42 NMC Magazine For the first time since Jack gave up the power of God and collapsed at his family’s feet, Dean smiled. “Well, I’ll be damned.” Cas nodded. “Good things do happen, Dean. Not everything has to end in tragedy.” Dean’s grin faded. “I wish, Cas. I want to believe it, but I can’t. Even if you’re right.” He touched a hand to his chest where a fresh scar hid beneath his shirt. His fingers dug into fabric. “I mean, Sam and I were supposed to be safe after Jack took Chuck’s power, but look what happened. I helped bring down God, then got taken out by a rusty nail and a dollar store vampire.” Cas jabbed a finger in the direction of Jack’s room. “And Jack brought you back because you deserve better. You deserve to live out your life on Earth however you want, because no one has sacrificed nearly as much as you to keep this universe intact. You can retire from hunting, become a mechanic, leave the holy water at home, and stop sleeping with an angel blade under your pillow.” “How did you know—” “I’m an angel, Dean. I know about the blade. I know you hid a bag of Jack’s favorite candy under the Impala’s driver’s seat to give him when he’s upset, and—” Dean stepped back from the table and waved his hands dismissively. “But I can’t. Yeah, I want to get out of the life, but no one leaves alive, alright? You know that. Everyone knows that.” “Dean, this world no longer runs on Chuck’s rules. You’re allowed to be happy, and—” “Since when can we have what we want?!” Dean hissed, slamming his hands on the map table so hard that the light beneath his palms faltered. His chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths as memories clawed their way up from the depths of repression. The day of the fire, when four-year-old Dean’s childhood ended in ash. When his father sold his own soul to save Dean from Death. The first time Sam died. The night Hellhounds dragged Dean to Hell. Bobby’s death at the hands of the Leviathan. Kevin and Charlie, murdered because they got too close to the Winchesters. Waiting, helpless, as Jack’s own power killed him. Watching Cas die fighting Michael. Watching Cas die to protect Jack from Lucifer. Watching Cas die to save Dean from Billie. Dean’s voice quieted to a hoarse whisper. “Since when…?” Cas’ gaze fell to Dean’s chest, where Dean’s scarred hand once again pressed into his shirt. Ever since Dean’s most recent resurrection, Cas had noticed him pressing that spot over and over. He did it when Jack collapsed, when Sam left to find Eileen, and every time he woke from a nightmare. Thinking the old wound hadn’t fully mended, Cas once touched Dean’s shoulder to heal his pain. He found none. Physical pain, that is. Cas could fix physical wounds. Mental ones, however, no amount of angelic grace could soothe. Only time. Slowly, Cas rounded the table. He stopped in front of Dean. “There is more to life than suffering. You showed me that. Life is about setting off fireworks in the middle of the night. Joyrides in the Impala. Drinking whiskey together after a long day. You’ve lost a lot —we all have— but losing isn’t all we’ve done, even if it feels that way. The bad memories may hurt more than good memories comfort, but that doesn’t mean the good never happened.” Dean looked away from Cas’ eyes in favor of the floor. “So we just forget about every-
“Good things do happen, Dean. Not everything has to end in tragedy.”
