tigriswolf | Supernatural 5.17 ficlet (Reply)

“Hey, Dean,” the little old lady says, saluting him with her pruning-shears. “I hear you been lookin' for me, boy.”

It's a tiny little herb garden, barely big enough for her, much less Dean, two heads taller and twice as broad. The air is bright and full of summer, and she raises an eyebrow.

“You…” He takes a deep breath. “You’re God. “

She grins and nods. “I know what Joshua told you, what Raphael and Zachariah and lil’Castiel have all said. And they’re right.” She pauses, eyes kind, her grin gentling to Mom’s time for bed, baby boy, and I’ll see you in the mornin’ smile. He loved that smile. It always made him feel safe. “But they’re also so very wrong, Dean.”

He wants to hurt her. To shake her until she breaks for all the crap she’s put on him, on Sammy, on Mom and Dad and Castiel. On the world.

She nods again, face saddening. “I could explain, kiddo. I could sit you down right here and show you my sketchbook, my notes, why everything has happened, and why what’s coming will. But you wouldn’t understand.” She steps forward, hand reaching out, and Dean jerks away, hitting one of the stringy bushes. It smells like Mom’s spaghetti. “I regret your pain, Dean,” she says solemnly. “But if you had my vision, you’d see why it is necessary.”

Dean closes his eyes, takes a second deep breath and holds it, counting to ten in every language he knows. “Fuck your masterplan,” he finally murmurs, opening his eyes to glare at God. “Fuck your masterplan and your four horsemen and your greater good.” He meets her gaze straight-on and says, “I want to wake up now.”

God tells him, “I gave you free will. And it’s only a sketchbook. You, Dean, you and your brother, you’re the masterpieces, and it’s your ballgame now.”

His eyes open, and he’s slumped in the car, and the world’s still fucked, and he has an angel to see about the End of Days.

He isn’t a masterpiece. He’s the thing that slashes them to ribbons and makes them ugly and washes his skin in their blood.

And he’s so tired.