Maya patted his back, and went back to her basket. She gave it a little twitch and it unwound, scattering strawberries everywhere, into a length of rope. She came back to the tree and swung the rope over a branch. “Lie down, it’ll be easier.”

“Shouldn’t I have a horse or a stool instead?” Dean said and gave a hollow laugh.

“I’m not going to hang you by the neck, Dean,” Maya said patiently. “I don’t want you dead. Just wise.”

“Right, right,” Dean said and lay on the grass. He watched skeptically as she tied the rope around his left ankle, and then with a great yank she pulled him off the ground and into the air.

Dean shouted with pain as the whole weight of his body was held by his injured leg, and he thought there’d been some purpose to this, too, that the injury that had caused them so much trouble through this quest had brought him something like clarity.

He could already feel himself begin to sweat as he swayed, every creak of the rope sending new pain shooting through his leg. The rope chafed, blood was rushing to his head, his heart was pounding — “Maya,” he said, and his voice was already hoarse, “Maya, I don’t know –”

“Faith, Dean,” she said from the grass as she tied the end of the rope around the tree trunk. “Remember the hanging man.” She went back to the strawberry patch and began to gather her berries.

Remember the hanging man, Dean thought, and tried to picture the card. He let his arms hang loose and that eased the pain in his back a little; and if he bent his leg just so that controlled the swinging so he didn’t feel so dizzy.

However, it did not stop his heart from racing and his mind from thinking, Oh, God, I’m completely helpless, I’m stuck here and she’s going to leave me –

Calm down, he thought, trying to make this inner voice sound as much like Castiel as possible. Be calm. They’re not trying to kill you. Just be open to wisdom.

He inhaled and exhaled slowly, even though just breathing hurt from the pressure on his ribs. The minutes ticked past, and he was sure it was getting into hours. He started to hear tiny little sounds — insects buzzing among the flowers, water splashing from the wells, even the wings of robins as they flew from branch to branch. Sweat began to drip down his face.

Wisdom, he thought. I’m ready for wisdom.

***

“So, Winchester,” said Jo Harvelle, standing before him with her arms crossed and her hip cocked.

“So,” Dean whispered. “Harvelle.”

“You’re in quite a mess, aren’t you?” She walked closer — tiny, blonde, dangerous, the little sister he’d never had. “Come down from there. Come back on the road with me, Dean. Come hunt with me. This is what you want — a free life with no obligations, and a friend who’ll never betray you.”

He could see it — traveling with Jo, crisscrossing the country, posing as husband and wife, as brother and sister, evading the law, saving people.

But the Apocalypse would still come. The world will still end. Jo would suffer if he failed, like all of his friends — like Ellen, like Bobby.

“This is for you,” Dean whispered. “This is for your mom. This is for everybody I had to leave behind. I can’t, Jo. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

She patted his cheek and said, “I’m sorry too, Winchester,” and disappeared.

***

The sun was high overhead and his back was aching. His injured leg hurt so much that if he so much as curled his toes it shot new pain from foot to thigh. The little garden sounds were growing louder, and he thought he could hear music — a woman’s voice sweetly singing, “‘Stars shining bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper I love you . . .’”

“Dean,” a woman said softly, and he jerked around so he could see her. It was Lisa, his Gumby girl, Ben’s mother. Her dark hair was flowing and her eyes were as kind and her smile as friendly as ever. “What are you doing here, Dean? This is crazy.”

“I know,” he said, “I know.” He closed his eyes as he felt her cool hands on his face, her soft lips gently brushing his.

“Come down from there,” she said. “Come down and be a dad to Ben. That’s what you’ve always wanted, even if you wouldn’t admit it to anybody, not even Sam. You want a quiet life of little joys. Come home.”

He could see it — he could see it perfectly. Coming home from the garage every day to her lovely house, washing the car with Ben on Saturdays, laughing in bed with Lisa every night . . . it would be a beautiful life. Simple, perfect.

It could never be. If he failed — God, he could see this too, Ben on a rack, Lisa under torture –

“I can’t,” Dean whispered and felt his eyes well. “I’m doing this for him, so he can have a happy life. That’s all I want for him — for him to be normal. Not a hunter. Not like me.”

Lisa nodded sadly, then leaned forward and kissed him between his eyebrows. When he opened his eyes again she was gone. That’s not fair, Dean thought, and then shouted, “That’s not fair!”

The branches of the enormous ash tree creaked, and he supposed that was all the sympathy he was likely to get.