voice, Dean?”

Before Dean could think of a response, Crowley interrupted in an attempt to keep everyone on task.  “Several lesser gods have been murdered over the past few weeks.  But nothing had been taken before now.”

“It’s not uncommon that their petty squabbles turn violent.  Generally, not worthy of investigation.  But this…this is different.”

“Who would want to steal an orchard full of golden apples?”  Sam again.

Crowley’s eyes narrowed, considering.  “There are two possibilities, and neither good.”

“Go ahead.”

“One is that someone is trying to open up a way into Tir na nOg…”

“That’s like Irish heaven, Dean.”  Jovi was dumbing it down for his sake.  

Geez. “I know what Tir na nOg is, Jovi, thank you very much.  You can use a silver branch from a tree that grows golden apples to open the door into Tir na nOg.”

“Well done, Dean!  Splendid.  Really.”  Dean sighed.  Freaking Hermione, that’s what she reminded him of.  She may as well given him 10 points for Gryffindor.

Crowley continued.  “And the other is…Lucifer.”

“Lucifer?  What?  Why?  What would Lucifer want golden apples? He’s already immortal?”

Jovi sighed, and she and Crowley exchanged a look.  They’d already been over this ground, apparently. “We don’t know, Sam.  We’re going to have to consult with an expert on the matter.”

“What expert?”



Gabriel was working as a fry cook in a diner.  He loved starchy fatty food and cigarette smoke and the smell of coffee brewing and being close to the type of humans that hung out in places like the one he was presently in.  He even loved hairnets.  He was a good cook, having had an immortal’s lifetime of watching humans preparing and eating food to give him insight into their likes and dislikes.  Lots of salt, lots of sugar, lots of butter and even lard, on occasion, when the situation called for it.  Wallowing in the orange grease of humanity had always been one of his very fave pastimes.   Gabriel was happy to find himself right where he was and just kinda sorta hoped that everyone even just marginally divine forgot about him entirely for at least a century or two.

He felt them arrive.  How could he not, two of them?  Having both of them suddenly present at the same time rocked Gabriel so hard it made his teeth ache and his marrow tingle and distracted him so bad that he almost burned the fries he had down.  It also made him very, very nervous.  He was pleased as punch to have his existence restored, and utterly thrilled to find that he hadn’t even missed a decade of the glorious pageant that was creation, and thus he was finding recent developments to be…unsettling, to say the least.   He didn’t want his life, if you could call it that, to end all over again so soon after getting it back.  

He pulled the golden fries, shook the excess oil off of them, and dumped them into the warming tray.  “I’m taking my break, Ramon.”  Ramon grunted past the toothpick clutched in his teeth.  Ramon was trying to quit smoking for the umpteenth time with a little help from Gabriel who regularly sent small bursts of willpower his direction.

As Gabriel headed outside, any hope that they might have kissed and made up faded away.  He found them out back near the dumpster, standing in two camps, squared off, toe to toe.  She was a fraction of his size, like a Girl Scout going up against a linebacker, like a gecko standing beside a dinosaur.  But the difference went well beyond the physical.  He was just bigger, in every conceivable sense of the word.  Gabriel declined to use the word greater, but he was definitely more.  He visibly hummed with power; beside him, her power was the buzz of a gnat, the mew of a kitten.  

Why would she have done this? 

His entourage was bigger, too.  She only had one angel with her, the awful, intolerable Crowley, or Oriphiel as he called himself these days.  Why she had chosen him of all the beasts in creation for her right hand, Gabriel couldn’t begin to fathom.  Dean-as-God made more sense than the Archangel Crowley.  And Dean-as-God made absolutely completely and totally NO sense.

WHY would she have done this?

Dean had two archangels with him, and his ever-loyal Men Of Letters brother besides.  How could she possibly hope to stand against them all?  With no one, or practically no one beside her?  Gabriel felt a wave of terrible guilt that he wasn’t at her side, wasn’t there with her instead of or alongside the Crowley-thing, as Castiel called him, but he knew it would make everything exponentially worse were he to choose the wrong team.  He didn’t have enough information to decide, not yet.  And he didn’t want to choose anyway.  As he walked up, Jovi was already throwing sass.  “Well, I see you managed to make yourself a dodo after all.”  While Gabriel didn’t quite get the context, she was apparently mocking Dean’s second archangel, who was, perhaps unsurprisingly, the utterly unangelic Bobby freaking Singer.  Worst angels ever!


“Oops.  I think you forgot your British accent, there, Jovi.”  

Oy.    Quibbling.  The Gods were quibbling.  Quibbling over nothing.  “I’m working here, guys and gal, so whatever it is you need, if we could get it wrapped up quickly…”

Jovi turned her eyes to him and he felt the exquisite warmth of her gaze.  He loved her so much it hurt sometimes.  Most times.  She had bad news, he could see it in her face.  “Gabriel, I’m so sorry, but Ithune.  She’s gone.”

He felt a breath rush out of his lungs.  That, he hadn’t expected, but even as she said it, he reached out with his heartstrings and found it was true.  Ithune, lovely, forgiving Ithune, so much fun to toy with, was dead.  

“Gone?”  Maybe she had chosen this.  Stopped eating the apples and moved on to Valhalla.

“Taken.  From us.  By someone.”

“Who’s Ithune?”  Dean, as ever, clueless.  Gabriel tried to ignore the fact that the same warmth that he so loved in Jovi, that he basked in, now emanated from Dean as well.  Because, gross.

“An…an old friend.”  Gabriel tried to shake it off, but it was a blow.  Body shot.  Right to the old breadbasket.

“It was the…body.  At the orchard.  Please be respectful, she was a friend of Gabriel’s.”

“Oh.  Sorry, man I didn’t know.  So you don’t know anything about it, then, Gabriel?”

“I wasn’t involved, if that’s what you’re saying.”  Ithune.  

“He wasn’t involved, you idiot.”  Jovi, of course, knew he’d never harm Ithune, not intentionally, anyway.  “But the apples, Gabriel.  The apples are gone.  The trees themselves.  All gone.”

What?  “Oh, no.”

“Who, do you think?”

“I’ve been gone, Jovi.  I haven’t the foggiest.  Lucifer?”

“You think Lucifer too, then?”    

“It’s the obvious place to start.  First spot on the probable suspects list.”

“But what would Lucifer have to gain from taking some apple trees?”  Sam still thought they were just some apple trees.  Gabriel sighed.  There are none so stupid as those who believe themselves wise.  No, Sam Winchester, you ignorant twit, they were the golden apple trees.  The only ones in the entire world.  Without them, the lesser gods would weaken and die, or…

Suddenly, with a lurch, Gabriel put it all together.  “Do you know how the universe was formed, Sam?  Really formed, I mean?  Not that Big Bang ghost story that scientists tell around the campfire, the real story?  Ever read that in any of your Men of Letters history books?”  Of course not.  “I’ll fill in the blanks for you.  She formed it.”  He gestured at Jovi and picked up the distinct vibe she didn’t really love hearing this story. “Out of pieces of herself.  She grew pieces of herself and lopped them off to make the universe.”  

Dean was intrigued.   “Really?”  How odd that she hadn’t told him already.

“More or less.”  Jovi squirmed a little, as if embarrassed by the revelation.

“It took her billions of years to do that and billions more to make life – again, by growing pieces of herself and cutting them off.  Sometimes, over time, a few of those pieces found each other again.  They grew back together.  Coalesced, more like.  And while they weren’t God, not any more, they were OF God.  That’s where the lesser gods came from.  They’re just little teensy bits of her that stuck together again and still wanted to play God.”  Jovi understood then, just as if she’d read Gabriel’s mind.  He knew she couldn’t do that, but sometimes it was like she could.  She understood what Lucifer was doing, what his endgame was, why he wanted the apples.  As it sank in she took a step back and lay her palm across her forehead and closed her eyes and sighed.  The others still no comprende-ed, so Gabriel continued, hoping to give the poor kid a chance to pull herself together.  “The lesser gods are basically, frozen concentrated God juice.  So if a being wanted to gain more of God’s power, they could ingest the juju of those lesser gods and get power that way.”

“If that’s true, then why didn’t anyone else do it before now?”  Good question, Dean.  Maybe he was getting smarter after all.

“Nobody could.  Nobody was strong enough.  The lesser gods, some are stronger than others, sure, but none of them were strong enough to truly defeat each other, eternally.  Oh sure, they can kill each other, and sometimes they do, but to kill and then absorb the energy of another god…and contain it – that takes strength.  Real strength.  Not even most of the angels are powerful enough.  Demons – maybe a few, but demons can’t take in God-energy, it would destroy them.”  

He looked at Crowley, who confirmed it.  “Ingesting God’s energy would vaporize a demon from the inside out.  As soon as it hit the tongue.”  

“And besides, it’s just…pointless.  The power you’d get out of it would be barely more than the amount it took you to do.  It wouldn’t be worth the risk. Cause every time you tried it, you’d be running the risk that the lesser god would kill you instead of the other way round.”

Crowley inhaled sharply.  He was way out ahead of the others on this.  “Unless you were a being who couldn’t be killed by a lesser god.”

“Wait.  Are you saying that Lucifer is…eating the lesser gods?”

Wow, Dean before Sam.  The times, they really were a-gettingverydifferent.  “Yep, Deano, I am indeed.  And while it takes him a whole lotta mojo to do it, he gets more out of it than he expends.  It’s like if you expended 100 calories, but you ate 110, you’d still gain weight over time.”

“Yeah, but, uh.  What do the apples have to do with it??”  Sam was still hung up on the apples.  Geez Louise.  Big picture, Sam.

“Golden apples are subsistence foods for demigods.  They can survive on them, and stay immortal, but only just barely.  They get weak.  Powerless.”

“Wouldn’t they get even weaker if you took their food away?”

“No.”  Finally Jovi collected herself enough to speak.  “No, Sam.  They won’t get weaker.  That’s not what’s going to happen.  They’re just going to get hungry.  They won’t stop eating.  Their sense of self-preservation is too strong, that’s how they’ve stayed alive all this time.  They’ll just go back to eating what they were eating before.”


“Yes.  They’ll start eating people, and they’ll get stronger, and then Lucifer will eat them.  Instead of expending 100 calories to get 110, he’ll expend 120 calories to get 200.  It may take a little more to knock them off, but he’ll get more out of it in return.”

“Like fattening up a hog for the kill.”


“Can’t you just make more apples?  Dean, can’t you just make more?”  

“I don’t know how, Sammy.  Jovi?”

“It took me four thousand years to make the first golden apple tree, Dean, and that was when I had all my power and I wasn’t all like, exhaustionized from making you.  Ithune raised the rest for me, just as you would raise any apple, from seedlings and cuttings and grafts.  The whole orchard, one tree at a time.  They grow very slowly.  We worked on the project for thousands of human lifetimes.  And she required hundreds of trees to feed the lesser gods.  We don’t have that kind of time.”

Gabriel spoke up again.  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you do realize that Lucifer can eat the apples, too, right?”

“Oh.  Gosh.”  Jovi gulped.  “Oh.  Gabriel’s right.  He can, can’t he?  Lucifer can eat the apples too.”

“And those are easy meals, too, kiddo.   Apples don’t generally put up much of a fight.  They may not be as filling as a demigod, but it’ll add up.  It may take time, but soon enough he’ll reach critical mass.”

“What’s critical mass?”  Dean didn’t look like he was sure that he really wanted to know.

“His power will start to snowball.  He’ll have gotten so much stronger that it won’t take him hardly anything to burn through the lesser gods.  He’ll be able to eat them one right after the other, like they’re Pringles or something.”

“Jovi, do you think he’ll be able to get as strong as we are?  Jovi?”  She blinked, a million miles away.  Dean snapped his fingers at her and whistled.  “Jovi!  Do you think Lucifer can eat enough lesser gods to get as strong as we are?  Are there enough lesser gods left for him to do that?”

Jovi looked up and to Gabriel’s mightily great chagrin, he saw fear in her eyes.  She bit her bottom lip and rubbed the back of her thumb across her eyebrow and blinked several times before she replied.  “I don’t know.”


There weren’t enough lesser gods.  Lucifer had run the numbers again and again and he couldn’t make it come out to be enough.  Even if every lesser god left on the planet queued up and jumped into his mouth voluntarily it wasn’t enough.  He could take the woman…Jovi, she was calling herself these days…maybe, eventually, if he managed to track down and devour every single god still left – but he didn’t want the woman.  He wanted Dean.  The King.  He wanted to take all that glorious power and add it to his own and then Mommie Dearest would be working for him for a change.  And then she’d see what it really meant to worship someone else.

But there weren’t enough gods.  

Lucifer left the motel room.  It was a cheap tawdry place, somewhere in Middle America. Retro and not in a good way, all cracked vinyl and peeling wallpaper and filthy shag carpeting contaminated with bodily fluids dating back to 1955.  Being within it was like immersing himself in the concentrated distillation of a thousand bowling alleys.  Oh, the humanity.  Repulsive.  He suppressed a shudder as he went outside.  

Michael was out there training his new body, swimming laps in the hotel pool.  Michael swam for hours every day and did calisthenics for hours more.  He slept whenever he wasn’t exercising or eating and he ate as much food as his vessel’s stomach could hold.  It was working, little by little.  He looked less like a boy and more like an angel.  But he was still only that.  Only an angel.  Not an archangel.  Useless.  No matter how many golden apples he fed the boy – and he planned on feeding him ALL of them, that’s the kind of generous being that Lucifer was, he would give Michael all the apples and keep none for himself – Michael could take him through time maybe once, maybe twice, but Lucifer couldn’t rely upon him.  He would get tired.  He would wear out.  They could even end up stuck somewhere in the past for months or years while Michael recovered.

Lucifer could do it himself, that was the thing.  He had the ability.  So tempting, to just send himself hurtling through time, traveling back to when the demigods were young and strong and and overflowing with power from being worshiped every day.  But it would take too much.  He would have to perform chronokinesis, he’d have to fight a god, he’d have to devour its energy without exploding, and then he’d have to do it all over again.  And again.  

All those things took power.  If he had to expend that much power every time, it would take him forever to get strong enough to take on his new stepfather.  And while he had forever, patience had never been one of Lucifer’s strong suits.  

He would have to take the gamble.  “Michael?”  The boy stopped swimming and treaded water.

“Yeah, Dad?”  Father and son had made the most sense.

“It’s time to come in.”

“Awww…”  Getting Michael out of the pool was sometimes a rather tedious challenge.

“I bought you the tablet device that you requested.”  Rather obnoxiously, Michael seemed to have retained his vessel’s fascination with electrical screens that beeped and plinked. He had discovered a child staying in the motel had something called Minecraft on something called a tablet and Michael had breathlessly said it was so cool just like exactly like what being God must feel like, for reals and demanded one.   Lucifer doubted it to the extreme but decided that rewarding a loyal minion did occasionally pay dividends. “Finish this lap and come in.”

Michael wanted this, that was the thing.  Michael wanted his old life back, his old strength back.  He wanted to be an archangel again, desperately.  He would have stayed in the pool training all day long without rest, turning into a disgusting flesh prune if Lucifer had allowed it.  If he had been given the the choice, Michael all but certainly would have said yes, would have volunteered willingly for the procedure.  Happily.  But Lucifer never asked permission for something he could inflict upon someone against their will.  What was the point?   “Can I put Minecraft on it?”

“Of course.”  

“It costs real money.”

“The tablet device cost real money, Michael.”

“Oh yeah.  I’ll be right there.”  Lucifer smiled and returned to the hotel room to wait.

When Michael came into the room, the light was out.  “Dad?”

Before Michael knew what was happening Lucifer was on him.  He cranked the boy’s arms up behind his back and pushed him face down into the mattress.  He waited for the vessel to run out of air, to give up, stop fighting.  It happened eventually.  When it did, Lucifer breathed out and from his bowels rose a piece of himself, of his life energy, that precious piece consisting of all the excess power he had so painstakingly built up since his escape by eating demigod after demigod.  Every scrap of it, so hard won, he would give now to Michael.  Lucifer’s generosity, his benevolence knew no bounds. 

The power clawed its way up his esophagus and boiled out of his mouth and he willed it towards Michael’s vessel until it hung by a thin strand; a fat bubble of it dangled just above the back of Michael’s brainstem.  Lucifer took the angel blade he had hidden beneath the pillow and sliced it off through the thinnest piece.  The bulk of it plunged into Michael with such force that it threw Lucifer against the wall.  

He climbed back to his feet and waited.  The boy still lay face down on the bed and Lucifer thought for a long moment the experiment had failed, that he had wasted that power and killed the Aidan vessel for nothing.  But then all of a sudden Michael gasped and coughed and eventually he managed to push himself back up onto his knees, panting.  Lucifer didn’t dare to move, couldn’t speak.  After a moment Michael looked back over his shoulder, his eyes wide, his vessel’s chest heaving as he took in as much air as he could.  “Thank you.  Father.”

Lucifer smiled.    


Supernatural: Manic Pixie God Girl Part Seven – Riding in Cars With God

And so just as Sam had hoped, they went right back to the way things were.  Riding in the Impala, fighting demons.  Everything was fine, everything was cool.  Things were pretty much entirely normal, pretty much.  Dean maybe knew some more stuff than he had in the past, maybe he had some weird hobbies now like astrophysics and reverse taxidermy – that was where he actually brought stuffed formerly dead animals back to life again – and bansai (he could grow a stunted, twisted little Japanese tree from a seed in only a few days) but he was still Dean, good old Dean.  Distracted Dean, but still Dean.  He had so many things on his mind sometimes he started thinking about them at all the wrong times.  Sam sometimes thought of him as the Absent Minded Professor.

One night they were cleaning out a nest of demons when one thing led to another and Distracted Dean made a mistake Regular Dean, thinker of few thoughts, never would have made and took a scimitar to the midsection.

He looked down at the blade sticking straight out of his chest and snorted.  “Well, that ain’t good.”  He fell to his knees and Sam rushed to help him into a laying position, but then a quick glance revealed that wasn’t going to work, it was a through and through.  About a foot of blade stuck straight out from between Dean’s shoulder blades. They exchanged a look, and then somehow Dean managed a strangled laugh.   “I guess I’ll just hang out here for a while.”

“Why aren’t you dying?”

“I don’t think I can any more.”

“Do you want me to…I don’t know, yank it out or something?”

“Not unless you brought some Bactine.”  Dean still was capable of joking somehow.

“I’m fresh out.  What are we gonna do?”

“Help’s coming.”    Dean didn’t explain who the help was, he didn’t have to.  Sam ground his teeth and wracked his brain trying to think of any conceivable alternative, but before he could say anything, there she was.  She looked different.  Classy.  Elegant, even.  Almost regal.  Sam thought that maybe if he’d seen her looking like that in the first place, he’d have known right away who she really was.  

Jovi’s vessel had put on some weight, no longer was it a skinny, scrawny methhead’s corpse.  It looked healthy, if still freakishly short.  She’d been caught in the act of brushing her teeth and had a toothbrush still jammed in her mouth.  Sam hadn’t thought it possible, but he hated her even more; that she could still be alive and all concerned about oral hygiene when Jess and so many other people weren’t, all at her behest.   And why?  Not even for some grand, higher plan.  Just so she could have a Dean-shaped eff buddy for all eternity.  “You changed your hair.”  God damn it, Dean.

“Oh.  Yes.”  The pink was gone, returned to its natural color.  “I liked it, it was fun, but it just seemed too…unprofessional.”  

“It looks good.”  Sam fought a nearly uncontrollable urge to smack Dean upside his head.  He often suspected Dean was carrying a torch when he should be holding a grudge.  

“Geez Louise!”  Jovi spat a mouthful toothpaste on the floor vehemently.  “What have you done to yourself?  You look like a shish kebab.”  She put the toothbrush back into her mouth and continued brushing.

Without ceremony, without removing the toothbrush from her mouth, without even ceasing to brush, she strode forward pulled the blade out, causing Dean to shriek.  “You could’ve at least counted to three!”

“Just postpones the inevitable.”  She must have finished with her teeth because the toothbrush vanished and she spit on the floor one more time, rather close to Sam’s leg.  Deliberately, he thought.

“What did I tell you, Dean?  She likes inflicting pain on people.”   

“Oh, and like you don’t, Sam.”  Before she’d even finished speaking Dean’s injuries were already healed and she was making ready to poof herself back to whereever it was she’d come from.  

The second he was able, Dean launched himself to his feet and across the room at Jovi.  “Wait, wait, wait, don’t go!”  She recoiled a little, leaned back, like she was being accosted.  Sam shook his head and stood as Dean completely invaded her personal space with the enthusiasm of a Jehovah’s Witness used car salesman.  “I need your help with my dodo!”

“With your what?”

“My dodo.  That I made.”

“You made a dodo?  Damn it!”

“Was that wrong?”

“I owe Oriphiel…Crowley…20 bucks.  He said the first thing you would make was a dodo bird, and I was like, no freaking way.”

“Was it wrong to make a dodo?  Because it seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Well, yeah, because.  I mean, DUH.  You can’t just remake old things, Dean.  They had their chance.  Things that died need to stay dead.”


“Because it upsets the natural order of things, that’s why.”

“You brought me back.  Repeatedly.”

“Well…that was different.”

Sam couldn’t hold his tongue.  “Don’t you see, Dean, it’s fine when she does it.  Just not anyone else.  Right, Jovi?  Your game, your rules?”

“No, that’s not it at all, you giant, literally giant ass, it’s because I was trying to accomplish something, a larger goal, and your brother here is just doing it for…oh I don’t know, mental masturbation.”  She turned her attention to Dean.  “Just to see if you can.  You haven’t put a second of thought into it, you just recreate the most ridiculously obvious thing you can come up with.  “Oh I’ll make one of those crazy dodo birds I learned about in kindergarten, hurr de hurr.”

“And how is that better than creating life because you’re lonesome?”

“Screw you.”  And she was gone. 

Over the next several weeks Dean sustained mortal injuries 17 more times.  Sam eventually had no choice but to conclude he was doing it on purpose to see Jovi.  She would always appear without being called – Dean said they had a bond and Sam didn’t much care for the sound of that.  Dean would try to suck her into an argument or a discussion about some finer point of creation and then Sam would intervene, reminding Dean about all the terrible things she had put them and their family and friends through.  Sam had put together quite a thorough dossier on God’s wrongs by this point and was only too happy to call Jovi to account for each and every one.  After the first few times, Jovi refused to engage, but Dean would usually engage enough for the both of them.  At least he still listened when Sam tried to reason with him.  God had ruined their lives, and some things are just too big to forgive.

In the meantime, Sam and Castiel continued their research, trying to find anything, anything at all that could turn a god human.  Short of somehow managing to get Dean retroactively born to a virgin, there wasn’t anything they hadn’t tried.  Potions, spells, rituals, various mystical devices.  They could try to kill Dean, they thought, with the Colt or Death’s scythe or possibly a couple other ancient weapons they hadn’t managed to track down yet, but since the Colt hadn’t killed Lucifer and Dean was supposed to be stronger than Lucifer, not to mention the fact that they didn’t want to kill Dean anyway, it all felt rather pointless.

Dean stopped reading books, which at first felt to Sam like a bit of a relief; he’d grown tired of stumbling out for a midnight snack only to find SuperDean sitting in a circle of lamplight reading Nieztche with an expression on his face that Sam could only describe as sinister.   But then he started the experiments.  Instead of spending hours reading, he spent hours dissecting pretty much everything that Jovi had ever created, right down to the subatomic level.  He still seemed like Dean, still drank like a fish, played music too loud, chased women incessantly – if anything, did more women chasing than normal – and indulged his every whim, but when he wasn’t doing the Dean stuff, he was doing the mad scientist stuff.  

He mixed acids and bases.  He raised planarians and multiple generations of fruit flies.  He spread out thousands of species of wasp on a table and stared at them for 4 hours before carelessly bringing them back to life again leading to a very exciting 10 minutes in the bunker while he tried to convince them all to leave voluntarily.  In the name of science he churned butter and baked bread and brewed beer which was very quickly gone.   He got drunk on his homemade beer and tried to explain random elements of it all to Sam, like how ingenious lima beans were and what the deal was with snapdragons and why leopards really had spots because it actually wasn’t the reason why everybody seemed to think.  But his increased understanding did not lead to improved results.  He just wasn’t as good at making things as Jovi was.  He could repeat the things she made, most of them anyway, clumsily and with a lot of effort, but he couldn’t seem to make anything, new or old, without a template to follow.

Mostly he just wanted to recreate a dodo.  He tried and tried with the dodo.  It never panned out.  Got so that while Sam was never quite used to coming home to find a half-dead dumpling of a formerly extinct bird gasping for air on the bunker floor, it wasn’t a complete surprise, either.  

Whatever it was that Jovi had done to make that bird work, Dean couldn’t repeat it.  “I just don’t get what I’m doing wrong, Sammy?  Why can’t I get this right?”  

Sam understood that this was a point of pride for his brother.  Jovi had told him not to do it, had mocked the very idea of it, so of course he had to.  “I don’t know, Dean.  I wish I did.”  And he did, too.   He really did.

For some reason Sam had a feeling that if Dean could only get the damn dodo right, everything else would fall into place and they could keep going on along as they had done for so long.  Things would get back to normal just like they always did.  With God in the Impala beside him, and all right with the world.


The thing that bothered Dean the most was that he kept killing the gerbil.  The dodo thing was annoying, sure, of course it was.  But the gerbil, that furry little guy had a freaking death wish or something.  It just kept dying.  When it wasn’t getting kicked or stepped on or dropped, it drowned.  It got electrocuted.  He forgot to feed it one time…ok, maybe more than one time.

Have fun loving a gerbil.  That was what Jovi had said to him.  She had said she tried her hand with humans in the past, extending their lifespans, keeping them as companions, but that in the end they lost their spark, turned into little more than pets.  At first he hadn’t believed it; after all, he and Sam had come back more than once and they still seemed ok.  But after he had brought the gerbil back a few times, that’s what happened to it.  At some point, after enough resurrections, it wasn’t a gerbil any more.  It was a nothing in the shape of a gerbil.  It just stood in the middle of its cage and shivered.  It would still nibble a pellet now and then, take a lick at the silver ball of its water dispenser, just enough to stay alive, but it wasn’t a gerbil any more.  It was a nothing.  So Dean took it outside and willed a hawk to come by and take the poor shivering thing from his hands.  At least someone could get some good out of it.

Later that same day, he went to see Lisa.  He hadn’t gone to see her since the last time, since the time he walked away from her forever, for her protection.  But now?  Why would she need protection, if she had him?  Who could stand against God?

She was with Ben, of course.  Ben was a man now.  It was strange.  They looked happy.  Wait.  It was strange that Ben was a man, not that they looked happy.  Of course they were happy.  Why wouldn’t they be?  I mean, just because he wasn’t in their lives any more, did he really expect them to have sensed his absence somehow, did he really expect that they’d have been worse off without him?  That there would be a missing piece they couldn’t fill?  They didn’t even remember him.  Had he expected otherwise?  Had he expected that down deep, on some level, they’d know he was gone?  That they would mourn him, or miss him even just a little?  Because it sure didn’t look like they’d been mourning.  And anyway, it had been years, even if they had noticed something was awry at the time he had gone, surely they would have gotten over it by now.  Moved on.  He had moved on, and he could remember.   Why shouldn’t they?

For the umpteenth time Dean looked at Ben and wondered if Ben was really his son.  Sometimes he thought he wasn’t, and then other times he was almost 100% that he was.  This was one of those times.  He was pretty sure.  Something about the kid’s build, about the way he moved.  The rest of him was all Lisa, but something about the body seemed familiar.  And it was mighty tempting to just reach out with the power and know for sure.  But he didn’t.  Because why?  What would change?  If he knew for sure, if he knew that Ben was really his son, he wouldn’t want to let go of them.  He could reveal himself, he could restore their memories, he could try again to live happily ever after, but he didn’t think he was really made for happily ever after.  

And then what?  Lisa would get old and die, Ben would get old and die, and if he tried to change that too many times, it would be like the gerbil all over again, except worse.  He didn’t think he could stand to make them into angels; angels were just so…angel-y.  He wondered idly if he could make them like he was.  But he couldn’t even make a dodo bird work.  What Jovi had done to him seemed like it had taken her a lot of effort and she had said it took generations to get it right.  She hadn’t been sure it would even work, and she was so much better at making things than Dean was.  If he tried and failed and Lisa just fell over dead like the dodos had, or Ben turned into something like Lucifer, he could never bear it.

So he turned and walked away from them again and much to his surprise it hurt just as bad as it had the first time.               


The eighteenth time Dean died on purpose, Jovi didn’t show.   Sam had never seen so much blood in all his life – and Sam had seen a LOT of blood in his life – but Dean just kept on walking and talking and laughing about it like it was all some hilarious practical joke she was pulling on them.  Sam couldn’t reach Castiel and so he actually had to take Dean to the emergency room to get him stitched up.  The doctors and nurses scurried around treating Dean with grim, horrified faces, as if he was a zombie or something, and Sam couldn’t shake the feeling that he kinda was.  A walking dead man.  

His flesh was in ribbons, in tatters.  His blood pressure was zero.  They dumped, as one of the doctors kept repeating with awe, over two gallons of blood back into him.   All the blood in his body had to be replaced, and then some, since a lot of it just ran right back out again.  1700 stitches.  Dean cracked jokes about running on empty and repeatedly said “thank you sir may I have another” and apologized profusely for the mess.  He kept right on flirting with the nurses who perhaps unsurprisingly weren’t particularly into it.  When Castiel got back he healed up the slice wounds and Dean laughed off the entire adventure.   

But all the same, after that, Dean stopped taking chances.  He started using his God power a lot more preemptively.  He was able to vanquish a demon from across the street or down the block or without even leaving his barstool.  Which was good in a way, and not so good in other ways.   It was way easier, safer, they were able to put down a lot of beasties in very short order, but it was honestly more than a little boring even for Sam, who generally enjoyed having more time for research and sleep, or even time to do something totally crazy like read a book for pleasure now and then.  And for Dean, who really did live to hunt, it gave him more time to drink and carouse and way too much time to sit and think about things.  One thing in particular.   

He rarely talked about Jovi, but something about the oh-so-casual way he would bring her up when he did, made Sam suspect that he was thinking a lot more than he was talking.  “I mean, when you stop to consider it, being alone is pretty much one of the worst things you can go through.”  This was totally out of the blue after Dean had gotten a few pitchers and then a few more shots into him one night.  “I mean, that’s why they put prisoners into solitary confinement, it’s as a punishment.  I mean, it’s like in the Geneva Convention that you can’t do that.  I can’t even imagine being alone like that, can you?  And I’m a loner.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Sam knew, of course, he just didn’t want to talk about it.  Talking seemed to only encourage Dean to think about Jovi even more.  Besides, when the subject came up, Dean phrased everything so reasonably that it was sometimes hard not to agree with him on the finer points even as he danced around the big picture.  Dean seemed incapable or unwilling to see the forest for the trees where Jovi was concerned and would take concession on anything, no matter how small or obvious, as an endorsement.  So Sam tried not to get sucked into the debate, focusing instead on wondering with a vague unsettled feeling about why exactly it was that Dean, who had once spent 15 minutes reading the ingredients on a tub of “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter” with his lips moving, now knew what was in the Geneva Convention, let alone that there had been one.   Smart Dean messed with Sam’s head sometimes.

“I mean, Jovi, you know?  Alone for so long.  I mean, Sammy, I get where you’re coming from, believe me, I really do, but I think maybe we should…I don’t know, cut her some slack?”


“No, shut up and listen for a change.  I mean, I already know all the things you’re going to say already, Sam, but she was right, you know, when she said we break the rules all the time and everybody always forgives us.  I mean, I tortured people in Hell.  I’ve hurt people, real people.  You drank demon blood, and you didn’t have a soul, for like, a whole entire year…”

“Because she MADE those things happen, Dean!”  Why could he not see that?

“Right, exactly, there were mitigating circumstances.  Made the things that we did seem like a good idea at the time, sometimes the only way, even.  And maybe that’s how it was for her.  I mean…”

“Quit saying I Mean every other word out of your mouth.”

“We forgave Cas for the things that he did that were…less than ideal.  Even Crowley, ok, maybe I didn’t exactly forgive him in the strictest sense, but…”

“Don’t even get me started on you and Crowley.  See, that’s the thing, Dean.  It’s the Crowley situation all over again.  You spend enough time with a monster and you start seeing them as…I don’t know…some kind of friend.”

“I don’t see Crowley as a friend, Sam.  He’s a tool.  In every sense of the word.”

“Ok then, a compatriot.  A brother in arms.  It happened with Crowley and now you’re falling into the same trap with Jovi.  She is NOT our friend.  She is not on our team.  She is the source of every awful thing that has happened to us since we were even born, practically.  Don’t forget that.”

“I almost killed you when I was a demon.  And you forgave me.”

“She could have stopped that.  She could have stopped Metatron as easily as swatting a fly, Dean!  She could have saved your life at any point in time but she didn’t, and she said it herself, the reason why she didn’t, the reason why she let us suffer, it was all just a test.  Mom, Dad, Bobby, Jess…and how many more people…like Kevin…are dead because of her actions, or her failure to act?”  Dean said nothing, just drained his drink and poured himself another one, full right up to the brim of the shot glass.   “All this time I thought, well, at least there’s some grand plan here, we’re going through all this torture for a good reason and someday we’ll find out what it is and it will all be worth it.  But we aren’t, are we?  There’s no higher plan!  All this stuff happened for basically no reason, because God is a douche!”

Dean scrunched up his face and nodded agreement.  “I’ll drink to that.”  And he did.

Three days later Sam came back to the bunker to find Jess standing there waiting for him.  It wasn’t really Jess, it was just her body.  She was stiff and still, like a mannequin or a robot, only it was her real human body.  She looked exactly the same as when Sam had known her over a decade before.  She hadn’t aged, she was even wearing the same clothes she’d had on that night he left her for the last time, that night Dean had showed up on his mission to find Dad and derailed Sam’s life forever.  Sam felt his heart skip and skip, and skip, and then finally it resumed beating normally again.  Only it seemed to be up in his throat somewhere.  Dean came in with a big smile on his face.  “I’m gonna leave this one up to you, Sammy.  You get the final word.  Yay, or nay?”


“Well, I wanted it to be a surprise, and then I thought maybe…well, it was all a long time ago, and maybe you aren’t necessarily unhappy with the way things turned out in the Jess department.”

“The Jess Department?”

“Maybe you don’t want to be tied down, is what I’m saying?”

“Dean, what is going on here?”  

Dean grinned sheepishly and scrubbed at one of his eyebrows with the back of his thumb.   Sam had a sinking feeling that whatever Dean was about to say, he was totally, for sure going to hate it.  “Well, I got to thinking about what you were saying, the other night, you know, about all the people who were close to us, that, that died for no other reason than Jovi was testing me, and how that was the reason why we probably shouldn’t forgive her, her tresspesses, you know?   And, and you were right about all that, Sam, you were right, and so, I uh…”  He trailed off and looked back over his shoulder.  “Guys, come on in.”  

The first one to come in was Jo, then Ellen.  Then Bobby, oh, Bobby.  And then they just kept filing in, one after another.  So many.  Sam had forgotten how many people there really were.  The room was packed with familiar faces.  There were people he was embarrassed to realize he hadn’t thought of in years, like Ash and Frank Deveraux and the virgin they’d been trapped with that time when Lilith was after them; Sam felt deep shame when he couldn’t recall the girl’s name.  Kevin wandered in eventually and the sight of him made Sam’s guts twist.  If Dean thought this would somehow make him more kindly disposed to Jovi, Dean was dead wrong.  “What did you do?”

“Isn’t it obvious?  I brought them all back.”

“Oh, Dean.”

“Everybody I could think of that I felt like, oh I don’t know, were taken too soon.  Because of us.  I didn’t bring back Mom and Dad though.  I wanted to talk to you about it first.”

“What…what do you think this is going to accomplish?”

“No harm, no foul, right?  I mean, if Jovi did wrong, and I make it right, it all comes out ok in the end, and everybody lives happily ever after.  There’s no reason for any…hard feelings.”      

Sam couldn’t even.  He couldn’t even.  He mostly thought that expression was stupid and trendy but seriously, he. couldn’t. even.   The most unforgivable part of all the things that Jovi had done, was not that it had all been for nothing, not exactly.  The most unforgivable part of it all was that the pain and the suffering and the death had all been to bestow the powers of God upon a man who, while he was Sam’s brother and of course he loved the guy, had all the forethought and impulse control of a 13 year old boy.  He sometimes even thought Dean was borderline retarded, he really did, like maybe Dad had gotten drunk and dropped him on his head when he was a baby or something, and now was absolutely one of those times.   The idea that in any conceivable reality, Dean Winchester of all the people on the face of the globe, living or dead, would be the best choice to become God was like a freaking joke.   I mean, resurrect Mother Teresa for Pete’s sake.  Gandhi.  What about Malala or, or…or Jimmy Carter?  But Dean?  It was idiotic.     

Someone spoke up then.  It was Ellen.  “Um, excuse me, boys, uh, I have a question?”


“Dean, what do you want us to do now?  Where do we go?”

“Oh.  Huh.  Well.”  The befuddled look on Dean’s face confirmed Sam’s suspicions, that Dean had had absolutely no long-term plan going into this endeavor, of course he didn’t. He was Dean.  Plans were for pussies.   

“We can’t exactly stay here, Dean, sugar, I mean, I can’t even scratch my own ass it’s so crowded in here.”

Jo rolled her eyes and Sam was so happy to see her doing such a familiar human thing that he almost forgot how terrible the entire situation was.  “Mom!”

“Good question, Ellen.  Well, I guess you just resume your life again.  Pick it up right where you left off.  Only…no hunting this time.  You let me and Sammy take care of that.”


Dean considered this and ground his teeth. “Well, uh…money.  Here.  I have lots of money.  You guys take it, take all of it…” He started shoving stacks of bills, his gambling money, into the resurrectee’s hands.  “And there’s more where that came from, lots more.  You’re always welcome…to uh…if you need anything, anything at all, just shoot me, I don’t know, an email or something.”  One by one, they wandered out, their hands full of cash.  Sam wondered if he should stop them, help them, but it seemed such a massive undertaking that he honestly didn’t know where to begin and simply stood silent as a small army of resurrectees shuffled out into the night.  Bobby made as if to follow them, but Dean just laughed.  “Well not you, Bobby.  Duh!”

“What’s…what’s going on, Dean?  How are we here?”

“Bobby, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

That night was fun, in spite of Sam’s grave reservations, which were numbering into the thousands by that point.  They threw a sheet over Jess – something about her just standing there staring at them was off-putting – and then he and Bobby and Dean sat around and got drunk and it felt a little bit like old times.  Bobby told them all about heaven.  He could remember it, he said, a little, said he did a lot of fishing, but it was fading fast.  They tried to fill in all the things that had happened since Bobby had been gone but it was a lot to put into words.  It was nice being back together again though.   After a while, the conversation lulled and Dean got up to take a leak.  He still had to do things like take leaks and sneeze and puke and all the rest of it, the downside of being in a vessel, apparently.  Bobby, having concluded by that point that Dean was not gonna give him a straight answer, screwed up his courage and asked Sam how it was that he had come to be back on Earth in human form again.  “You’re sitting down, right?”

“Of course I’m sitting down, I’m sitting right here in front of you, ya little…”

“Dean.”  Sam sighed.  “Dean is God now, ok?”


“Dean is God.”


“Dean Winchester has been invested with the power of God.  Not a God.  The God.”

Bobby paused to take a swig of whiskey right from the bottle.  “What happened to the other one?”

“It’s still there.   Sort of split the job into two.  And gave half of it to Dean.  The bigger half.”

“To DEAN?”

“To Dean.”

“Dean Winchester.”

“The one and only.”

“That, hands down, gotta be the worst idea I ever heard of.”    

“I’ll drink to that.”  And he did.  

Dean came back in then, and Bobby sent him a WTF look.  “Aw, you told him, didn’t you.  I wanted to drop the bomb on him right when he least expected it…”

“I always the least expected it.”

“Just to see his face.  Heh.  Oh well.  Well, Bobby, what do you think of that?”

“I think it’s bat-poop crazy, that’s what I think of that!”

“Well, nobody asked you.”

“You just did, genius.”

“Shut up.”

Bobby sighed and scratched at his beard.  “Well, I guess it ain’t any weirder than any of the other stuff we been through, now, is it?”

Sam turned that around in his mind a few times and while it may have been the booze talking, it felt true.  “Don’t jinx it, Bobby.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned through all of this, is that things can always get weirder.”  He drained the dregs of his beer and reached for another, popping it open.  It began to overflow and he hurried to slurp at the escaping foam before it could spill.  Out of the corner of his eye, Sam noticed a strange half-smile on Dean’s face, the kind he always had when he was up to something.  A glow broke out over Dean for a split second and leaped out of him.  It flew across the room and into Bobby.  Bobby gave a shout and leapt to his feet and turned around and around craning his neck to look at his own back, like he was trying to get a kick me sign off his shirt.  Wings sprouted from Bobby’s shoulder blades and curse words flew from his lips.  Of course.  Of course he did.  Sam should have known he would.  “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did, baby.”


“Because I need three, and I need someone I can trust.”

“You need three?  Three whats?”

Before Dean could respond, Bobby had recovered his wits.  “Did you just turn me into a goddamn angel, you little weasel?”

“No, I turned you into a goddamn archangel, bitch.  That’s even better.”  He continued explaining to Sam.  “I need three archangels.  I already got Cas, but I need two more.  And I gotta be sure it’s someone who won’t go to Lucifer and who won’t go to Jovi.”

Sam felt a chill move down his spine and squeezed his shoulders together as if trying to prevent the wings from emerging.  “Don’t even think about it.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Sam, come on.”

Bobby sputtered.  “But you did it to me?”

“Eh, you weren’t doing nothing better anyway.  Fishing in heaven, sounds boring as Hell.”

Bobby sighed, still craning his neck to inspect the wings protruding from his back. “Balls.”

Supernatural: Manic Pixie God Girl Part 6 – Hoofbeats in Heaven

When Castiel returned to Dean’s side later that night he knew significantly more than he had before but to his dismay, he felt much worse about it all. He had hoped to feel relieved and reassured, but he was neither.  He followed the Crowley-thing and before sunset when he gave up due to extreme despondency it had already made several angel-ish-beings…and every one of them out of demons.  

It could trick demons into coming to him, trick them into thinking he was still their master, as evil as ever instead of only just slightly, faintly, mildly evil, and when they came close enough, he seized them violently…violently!!…and forced them to become angels.  Against their will!  It turned Castiel’s stomach to watch and so he fled as quickly as he could, once he was convinced that it was real, that his eyes weren’t deceiving him.  

Once Castiel told Sam and Dean was was happening, he was disappointed to find how little Dean really seemed to care about the ghastly new creatures that Jovi was making. Castiel had often found it a challenge when Dean refused to take something seriously, but because this was such a serious issue he had assumed that Dean would naturally deem it as important as Castiel himself did.  It was a bit of a shock when Dean seemed unwilling or perhaps incapable of understanding the magnitude of it the situation.  “But they’re still angels, right?  They’re good, right?

“They seem…good, mostly, yes, but…they’re part demon!”  The very idea made him cringe.   “They’re not angels, they’re, they’re…mongrels!”

“But they’re still good though?”

“Yes, but they’re part demon!”

“And part human, and mostly angel.  Right?  So on balance, they’re angels.”

“They’re not angels!  Stop saying that they are, because they aren’t!”

“Ok, well, what are they, then?”


Much to Castiel’s chagrin, Dean very nearly laughed when he said that.  “Isn’t that a way to…I don’t know, make cream out of crap?  Angels out of demons, seems like a net gain to me.”

“They are NOT angels!”  Castiel cringed every time Dean called them angels.  

“Ok, ok.  We don’t have to call them angels if you don’t want us to, buddy.”  

Now Dean was humoring him, agh.  “Good, please don’t!”  

“What do you want us to call them?  Do you have a…some kind of a…preference?”

“I don’t want you to call them anything, I want you to smite them!”

“Ok.  I, uh, ok.  I’ll take that under advisement.  Anyway, let’s call the archangels…like Crowley…darkangels.  Like demon archangels.  And the regular ones, we’ll just call them dangles.  Ok Cas?”  Sam rolled his eyes as if he thought that Dean was unbelievably stupid and for once, Castiel couldn’t help but agree.  Dean couldn’t help but turn everything into a joke.  Dangles.  Please. Ridiculous.

It hardly mattered as long as they’d soon be gone.  “But you WILL smite them, right?”

“Well, we’ll see.  Probably.  Eventually.  Now Cas, think for a minute.  Why do you think Jovi might be doing that?  I mean, why not just make more normal angels?  Old school?”

Sam at least seemed to understand.  “Because she’s insane, and likes to eff with everyone?”

“Yes, yes, that exactly!”  Why could Dean not see?

“Shut up, Sam.  Cas, think.  Why would she not just make more regular old angels?  True blue ones, like you? Strategically?”

Castiel wracked his brain and tried to think of a good reason, any reason, even a bad one.  “Well, I suppose it…it takes less energy to make an…a…a…”  He wouldn’t say it, he refused to say it.   “…a cross breed…from a demon than to make a whole new entity.”

“That makes sense.  She mentioned that she was pretty tired after making me, maybe she doesn’t have the power to give Crowley to make a host of angels.  It’s a shortcut, a cheat.  Heh.”

“Why wouldn’t she just make them out of humans, then, Dean?  It doesn’t add up.”  Sam was still skeptical, thankfully, and a thought occurred to him.  “Consent, maybe?”


Sam clarified.  “She has to get their consent, right Cas?  For a human to be the vessel of an angel, which, of course, in order for them to do stuff down here on earth, angels need a vessel, the human has to agree to it.  Angels up in heaven don’t do her any good right now, she needs boots on the ground, and human vessels have to agree to house an angel. Free will.  She wouldn’t want to violate free will by turning a human into an angel without permission.”

“Vessels do have to give their consent to hold an angel host, yes, but…”

“Demons are turned either because they’d made a bargain to give up their souls, they’d given their consent, or because they were possessed and their free will had already been usurped.”

Dean didn’t see the huge and unignorable problem with that.  “Well, there ya go.  Just that simple.  She wants to make a lot of angels, fast, which, which, we need to, to fight Lucifer, and she doesn’t want to have to ask them pretty please first.”  The larger moral issues were apparently still lost on Dean.  All he could see was the convenience factor and not that it was gross and wrong.

“She can’t DO that!  It’s against the rules!  You have to do something about it!”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little bit…unfair here, Cas?  She made the rules, she can change them if she wants to, right?”

Thankfully at least Sam understood.  “Don’t you see, Dean, it’s just a big cheat, just like you said.  She figured out a loophole, a way to force people, against their will, to house…to actually become angels…without their consent.”

“Well, it’s better than being a demon, right Sammy?  Which is what they were to start with.”

“But they chose that, Dean, they made a deal!  Voluntarily!  And anyone who was possessed had their ability to consent taken from them!  They couldn’t agree even if they wanted to!!”

“God shouldn’t cheat, Dean!  And turning possessed people into angels without consent is cheating!”  Why was this so difficult for him to understand?  

“Yeah, but do you even know that any of the demons were possessed, Cas?”

“Well, no…I couldn’t get close enough to tell without the Crowley-thing noticing me.”

“There ya go.”

“She didn’t ask your permission.”

“That was different.”

“How so?”

“Shut up, Sam.”


For his part, Lucifer knew exactly why Jovi was making angels from demons.  She was toying with him.  She had refused him the ability to make angels, keeping that for herself alone, and had been horrified when he had taught himself through observation and trial and error to make demons.  She hated it, hated that he could do anything on his own without asking her for permission, and every demon she turned was a thumb in his eye, a burr in his saddle, a big fat juicy FU.

But, she would learn.  She had made her fatal mistake.  He had known she would eventually, that she’d try with another to do what she had failed to do with him, to make herself another companion, another friend (gag), another sucker to cater to her whims and obey her commands.  He had known she would since she was weak like that and so he had plotted and planned for millennia what he would do when that day came.  She had surprised him, settling for second place, making a new and improved version of herself, actually giving over some of the power and the most of the control to someone else.  That surprised him.  Why couldn’t she have just done that for him, instead?  It stung.  But after he thought about it for a little while he realized it was good that she had done that.  It was good, because it meant that he could have the truest dream of his heart.  He could defeat her but he could keep her.

Lucifer was made to love God.  And even though he knew this, and despised it, it didn’t change the reality of his nature.  He was made to love God.  But he wanted to win.  For so long, he had been faced with the bitter reality that in order to win, he would have to destroy the thing he loved above all else and then he would be the one who would be alone for all eternity.  It was a cruel joke.  He sometimes thought that the only reason why he hadn’t won yet was because he didn’t really want to win.  But now, he realized, he could have it both ways.  He could defeat God, but he could still have God to love, cherish, and obey him.  All he had to do was defeat Winchester, which he had very nearly done once before, and add that glorious strength to his own.  

Then things would be as they should be.  


Dean appeared in the bunker, with a copy of the movie Frozen and a cage containing a gerbil, along with a bag of miscellaneous gerbil supplies including a clear plastic ball (oddly, it was called a hamster ball) that you could put a gerbil into and let it skitter around all over the floor exploring.  He set the cage down and attempted to grab the gerbil.  But it bit him instead.  He pulled his hand out of the cage and sucked at the bleeding bite.  “Hey!  I’m just trying to put you in your ball, you little…” On the second try, he managed to grab the gerbil without incident.  He shoved it into the hamster ball and set it free on the ground.  It skittered around.    “Well, what’s so hard about that?”

Time passed.  The gerbil did its gerbil thing and Dean did his.  The movie was pretty good.  Dean found himself moderately engrossed and he could kind of see why somebody like Jovi might find it relatable.  Somewhere in the middle of “Let It Go” Sam came in and when he did, he inadvertently kicked the hamster ball across the room and into the wall.  Dean paused the movie on accident with his mind at the same time he grabbed the remote.  He stared at the remote for a moment in confusion before realizing he didn’t even need to use it.  Then he leapt up to retrieve the gerbil.  Dead.  He resurrected it with a thought.  It seemed fine, downright perky even.  He set the ball down and it rolled away again.

Sam blinked.  “What. The. Hell.”  

“You killed my gerbil.”

“Are you watching a cartoon?  A girl’s cartoon?”

“I know it looks like that, but…I don’t know.  Somebody told me it was…whatever.  I was actually mostly just sitting here trying to come up with a fix for ugly women.  It turns out, that’s actually not possible to do, because some of the ugly genes are actually beneficial to the human race in other ways that aren’t visible to the male eye.  Can you even believe that?”

“Why don’t you cure cancer instead?”  

That hadn’t actually occurred to Dean and he felt more than a little silly.  “Whatever, college boy.  I’m gonna get to that.”  And he would, too.  

“Is Adam still…”

“Still asleep.  I’m keeping him that way.  I think he’s just had as much as one person can take.  I figure the longer he sleeps, the better it will be when he wakes up.”

Sam didn’t seem like he approved of that idea, exactly.  “Can we, uh, talk about this, Dean?  I mean, are we just gonna…carry on like nothing is any different here?  Hanging out in the bunker…fighting demons?”

“It’s not, is it?  Just like you said, one or the other of us isn’t human most of the time anyway, at least this time, we can get some good out of it.”

“Well did you do any research, to see if this can be reversed?”

Dean gave him a puzzled look.  “Why would I want to do that?”

“Because there’s gotta be a hidden downside somewhere, right?  There always is.”

“Now, that’s actually not true, Sam.  Normally, when one hears hoofbeats, they immediately think of horses, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t be a zebra.  We are long past due for a freakin zebra here.”  Sam shook his head, confused.  Sam could be deliberately dense sometimes.  “That rare time when the exception occurs.  Hoofbeats, zebra.  Doesn’t necessarily gotta be a horse.  Just because things are usually turning to crap for us, doesn’t mean it’s impossible that something could ever go our way.”

“Dean, are…Are you…smart now?”

Dean grinned.  “Yeah.  Got some competition.”

“I was never that smart.”

“Yeah, I know that.  Now.”


When Sam Winchester ruminated on his life  – something he tried not to do very often because it was insanely depressing – what struck him was how quickly things went back to normal.  No matter what they faced, no matter how many friends they lost, no matter what they got turned into, no matter how many times they died and came back again, after a couple weeks it was always the same, him and Dean sitting in the Impala, music blaring, driving down the road in the middle of the night looking for something to fight. Sometimes Cas.

And this time was no exception.  Things went right back to normal again.  Boink.  Sam tried not to dwell on the fact that his brother was God now.  This state of denial was made easier by the fact that Dean continued to act, well, just like Dean.  A simple creature.  He went out practically every night, ate copious amounts of Mexican food and Little Debbie snack cakes, drank himself sick, slept with any woman who seemed willing (something about this seemed wrong to Sam, but he reread a few of the juicier Greek myths and decided not to make waves), and went after demons, ghosts, and ghouls with the same verve he’d always had.   The things he’d said when he’d first been turned about being tired and burned out just seemed like the same things that they always said, both of them, when they were tired and felt burned out.

The only thing Dean ever seemed to use, or perhaps abuse, his newfound powers for was sports betting.  He made a ridiculous amount of money betting on the outcome of ball games and fights and horseraces that he must have either known who would win in advance, or else he did something during the game to make his bet into a winner.  Sam didn’t want to look too closely at this process and so didn’t ask which option was the correct one.  He wasn’t sure if it disturbed him more if his brother could see into the future, or if he was actually willing to mess with the natural course of human events to make some scratch.

Dean didn’t spend much of the money.  He bought a new jacket.  Some socks.  He bought an XBox 360 that he never used.  He bought a fancy French food processor that he used a lot.  He bought a VanGogh and hung it on the wall of the bunker.  But mostly the money just sat there, piling up.  Eventually Castiel asked Sam if they could send some of it to orphan’s homes and Sam said yes.  Didn’t take long before every orphanage on the planet was flush with ready cash.  Dean never even noticed the money was missing.

The only appreciable difference between human Dean and God Dean was that God Dean read a lot more books.  He skimmed through every book in the bunker so quickly he couldn’t possibly have been reading them – could he? – and then showed up one day with a stack of math books he’d gotten somewhere.  He proceeded to work his way through from adding apples to oranges, to calculus.  Sam couldn’t help but ask what he was doing, and he looked up and said, “Math is the key, Sammy.  The key to unlocking everything.”  It was creepy.  After that happened, Sam decided not to ask any more questions, primarily because he didn’t really want to know what it was exactly that Dean planned to unlock.  He just watched as Dean burned through those books in a matter of days and then moved on to world literature and biochemistry, art history and quantum mechanics.   

In short, he didn’t seem to be all knowing, but he was learning fast, and so Sam and Castiel proceeded with their plans to de-deify-Dean as quickly as they possibly could.  They chased every lead, talked to every shaman and scumbag Satan worshiper they could track down, and while there were lots of ways to kill gods, there seemed to be few ways to restore their humanity.  The things that they tried, failed miserably.  Sam was never quite sure if Dean knew what they were up to or not.  He walked right through a web that Sam had woven from strands of enchanted gossamer as if it wasn’t even there.  He stepped into a trap Cas had drawn on the floor, and then out of it again, with a grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye.  It was as if he knew that nothing they could pull out of their collective asses could do a damn thing to him and it amused him to see them try.  

One day Sam came in and he was greeted by a large, dumb-looking bird with a large beak and a fat belly and teeny tiny wings.  It wandered right up to him and looked at him expectantly with black beady eyes.  “Um…Polly want a cracker?”

Dean was hot on its heels.  “Oh there you are, you sneaky little…”  He grinned at Sam.  “He’s faster than he looks.  What do you think of my dodo?”

“Your what?”

“My dodo.  The bird?  I think I’m gonna make em again.  And maybe some passenger pigeons, and Carolina parrots…and bison, lots of bison…I want the streets of New York City to be like, flooded with stampeding bison.”

“Is that…wise?”

“Why not?  They were here first.”  He paused and Sam could sense the excitement coming off of him, could practically smell the smoke as the little men inside Dean’s brain shoveled more coal into the slow furnace of his mind. “See, at first, I couldn’t figure out how she had done it.  I didn’t…I couldn’t figure out how to make things like this.  How to remake them, I mean.  I could only make things she had already made, by following her recipe, her template, but I didn’t have that for extinct animals.  I tried, but everything kept dying on me, but look at this little guy here…”  The dodo blinked as if it knew it was being discussed.  “He seems ok, right??  Healthy?  You don’t happen to have any birdseed around here, do you Sammy?”


“Well that’s ok, I’ll figure it out.  Maybe he eats worms or something.  Anyways I managed to regress avian DNA patterns until I got back to what I figured ought to’ve been this little guy’s DNA and then boom, I made him!  Just like I was building him out of Legos or something!”

“Wow, Dean, that’s…that’s…”

“It’s freaking amazing is what it is!  Creating life!   Think about it, Sam, all this time I spent taking lives, now granted, most of them were bad guys, not even human, but still, you know, and now, lookit, I can give back what I took, Sam!  Isn’t that…”  Before Dean could continue, the dodo coughed violently and fell over, dead.  He looked down at it, back up at Sam, and back down again.  “Oh.”

“Back to the drawing board, I guess.”  

“Yeah, I guess.”


Supernatural: Manic Pixie God Girl Part 5 – Angry Birds

Part 4 is here:

When Castiel got a look, a good look, at the Crowley-thing he couldn’t believe it.  


It wasn’t an angel, not at all, it was A Something Else.  It was mostly angel but it had a swirl of messy darkness marbled through it not unlike a substance that Castiel dimly recalled as fudge ripple ice cream.  A swirl of demon and human essence intertwined, polluted the purity of angel nature.  The Crowley-thing sent Castiel a snide look and Castiel realized he must have been gaping at the monster.  “Take a picture, it will last longer.”  A human expression.  Castiel didn’t know how to respond.  He looked at Gabriel, but Gabriel laughed.  Gabriel always laughed.  No matter what terrible trick God pulled out of…her…sleeve, Gabriel simply laughed.

It wasn’t funny.

Castiel realized in that moment he was quite angry at God this time.  Not just disappointed and confused like he normally was.  Castiel was actually angry.  Furious, even.  He had spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about God – of course, that was his reason for being.  He had done God’s bidding, praised and worshiped God, searched for God, shouted prayers to the sky begging and pleading for God to answer him, even tried to become God in God’s absence.  And for what?  For her to come back at long last, to emerge from hiding, to finally get involved in the affairs of the world once more, only to elevate a tainted creature to his level?  It was an insult was what it was.  

For the first time Castiel felt that maybe he could understand Lucifer’s position a little. This sudden unwelcome thought horrified him and he found himself exceedingly relieved that there was a new God.  Not as a replacement, of course, he was still loyal to the old God, to a point, but more – a backup plan.  A second opinion.  A line item veto for God…or Jovi, now, he needed to get used to that…for her worst instincts, her more impulsive moments.  Castiel was, on the whole, pretty ok with Dean as God.  While it had been a shock, it made sense to him somehow.  Even though he knew that Sam had his doubts and he understood why, at least Dean was someone that Castiel felt that he could follow.  He just wasn’t sure he could follow Jovi any more, at least not only her.  It just seemed to Castiel that when she made this Crowley-thing she had finally gone too far.   

“What’s your bloody problem?  Can’t handle my glory?”

Castiel had been staring again.  He didn’t know what to say.  He didn’t want to speak to the awful thing anyway.  The very idea made him want to scrub his tongue with strong-smelling cleaning chemicals.  He started to speak and then stopped, and sent Gabriel another pleading look.  Gabriel had a way with lesser beings that Castiel lacked.  “Well, Crowley…”


“Oh yeah, uh, Oriphiel…well, it looks to us like you aren’t exactly 99 and 44/100ths pure, there.”

“What?”  He dropped the “t” from the end of the word and curled his lip as he said it.

“Like she left a little demon behind in the mix?  Around the edges?”

“Oh?”  The Crowley-thing inspected himself and seemed impressed.  “Good.”

Castiel could hardly wait to get back to Dean.  This couldn’t stand.


As for Gabriel, he still couldn’t believe he had his life back.   How sweet was that?  

After the meetup with Castiel and Crowley, he was thinking about maybe firing up a little Casa Erotica and kicking back with a cold one to celebrate when who should appear but Dean Winchester, aka God.  “Yikes. I totally owe you a big apology for all the times I did that to you.”  Dean started to talk and Gabriel held out a hand to stop him.  “I’m way ahead of you, man.”  Because he was.  “Jon Bon Jovi’s house was just leveled.”  After a moment of shock, Dean started to talk again but Gabriel waved him off a second time.  “Would you like to know HOW Jon Bon Jovi’s house was just leveled?

“I’m not sure.”

“Terrorists…”  He made air quotes around the word terrorists.   “…with an infrasonic weapon…”  He made air quotes around the word weapon.  “…that played the song “Let It Go” from Frozen?  People heard it from 500 miles away.  Mr. Bon Jovi is now being interrogated by the Department of Homeland Security.  Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, but. Hilarious!”

“Sigh. I don’t know what that is.  Frozen??”

“It’s amazing that I can come back from the dead less than an hour ago, and still be more up to speed on pop culture references than you.  It’s a movie.  A chick movie.  I think you better watch it.  Or absorb it.  Download it, inject it, snort it, whatever it is you deity-types do.”

“Hm.  Much as it pains me to say it, Gabriel, I’m here for your advice.”

“Little late for that now, don’t you think?  I mean, my advice would have been, when a very nearly all powerful, super needy, and notoriously capricious being bestows omnipotence upon you and offers you an eternity of unconditional love, don’t reject her.”

“Is she going to go to Lucifer.  That’s all I need to know.” Gabriel debated the question in his mind for a moment before replying.  He could definitely see both sides of that one.  Dean frowned.  “What, you don’t know?”

“Eh.  I can see both sides of this one.  I’ve seen her do some messed up stuff on a whim, but she’s also…infinitely benevolent.  So good.  Good like, you can’t even fathom the good there.  She’s a very sweet girl, at heart.  Which my brother, decidedly, is not.  Probably the attraction, there.  Good girl, bad boy…I’d watch my back.”

“If they team up, what do I do?”


“Would you be freaking serious?”

“I’m as serious as a heart attack, Daddy-O.  Can you stop them?  Both?  And Michael?  Because the first thing that either of them is gonna do is get him a vessel.  And she can rearchangel him like that.”  He snapped his fingers to punctuate the point.

Dean sighed thoughtfully.  “I got no idea, Gabe.  I’ve been doing this for like, three hours.  I have a sinking feeling though, that the reason she was so insistent on opening that cage today was less to set Adam free, and more because she thought she might need Lucifer to defeat me at some point in the not-so-distant future.  Does one plus one equal better than me?  I don’t know.”   

Gabriel considered it, and had to acknowledge that it could be true.  “She does like her contingency plans.  It’s not that the one thing wasn’t true, but just that a bunch of other things were also, equally true.  She doesn’t lie, not really, not ever, she just doesn’t always volunteer all the information?”  Something occurred to him, something important.  He didn’t really want to help Dean, exactly, but felt obliged to; part of the whole God-Angel dynamic, probably.  “I think you’re gonna need some angels.  Because she’s already making them.  Lucifer doesn’t have the ability to make angels but he’ll be making demons, bet on that.”  He decided to keep the whole “Jovi is making human-angel-and-yes-even-demon hybrids eww” idea under his hat, an easy decision since he knew Castiel would be blabbing it in Dean’s ear as fast as his feathered wings could carry him.  He was actually surprised Castiel wasn’t already surgically attached to Dean’s shoulder.

“Can you get on that for me?”  

After a long awkward pause, Gabriel screwed up his courage to speak.  “Welll, here’s the thing, Dean, old buddy, old pal.  You know, that I don’t really like to do the whole, getting involved in family squabbles thing…and if you put me in a position where I have to pick a side…I’m not sure which side it’s gonna be.  If you were getting along I could serve you both, and I’d be happy to do it, but.  This is like an After School Special –  When mommy and daddy don’t love each other any more!”  He really laid it on thick, allowing his voice to break as if crying because he knew that Dean hated stuff like that.  “Don’t make me choose!  I just want to be a family again!”  

“Really, Gabriel?  You won’t help me?”

“I like being alive, and I’d like to keep it that way.  And I love her, endlessly and eternally, whereas you, mmmph.   Not there yet.  Heads up though. Oriphiel…Crowley?  You know him, right?  Is for her.  Whatever loyalty you expect from him, don’t.”  Dean made a shocked sound.  “I know, your butt buddy drops you like a hot potato when there’s a new kid on the block.   Ouch!”  


“Trusty Cas is in your corner as always.  That’s how sweet she is, she left him to help you.  And she didn’t do that on accident either by the way.  But he’s just one.  You’re gonna need a minimum of three archangels, ones that you can trust, four is better, and as many angels as they can create.  It’s exhausting, making angels is, so you should imbue your archangels with the power to make more angels for you and conserve your strength.  No working miracles, boyo.  Creation, destruction.  All the fun God stuff is strictly off limits for now.  Save that mojo in case you need it.  Because you’re gonna need it.”  Dean grimaced in frustration.  Gabriel grinned back at him.  “Unlimited cosmic power…itty bitty living space.”

Dean disappeared with an annoyed expression.

Now then, where were we?  Oh yeah, Casa Erotica.


When Lucifer found Michael’s true vessel, he wanted to scream.  He did, actually.  He screamed so loudly that he shattered nearby windows and caused an unfortunate pigeon pecking around his feet to explode.

The vessel was unacceptable, completely and totally unacceptable, but apparently it was the only one available.  He wondered if she had known this when she gave Michael’s essence to him; he found it very likely that she had.  He found it very likely that not only had she known, she had orchestrated it.  She’d had the other vessels killed perhaps, or never born, or altered so that they could no longer house an angel.  She did things like that.  So few seemed capable of perceiving her true nature.

Lucifer approached the boy.  He knew that the boy’s name was Aidan, which Lucifer decided that he despised just on general principle.  The boy, a skinny, scrawny urchin of perhaps 10 years of age or maybe a little older – Lucifer didn’t like to look at humans long enough to be able to accurately guess ages, even after all this time – was on a cellular phone device.  Phone devices, which despite their being trendy and ubiquitous, rather like the name Aidan, Lucifer adored.  Something about them made humans exceedingly easy to corrupt.  “Hello.”

“Screw you.”  Lucifer could see the screen of the phone.  The boy was launching cartoon birds into rickety buildings containing round green vaguely porcine monsters using a slingshot, and appeared utterly mesmerized by the process.  And yet God somehow claimed that she preferred humans to angels.  “Perv.”

“Oh, no, no.   I’m not a…perv.  I’m a superhero.”

“Yeah, right.”  He never even looked up from his phone.  It was so rude Lucifer could hardly believe it, that a child wouldn’t even look at an adult that was speaking to it.  Someone should spank the little beast preferably with a belt or the limb of a tree.

“I can make you a superhero too.”

“Bite me.”  Lucifer would have loved to do exactly that but he needed the little brat.

“Watch.”  The boy still didn’t look up from the phone device so Lucifer transformed it into a snake.  The child shrieked and flung the reptile to the ground.  In midair Lucifer changed it back again and tweaked it just so, so that when it hit the ground, the screen shattered into a web of cracks.   As soon as he recovered from the fright the boy fell to his knees after his precious device.

“You broke it!”

“No, you broke it, when you threw it onto the ground.   You should have been more careful.”

“I thought it was…” Suddenly the boy blinked and realized how silly it sounded.

“You thought it was a snake.  That’s because it was a snake.”


“I turned it into a snake.  Watch.”  Lucifer turned the phone back into a snake which struck at the boy.  He skittered back out of range and Lucifer allowed it to resume its original form.

“Hey, that’s really cool!  How did you do that?”

“Because I’m a superhero, I already told you.  Is there something wrong with your ears?”

“Wull.”  Lucifer assumed he had meant to say well.  “Can you fix it?”  Still obsessed with the phone device.  Odds bodkins, how strange humans were.

“In a minute.  I want to talk to you about something, Aidan.”  Ugh.  “Now, Aidan, I’ve come here today with on a secret mission.  Because you are a very unique boy.”


“Yes, really.  I would like to turn you into a superhero too, but the thing is, you have to agree to it.”


“Yes, you.  Very few people can become a superhero.  You’re one of the…”  Lucky?  No, that wasn’t quite right; too random.  Special had negative connotations to it, since that’s what the humans called their imbeciles and lunatics and cripples these days.  “Chosen.  You have been chosen to become a superhero, Aidan.  But you have to give me permission…”

“Yeah, yeah, do it!!”  As easy as that.  Nary a question about what he was getting himself into, not a single thought for his poor mother.  Hollywood had done its job so well, befuddled the humans’ feeble minds with the myth that they were all Chosen Ones.  Every last one of them believed down deep inside that eventually a magic owl would be arriving bearing an invitation, that a man would appear someday in a park to bestow unearned greatness upon them.  Because they deserved it.  

Lucifer loved the 21st century.  The pickings were so easy.

He held up the vial that contained Michael’s essence and the boy swallowed.  “It doesn’t hurt.”  He uncapped the vial and Michael’s essence flowed into the boy.  Lucifer watched with great satisfaction as the boy’s eyes shed their humanity and grew clear, purposeful.  

Michael examined his arm and hand with dismay.  “Oh, no.”

Lucifer smiled.  “It will be all right, Michael.  You know as well as I do that most vessels are merely temporary.”

Michael nodded.

Lucifer stomped on the cellular phone device.  Goodbye Aidan.


Supernatural: Manic Pixie God Girl Part 4 – Angels in the Architecture

Miss Part 3?  It’s here:

Crowley was standing back out of the action, checking his phone.   He had performed all the heroic acts he cared to do for one day and he had a lot of pressing things on his agenda that required attention.  Hell didn’t just run itself, you know.  

The Goddess cast an appraising glance his direction.  Her eyes bored into him and she narrowed them into slits and clenched her jaw and her hands balled up into fists and he reckoned that he must have finally outlived his usefulness.  He prepared himself mentally for destruction.  But he didn’t really worry much, he had a right knack for coming back to life again and it hadn’t failed him yet.  

After a moment, he could ignore her gaze no longer.  “What?”

“You know what I did wrong with the angels, Crowley?”  Crowley pointed at himself, as if he surprised that she was talking to him.  But she was, of course, and he wasn’t surprised at all, because she needed him.  God needed Hell like Sheriff Joe Arpaio needed tent city jails.  And he WAS Hell.  He was the heart and soul and brains and balls of Hell and God Herself by all rights ought to come crawling to him to beg assistance.  And perhaps he’d make her do exactly that, in time.  Crawl and beg.  “They never had blood in their teeth.  How can you really be good, if you don’t know bad?  I think that’s why I always favored Lucifer.  He walked on the wild side.”

“And you’re telling me this, why?”

“I need new angels.  A host of them.  And I need someone to make them for me.  Out of beings that know darkness and thus, can totally fight against it.”  She grinned a sideways grin and there was mischief and a kind of a mad glee in it.

Crowley suddenly realized with a nauseating certainty what was about to happen to him; it was worse than being destroyed, far worse, and he took a step back, raising his hands in front of him, to try and protect himself.  “Oh, no, oh no you don’t….”

The Goddess burst into a glow that swirled around her as if she was standing in a whirlwind.  With a gesture, it separated from her and enveloped Crowley and swirled around him a few times before entering him and then blinking out, leaving him feeling rather unpleasantly violated.  He staggered a few paces with his face contorted into an agonized grimace before recovering.  “I name thee Oriphiel and elevate thee to archangel.  Make me angels, from demons, Oriphiel.”  She gestured dismissively with a faraway expression.  “I’ve resurrected a few of the best for you.  They’ll find you.  And if you could keep them from causing too much trouble in the meantime that would be, like, super awesome?”

Crowley winced and groaned.  Because this was simply awful.  An angel?  Intolerable!  He unfurled a set of angel’s wings and inspected them with extreme displeasure. “Bloody hell!  I don’t have the first idea of how to be an angel!”  Or even a smidgeon of desire, although he did realize with dismay that he now possessed a very strong urge to please and protect the miniature and adorable, I mean really, just look at her, precious thing, darling, simply darling…BOLLOCKS what was happening to him?!?….but really, how lovely she was, this delicate goddess standing before him.

“I’ll make you a teacher.”  Jovi clapped her hands twice and the Archangel Gabriel reappeared from whereever it had been that he’d gone to upon his demise.  Gabriel appeared surprised, but not that surprised.  Crowley understood the feeling; once you’ve been resurrected a few times over the novelty wears off.  Dean Winchester sidled over then, casting a wary glance at everything that had transpired.   Crowley-Now-Oriphiel felt a surge of pride over the magnificence of his wings – because they were quite nice – and spread them out a bit wider so Dean would notice and be impressed by them.

Gabriel looked about with a calculating expression and seemed to immediately grasp every implication of every nuance of every development even though Crowley-Now-Oriphiel wasn’t quite sure he understood it all himself and he’d been an eyewitness.  With a smirk Gabriel fell to his knees at Winchester’s feet, even though no one was glowing.  Suck-up.  “I see the Dark Lady has returned.  Nice.”    He glanced appraisingly at Dean.  “And she brought a friend.”  

“I made him myself!”  The Goddess was nearly breathless from excitement.  Gabriel took it all in with great amusement.   

Winchester did not share the enthusiasm.  “Uh, Jovi, I couldn’t help but notice there’s an awful lot of, uh, activity going on over here.”

She beamed with pride.   “Yeah!  I turned Crowley into an angel…bet ya didn’t see that coming!”

Dean gaped and who could blame him, after all who bloody HAD seen that coming?  If Crowley-Now-Oriphiel had, he’d surely have ducked.   But he found he was getting rather used to the idea, he found that it wasn’t as objectionable as he’d originally thought, so he couldn’t help but gloat.  “An archangel!”   Winchester’s eyes bugged out for a second from the shock.  “Oriphiel.  That’s a name with some…gravitas, eh?”

“And I remade Gabriel…FUN!!

Gabriel winked comically at Dean.  “I give the best worship you have ever had, Big Boy.”

Winchester sighed, exasperated.  Jovi winced.  “Don’t be mad.”

Dean digested this news.  He clearly wasn’t happy; Crowley knew him well enough to sense his displeasure, but he was still in the honeymoon period, it seemed.  “Check with me next time, ok, Jovi? Before you do the big ticket items??”

“Ok.  Yes Sir.”  She was positively delighted by being told what to do.  Really, she was lovely, wasn’t she?  Dear little thing.  Crowley-Now-Oriphiel found he couldn’t half wait to serve her.

Gabriel rose to his feet to address Winchester.  “Gee whiz, I should have asked first.  Mother, may I?”  Dean ground his teeth.  Then Gabriel turned his attention to Jovi.  “You’re not the Dark Lady this time, are you?”  Jovi glanced at Dean from the corner of her eyelashes and shook her head no.  “I see.  It’s a good look for ya.  If, a bit unexpected.  I’ll go tell it on the mountain.”   He paused and took a moment, as if trying to absorb everything that had just happened.  He laughed, delighted by it all, ever a creature of chaos.  “Be seeing you, Dad.  Thanksgiving is gonna be here before you know it.”  He leaned in and spoke quietly so Jovi couldn’t hear.   “Enjoy the ride.”

Gabriel nodded Oriphiel’s way and they disappeared, off to do good, and Oriphiel was quite surprised to find he was rather looking forward to the endeavor.

Doing good.  Might be a nice change of pace, really.


Ok.  Dean didn’t want to be too hasty, too rash, so before speaking he took a brief moment to go over a few things that had transpired over the past hour…that…that maybe didn’t seem exactly like stellar ideas.  Lucifer was free, Gabriel, that freaking troublemaker, had been resurrected, Michael was evil and also, free, Crowley was an angel, and he himself was God.  Ok.   A lot to take in, there.  Don’t yell.  He bit his tongue hard and had to swallow a couple times because he kinda felt like yelling sort of a lot and he thought that maybe him yelling might be the wrong move to make, like maybe she might react badly to that.  Everything was cool.  Everything was just fine and dandy.   Ok.  No yelling.  “The Dark Lady?  Why do they keep calling you that?”

Jovi paused for a moment as if considering how best to phrase her reply.  “Um, cause, whenever I want to do anything really crazy, I always turn into a woman.  I’m not really sure why?  I just do!  I’m usually, uh, not very happy then?  So the angels learned a long time ago, whenever I showed up in female form, trouble was sure to follow.”  She seemed a little embarrassed.  “Wrath, and stuff.  But that was before.”

“Before what?”

“Well, before you, naturally!”

“Are, you, uh.  Going to turn into a dude at any point in the near future?”   This question seemed kind of important to ask.

“No.  That’s the part I put into you.  So to speak.  Heh.  I’m a girl permanently now?  I felt like since you’ve only ever been a guy, it would probably be too big of an adjustment for you to make, to be a switch hitter.  Whereas I was a genderless glowing ball of light for trillions of years before I started taking on vessels, so it’d be easier for me to be flexible in the boy-girl department.”    

“Well, I must admit, that is a huge relief.  If I was going to wake up tomorrow with…” He gestured to indicate girly bits.  “I wanted to know.”  Dean realized suddenly that Jovi was shivering.  He felt very solicitous of her well-being.  That connection, no doubt.  It was like a suction cup now.  Each time he examined it, probed it with the new Swiss Army Knife of perceptive abilities he seemed to have folded up within his brain now, he thought it had maybe gotten a little stronger, that connection had.  He wondered if it would keep growing or if it would level off at some point.  “Are you all right?”  For the first time in ever it felt like, he wondered if he might be capable of caring about someone other than Sam.  Really caring.  He hadn’t cared for so long, the idea felt a little terrifying.

“My vessel is cold.  And wants a cheeseburger.  And lip balm.”

“I could go for a cheeseburger myself.”  A cheeseburger.  That sounded like an entirely good idea.  So Dean focused, his brain hiccupped, and suddenly they were back at the bunker.


Sam glanced around, annoyed, disoriented.  They were back in the bunker.  Dean.  Dean had done it.  Adam was tucked into bed in a spare room that they never went into.  The spare room hadn’t even had a bed in it before but now Adam was tucked into a bed in there.  Wearing pajamas.  In a bed with sheets and pillows and a duvet cover that looked like it had come from a Pottery Barn catalog.  Dean had done all that in a split second, with a thought.  Sam sent him a venomous glare.  “Future reference, I don’t like that.”   

“I’ll ask first next time. Provided that time allows.”

“Sigh.  Next time.  Where’s Cas?”

“Archangel confab.  Gabriel, back from the dead, Castiel, and uh.  Crowley, if you can believe that. She says we need three, minimum.  Archangels, I mean.  And apparently he was handy.”

Sam laughed bitterly.  “That seems to be about par for the course, doesn’t it?  Lucifer is free, Michael’s gone over to the dark side, and Crowley is an archangel.  And as almost freaking always, only one of us is human.  Go Team Winchester.”   

Sam exited into the main living area of the bunker. Dean followed, shutting the door to Adam’s room behind him with his mind.  Out of the corner of his eye Sam saw the door swing shut seemingly of its own accord and winced, but Dean didn’t notice.  “Heh.  A guy could get used to that.  Getting beers and finding the remote and never even having to get up off the couch.”

Of course that where his mind went first.  Alcohol and the remote.  “Where is IT.”

“SHE, was cold and hungry.”

Sam’s voice dripped with sarcasm and it wasn’t a fraction of what he felt.  “Aw.  Poor IT.”

“I think you should stop calling her that.”

“It’s not a her, Dean, it’s an IT.”  Put IT in a pretty package and Dean couldn’t help himself.  Idiot.

“Not any more.  She’s a her now, and forever.  She gave me the dude stuff.  This is a new configuration we’re trying out here.”

“Gee, that’s so sweet.  Manic Pixie God Girl.  Dean, I cannot believe you are blind to the fact that this…this…thing…is messing with your mind.  Your soul.  And everything else.  It has made our existence a living Hell, literally, for our entire lives.”

“Seriously, enough already.  You of all people.  Enough.”

“How much did she mess with, Dean?  She says not Mom, ok, I’ll choose to believe that.  But what DID she do?  To get you low enough so you’d be OK with this?  Dad? Ellen, Jo?  Bobby?  Dean, think about it.  How much did she take away from you, so she could have whatever was left?”  Sam paused, deciding how best to twist the knife.  “Lisa and Ben?”  

Dean inhaled sharply through his teeth.  “Sammy, you little…”

“Hear me out.  She admitted she was in control of Crowley, making him do things to help you, why not hurt you too, if it served her purposes?   Hurt the people you care about?  Drive them away from you?  If there’s one thing I’ve learned about the nature of God during all this, Dean, it’s that people are nothing but means to an end to IT.”

That gave Dean pause for a moment and Jovi must have been eavesdropping because she appeared in front of Sam in a fury.  She was freakishly tiny, like Snooki or Tila Tequila.  He realized he had to be like 2 feet taller than her practically.  Sam wondered if he could pick her up and snap her like a twig, but of course it was actually the other way around. “Go on, Sam.  IT’S right here.  IT’S listening.  IT promises not to go totally Biblical on your ass.  Please, continue.”

Sam smirked.  “I’m not afraid of you.  What more can you do to me than what you already have?  Send me to Hell?  Been there, done that.  Take away everyone I love? Done that, too.  Take my soul? Too late.  You’ve proved again and again, GOD, or Jovi, or whatever you want to call yourself, that you will stop at nothing, hurt anyone for no better reason than you want people to like you.  It’s disgusting!”

“I don’t want people  like me, I NEED people to like me, and that is an entirely different thing altogether!  I can’t help my nature any more than you can!”

Sam gestured at Dean as if to say I told you so.  “I told you so!”  He said it because the gesture alone hadn’t felt like quite enough to get through Dean’s thick skull. Then he felt a surge of hot pain like a bee sting only more full of pus and he grabbed the side of his neck.  A lump was developing there, swelling so quick he could feel it growing under his palm.  “Did you just give me a boil?”

“Well…just one.  Not like a plague of them or anything.  Which, I could’ve.”  Dean gave her a look and she gestured slightly and the boil vanished.  “You have no idea what it is to be me, Sam Winchester.  To have an insatiable need, ok there I admitted it, a need for companionship and to be utterly alone.  To just want someone there with you in the endless nothing of infinity and eternity.  For billions of years, stacking atoms into molecules and doublehelixing strand after strand of DNA thinking, oh maybe this time.  Trial and error, failure after failure.”  She turned to Dean to plead her case and Sam was relieved to see it on his brother’s face, to see that she was losing; that even though Dean liked this terrible God-ette her stock was dropping fast.  “You know, I can’t even sleep.  My vessel sleeps and I sit in there just waiting for another day.  Dreading it.  I gave you the gift of sleep, Dean…you should appreciate it.” She turned back to Sam and her eyes were crazy and she sounded more than a little unhinged.  “Finally to get somewhere and find out the creation you worked so hard on and you wished and hoped for and waited for… just really isn’t that into you.  That they mostly just want someone to blame when things go wrong.  They take your gifts, and curse your name, and then they ask you for more gifts.”  She stopped talking for a moment and muttered mostly to herself.   “I don’t even know what I’m going to do if this doesn’t work out.”

Sam knew he had her on the ropes then and switched into full interrogation mode.  “Jovi, yes or no, did you have Crowley hurt Lisa?”

“All you Men of Letters think you’re some kind of lawyer or something!”

“Answer the question, Jovi.”  Jovi recoiled, what little of her composure that remained evaporating visibly when Dean spoke.

Finally, after a long, tortured moment, she replied.  “I’m…I’m a jealous God, Dean.”  

“Agh.”  Dean said it like he’d been kicked in the guts.   Sam laughed. 

“I didn’t cause it to happen, but.  But.  I didn’t prevent it.  I could have.  I should have.  Thought about it.  But she’s very pretty, and I was in CHUCK.  I’m not proud of it.”

Sam couldn’t help but ask.  “You were in Chuck?”

“Very few vessels can contain me, Sam.  I have to take what I can get.”  She paused for a moment and her shoulders slumped.  “I had to wait so long to find a female one.   And this one isn’t even pretty.  It’s like a very sexy Muppet.”  She turned back to Dean, growing desperate.  “I could have stopped it, I could have stopped it with…with Lisa…but I didn’t.  And that’s the truth.  I had to make sure you two were separated permanently and it just…it seemed like a super good opportunity.”  She swallowed hard, then continued and Sam could hear the despair in her voice but he didn’t feel guilty for it, not one little bit.  “It was for your own good, Dean.  But also because I was jealous.”  Dean absorbed the news stoically.  “God Lesson One, sometimes you have to do little hurts to prevent big ones later on.  If I hadn’t allowed that to happen, if I wouldn’t have made sure you were driven apart, what might have happened later on, Dean, when you were a demon?  Could you have lived with yourself it if had been at your hands?  Just sayin’.”

Dean had heard enough.  “I think you need to leave.”

“I know.  I’m going.  Go ahead, unerase her memory.  Tell her you’re God now, see how far that gets ya.  Hey, maybe she’s into it.  Some of em are.  Have fun loving a gerbil.”  She gave Sam a puzzled once over.  “You win again, Sam.  You must have been like the world’s cutest baby ever.”   She disappeared, but then two seconds later she was back again, and furious.  “You know what everyone hates about you Winchesters??  You are a couple of freaking hypocrites!  The rules never apply to you, but boy howdy, everyone else better follow them to the letter, no matter what.  Extenuating circumstances be damned.  The word forgiveness is not in your vocabulary.”  She spun away from Sam to address Dean and Dean alone.  “Well, LEARN IT, Dean, because like it or not, you’re God now, and it’s kind of part of the gig!”  She vanished again, this time for good.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.  “Your Becky is scarier than my Becky.”


Supernatural: Manic Pixie God Girl Part 3 – Free Range Lucifer

If you missed Part Two, it’s here:

Not save Crowley?  

While there had been many a time in his life where Dean would have loved to watch the demon fry, he couldn’t quite help himself.  He focused for a moment


He felt a sickening sensation, the kind that you get when you drive too fast on a hilly country road after a night of too much tequila.  And then it stopped.  Dean realized to his very, very, very great dismay that he was back in Hell.  He could smell the brimstone.  He had, apparently, without intending to, transported himself and his pitiful little party of Gods and misfits right smack dab into the center of Hell.  And what was worse, far worse, so, so very very, again, totally very much worse, was that before him was a cage, and the cage door hung open.  Wide open.  

Lucifer was free.  

Sam grabbed Jovi by the arm and shook her.   “What have you done??”  Dean couldn’t do a thing to stop him because he wanted to do the exact same thing.  God, that dumb bitch, she had had Crowley free Lucifer!  He felt rage, a surge of rage and it was like no rage he’d ever experienced, a flare so intense it was terrifying and he wanted to destroy everything that was pissing him off right then and he wondered if this was maybe the downside of being God.  That you felt things way stronger than you did when you were a human and had the ability to react to those feelings, badly.  And immediately.  Thus you had to have a lot of self-control all the time for people to be safe around you and he had never been a guy with an excess of that.  

Lucifer and Michael/Adam, apparently chock full of energy upon exiting the cage they’d been sealed in for the past several years, had attacked Crowley and killed him.  Still kneeling over the body, they were ripping what was left of poor Crowley to shreds. Sam shook Jovi again, so hard her teeth rattled.  Dean realized he could feel Jovi pulling at him like a magnet and he suspected that that no matter where he went, even if they were at two different ends of the galaxy, he’d always be able to feel that little tug.  He realized  that she was scared and he felt goosebumps rise on the back of his neck.  Through their link he knew somehow that being in Hell weakened her, and as a result she was incapable of stopping Sam’s assault, and that she was afraid.  

Luckily, after quickly testing his limits, he found that he himself was unaffected by Hell for the most part.   Maybe a little around the edges, but still fully functional.  He grabbed Sam’s wrist and removed his arm with a perhaps a little more force than Sam expected.  Sam pulled away with an accusing expression and rubbed his arm.  Such a pussy.

Dean had no time to salve his brother’s ego.  He immediately turned his attention to the quickly deteriorating Jovi.  The recriminations could wait.  “What’s wrong, Jay?”

Her voice was thin and high and on the verge of panic.  “I can’t stay here long!  Hell is where I put everything that hurts me!   It’s like my kryptonite!”

“What about me?  I feel fine?”

“I don’t know.  You’ve known Hell before, it might make you better able to withstand it.  Like an inoculation?”  God, she looked terrible.  No faking, she was getting weaker by the second.

Lucifer’s attention had been drawn by Sam’s presence.  “My vessel.”  Lucifer grinned threateningly as he rose to his feet and started towards Sam, who was unfortunately currently inhabiting the only vessel that could truly contain Lucifer’s essence without being totally destroyed in the process.  Sam gulped and Dean felt a surge of adrenaline.

Castiel intervened, pulling out his angel sword. “No, brother.”  As he came closer Dean realized that Lucifer’s meatsuit was disintegrating by the second.  He needed Sam in order to survive and while Dean knew he couldn’t take Sam by force against his will, Lucifer was persuasive and Sam had agreed once before.  Dean had the horrifying, hopeless thought that maybe it was destiny, that maybe he was destined to be the hand of God and Sam was destined to house Lucifer and the whole nightmare they had already prevented once – the world ending around them as he and Sam fought the final battle of good vs. evil, not on the same side but on opposite teams – was just about to start up all over again.  Maybe there really was no escaping that destiny for the Brothers Winchester. 

“Lucifer.  Stop.”  Upon hearing her voice, Lucifer beamed with delight, with amazement.  Lucifer was absolutely brimming over with joy at seeing Jovi.  The fallen angel quickly jumped to conclusions about her purpose, and who could even blame the guy?  Lucifer clearly assumed that she’d come to rescue him, that all was forgiven and they could be a big happy family again.  Then the chilling thought came that maybe it was actually Dean himself who had jumped to conclusions about Jovi’s intentions.   

Maybe there was more going on here than met the eye, maybe Jovi had done all this deliberately to bring about the Apocalypse since they’d maybe screwed her out of it the first time.  Dean tried not to think about how many times she’d said she’d tried to destroy herself before and especially not all the times she’d tried to destroy the world before.  Literally, not figuratively.  Old Testament, that was the OLD Testament.  Right?

Then she burst into glow and while it was just as beautiful as it had been the first time he’d seen it, Dean found himself totally immune to the effects, just as she had promised him he’d be, which was very reassuring.  He did not have to worship her, and that meant she really had made him stronger than she was for whatever reason and that meant that the Apocalypse would not be happening, at least not today.   

Dropping to his knees before Jovi, Lucifer gazed at her in adoration.  Even on his knees he was nearly as tall as she was and they were pretty much staring right into each other’s eyes.  Dean felt a dark pulsation of an emotion he could not identify but it was like a lot of hot blisters formed on the inside of his torso and painfully popped one by one by one quickly like fizzing bubbles in Alka Seltzer.  “My Dark Lady has returned.  You’ve brought me my vessel, my lady, thank you.”

Jovi answered with cold amusement.  “No, Lucifer.  I haven’t.”  She turned to Dean, deferential.  She was deferring to him – again, very reassuring, the body language there. Dean felt reassured despite all evidence to the contrary.  “Can you heal this vessel? And make it last?  It…it suits him, I think.”

“Do I have to?”

“Well no, of course not, remember?  But I would appreciate it.  I have a plan, I promise.”  Dean still hesitated.  “If we don’t heal this one, he’ll just find another one.  Ruin someone else’s life.  Like Sam’s.  Remember how much trouble that was the last time?” Reluctantly, Dean started glowing.  He somehow managed to direct it away from Jovi, so she didn’t have to do the whole worship thing, pushing it all at Lucifer.   He wondered vaguely if she might’ve done the same; directed her glow away from him and towards Lucifer, perhaps tricking Dean into thinking he was immune to her when maybe he actually wasn’t?  But he pushed that thought away.   She seemed so nice, so sweet, so genuine, he couldn’t help but trust her, even though he knew it was probably stupid and naive for him to feel that way.  Later.  He’d figure it out later.

After a few moments of not-so-tender ministration, Lucifer had healed.  It turned Dean’s stomach, doing something to help the creature that had inflicted so much suffering on his family.  So he turned his attentions to healing Crowley, or he tried to anyway.  As fast as Dean could heal him, Michael…or was it Adam…ripped Crowley to pieces again.  The screams were awful, even for someone who had seen and heard as much torture as Dean had.  Jovi clapped her hands over her ears and winced.  Dean focused his intentions like a magnifying glass concentrating a beam of sunlight to melt a hole in an old Pat Boone album.  The archangel wearing the body of Dean’s formerly dead half-brother responded to Dean’s command and finally stopped the attack on Crowley’s rapidly healing body.  He crawled over to grovel at Dean’s feet, leaving a trail of Crowley behind him.  Once he managed to get Crowley put back together again, Dean refocused the glow back onto Lucifer, double strength, and allowed Adam…or was it Michael…to rise.

Crowley scrambled to his feet as well.  He was disoriented at first, but he caught up quick, and after gaining his bearings he hurried to Sam and Castiel, who were nearest to him.   “We need to get out of here.  Every beastie in Hell sensed that gate opening and they’ve all come a-running to serve Lucifer!!”  Then Crowley noticed Lucifer was kneeling on the ground beside him and jumped.  “Aaa!  Did you know he was here?”  Dean couldn’t help but laugh.  This was one strange situation he’d gotten himself into.  If only it was just himself and not everyone else, too.

Lucifer, in the meantime, had realized what had happened, what Dean had become, what Jovi had turned him into, and was stricken.  Wounded.  Deeply wounded.  Dean took pleasure from it.  Lucifer sent Jovi an accusing glare – Dean could see him working out the calculus and the implications – and Lucifer then beseeched Jovi plaintively with a strangled voice that bordered on a whine.  “No. You haven’t.  My Lady??”

The howls, screams and cries of the creatures in Hell grew ever nearer.  Jovi seemed distracted, staring off in the distance as if judging how far away they were, and she swallowed, which did not seem to be a particularly good sign.  “I have.  I’m sorry.”

Lucifer inspected Dean with disdain.   “A human.  Of course, a human.  That human!!!”

“There are two of us now, Lucifer.  I’m going to set you free and if you misbehave, Daddy’s going to take you to the woodshed.”

Dean shook his head, confused.  “We can’t set him free?”  Whatever this plan of Jovi’s was, he wanted no part of it.  This was most definitely a Bad Idea.  

“Believe me, Dean, he causes just as much trouble locked up, if not more.  I locked him up because I was lazy, not because it was the right thing to do with him.  Sigh.  I was just…procrastinating, I guess.  Putting it off but I can’t put it off any longer.  Take us back, Dean, please.  All of us.  We’ll sort it out later.”

Dean tried to do the reverse of what he’d done before, to back them all right out of Hell again, but nothing happened.  “Um?  I’m not sure I know how.”

With a start Dean realized that Lucifer was aglow with a dark version of the light that Dean and Jovi possessed.  Jovi gave Lucifer an annoyed look.  “He’s opposing you.”  Dean struggled harder, but nada.  Jovi looked sternly at Lucifer, but not without affection, as if he was a naughty little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Would you stahp?”  She almost smiled as she scolded the fallen angel.  Scolded him!  Dean would have vastly preferred she smote first and asked questions later.

Lucifer grinned.   “No.”

Dean sent Jovi a panicked glance, feeling his control slipping.  “I thought I was stronger.” As if to prove that supposition entirely wrong, Lucifer rose, one foot and then the other.  


“You are.  But he can be very tough to beat down here.  He feeds on it.  Subdue him, if you can.”  Easy for her to say.  Dean and Lucifer began to grapple, both physically and also using their opposing powers.  Seemed pretty unfair given that Dean had had his powers for about 3 minutes and Lucifer had had his for eons, but whatevs.  They pushed and prodded at each other, testing limits, probing for weaknesses.  Dean could sense that he was stronger, but Lucifer didn’t seem quite as subject to the laws of physics as Dean did.  He was slippery, oily, gooey, greasy, hits just seemed to slide by him and through him without making much of an impact.   Jovi turned away as the horde of monsters just reached them.  She raised a shield and the beasts of Hell threw themselves against it, trying to breach it and get to their master’s side.  “Crowley, take Sam Winchester and begone.  Protect him at all costs to yourself.  Hide him, if Lucifer gets out and we don’t.”

And we DON’T?  Like, we may not get out of here?  Dean found the idea that he might not escape Hell to be just as unappealing in that moment as it was when he was mortal.  If not more so.   He would have very much liked to ask Jovi a question or two but then Lucifer got a slimy cold hand around Dean’s windpipe and gave a squeeze.

“Yes, ma’am.”  After he spoke, Crowley grimaced, plainly annoyed by his sudden, inadvertent obedience.  “Bloody Hell.”

Sam raised a hand to try and stop Crowley.  “No, wait!”  But his protests were ignored. Crowley disappeared with Sam, and Dean felt a palpable sense of relief knowing that at least Sam was out of the line of fire.

Even though she was battling hard to maintain her shield, Jovi spoke calmly.  “Michael, Castiel, subdue Lucifer.”  But Dean could sense through their connection that it was an act; underneath her calm, she was shook and shook hard, and he was concerned by how pale she’d grown.  Nearly gray, and drawn with effort.  She was sweating and trembling. He had to get them out of Hell, and fast.  

But how could he with Lucifer’s hands around his throat?

Castiel, wielding his angel blade, started toward Lucifer.  But Adam…or was it Michael…stopped Castiel with a hand on his arm.   The archangel smiled, sinister.  “You know, brother, the funny thing about Lucifer is, he can be very persuasive.  We had a lot of time together in that cage, Castiel.  And some of the things he says makes a LOT of sense.  The Dark Lady reappears, and what does she bring us?  A human as a new God? Really?”  

Castiel’s eyes widened with near-panic as he realized.  “Michael has been corrupted by Lucifer!!”  Michael/Adam kicked Castiel in the chest before Cas could make a move.  Castiel flew through the air into Jovi’s shield, then dropped hard back onto the rocky ground.  He didn’t stir.  Dean would have loved to help, he really, really would’ve, but Lucifer had his thumb in Dean’s eye and was pushing down really, really hard.

Jovi’s calm demeanor began to crumble.  She did the only thing she could think of to do and Dean realized as she did it that he should have thought of it himself. “Castiel, I elevate thee to Archangel of the Lord!”  Her voice cracked bad and Dean realized with dismay that she was moving beyond fear straight into panic.  She hadn’t been kidding when she’d said she didn’t know what she was doing, that she wasn’t all-knowing.

So much for having a plan.  Eh.  Plans were for pussies anyway.

Castiel leapt back to his feet.  His strength had grown dramatically and he ground his teeth in anticipation.  He flew at Adam/Michael and Dean was extremely relieved to see that the two were evenly matched, that Castiel was able to match Michael/Adam blow for blow, strike for strike.  Their swords clanged together and sent out sparks as they met.      

Dean noticed with dismay that Jovi’s shield appeared to be weakening.  The creatures of Hell attacked it again and again, and every time the area it covered grew a little smaller, a little smaller.  He managed to glance at her between trading blows with Lucifer.  She’d gone well beyond pale, she was ghostly, and her entire body shook with effort.  Dean mustered all his strength and will and threw one punch, then another, into Lucifer’s face.  He remembered Lucifer beating the hell out of him in the past and put that pain and rage he felt then into every blow.  And damn, he was strong.

Lucifer stumbled back a few steps and Dean was on him before he could regain his footing.  He connected with Lucifer’s eye and was supremely satisfied when the skin beneath his knuckles burst open like an overripe plum beneath a combat boot.  He could actually feel the eye socket shatter.  And it was a good feeling.  Spectacular.  Then there was movement behind Lucifer, a shimmer, something interdimensional glistening like a mirage and suddenly Sam appeared, Crowley at his side.  Freaking Crowley had disobeyed orders and brought Sam back.  But before Dean could react he realized that Sam had an angel blade.  He sank it to the hilt in Lucifer’s back.  The dark glow weakened and blinked out as Lucifer crumpled to the ground.  

And then boom, there it was again.  The power.  All of it.  Dean could reconnect and he sank his metaphysical teeth into it.   He focused intently for a moment and pulled them out of Hell, an act that was surprisingly much more physical than mental or spiritual.  They reappeared on the roof of a skyscraper in the middle of a city, some city somewhere, he had no idea which one, but it was a big one.   It was dusk and the sun was setting and the lights were starting to come up. 

Lucifer fell over sideways, injured but not dying, unfortunately.

Castiel and Michael/Adam were still fighting, and in the confusion, Castiel was distracted just for a moment but a moment was all it took, as evenly matched as they were.  Adam/Michael had his opportunity and took it and he began to get the upper hand.  Castiel backpedaled frantically and sent a panicked look Dean’s direction.  Sam noticed and tried to call it to Dean’s attention.  But Dean already knew.  “Dean…”

Dean already KNEW, of course he already KNEW, but…he held up his hand, still focused on what he was doing.   He had left her behind, he hadn’t meant to but he had left her behind.  He struggled but he couldn’t get her.  He could touch her but he couldn’t hang on for longer than a moment; wisps of her slipped through his grasp like sand through his fingers.  The window he could pull her through had all but gone.   The shield was all but gone.  He could feel Hell creeping up around her, he could feel her resolve slipping, her heart was going so quickly, how could a heart beat that fast?   “Jovi.”  He could only manage a whisper and he hoped it was enough so she knew he was still there, still trying, that he hadn’t given up on her and run out on her and he never would.   He decided to give it another few seconds and then he was going back for her and even if they were caught at least she wouldn’t be down there all alone. 

In the meantime Castiel was barely hanging on.  Sam spoke again, more insistent.  “Dean!”    

Dean didn’t welcome the distraction, not at all, but it triggered something within him.  It was as if he was able to splitscreen his own mind.  His power didn’t divide in half, it felt like it increased twofold.   He granted Castiel some of his strength and Cas managed to rally, forcing Michael/Adam back easily.  Dean turned his full attention to his other problem.  “Jovi, listen, you have to let me get you. Come on, c’mon c’mon.”  Please come on.  He perceived that she did something differently then, something that let him in; she let go of that tattered shield she was holding on to and dropped her guard, and as the beasts of Hell rushed in he wrapped his will around her and pulled with everything he had.  She stuck for a moment and his heart skipped a beat but then he wiggled her free like a stuck bolt in the Impala, just a little movement back and forth and she came loose, and he pulled her her up and away from the evil that was engulfing her and deposited her back into the world.      

Jovi reappeared 3 feet above the rooftop and dropped, hard.  She sat up and touched the back of her head.  “Ow.”  

Dean rushed to her side and slid to a stop on his knees beside her.  “Sorry.  You were putting up quite a fight there.”

“That was a sensation I never experienced before.  I’ve never…had to submit to another’s will.  It startled me.”  She smiled, bemused.  “You are stronger than me.  Much.”

“Yeah, well, we can arm wrestle later.”  He touched Jovi and she was healed, and then she returned the favor – he hadn’t realized until he actually started healing, but he’d been beaten bloody in his fight with Lucifer and he’d bit a hole through his lower lip from sheer nerves when he’d been fighting to save her.  He could still taste the blood on his tongue even after she’d healed him.  He helped her to her feet and as he did, he cast a wary eye at Lucifer.  The fallen angel pulled the blade from his back and sat up, coughing weakly.  Dean hoped Sammy had got him right in the lungs.  

Castiel and Adam/Michael were still fighting nearby.  Jovi looked at them, intent, and then Adam’s body – because Dean knew somehow it was only Adam’s body now, that whatever Jovi had done, Michael had been forcibly evicted and was gone out of his half-brother at last – fell unconscious.  “Why didn’t you just do that in the first place?”  Dean had no answer.  He didn’t even know what she’d done.  At the last moment, Castiel managed to stop his blade barely an inch from Adam’s throat.  

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance and rushed to Adam.  Dean healed his injuries with a thought, but he kept him unconscious.  Sam looked at Dean, hoping for reassurance.  “Is he ok?”

“He is no longer Michael.  Just Adam.”  Jovi had followed them.  Apparently she didn’t realize or couldn’t understand that wasn’t the answer that Sam was looking for.  She didn’t seem to understand Sam, exactly.  Then again, who really did, heh.   Castiel’s wounds healed beneath Jovi’s touch, and Castiel gazed at her and laid his palm against  her cheek, as if trying to convince himself that she was real.  “It’s really me, Castiel.  I know you were looking for a long time.”  Castiel nodded and Dean felt a rush of happiness that his friend’s long search for God was finally over.

Ignoring Jovi totally, Sam repeated the question.  “Dean.  Is Adam ok?”

“You have your brother back, Sam.”   Jovi didn’t seem to comprehend that having a brother, any generic brother, was not enough.  “You don’t need Dean any more now?  You have a brother.  Adam is your brother.”  Sam glared at her.   She peered back at him as if looking at an unusual specimen under a microscope.

Dean mostly ignored the exchange, intent upon on healing Adam to the best of his ability.  “I think he needs to sleep.  He’s been through a lot.”

“He can’t remember, can he?”

Castiel ran a hand over Adam’s head.  “He seems to have no recollection of anything that transpired within the cage.  His soul is intact and undamaged.”

Dean felt relieved that Castiel, the expert on such matters, agreed that his fix had worked.  “I took the memories away and I was able to heal his soul…”

Sam sputtered an interruption.  “Does the weirdness of that have ANY effect on you?”

The weirdness did have an effect, of course, but what could you do, sit around thinking about how weird everything was?   Pondering it?  Wallowing in the weirdness?  That didn’t make much sense given how weird him and Sam’s lives were on any given day.  “…but…and don’t ask me why I know this, Sam, but I do.  Adam’s quantum memory on the subatomic level is beyond my ability to repair.  His brain itself can’t remember, but the particles that make up his brain, do remember, in some capacity.  It’s like they were used to existence inside the cage.  The trauma is imprinted upon his essence in a fundamental way that, I can’t totally erase.  Time will have to do that.”  Sam gave Dean a blank stare.  Castiel gave Sam a befuddled glance and then mimicked Sam’s facial expression.  “I don’t know either, guys, look, I just know.  There will be some part of him that always remembers what happened.  Not consciously, but still.  A spiritual scar.”  

Jovi produced a clear glass bottle of glowing liquid, a vial, you could say, and held it up to inspect it.  “Naughty, naughty Michael!  Just look at all the trouble you caused!”  She turned to speak to Lucifer, who had managed to stand and was recovering his strength, unfortunately. “There, I unarchangeled him.  He’s yours, if you want him.  There’s probably a vessel out there somewhere that can contain him.”  She gestured dismissively at Sam, Dean, and Adam.  “The Winchester vessels are no longer available.  Ocupado.”

Lucifer decided to try charm, the only weapon still available to him, such as it was.  Dean didn’t think it was much of a weapon at all and hoped Jovi felt the same.  “Dark Lady, please don’t send me away.  I only ever wanted to be with you. I can still be of use to you.  Let me serve you.”

Much to Dean’s relief, Jovi had apparently had enough previous experience with Satanic shenanigans to see through Lucifer’s insincerity.  “Three’s a crowd, Lucifer.  Get thee gone.”  Lucifer sucked air through his teeth and scowled.  Jovi tossed him the bottle full of Michael, which he caught, neatly.   

After another sullen scowl Dean’s way, he disappeared.  

And while Dean certainly didn’t feel good about it, Jovi had a good point – Lucifer seemed to cause plenty of trouble locked up, what more could he do free?  


Supernatural: Manic Pixie God Girl Part 2 – Dean Gives God A Bad Name

Miss part one?  It’s here

Sam began drawing the summoning circle.  Castiel waited nearby, silent and staring.  Sam had the distinct impression that Cas didn’t approve of this latest resurrection.  He warned Sam that it was theoretically possible to bring someone back too many times and that Dean simply had to be approaching that threshold, if not over it already.  But Sam blew him off because this wasn’t Pet Sematery, ok, it wasn’t a freaking Stephen King book they were living.  Dean had been fine all the other times he’d been brought back and he’d be fine this time too.  So Castiel had no choice but to go along with it.  

As he continued the circle, Sam ran through dozens of scenarios in his mind.  He had no idea what he could possibly offer the crossroads demon in exchange for his brother’s life this time, I mean seriously what more did they even have to offer up at this point, but he figured he’d play it by ear.  Demons always wanted something, they were predictable that way.

But before he could start the ritual, Crowley appeared, in full British tizz.  He kicked the circle away.  “You shouldn’t do that, Sam, all willy-nilly like that.  There’s no guarantee it will be me who shows up.”  Sam didn’t respond, just waited expectantly for Crowley to suggest his deal.  Because there would be a deal.  Sam just knew in his gut that somehow, some way, Crowley could fix everything.  “I’m a busy man, you know, can’t just drop everything whenever you Winchesters do something stupid!  Because that would be a full time job!”  Crowley would know what to do.  He always had an ace in his sleeve, a terrible bargain to offer.  Something.  He always did.  Sam didn’t totally get the thing between Dean and Crowley, the friendship if you could really call it that, but he knew that for some bizarre and inexplicable reason, Crowley would move mountains for Dean’s sake.  But Crowley had no mountains to move.  He turned his wrath on Castiel instead.  “You were really going to let him go through with this…this…insanity?”

“I didn’t know what else to do.  What else could I do?”

“You are the sorriest excuse for an angel I’ve ever known.  Did they neuter you somewhere along the way, or were you always this pitiful?”  Castiel blinked slowly in response.  Castiel was not what one would call comfy with verbal sparring.  Castiel was not exactly glib.

Sam intervened.  “It’s my choice if I want to make a deal, Crowley.  Now let’s do it.”

“I can’t help you.  I’ve been trying, already.  He’s…he’s gone!”

“What do you mean, he’s gone?”

“I can’t sense his presence.  He’s been…erased.  I felt him at first, a displaced soul, and I could have worked with that.  But then he just vanished!  Poof, totally off my radar!”

Castiel seemed puzzled by what Crowley was saying.    “A soul cannot…vanish?”  Sam agreed.  The whole concept was ridiculous, against the laws of God and nature.  Souls went places, they left a trail of bread crumbs behind them that you could follow to find them.

“I know that, Castiel, don’t you think I know that?  A soul cannot vanish, but a soul HAS vanished.  He’s gone, I’m telling you!  Gone!  Not heaven, not Hell, not in Purgatory, not in the Veil.  Dean Winchester is gone.  And I mean gone!”

Sam shook his head, trying to piece it together.  “His body disappeared too.  Where could he be?”

“I…don’t know.  This is outside of my experience.”  Crowley looked a little upset about it all.  The Dean and Crowley bromance thing got so weird sometimes.

But then Sam felt a rush of power and a moment of nothingness.  Before he could even panic he found himself in a desert somewhere in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a sea of sagebrush as far as the eye could see.  Castiel and Crowley had been transported as well and they looked around, disoriented.  Dean and some strange pink-haired woman stood in front of them and they seemed to know each other already.  The woman was confused.  “Why’d you do that for, Dean?”

“Because I can.”  Dean and the woman had a good laugh about that for some reason.  Sam realized that Dean was glowing, emitting some sort of really spectacular light, and in the next heartbeat realized he desperately needed to be on his knees before that light with his face practically planted in the ground.  The weird part was how much he liked it, how badly he wanted to be down on the ground, how it felt so right.  “Heh.  Eat dirt, Sammy!”  Sam heard a nearby thud as Castiel apparently joined him in his prostrate pose.  The woman did, too.  Then nothing.  Sam recovered his self-control enough to turn his head just enough to glance Crowley’s direction.  The demon struggled, tried to fight it, grunted and writhed, but eventually even he too had to assume the position.  “Oh for…” Dean seemed temporarily struck by the weirdness of the situation.  “God’s sake?”  

The woman with Dean replied, her voice muffled because she was speaking into the ground.  She was eating dirt too, apparently and Sam wondered if she liked it as much as he did.  It seemed really wrong to enjoy doing something you didn’t even want to be doing, that you were doing against your own will.  “It gets annoying, doesn’t it. Almost immediately.  Only Lucifer liked it.  That really should have been a red flag.”  Whoever she was, she knew Lucifer, and while Sam was certainly thrilled to see Dean seemingly alive and well, him showing up with someone who had historical dealings with Lucifer seemed like an entirely bad sign.   Dean shut off the glow – boop Sam felt it when it happened – and he found he was able to retake his feet.  “Eventually you’ll learn how to shut it off and keep it off until you want it.”

Castiel and Crowley had climbed to their feet as well.  Crowley was brushing dust off his black suit and muttering to himself about dry cleaning bills.  The woman, whoever she was, remained on her knees, although sitting upright, perching on her heels like a low chair.  Sam sent a glare at the kneeling stranger.  He sensed that she was trouble, just a vibe he was getting, that her appearance was a very bad omen like one single small black cloud on a distant horizon.  “What’s going on, Dean?  Who is that?”

Dean sent a querying look to the woman, as if he really didn’t know how to introduce her.  As if maybe he didn’t even know her name.   “I don’t really have a name, I guess.  There was never anyone to give me one.  I was alone from the very beginning.  What the humans call me, that isn’t really a real name, is it?  It’s like a title.  And it’s hard to spell.”

Crowley made a sound of horrified protest.  He apparently knew who, whoever this was, was.   Sam was relieved to see that Cas still seemed confused, that he wasn’t the only one left clueless.  Crowley made as if to transport himself away to whereever it was Crowley went when he wasn’t around, but found that he was stuck right where he was, which he liked even less than dust all over his black suit.  Sam realized with a start that Crowley could have easily just demon-dry-cleaned his suit and if he couldn’t do that and couldn’t disapparate, whoever this stranger was had enough power to shut down Crowley.  In other words, a LOT.  Dean scrubbed his eyebrow with the back of his thumb and looked sheepish.  “Are you asking me?”  

“I am.  If you don’t mind.”

“Seems like a huge responsibility, naming someone forever, and you’re making me do it in a split second in front of a crowd?”

“You brought us here, not me.  I would have stayed in the meadow a little longer.  I need a name.”

“What if you hate it?”

“I won’t.”

“What if they laugh?”

The woman eyed Sam, Castiel, and Crowley.  “Don’t laugh, guys.”  Who was this person?  A person who didn’t have a name?  But had a title?  What did that even mean?

“I promise nothing.”  Crowley.   The woman laughed.

“This is, uh…”   Dean had a moment of frantic mental fumbling.  Then he grinned and Sam figured he’d stumbled his way onto a name that he liked.  “Jovi.”  Gawd.   Seriously.  GAWD.  SERIOUSLY!

The newly named Jovi laughed and extended her arms in a “ta-da” gesture.   She liked it.  She liked the idiotic terrible classic rock name that Dean had pulled out of his ass.  Sam decided that he wanted answers, right away.  “No. Dean.  Seriously.  Who IS that?”

“Sammy, I’m uh,  I’ve been.  Huh.  It’s too weird to say out loud.  But it looks like I’m moving on here.  Getting kicked upstairs.  Way upstairs.  She, uh, changed me into something…not human.”

“There’s gotta be a way.”  Sam was undeterred.  “There’s always been a way.”

“Only because she let there be.”  Dean glanced at the woman and Sam was dismayed to realize that his brother didn’t look unhappy.  “There’s no going back, is there?”  

The person/creature Dean was calling Jovi shook her head.  “I don’t know how to change you back, Dean.  It would probably kill you to try it, and I would have to go away again, to rest.  I’ve been gone too long as it is.”

Dean tried to elaborate for Sam’s benefit.  “I don’t think I belong in this world, anymore.”

“Not in your traditional capacity, anyway.”   As Jovi spoke, Castiel began to stare at her with awe.  He had figured it out too, who it was they were dealing with, and what exactly had happened to Dean.  Sam wracked his brain trying to put it all together.  

Sam stepped forward and gestured with his head.  He needed to talk to Dean privately.  Dean agreed and they stepped a few paces away.  “Can’t we stop her?  A spell, or?”

“Not this time.”  

“You sound like you don’t exactly want to.”

“Not this time.  Sammy, listen.  Not. this. Time.”

Castiel overheard and chimed in.  “Not this time.”

Crowley concurred.  “Not this time. Bloody hell.  Two of them, now.  And one of them’s HIM. Gah!”  Crowley often made that noise.  Must be British or something.  

“What do you all mean?  Not this time?”

Dean shook his head.  “Just figure it out, already, dude, everyone else has.”

“Sorry, I’m dense.  It…it…Dean, it seems like you’re giving up on me here.”

“Look, here’s the thing.  I’m exhausted, Sam.”   

“Then…then go to Tahiti for a couple weeks!”

“And if I did, I’m sure while I was there, there would be some Tahitian demon running amok and I’d have to spend the whole trip learning to say rock salt in Tahiti-talk.”  Dean paused and Sam detected a vibe, angry, frustrated, burned out; Sam could relate to the feeling, they’d both gone through it a hundred times before.  It went away eventually if you ignored it hard enough, it always went away.  Eventually.  “Sammy, listen, I don’t want to do this any more!”

“You live to do this!”  It was temporary, that was the thing.  If you didn’t quit, if you didn’t let yourself wallow in it, the feeling would go away, it would get better.  It always did.

“Yeah, but it’s not….much of a life, Sam.  Is it?  Do I look happy to you?  I’m turning into one of those old hunters that gets people killed.  Just a drunk, bitter, burned out shell of a person with a sawed off shotgun in one hand and a flask in the other.  And I don’t want to get you killed.”

“Dean, you won’t.  We’ve come this far together, don’t be giving up on me now.”

“It’s not giving up, it’s moving on.”

Sam stepped away, throwing up an arm in frustration.  Dean couldn’t quit.  It was ridiculous.  It was a totally insane concept for Dean to quit.  How many times had they tried to quit between the two of them and it never worked, maybe for a week or a month, but quitting never stuck.  He turned away, trying to think of the magic words to undo whatever it was that was happening, only to wind up face to face with the Jovi person…no, being.  It was obviously some kind of being, not a person.  Sam needed to remember that and not think of it as a person.  She smiled brightly.  “Sam Winchester, my faithful servant, I won’t leave you here alone.  Your brother can be replaced.”  Her faithful servant?  I think NOT.

“You can’t…replace, my brother!”

“I know that, I’m not stupid.  But I won’t leave you alone, either.  I think you would make…a lot of trouble…if I did that.”  She blinked and stared off into space for a moment.  “At first I thought a woman, but I’m not sure that would be enough.  You’re kind of an odd duck?”  Whatever it was, being, person, whatever, Jovi turned to Crowley.  “Crowley, you seem to be about two pages ahead in the script here, why don’t you go and do what you already know I’m going to tell you to do.  I’ve given you the ability.”

Crowley looked down, surprised to find he was holding an unusually large key in his hand.  It had a rainbow of ribbons attached to the handle.  Whatever lock it opened, Crowley was less than pleased by the task he had been assigned.  “Because they will kill me if I do?”

Jovi smiled and for some reason Sam suddenly felt exceedingly nervous.  “I am the resurrection and the life, Crowley.  If they kill you, I’ll just bring you back.  It’ll only hurt for a minute.”

Crowley sucked air in through his teeth.  “Bollocks.”  He prepared to leave with a bitter expression, then hesitated with a curious look on his florid face.  

Jovi was slightly perturbed that Crowley had not left to do her bidding.  “Question?”

Crowley gestured Dean’s direction.  “Did you make me like him?  Care about him?”

“No, Crowley, I did not make you like him.”  Crowley responded to this news with annoyance; he would have much rather have been forced to like Dean against his own will.  “But I did make you, and Castiel, protect him.  At all costs to yourself.  Kind of explains a lot, now doesn’t it?   Sometimes deus ex machina really is deus ex machina.”  Crowley and Castiel reacted to this news with different flavors of surprise.  Sam, who felt suddenly like he might have connected the dots, sent a confused, questioning look first to Castiel, who replied with an awed expression, then to Dean, who confirmed the truth with an embarrassed shrug.  Sam felt stunned as the pieces fell into place.   It was…she was….but then that meant that Dean was…and that simply could not be.  “But you liked him all on your own.  I don’t make beings like each other, Crowley.  That’s not really my thing.”  Crowley accepted the explanation, even though he didn’t much like it, and vanished.

As the pieces of the truth fell into place, Sam felt a hot surge of rage and tore into Dean, who was now…but no.  That couldn’t be.  But it seemed to be.  Yet it couldn’t be.  It went against everything that Sam had thought they were fighting for, if…And Dean was…happy?  “How can you be so accepting of this?  After everything? Everything she…THAT…put us through?  It’s obviously done something to your…mind.  Or your soul.  To make you…want this.  Or think you want it.”

Jovi intervened, feeling obligated to explain herself.   “I…um.  Well.  Naturally I did something to him, Sam, I had to, to make him able to contain…himself.  Otherwise he would have exploded!  It’s a lot of energy for an earthly vessel on the best day, and his was coming apart at the seams.  And I did do it against his will but only because I already knew he would say yes eventually and I wanted to skip all the blah, blah, blah.”

“I wasn’t talking to you.”  Sam was just about fed up with the interruptions.  He just wanted to talk to his brother for a minute.

Jovi squelched a laugh.  “Sorry, that was cute.  Someone needs to look up the word smite in the dictionary.”

Dean took Sam’s arm, pulled him away, trying to distract him.  “I can’t explain it, Sam…but it feels, inevitable?  Like every moment has been leading up to this.”  He turned back to Jovi.  “It was, wasn’t it?  Inevitable?”

Jovi nodded.  “I’ve been working for this moment for a hundred generations.  You were literally born to do this, Dean.  But it’s more than that.  You earned it.  You did everything right and passed every test.  You followed the rules when you were supposed to and broke them when it was necessary.  So few people really understand the importance of that.”  She paused for a moment, girlish and coy.  “And…you’re SO good looking.  I know I’m not supposed to care about stuff like that, but.  It’s the vessel talking.  Mostly.”

Dean missed a beat before continuing.  “I’m tired, Sam.  I’m tired of this…of weapons and warfare and blood…being all there ever is to me.  Sammy, you’ve always been more than just this.  I want to be more, too.”  Dean paused for a moment.   “Of course you would try and ruin this for me.  It figures.  It just freaking figures.”


“Geez, I win the lottery here and you’re still trying to save me.  You hear that tone in my voice, Sam?  You know what that is?  That, my friend, is rue.  I am rueful.  I am officially full of rue.  I barely even knew what rue was before an hour ago, but Sam, I assure you, that in this moment, I know, that I am chock full of the stuff!”

Sam ignored Dean’s vocabulary breakthrough to focus instead on a flaw he’d seen in Jovi’s argument.  “Wait a minute, wait just a minute here.  You said he passed every test.  What does that mean?  A test?  Was this all just a test?  Our mother, was a TEST?”

This notion had not occurred to Dean.  “Is that true, Jovi?”

“Is what true?”  Playing dumb.

Dean, of course, totally fell for it.  “That I was being tested?”     

Jovi started to explain, and then stopped, and Sam caught the faintest whiff of fear coming off of her.  Good.  “Dean, you have to understand I just had to be really sure this time…I HAD to test you so I would know if you could handle it.  I can’t give this power to just anybody.  But a lot of the things…most things…that happened were totally out of my control.  I didn’t make the demons.  Lucifer did.  Have I used them at times, yes.  But what happened to your mother was NOT because of me, and I hated it.  It made it harder for me to get here, not easier.  And I didn’t make anybody drink demon blood…as just a random example with absolutely no value judgements attached.  Free will can be a real bitch sometimes.”

Sam felt color rise in his cheeks.  It felt like a cheap shot, manipulative, like she was turning her sins around on him to distract everyone from the real issue at hand, which was, of course, her sins.  But before he could raise a protest, Dean sensed something.  It was kind of like watching Superman hear someone call for help off in the distance somewhere, he cocked his head and his brow furrowed and he ground his teeth.  Someone was in trouble.  Someone needed him.  Jovi apparently felt it too.  They spoke simultaneously.  “Crowley.”

Dean hesitated, apparently expecting Jovi to act first.  But she didn’t.  “Shotgun.  If you don’t want to save him, it’s your call, Dean.”  Typical.  How entirely typical that was.  She had sent Crowley on a mission for her, all but forced him into it, assured him that she’d help him, resurrect him if needed, yet she would have turned her back on him when the rubber hit the road, if Dean had asked her to. Completely and totally typical.  Sam had no love for Crowley but it just seemed both totally harsh and yet so unsurprising given who they were dealing with.   

God toyed with people, used them for his-now-her own purposes.  And Sam was onto her.

Part 3 is here:


Supernatural: Manic Pixie God Girl Part 1 – Dean Does Dead Again

Hi, and Happy Halloween!  I’m going to take a slight departure from my normal blog activities to post this cheesy and unbelievably sacrilegious Supernatural fan fiction I wrote (you can read about this experience here on Ordinary Times  It is massively long, for which I do apologize.  I am a very fast writer and when I’m having fun I write a lot. 

This takes place at the start of Season 10, at which point I stopped watching the show because I was fed up with these great scenarios that never went anywhere.  I wanted to know how the show ended so I wrote my own ending using the following criteria: 

1) No one dies  2)Everything has to actually change/end/be unambiguous – no Sopranos or Angel-type endings 3)Characters who died that I liked needed to come back to life if possible 4)End had to be neither too happy nor too sad and needed to be thought-provoking, even disturbing 5) had to involve both the return of God, and have Lucifer as the main villain 6)had to set up that potential Supernatural spinoff they keep talking about (only starring Jason Dohring, Timothy Omundson, Richard Speight Jr., and Mark Pellegrino – seriously people, please let me create this spinoff, it would be SO good) 7) and last but not least, had to involve a female character that everyone is always complaining Supernatural lacks. 

So now with no further ado, here is Supernatural: Manic Pixie God Girl.

Dean Winchester was dead again, but what he really cared about was his car.

It didn’t really matter how he had died.  Or where, or when.  The why was always the same, good vs. evil.  Same crap, different day.  If anything, death was a nice change of pace.  A relief.  A lull in the battle, a moment to pause, catch his breath, take stock.  To Dean, death felt like sliding into a warm bubble bath, if he’d been the kind of guy who took warm bubble baths.  He barely showered any more, there hardly seemed to be a point.  He just got dirty again.  Cleanliness is next to Godliness, and most days Dean felt very, very far from God.

But the freakin car, man.  Baby.  That hurt.

Whatever had happened – and again, it didn’t matter, all we are is dust in the wind – it had destroyed Baby.  Baby had once been a 1967 Impala but now she was scrap metal. It looked as if she had been rolled, crushed, barbeque-ed, chewed up and spit out.  Baby had been hurt before, hurt bad, but this was the kind of damage there ain’t no coming back from.  Baby was toast.

Dean wanted to cry but then he remembered that he was totally dead.

It started to dawn on Dean all of a sudden that he was having an awful lot of thoughts for a dead man.   Too many thoughts, really.  So he took stock of the situation.  The site of a tremendous battle, maybe an explosion, some kind of blow from above, a meteor strike, possibly?  He could see his body or what was left of it, in the center of an impact crater.  He was actually dead.  For reals.  That had not been a misconception on his part.

He could see his body.

He knew then.  He didn’t want to believe it, but he knew.  “Damn it, I’m a ghost,” he would have said, if he could speak, which he couldn’t.  Of course he was.  Dean Winchester had been just about everything else in his life – hunter, vampire, demon, occasionally even a man when he could squeeze it into his schedule- so it figured that this would be the final act.  A ghost.  A vengeful spirit that belonged nowhere, doomed to slow insanity.  Sigh.  He must have turned down his reaper.  But he didn’t remember a reaper coming for him, that was the funny thing.  He kind of thought he might have gone with a reaper this time, if given the choice between another year of world endings and scraped knuckles and skull-splitting headaches and horrible sacrifices, and eternal heavenly peace (he hoped so, anyway, he sure hoped heaven was where he was heading) he might have chosen the latter.  But he didn’t remember a reaper.

He had to find Sam.  Sam could fix this.  He could summon a reaper to take Dean to heaven (hopefully), or maybe cram him back into his body somehow, as unappealing as that sounded given the appearance of his body.  Sammy could fix things like this, he was smart that way.  Dumb about a lot of other things, but smart like that.  

Walking was easier when you were a ghost.  Took a lot less effort.  Didn’t even have to really watch your step, you just sort of floated along.  Hovering, like a, like a, uh, a hovercraft, or something.  No need to worry about twisting your ankle or tripping or nothing.  He didn’t seem to be tied to his body or the place he died, which was a convenient surprise.  Ghosts usually were.  Dean had learned long ago not to look too closely at convenient surprises, they happened so rarely.  So he didn’t bother wondering why.  He just kept moving away from whatever had happened, towards someplace where he hoped Sam would be, trying to remember why it was that he had turned down the reaper, imagining what heaven (hopefully) would be like and worrying about how long it would take him to lose his mind.  He even started to think being a ghost might be kind of fun for a while, before the insanity set in.  He could scare people, jump out and say Boo.  He could rob a bank.  Being a ghost might not be so bad, at least not at first, and by that time Sam would have fixed it.

Even though they hadn’t been able to fix Bobby.

Dean ignored his doubts, focusing instead on the sound of an engine in the distance.  It was getting closer, so he stopped walking and turned to wait.  He figured it would be Sam, or Cas, or even Crowley coming to find him, to take him back to the bunker and work some magic trick on him and fix this latest setback.  He expected to be sitting inside a chalk circle within an hour.  Or, or hovering.  Whatever it was ghosts do, he would do it if it got him to heaven (hopefully).

The car came up over the last hill.  It was Baby.  Sam.  Then he remembered with a twist in his guts that it couldn’t possibly be Baby, Baby was dead.  Unless Sam had managed to somehow resurrect Baby, or maybe he turned back time somehow, that was a thing, right?  Seemed like something Sammy would come up with.  But then why was he still a ghost, why was he still standing on the side of the road like some kind of a transparent bitch?

Before Dean could puzzle it all out, the car came to a stop beside him.  It was definitely Baby, no doubt about it, Dean knew Baby like she was a part of him and he’dve recognized her anywhere.  Every dent, every scratch.  It was Baby, for sure.  But Sam wasn’t driving.  It was a girl.  No, a woman.  She was really tiny…what do they call that…petite? so he’d thought it was a little girl at first, a child, no doubt evil like Lilith had been, but nope, she was all grown up.  She had pink hair and giant sunglasses that took up half her face.  She was wearing camouflage pants and flip flops and a dirty, possibly gray tank top.  But it may have been white and it was just really dirty.  No bra.  Nice.  

Alllll grown up.  Definitely.  She looked like a good time.  Not evil, or if she was evil, she was evil in all the right places.

There were purple and black bruises up and down her bare arm, Dean noticed as she leaned across the seat with said arm outstretched to roll down the window.   The arm was spotted with some sores that he recognized faintly in some dim corner of his mind as the results of methamphetamine abuse.  Whoever this chick was, she had issues, that was for sure.  He found himself leaning in through the window to chat, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.  “And who, pray tell, are you?”  He was pleased to find his capacity for speech had returned.

“I’m the girl who’s driving your car.”  She had a great big ol’ black eye under the sunglasses and she could see him despite his ghostly state.  Ok, step in the right direction.

Dean’s patience suddenly evaporated.  “This is not the day, lady.  Who are you?”

“You know who.  I am.”  She said it funny like that.  You know who.  And then a pause, and then an I AM at the end, like she was making a declaration of her very existence.  But Dean didn’t know who it was, he really didn’t.  He was at a total loss. He wondered if this was one of the things he was supposed to know but couldn’t remember, like how he had died and what he had said to the reaper.  Oh yeah, the reaper.  Of course that’s who it was.

“You’re the reaper, right?”  She sighed and looked annoyed and Dean had the distinct impression that under the dark glassy lenses of the giant sunglasses, she had rolled her eyes.  Dean was wrong.  Ok.  Not the reaper.  The reaper must have really come and gone already and he just couldn’t remember.   He wondered if this was how it started for ghosts.  First you forget things you’re supposed to remember like where the reaper was and then next thing you know you’re foaming-at-the-mouth-insane, attacking everybody who just so happens along.  This person was…someone else, apparently.  You Know Who, Dean decided to call her.

Then this You Know Who made a very small movement, barely perceptible, and she started to glow.  Just a little, and only for a moment.  It was shiny and silver and rainbow, like mother of pearl or opals.  There was a goodness in it.  A purity.  Dean had seen a lot of demons and angels and monsters and magic implements emitting various mystical glows in a thousand hues, but he had never seen anything like it.  It was beautiful and it smelled clean and sweet like Love’s Baby Soft only fruitier and it made him fall to his knees, but not in a bad way.  It made him fall to his knees because he wanted to.  He pressed his face and palms against the side of Baby and felt a wave of love and adoration that he could only just place as reverence.  

“Why do you people never just recognize me?”  She pouted.  “Stupid humans.”  And then she must have stopped doing whatever it was she was doing, since Dean found himself snapping out of it.  He thought he might just know who You Know Who was, after all.  He sat back on his heels for a moment, trying to accept the magnitude of who, scratch that, what he was dealing with.  Because this, now this…this was big.  The door to the car opened, and Dean winced, preparing to be smacked in the face by it.  But due to his ghostly nature, it just passed right on through him.  “Aren’t you going to get in?”

“Lady, I got a few choice words for you.”   

“Seriously, get in.  We have nothing but time, you and me.”  Despite being skeptical to say the least, Dean couldn’t quite shake a slightly starstruck air.  Because, WOW.  He looked her over again, still trying to take it all in.  She was a very unimposing person, skinny, scrawny, puny, chronically malnourished and probably sickly as a child.  Or she had been, since it was clear now that the pink-haired chick was only just a vessel for…for…

He found it bizarre that so much power could be contained in such a small package.  He wondered how such a thing could even be done as he got into the car.  When he tried to shut the passenger door, his ghost hand passed right through it.  Annoying.  “How come ghosts can like, sit on stuff and walk, but then doors pass right through us?”

“A mystery for the ages.”  She made a small gesture with her finger, a “come here” wiggle, and the door slammed shut.

“I usually drive, you know.”

“Oh, do ya?”  She smiled.   “I’m kind of used to being in control, so.”  She pulled a U-ie and headed back the way they came.  Baby fishtailed as she accelerated.  “We need your body back.”

“I don’t think it’s going anywhere any more.”

“Your body is some of my best work, Dean.  I’m not giving up on that one without a fight.”  She paused and Dean started working up the nerve to ask some questions.  It must have been obvious what was on his mind, because she saw right through him.  “Go on…”

“You’re not uh, an old man with a long white beard?”

“Not my favorite form.  Only use that one when I’m dealing with other old men with long white beards.  Nowadays men don’t grow long white beards that much anymore.  And the ones that do, are generally people I’d rather not be dealing with.”

“I just…I wasn’t expecting a lady God, I guess is what I’m saying.”

“Uh.  Yeah.  I guess.  People are always surprised.   I haven’t, um, gone girl for quite some time, but I got so sick of wearing Chuck.  Kinda put me off dudes.”

“You were wearing Chuck?”

“I have a heck of a time finding vessels that fit.  He was the best I could do.  Don’t worry, I don’t burn up my vessels like the angels.  He’s living it up in Singapore right now with nothing but good memories.  This body, no one was using it any more, poor thing, and it looked like it still had some miles left in it.”  She held up her arms to inspect them, and seemed happy with what she saw.  Baby continued to drive herself as if You Know Who’s hands – pink nail polish, by the way, chipped at the tips but still sparkly – had never left the wheel.  Dean liked pink nail polish.  “It’s a new ride though so you’ll have to forgive me if I’m a little bit of a spaz.  Vessels are never totally natural to me.  It’s a lot of energy to cram into one meat puppet.  And this one is high as a kite!”

She extended her arms out wide, as if testing the limits of her new vessel, while the car continued to steer itself.  A skunk waddled by in the road ahead and the car veered; she didn’t even look up.  As she stretched, Dean noticed a massive gunshot wound in the chest of the body.   Whatever had happened to that meatsuit she was wearing, it had been thorough.  “Are you all right, there?”

“Hurts like a momma, but I can’t be destroyed.  I’ve tried, believe me.  You know that movie Groundhog Day, kind of like that.”  


“Yeah.  Only it went on for eons.”

“Really?”  That didn’t seem right.

“This isn’t always, like, the most funnest job ever.”

Dean pondered that as they returned back to the scene of whatever it was that had just transpired.  Sam, diligent as ever, was collecting what remained of Dean – which, as it turned out, was not much.   Chunks.  “He’s going to do something stupid.”

“Oh, he thinks he is.”  You Know Who looked intent for a moment and Dean’s body disappeared from the crater.  He wondered where it had gone to, imagining it floating overhead like tiny pieces of Mike Teevee.  Out the car window he could see poor befuddled Sammy recoiling, looking around, his eyes scanning for someone, or something, nearby.  Sam looked right at the car and Dean even felt that they locked eyes a moment, but apparently Sam could see nothing – it was as if the Impala was invisible or maybe veiled somehow.  A noise came then; a loud, pain-filled inhalation, barely even human.  Dean realized with a shock that it had come from his own lips.  He was back inside his body again, back inside…the…the chunks.  He tried to speak but could only gasp and grunt desperately at the strange woman.  “You’re still dead, Dean.  You don’t need to breathe.”  Calmly, she turned the car around and drove the other direction, away from Sam again, pointedly ignoring Dean’s agony.  

Dean writhed in the kind of pain he’d only ever felt before in Hell.  It was a pain he associated with being dismembered, sliced into bloody hunks of meat, and he figured out how he must have died.  Blown apart, or chopped up, or something.  He gulped, or tried to; something moved inside his neck, at any rate.  Felt like he swallowed a huge chunk of gristle, maybe.  He recovered his voice, a rasp he barely recognized.  “It hurts!  Make it stop!”

You Know Who averted her eyes as she spoke.  “I know it hurts, Dean, I’m so sorry.  I’m going to fix it.  I just wanted to give you a taste, to remind you of what it means to be human.  Pain.”  She paused and pressed her lips together and Dean heard a whimper escape his lips despite his best efforts to be stoic.  He held up his hand before his eyes and realized it was missing.  “Don’t you think it’s time to get off this merry go round, Dean?  Aren’t you just, getting tired of all this?”

Reluctantly, Dean nodded.   He did want it all to be over, finally over.  He wanted to go wherever his hand had gone.  “Please.”

“If you want me to, I can make it stop.  The pain will be gone.  All of it.  Even the things you don’t tell anybody that keep you awake half the night and living on pain pills.”  Dean looked at her in desperation, convinced he couldn’t bear the pain another second.  But then a second ticked by, and then another.  He could feel them ticking by in his shattered bones and each one seemed to last for hours.  Eventually she met his eyes through her ridiculous giant sunglasses.  “It’s not quitting, Dean.  It’s getting a promotion.  And I can make it so Sammy can’t do anything about it.”

Even more reluctantly, Dean nodded again.  It took a lot, knowing that he was letting Sam down, and Cas down, and lots of innocent people would probably die because he didn’t want to fight any more and nobody else was as good of a hunter as him.  But he didn’t.  He hadn’t wanted to for a long time, but for Dean, fighting evil was a hard habit to break.  You Know Who smiled, revealing square white teeth, and Dean found himself in a sunlit meadow full of wildflowers and butterflies and these big fat furry bees buzzing around, the kind of place he sometimes saw at night in his dreams.  She was nearby, he could feel her like a sunbeam on his shoulders.  Deer grazed, a doe and twin spotted fawns.   A wolf jogged out from the trees, tongue lolling, and ran to Dean for a head scrub that he joyfully gave, before lying down nearby the deer with its head on its paws.  He realized he was fully healed and intact and was momentarily stunned by how well he felt.   He was nearly overwhelmed by emotion, by gratitude.  “I feel…incredible.”

“I fixed everything.  That alcoholic liver you were working so hard on, all the old injuries that never healed up quite right.  You had a brain aneurysm that was just about ready to pop.  But you’re still dead, Dean.  I’m not bringing you back this time.  And I’m not going to let anyone else do it, either.  This can’t go on any longer.  I let you guys get away with breaking the rules so many times because it was entertaining to me but I’m starting to feel like I’m pulling wings off a butterfly here.”   She sidled up beside him and he basked in that soft sunbeamy feeling she gave off.

“So…what is it for me, then?  Heaven, or Hell?”  This had to be heaven, it just had to be.

“Here’s the thing…it’s kind of humiliating.  But, um.  Ok.  I’m lonely?  I need an um.  A friend?  I usually hang with an angel but then that just pisses the other ones off.  They are SOOO petty.  I always liked humans much better, but you’re so short lived, it bums me out.  You’re like gerbils.  Everything seems to be going ok and then one morning, boom, dead in a pile of sunflower seeds.  I’ve tried keeping people alive longer but, it never really ends well.  The spark goes out.”

“Um, ok.  A friend.  Sounds harmless.  What does it mean?”

You Know Who clasped her hands in front of her chest and shrugged her shoulders in a burst of female excitement.  “I’m going to change you!”

“Change me? Into an angel?  A demon, again?”

“Ewwww!  As IF!  No, something new.  Everybody get your popcorn!”

Dean was not at all sure he liked the sound of this.   “Wait.  Don’t I have to agree to that or something?”

Before Dean could fully voice his concerns, she grabbed him by the head with a surprising strength for someone so small.  There was a flash of that glorious opalescent light that threw them both back a few paces.  You Know Who stumbled right out of her flip flops.  Dean realized he was glowing with that lovely sweet smelling light and held up his hands before his eyes, inspecting them, still more than a little relieved to see both hands present and accounted for.  You Know Who stumbled back a few more paces, this time from surprise, then regained her footing.  She peered at him over her sunglasses, then unexpectedly and involuntarily stumbled forward again like a sailor on a ship in a stormy sea and dropped to her knees at his feet.  “Oh!”  Her glasses fell off.   

Words forced their way up from Dean’s belly right out his throat.  He tried to keep them contained but he couldn’t.  “Hap-py Birthday!”  As he said it, somewhere in the back of his mind a memory flashed, a memory of being a child lying on a gold shag carpet watching Frosty the Snowman.  “Why…why did I just say that?”

“It was a test.  I had be sure you were still…YOU.  That you didn’t turn into something…icky.”  You Know Who’s eyes…the first time he’d seen them, hazel…gleamed with delight, with hope.

But something was going wrong.  He felt…soggy.  Dean shuddered, looking down at himself with a rising dread.  His hands and arms were dripping with water.  Running with it.  Rivers of water flowed down and out of him.  He looked up in alarm.  “What’s happening to me?”

“Oh, I forgot my part!  “Do you want to build a snowman?”  I’m sorry.  You were starting to melt.”  

“To melt?”

“If I didn’t like how you turned out?  Like, if you were a monster maybe or something?  I fixed it so you’d melt.  If I didn’t say the magic words.  It was a failsafe.”

An idea so crazy that Dean positively hated having to consider it, came to mind.  “Did you, uh, can’t believe I’m asking this, but did you…turn me into a snowman?”

“No.  Duh!  I made you like me.”

The concept was only slightly less disturbing than becoming a snowman.  “What?”

“I didn’t even know if I could do it to a human.”  She stopped talking for a moment and gulped hard, as if she was trying not to cry.  She blinked several times and then her eyes got really wide.  “But I totally think it worked!”      

“Like YOU?”  Dean gulped and blinked a few times himself.  “You mean…”

“Version 2.0.  Better the original!”

Dean pondered the implications of this development.  He was…no.  She had turned him into…no. No freaking way.   “No.  No thank you.  Thank you, but no.  I’m gonna have to take a hard pass?”

“Too late!  It’s done!”

It dawned on Dean that she still on her knees before him.  “Why are you down there, exactly?”  

“Oh, um.  Everybody seemed to enjoy worshiping me so much, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.  And let me just say, it’s pretty sweet!”

“You’re worshiping me?”

“Yeah!  And it’s awesome.”

Dean discovered he had negative a million percent interest in being worshiped.  At least, right that minute.  “Knock it off.”  Maybe later after he had had a little time to…sink into the experience.

“I can’t, you have to make me.”

Dean gave her an incredulous look, then without even really meaning to, his mind focused for a moment and a very small part of it that he had never been aware of before gave a little jump.  It felt like a cerebral hiccup.  The glow ceased.  “Well, I knew how to do that for some reason.”

“You know how to do a lot of things now.  May I rise?”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

You Know Who grinned.  Ah, that sunbeam.   She rose tentatively to her feet.  Tentatively, because it was obvious that she was in pain.  “I never liked for people to worship me, either.  It’s…off-putting.  Took me forever to learn how to shut it off.  But you got it right away.  Smartie.”  She paused to breathe a shuddery breath.  He realized she had to be hurting bad from the bruises and gunshot wound and whatever else awful things had happened to that vessel before she claimed it.  “Could you heal my vessel for me?  Please?”  Dean had a moment of doubt he that he could, and then it happened.  Right before his very eyes the wounds faded and then disappeared.  She slid her bare feet back into the flip flops.  “Thanks.  I can’t heal my own vessel, it’s kind of like tickling yourself?”  In spite of his reservations, Dean started to wonder what else there might be to this new ability and it was as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.   “Go ahead, take it for a spin.”  

He did.  And what a spin it was.  He could feel everything, everyone, every star in the sky, every cell in every living thing in all of creation, every mitochondria in every cell.  Mitochondria.  What were they?  Why were they?  He went in for a closer look.  He learned…well, more like he absorbed, really….what mitochondria were and what they did and he was surprised to find they were sentient in their own tiny way.  He had an irresistible urge to connect with it all, to know it all, to take it all in.  But when he tried, he became overwhelmed and started to gray out.   He stutterstepped to the side, trying not to succumb to the rising dots of blackness before his eyes.  

You Know Who caught him, steadied him.  “You have to pace yourself, Dean.  You can’t connect with everything all at once.”

“It’s a little bit…overwhelming.”  Even as he said it, Dean realized it was so much more than overwhelming, he didn’t even have the words to say.  But she already knew, of course.

“Yeah, a little bit.”  She laughed at how much of an understatement it was.  Then she turned serious.   “It’s the burden of creation, Dean.  It’s good, so good, we’re a part of everything that IS, has been, and will be,  but you can’t tap into it for very long.  That’s why I always have to go away and rest.  It takes it out of you.  Especially if you’re in a vessel.  You have to hold yourself back, even though it’s so tempting not to.”

“Are you…”


Dean sighed, still struggling with disbelief.  “…really all knowing and all powerful?”

You Know Who focused for a moment and then suddenly they were on the surface of a rocky dead planet.  Dean took it all in, it was awesome, in the truest sense of the word.  “You can do it too, you know.  We can go anywhere and do anything, anything you ever dreamed of.” She explained before Dean could even think of the question.  “It’s Mars.  There’s hardly any life here so it’s not so…draining like Earth is.  I come here sometimes when I need to chill.  I thought this could be our first project, but if you have something else in mind…please, I’m all ears…”

“Hey, I like the idea, and the enthusiasm, but you gotta give me a minute to catch up here.  This is…kind of a big development for me.”

An expression crossed her face, a combination of pleasure and fear.  Dean realized then that she was nearly desperate to win his approval, which seemed…weird.  Surprising.  Being who and what she was, the idea that she might be insecure, needy, was unnerving, to say the least.  Yet he found on some level that he liked it.  He liked the idea.  He didn’t normally like desperate chicks, like, at all, but for some reason there was something endearing about it coming from her.  “Ok.  Of course.  I’m sorry.  I was born this way, or formed I guess, so I don’t know what it must be, to be something different and get it all of a sudden like that.”

“So you’re not all knowing?”

“Nope.  Not even.  I’ve been around a long time, and seen a lot of fudged up stuff.  And, um, that gives me the insight to understand things others don’t, sometimes?  I can make predictions that a lot of the times, come true.  Eventually.  But it’s just experience, not being that smart.  I’m really not that smart.  Not at all.  Metatron said one time, I’m like the Bridget Jones of deities.”  Dean couldn’t help but respond to the mention of Metatron with a dry expression.  She noticed.   “I know he killed you that one time, but.  He was sometimes kind of insightful.”

“I can kind of tell that…you don’t know what you’re doing.  No offense.”

“None taken.  Earth is a mess, I agree.  Wouldn’t call that a success.  It was my first try at creating an intricate system of life, so.  I kind of consider Earth to be my mulligan?”  Dean looked away, distracted for a moment by a peculiar surge of creative energy, and at his will, an unusual looking mountain range rose in the distance.  He looked at it, satisfied.  It was good.  Just like it said in the book. You Know Who took note with a pleased smile.  “Some nerd looking through a telescope just like, totally creamed his jeans.  Front and back.”  Dean snorted a laugh.  At least she was funny, this new…friend…of his.  After a decade stuck with Sam and Cas, he was beyond ready for a laugh or two.  “We are practically all powerful, though.  There are a few things I just can’t seem to manage, like destroying myself.  But I made you stronger than me, maybe you could?”

“I could destroy you?”

“I don’t know.  Do you want to?”


“Oh, good, you scared me for a minute there.  Of all the times I would have loved to be destroyed, this isn’t one of them.  Things are just getting interesting.”

A thought tickled the back of Dean’s mind.  “Why did you make me stronger than you?”

This question was apparently not something that You Know Who had wanted to get into on a first date.  It took her a long moment and much fidgeting before she was able to piece together a response.  “Um, ok, well, I guess you’ll find out soon enough.  Sigh.  I tried this once before.  Only, I still wanted to be in the driver’s seat then, so I made him less powerful than me?  And the worship thing was still kind of a one way street then?”

“You made an almost omnipotent being that still had to worship you??”

“When you say it that way, no wonder it blew up in my face!  Plus it was an angel, and the angels were like an experiment that really didn’t…pan out.”  After a long, embarrassed pause, she forged on.  “It’s embarrassing, because you sort of know him?”  She sent a shy look at Dean from the edges of her eyelashes. Dean realized with great chagrin the angel in question.


“Yeah, and then everybody’s all like, well why don’t you just destroy him?  Um, ok because I don’t know if I even CAN, and it would totally wipe me out for a million years to even try it.  I was tired for one century and you guys did, like, the 20th.”  She exhaled, thinking about how badly it had all gone.  “The whole Lucifer thing was kind of a disaster.  Sigh.  I had to think about it a long time before I realized what I did wrong.  I didn’t pick the right being, and the imbalance of power was too great.  It, uh, made for some hard feelings.”

Dean burst into glow again just to see what would happen, to be sure that it wasn’t all a trick somehow.  You Know Who fell to her knees, overcome.  He shut it off and extended a hand, helping her to her feet.  She weighed about as much as a baby bird.  “Just checking.”

She didn’t let go of his hand right away.  Those pink fingernails.  “You can still worship me, too, you know.  I just can’t make you.”  After a slightly nervous pause, she continued. “I never had to earn anyone’s love before, I thought it might be a fun challenge.”  Dean sensed that she had some reservations about her ability to do this and suddenly understood that feeling of insecurity he had sensed before.  “Awkward!!”  She laughed, nervous.  Then she quickly let go of Dean’s hand and took a step back.  “I’ve always been the man with the plan.  I think that’s the key?  I can’t be in charge, I’m obviously just terrible at it.  I just want to ride shotgun.”  Dean thought for a split second about riding shotgun and suddenly they were back on Earth again, back in Baby.  Dean, of course, was in the driver’s seat this time.  You Know Who seemed very pleased by this turn of events.  “Oh, a surprise!”  She clapped her hands, childishly excited.  “I know!  We’re going to stop your idiot brother from making a deal with a crossroads demon, aren’t we?”


“Ok.  You’re the boss.”  She was nearly overcome with joy.  “You’re the boss!  YOU are the boss!  You don’t even know how good it feels to say that.”  After a moment, a realization.  “You know we don’t actually have to drive there, right?’

Duh.  “Oh, yeah.”



hit the road, Joad

Why do poor people stay in economically depressed areas?  Why don’t they move where the jobs are?  It’s a question that’s been asked repeatedly since the Batshit Crazy Election of 2016 (patent pending), from both liberals and conservatives alike, usually with an implied sneer.  Those frickin Trumpers, those Rust Belt idiots, why don’t they just move to where the jobs are?

It seems so easy, so obvious.  This poor family in Gary, Indiana or Mobile, Alabama or St. Louis or Detroit and all the dying rural areas all across our glorious nation should just toss their grapes of wrath into the family jalopy like the Joads did and go to California where the jobs are plentiful and high paying, hanging off the trees like oranges ready to be picked.  Aren’t they?  Oh, bummer.  Ok.  Maybe they should move to Boston where there are empty textile factories just waiting for a flood of unskilled employees…oh, wait, I suppose that was 1817, not 2017.

To say this a different way, what jobs?  Where are these magic jobs to which you are referring?

(Most) Liberals seem to think that cities – the great big ginormous trendy awesome ones, that is, not measly puny lame pathologically uncool ones like Omaha or Spokane –  are the answer to everything.  Because culture.  And diversity, maybe, but liberals all too often seem unable to fathom the shocking concept that a whole lot of people who live in rural and/or economically depressed areas ARE minorities.  

helpful hint: not everyone in a poor and/or depressed area is a white person who voted for Trump but when you insult one of us for living where and how we do, you insult us all.  Think about that while my husband drags his poor non-Trump-voting Native American ass to work at the county dump to take care of your recyclables for you.

(Many) Conservatives seem to think that poor people of every hue are poor by virtue of stupidity, squandering meager resources on shiny booping gewgaws and fantasy football leagues and the Demon Rum, only in beer form.  And even though it’s set into their DNA to have a shiftless, lazy nature they need to get off their obese soda-swilling asses and pull themselves up by their bootstraps.  Instead of giving them money to continue struggling to survive we need to bribe them to move somewhere different and struggle to survive there.  (And they may even be right a little bit.  Certainly a much closer hit than the liberals, at any rate.  U sunk my Battleship.)

Reality is, there are no jobs.  They don’t exist.  They certainly don’t exist in the kind of numbers that it would take to employ a mass exodus of Joads like me.  Here’s a chilling thought – we could drive our third-hand 1987 Winnebagos into a vacant lot in a charming neighborhood near YOU and start hanging out our laundry and deep frying turkeys and shooting guns into the air in celebration.  What would you do with us all, if you had us?  Love us?  Bring us plates of cookies and a Welcome Wagon basket?  Of course you wouldn’t.  You would march right down to City Hall and demand that something be DONE about these squatters.  Forcible removal, if necessary.  You know you would.

But even if the Joads were greeted with open arms, should this voyage occur it would cause a cultural upheaval on a scale not seen for generations and certainly never in Modern America where cultural upheaval tends to make people feel rather uncomfortable.  It would cause problems, real problems, huge and massive problems.  Havoc and chaos and borderline insanity would ensue as the Jobless Joad Hordes invaded.  There would be tent cities and social unrest and thieving and and carnage and possibly, probably violence.  People, up to and including Very Adorable Children, could easily end up starving and riddled with disease and even dying in the streets as cities struggled to contain them.  This unprecedented migration would have ripple effects that would disrupt the entire nation in ways we can’t even imagine.   

You want this to happen?  Really?  I very seriously doubt it.  But you don’t live in the real world, do you, you clever, clever person.  You don’t live in the real world where actions have consequences and millions of people pulling up stakes and traveling across the country to whatever the hot city of the moment is in search of work that doesn’t exist (see: New Orleans all of them homeless and growing poorer by the day, actually affects your day to day life.   Those things could never touch you because you are afloat in the clouds, far removed from the struggles of we mere mortals down here on Earth.  You are an Educated Person.  A member of the elite.  Don’t blush, you know it’s true.   You’re better than us.  We know you think it already, may as well admit it right out loud.   We won’t judge.  We Joads aren’t a judgy folk.

It’s very easy for super geniuses such as yourself to sit behind a computer screen and theorize, convinced that you are, in fact, a Superior Being, imagining moving folks around like pieces in a game of Risk.  Speculating about how, if there were just LESS troglodytes here, and fewer bumpkins there, and a small reduction in hoodlums overall, everything would be better, fairer, and would function so much more smoothly.  But you’re a dreamer if you believe that, a pipe dreamer, and what is worse is, you’re a stupid, uninformed pipe dreamer who wants to set social policy based on your naive fantasies and not reality.  (Ok I may have possibly judged).

The fact of the matter is, most Joads are best off staying right where they are.  You know why?  Let me tell you.  It is because there are resources BEYOND money.  WHAT?!?  Let me repeat.  In a stunning development, it has been recently discovered by exceedingly large-brained economists that not all resources come in the form of cold hard cash.  There are resources – other, non-financial resources – that help one and one’s offspring to survive, and even thrive, even without much money.   People who have always had money don’t understand this, because, well, they’ve always had money.  If they have to move, they hire a moving company, they don’t ask a buddy with a pickup.  If they need a car repair, they go to the shop and not to their cousin who’s good with cars.  If their house needs paint or repairs, they call a contractor and take bids instead of making their teenagers do it over summer vacation.   Some of these non-financial resources, not entirely unlike money, take a lifetime to accrue and if you squander them, piss them away, they’re gone forever.

When you don’t have money, you develop these other resources, bigly.  Social currency in the form of family and friends and work contacts (people get a LOT of jobs via friends and work contacts, too, by the way) is invaluable.  

Predictability of environment is a major resource and anyone who’s never had to live without it takes it for granted – imagine how functional YOU would be if someone dropped you in a whole new city where you didn’t know a soul and you had to find a job and a place to live and a decent doctor and and a non-crooked mechanic and a dentist who took payments and a school for your kids and a grocery store – all with no money.  

Stability for yourself and especially, especially your children?  Priceless.   

Even your stuff itself, those belongings like socks and toothpaste and cleaning supplies and Christmas decorations that you have accumulated slowly over time and would have to leave at least some of behind or sell for a pittance and replace slowly over time at full price if you moved, are a huge resource.  

Just the sheer amount of work and money expended to move is substantial – the price of moving itself is actually something that is beyond the ability of many families to afford.  Here’s an essay about it.  That’s right, not blowing the money you do have on moving is a resource in and of itself.

Poor people stay where they are because they have done the math and it isn’t worth losing their non-financial resources to go to a place where there probably aren’t going to be any better jobs for people like them anyway.  Imagine, to go where you’re not wanted, to live among people who despise you, look down upon you, who don’t share your culture and your values, and with whom you have nothing in common?  To leave your family and friends, your social safety net and all your connections, to trade love and companionship for loneliness and isolation?  To give up a home that you may own or can rent cheaply at least, to live in an apartment in a strange city with a rent at least 5 times as high in a food desert without a grocery store?  To sell off most of your belongings and burn through much of your spare cash (if not using credit, because it’s most likely that this adventure will be funded by a credit card) to finance a move that even under ideal circumstances is a huge gamble and since circumstances are very rarely ideal, is likely to end up with you in worse straits than you were to begin with?  Why would you?  The Joads would be fools to do it.  And believe it or not, we aren’t fools.  

It doesn’t. Make any. Sense. For most. Of us. To move.  

QUIT SAYING IT before desperate people start believing you and you wake up to a homeless horde of hungry Joads camping in your city park and saying “We came, did you build it?”

Because nobody’s going to build it.  We know nobody’s going to build it.  We may as well stay the eff at home and conserve the substantial non-financial resources we do have.  Just quit bitching us out for staying put when we both know you thank God every day that we do.

In many ways, we’re richer than you anyway.  There is an irony in city dwellers clucking their tongues and telling anybody to move anyplace.  Because there is, and always has been, a right flood of cityfolk who hate living in the urban jungle and work awfully hard to get out of the situation.  That is why Connecticut exists and why Washington State is spilling over with Californians.  Plenty of people despise the big city rat race they’re running and want desperately to have what many po’ folk already have – more leisure time, more freedom, more community, a more authentic life.  We are blessed, bitches.    And plenty of you want what WE have.

So again, another non-financial resource that the “u idjits should move” advocates fail take into account.  We Joads may very well like where we live.  It may very well be better than where you live, jobs or no.  People dream of living in the country and exchange money and job security for the privilege all the time.  And it ain’t just the country, either.  Many Rust Belt neighborhoods are vibrant communities full of happy people who may not always be flush with cash but who enjoy each other and enjoy life and love their neighborhood and their home and look out for one another in a way that Manhattanites can only dream of.  They may not WANT to be gentrified, they may not WANT Amazon to come to town.  They may just want clean drinking water.  Flyover Country is chock full of fine people in good places even if said places don’t have as many vegan restaurants as Brooklyn does.  Your priorities are not our priorities.  Deal with it.

And besides that, besides any of that.  Set all that I just said aside.  Stick a pin in it and put it on the cork board.  None of it matters anyway, because you NEED us.  You need us Joads out here.  Because every day, city folks, we are doing stuff for you. You don’t see it, so intent ye be on the myth that the hoity-toitiest of cities are the true driving force behind the economy and ruminating upon how important your Very Important Academic Career is in the Grand Scheme of Everything, but we are.  The biggest, richest, most liberal cities may be the brains of the nation (dubious snort, I’ll give it to you tho) but the rest of us are the heart and the guts.  I know the “we grow ur food” angle is obvious and the card has been played to death, but we actually kinda do.  At least till y’all get that plan going to turn the tops of buildings into hydroponic gardens going like you always say you’re going to someday.  #goforit  #imwaiting #whatstheholduphere 

But wait, there’s more.  There are layers upon layers of economic activity out here in the boondocks that maybe you, Smartypants McSnootyface, have never even stopped to consider.  Because it’s not just this picturesque gang of self-reliant straw-chewing taciturn farmers dotted evenly across the open plains, you see.  There are all the people who run the small cities and towns that support those farmers.  There are gas stations and grocery stores and tire shops and tractor dealerships and autoparts stores and all people who work in them.  We Joads waitress in restaurants where the farmers eat and we teach the farmer’s kids in the local schools and we drive the school bus that gets those kiddies to school.  There are Joad lawyers and Joad doctors and dentists and chiropractors and barbers and dog groomers.  Joads fix the streets and train tracks and like my intrepid husband, they dump everybody’s garbage.  My people are everywhere, we are legion. They’re shockingly living even in cities without an abundance of farmers like Flint, Michigan and Jersey City because this ISN’T ABOUT FARMING and they matter, and they vote, and their votes and lives count just as much as yours do, Internet Warriors of Social Engineering Justice.  

We haven’t even talked about logging.  Or mining.  Or manufacturing, which is still going on in all those Rust Belt locales and lots of little unimpressive cities all over the US, whether you know it or not.  Or recreation (hey, don’t u love the state and national park system – people actually work at those!  MINDFUCK!).  All of these things that we goddamn annoying Joads do for you and provide for the sacred residents of Panem every freaking day and you citiots don’t even know that they’re happening.  It’s like you think your belongings fell from the sky where the heavenly scientists live into the nearest Urban Outfitters and that the whole entire universe was created just 4 u.  You’re like a pampered princess who has had a poor maid dress and undress her every day since birth and then throws a fit and demands the maid’s head on a platter the first time her gown is the least bit uncomfortable.  Your discomfort is-eth not mine problem, Princess.  I didst not make thine dress nor select it for-est thou.  I just worketh here.  

Ya take the results of our labor for granted and tell us to move because you don’t like how an election came out while you lie to our faces and claim it’s cause you don’t like having to pay a slightly higher percentage per capita of tax dollars to support all the things that WE ARE CONSTANTLY DOING FOR YOUR STUPID USELESS ASSES but really it’s cause you don’t like how an election came out.


And while you may take solace from your belief that all of us Joads out here in Nowheresville USA are disposable opioid-addicted losers who should blindly accept your stern-yet-loving hand steering the till of our country to a brave and glorious future in which there are men in every woman’s bathroom that currently lacks them, the fact is most of us are fully functional, normal, responsible people who are perfectly capable of directing our own lives and know a hell of a lot about the needs of our families and the requirements of our own freaking communities than you do.  I don’t care how long you sat your dumb ass in college looking at a textbook that purports to tell you what people like us think feel and need, you know-nothing know-it-alls.  You have no clue.

You would literally die in a week if not for us.  And that’s not a threat, it’s a promise.

We maintain your power supply.  We maintain your roads, all of them, across the whole US of A not only so you can drive upon these roads with your beautiful new cars, but also so we, the trusty and reliable Joad clan, can drive tractor-trailers (that is a fancy word for trucks) full of goods and materials upon them.  We carry these goods from the people who actually MAKE AND GROW THINGS into the city where the whole lot of you seem to manage to somehow live by writing Very Important Tweets on computers and phones.  Computers and phones that only exist because awful men like my husband Joad-y dismantle the old ones to recycle the expensive metallurgical components within, that other awful awful men like Joadward and Joadixander originally extracted from the Earth’s crust decades ago with their bare fucking hands (while possibly wearing gloves).  

We Joads drill your oil and turn it into gas and then we drive that gas to the gas station in these super big dangerous tanker trucks while you get in our way because you’re wandering all over the road whilst texting on your iPhone 8.  We dig the coal from the ground and while coal’s heyday may be over, the power contained within silly old coal, that useless useless stuff built the fucking cities in which you now live and your beloved urban lifestyle that you presently enjoy wouldn’t exist without it.  


We keep the shit from backing up in your toilet and overflowing all over your Italian tile floor constructed from clay that some asshole Joad dug up from the ground and held together with mortar made from minerals that some dumbfuck Joad also dug up from the ground.   And you know why we are able to do this??  Because we live HERE where minerals exist and not in a city where everything is covered by cement or asphalt, you fucking twats.

So you’ll forgive me if I don’t apologize and beg your forgiveness that rural America receives a slightly disproportionate percentage of tax money per capita than urban America does.  It’s because we are doing things out here that YOU NEED to survive.   And you’ll forgive me if I don’t apologize for Trump, either.  I didn’t vote for Trump but I understand 110% why so many people did and your fucking ridick childish meltdown tantrum in the year since has only galvanized my belief that you are a dangerous pack of spoiled fascist lunatics who are fully in control of the press and Hollywood.  Yet you have no sway over my opinions.  You people have done nothing but spit into our faces for 30+ years and it is ending now.  We’re fed up, we’re pushing back.  Quite a few of us are ready to blow it up rather than service your needs any more, while patiently hoping you maybe throw us a scrap from your table, which we built for you lovingly out of wood we cut down in an expedition that killed a man and oh yeah we also provided all the food for your banquet.  I know, I know, it needed salt.  We’ll try harder next time.

Actually, we won’t.  We’re done playing nice.  Because it hasn’t gotten us shit.  You dishonor us, you mock us, you tell us to shut up and fuck off when we try to explain to you what reality is on things we know way more about than you, like about our own goddamn lives and what our communities are like and the thoughts in our misshapen belumped opiate-addled Joad heads.  You are NOT our betters, you’re actually our worsers.  And it ain’t Fox News doing this, honeychildren, it’s you, because you’re just that odious that we literally cannot hold our noses and choke it down to keep the peace another second.  We tried but you wouldn’t meet us even a fraction of the way.  You are the reason Fox News exists, because you’re so shallow, so repulsive, so mean and arrogant and rude, that some of us will turn to anything that isn’t YOU and you control every other fucking thing on the whole goddamn planet and it still isn’t enough for you.

They say the universe is pretty much empty space.  But America is the opposite of that.  It isn’t just empty space.  It has all this STUFF in it, important stuff, in the places that some people like to pretend is nothing but empty space.  This stuff is people and these people matter.  They are of value and they have culture and art and beauty too even if it’s different than yours and they have a fucking right to exist.  IN THEIR OWN HOMES.  Without being told by rich elitists who have benefited hugely off of the system (which at least half of them admit is fundamentally unfair and stacked against the poor to begin with but somehow manage to conveniently forget that while Joad-bashing) to “just move”.   You want to help us move?  How’s about we skip a step and you help us NOW and we don’t have to do the whole moving and then us begging you for spare change on a street corner part?

It is just about entirely bizarre in a nation that manages to scrape together $35 billion in foreign aid and $134 billion in welfare to illegal immigrants and even $1.5 billion straight to movie studios that no one has a single solitary suggestion for revitalizing this vast and critically necessary swath of our own freaking country other than “just move, dumbasses”.  Anyone with half a brain could maybe say “hmm how about some nice juicy tax incentives, Bill Gates, I’m looking at you here” or “let’s build some affordable housing in small towns instead of big cities perchance” or “maybe let’s not make people in counties with less than 10,000 people pay property taxes” or any number of things – and these aren’t even good suggestions, they’re just the first things I came up with off the top of my head.  

And I’m sure they do stuff like that but it IS NOT ENOUGH obviously DUH.  We don’t want to move.  We just want jobs that pay enough to cover our fucking health insurance and have a little bit left over at the end of the month to pay our deductibles with.  I know you’ll try to lean in and hiss “the jobs are gone, learn to code” into my ear but the jobs are gone in no small part because you elite mofos in all your great wisdom have screwed with the economy so much over the last 50 years that things are malfunctioning.  Bad.  Yet you want us all to squeeze our eyes shut and stick our fingers into our ears and say “yes this economy is entirely normal”.  It isn’t.  And I’m a hardcore libertarian and I don’t even like things like subsidies and tax breaks at all, not at all, but ffs, if you’re gonna be handing out dough left and right, how about shooting a little more of it to the Heartland?  Because if the heart dies, the brain will quickly follow.  It’s Biology, people!  

But no.  (Most) Liberals and (many) conservatives love to hand out cash to any special interest group that comes to them begging with puppydog eyes.  Yet somehow the people who actually do the hard and dirty work of making America run are just this big pain in everyone’s ass and they should just shut up and fucking move to where the nonexistent imaginary jobs are.  

helpful hint: if everyone learns to code, pretty soon there will be a hell of a lot of unemployed coders joining the ranks of the Joads.  Welcome, brothers and sisters.

The idea that poor people could own land, could aspire to own their own home is something very uniquely American.   You may say that this development came through oppression and on the backs of human beings and you’d be entirely correct, but still, on balance, it is a step in the right direction.  A step towards equality, true equality.  The poor can own land here.  Isn’t that fucking incredible?  It’s special and extraordinary because historically it has never been that way.  Before America, land was owned mostly by wealthy nobility – the landed gentry – and if you weren’t wealthy and you weren’t nobility you had to be serf or a servant, an employee.  Forever.  In perpetuity, because your children would be as well.  You had little hope of ever getting ahead, of rising in social standing, becoming a rich man or even simply a comfortable one.   

I sometimes think that’s what the elitists really want.  A return to the good old days.  A Dickensian world in which the poor are forced into the cities where they can be kept tucked away out of sight so no one has to see or deal with them.  Sequestered in tenements, the Joads could finally be good little cogs and work menial jobs for slave wages to pay off their overwhelming student loans.  And even though they fervently hope that their landlord doesn’t raise their rent again (they hope, because prayer has been outlawed, it only puts ideas into people’s heads) eventually the landlord will raise their rent, after all, landlords have expenses too.   The landlord has a lot of money to pay to the elites because it is owed it to them, for society needs their valuable and highly educated opinions on things.  

Incarcerated in their small apartments, the Joads could then be monitored and controlled – for their own good, of course.  They could be forced to exercise and brush their teeth 3 times a day and given only appropriately healthy foods to eat.  None of them could ever smoke or drink or take drugs and that way no one’s health insurance premium would ever go up even just a little due to another person’s bad choices.  And then no one really needs to worry if they can’t afford their copays and deductibles on the insurance that they are forced to buy out of whatever is left after their landlord gets his/her share.  If they eat properly and exercise, they won’t get diseases anyway, right?  Isn’t that what science says?   Diseases only occur because of bad choices.

And since the elites aren’t ogres, of course the Joads would still be allowed their amusements.  They would be allowed to watch politically correct feminist-approved pornography and non-CTE-inducing sporting events and reruns of How I Met Your Mother on tv in their off time.  The little people would finally learn their place and would no longer even imagine rising above their station, never daring to even formulate the thought that things could be different and that they might actually know more than their wise and educated rulers do.  Because they most certainly DON’T.

And in the meanwhile the countryside could be parcelled out into manors and estates ruled over by Gentle Farmers who could exercise thorough control over the nearest small town full of serfs like the dukes and lords of old only it would be called country democracy because the people still have nostalgia for that word.  There would be scenic fields with placid, happy Joads handpicking insects off of the crops so everything would always be totally organic.  There could be banquets and balls and picnics during which everyone would wave at the self-driving trucks passing by and yell “huzzah!”  Except for the Joads of course since they’d be too busy picking bugs off the quinoa.

And as for our elitists, why they’d be in charge of everything as is their birthright, flitting back and forth from city to country like they’re living out a plot from a Jane Austen novel, only with more Tinder Swiping.  “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good phone must be in want of a fuck buddy.”

But it wouldn’t be like Austen, not really, because while our landed gentry forebears did have systemic inequality they also had a sense of responsibility to go along with it.  Any fan of Austen will recall the titular character Emma mocking and insulting a poor spinster, Miss Bates, at a picnic.  The older, wiser Mr. Knightley takes her to task for it, not because it was mean per se, not because it was “offensive”, but because Emma was rich and Miss Bates was poor.  Being a wealthy person in the Regency Era may have had privileges, but carried with it a responsibility to be considerate to the less fortunate.  Those familiar with the story will recall that Emma, sweet, spoiled Emma, often visited the sick and dying.  Voluntarily.  She took them food and gifts and was kind to them.  When was the last time any of our elitists were ever kind to a Joad?

helpful hint: writing a tweet about a universal basic income is not kindness.

Our modern day elites seem to think they get to have all the fun, have all the privileges of rank, being, as as Austen described Emma – “handsome, clever, and rich” – and yet at the same time sit in judgement of, or even be downright cruel to, those who are on the rungs of the ladder below.  That isn’t how it works.  That isn’t how any of this works.  You don’t get to have it both ways.  You don’t get to rule and then at the same time act common.  If you truly want to be accepted as elites, behave accordingly.  Act like people worthy of respect, of admiration.  Show kindness and compassion and benevolence even to those who you believe are beneath you.  Listen to us, don’t roll your eyes, don’t tell us to shut up.  Try to understand where we’re coming from because it may not be where you think.  Convince us that you have our interests even the least little bit at heart and then maybe we might take your opinions into consideration.

But when every word out of your mouth is dipped in venom, seething with hate, demanding that we bend our knee to obey you when it is so, so very obvious you despise us, you’re going to get the time-honored Joad answer that has been spoken in thousands of languages since the dawn of time, because Joads have always been and will always be.

Go fuck yourselves.