Billie raids the Veil for souls to put in the bomb. Rowena pours those souls into Dean’s heart. When nothing explodes, Chuck sucks the souls back out of Dean. Chuck takes Amara’s hand, and only then does she say she wants to leave Dean a parting gift. Amara and Chuck make their swirly smoke-commingling exit into the sunset. Dean eventually wanders out of that wedding venue and into the bushes, where he finds his mother.
Hypothesis: what was left of Mary has been in the Veil since her showdown with the poltergeist. Her soul (or the fragments thereof) got caught in Billie’s sweep, and then went from Rowena’s crystal to Dean’s heart to God’s hand. Some combination of the powers of God and Darkness turned what was left of Mary’s soul back into a corporeal woman.
You can whine all day about how sam stans are really angry and bitter, or about how we’re all taking this too personally, but I’m just gonna go ahead and say it:
An entire fandom vilifying a character for leaving an abusive home-life, spinning that act of agency as a betrayal or abandonment, affects me personally.
People loathing a character because he was an addict, as though that too was some kind of betrayal of trust, affects me personally.
Being told by the masses that someone shouldn’t stand up for himself, should be more considerate about the feelings of the person who violated his bodily autonomy, affects me personally.
Treating a character’s mental illness as a joke,affects me personally.
Dismissing physical abuse as ‘tussles’ and ‘banter’ and ‘not a big deal’, affects me personally.
Seeing an entire fandom vilify a character for trying to make a healthy choice by trying to move on and build something for himself, affects me personally.
And having to hear over and over that a character I identify with needs to ‘get over it’ after he’s been abused, berated and stripped of his bodily autonomy MULTIPLE times, affects me personally.
So yes. I take it personally. I take it really damn personally. I probably take it too personally. But don’t assume that I don’t have a damn good reason.
“You and I both know you’re not going to pull the trigger.”
She pulled the trigger, sending a bullet past Sam’s left ear and into the pillar behind him. Sam ducked. She skittered back two steps on her ridiculous heels, getting herself out of arm’s reach while Sam was still cowering from the gunshot.
In Sam’s defense, he’d had a very trying day.
“Now, if you’d be so kind as to back up a bit, and let me finish…?”
Sam backed.
“Thank you. My condolences on the loss of your brother,” she said, sounding like she meant it.
“You want move this along, lady? My brother is dead and you just sent my best friend out into the cornfield.”
“It’s not ‘lady,’ it’s Toni.”
“Whatever, lady.”
“Right. The Elders wish to offer you initiation into the Men of Letters, and the course of training that goes with it. I’m here to escort you to London so you can get started.”
“What?”
“As I said. The old men are tired of you barging around like a bull in a china shop. They want to teach you how to handle the crockery properly so maybe you won’t break so many things.”
Sam stared at her, his mouth working silently. After a moment, he slid into one of the chairs behind him,
gaze
unfocused on the map table. Toni lowered her gun.
“What if I won’t go?”
“Then they’ll think of something else. But you should know I’ve changed the locks on this place. You have less than an hour before you’ll be compelled to leave.”
That got Sam back on his feet. She lifted the gun again.
“What are you talking about?” Sam shouted.
“If you want to know what I did, and how to reverse it, come to London.” When Sam did not immediately respond, she went on, “Tell you what. I’ll be waiting at the airport in Kearney until six o’clock. If you want to take up the offer to study with us, join me there. But either way, you’d better pack quickly.”
Keeping the gun pointed at Sam, not turning her back, she circled round the other side of the map table to the stairs, then up and out and away.
*****
The next day, a battered red truck was found in the passenger lot at Kearney Regional, doors unlocked, keys on the seat with a note reading, ‘FREE TO A GOOD HOME.’
Moar artz! The first image was a prompt for the SPN ReverseBang over on LJ, and it got chosen by the absolutely wonderful museaway, who wrote an equally wonderful fic, inspired by the art. (Click here for the fic and playlist and all sorts of goodies!) The other two images, under the cut, are from the fic, so spoilery. The painting is all digitally done, the others are good ol’ pencil on paper, digitally slapped on faux parchment. 😀 (For desktopish-sized version of the field scene, click here.)
Wait….does that mean there’s a little bit of God in Donatello? And God can’t really be killed because there’s just a little bit of his “soul” somewhere else? You know, horcrux style?
Hearseeno 