***

His body slowly turned. The branches creaked, the insects buzzed, the water splashed. The sun crossed the sky and started to sink beyond the garden walls.

“Dean,” a woman said and Dean nearly sobbed because it was his mother.

“Mom,” he said, and his eyes and throat stung. “Mom, you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Neither are you, sweetheart,” Mary Winchester said and stroked his hair. “Come down. You don’t need to do this. It’s too much.”

“Oh, Mom,” Dean whispered.

“Come down,” she said again. “Come be with your father and me. Come rest. This is what you want, Dean. To be a family again, to be with us. To be at peace.”

He could see it. His reward for all the pain, a blessing for every scar, reunited with his parents, finally laying down his gun and giving up the fight. His father, proud of him; his mother, looking after him.

But if he failed, Sam would not be with them. They would suffer, if Heaven fell. Everyone would suffer, even the dead.

“Mom,” Dean said and felt tears track down his face. “I have to. No one else can. I have to do this. Please, Mom, don’t make it any harder.”

“I love you,” she said and kissed his forehead, and in a moment was gone.

“Mom,” Dean said one more time, the word tearing his heart, and as the garden grew darker he wept from a different sort of pain.

***

When he opened his eyes he was in the burned forest, and a man sat beneath the tree, his own injured leg stretched out on the burned earth. A crutch was propped against the tree. The man was scaling a fish, to cook on the little campfire he had built beside him.

“Hey,” Dean said. It came out hoarse — his throat was so dry it hurt. He cleared his throat and said, “Hey!” again, but the man didn’t look up.

He saw Maya, regal as a queen, beautiful amid the smoke and ruins — but he could also see what he’d missed earlier in the garden, that her eyes were wet and her cheeks were streaked with tears. “Dean,” she said softly.

“Maya,” he said, reaching out a hand to her, and she took it. “What happened here?”

“The king was wounded, and while the Grail is keeping him alive he suffers every day. Then came war, famine, fire . . . The sun can’t break through the clouds, and the rain never falls. The king suffers, the land suffers, and thus his people suffer.”

“Why?” Dean said. “Why does it work that way?”

“Because the king is the land, and the land is the king.”

“Am I here to help him?”

She smiled at him. “Yes.”

“Then get me down — I can’t do anything from here.”

“Just answer a question. Whom does the Grail serve, Dean?”

Dean closed his eyes, remembering the conversation with Sam about this very question. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I’m not even sure what it does. When I hold it — it’s like being hugged by someone who really, really cares about you. But I don’t know what that means.”

“Whom does the Grail serve, Dean?” she said again, her tone patient.

“I don’t know!” Dean said. “God? I don’t know. Castiel said it was a door and a conduit . . . it connects Earth to Heaven . . . it connects . . .” He opened his eyes and looked at Maya. “I think I understand.”

She smiled even more. “Whom does the Grail serve, Dean?”

“Everyone,” Dean said with wonder. “Everyone who asks. It wants to help us all.”

Maya held his face and softly kissed him, and he felt his body jerk. His eyes flew open — he was back in the garden, the sun was rising, and Castiel, his face grim, was lowering him by the rope. He looked like he’d been on the wrong end of an ass-whipping — there was blood smeared on his forehead and streaked at the side of his mouth, and his knuckles were scraped raw.

“Don’t worry, Dean,” he said when he saw Dean’s eyes were open. “I’ve got you.”

“I understand now,” Dean said and lay on the grass a moment, panting, as Castiel cut the knot to free him. “I think I do, anyway. The Grail — I know what I have to do.”

Castiel glanced at him. “You don’t have to do anything, Dean.”

“If I don’t, everyone will suffer. I have to, no matter how much it scares me. Cas. You can’t do it, you know you can’t, and I’m not going to let you charge off into something that’s only going to get you killed.”

“Neither am I,” Castiel said and sat on the grass beside him, drawing up his knees.

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