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There has always been an old pine tree growing on the edge of the Winchesters field. As long as anyone’s been settled in the area it seems. It is not just the age of the pine tree, or the longevity that makes it remarkable, but it is also its immense size. It is the largest tree in the whole state of Kansas it seems, with its sturdy branches stretching almost to the clouds. Dean Winchester remembers when his mother used to say “I fear for any cat that attempts to climb that Goliath, because once they get up, they sure aint coming down in this lifetime.” Of course, that was before she succumbed slowly to a sickness that burned her up from the inside, like the devils fire itself. That was before John Winchester himself wasted away with a different kind of sickness, a heart sickness. That was before Dean had to learn how to cook and sew and clean and nurse a six month old baby, because his dad was too busy nursing his own bottle to care. That was before Dean had lost faith in both of his fathers, the one in the bible and the one who passed out on the porch swing every night, curses still rolling out his mouth with practiced ease. That was when Dean still gave a damn about anyone but Sam. Now it seemed like the only thing that stayed true to Dean’s hazy past was that obstinate pine tree, still growing as tall and straight as ever, still reaching with an impatient urgency towards the heavens.
Perhaps that was why Dean took so much comfort in the tree. It seemed like it was there for every important moment in his life, looming over his memories and blocking the wind. Dean had first began to achieve upward mobility under the tree, as though he was trying to challenge the tree’s height and stability. His first word had been under the tree, a determined grunt of “up”, which again seemed to be in relation to the trees height. Perhaps the tree was the culprit behind Deans height complex. Or maybe it was his mammoth of a brothers freak growth phase that had caused a burning in his gut at the thought of how insignificantly small he had become. Not all relations to the tree were about physical growth, however. Dean had lost count the number of times he had sunk in despair under the tree, his soul to weary to be held up, desperately trying to become one with the earth. It was on these days that the tree provided Dean with the strength and often the understanding that comes from being alone with ones thought, so that he could stand again. The dawn that the fire within finally consumed his mother he had pressed his face to the cool dewy ground, desperately trying to hang onto reality, desperately trying to pull himself back into his body, trying to suck the life and the strength out of the tree so that he too could grow tall and strong for Sammy and his dad and so that he would survive. Dean remembers vaguely laying there in the grass with the soft scent of pine lulling him into a state of calm, so that he could finally look up at the cloudless blue sky without wanting to set the whole damn world on fire. He remembers being able to stand up, albeit shakily and make the weary way back to the house so that he could say his final goodbye. Most importantly Dean remembers that the only time after that, that he felt he was allowed to cry was in that dark little cocoon under the pine tree, where nothing seemed sissy or weak about crying.
Of course it wasn’t all gloom, many pleasant, even delightful things had happened under the tree. Dean’s first swig of old number seven and the comfortable floaty feeling that it caused. His first kiss with little Jo Harvelle from the farm next door at the age of 13, and the feeling of confidence and normalcy that had followed. Then two years later, being led under the tree by Pamela, a college girl who had picked Dean out of all the other young pups and chose to bestow her favor upon him. Dean remembers looking up at the stars afterwards through the branches and feeling sleepy and satisfied. He remembers feeling a little bubble of joy that his first time had occurred there, under the tree where so much of his childhood had been spent. Under his tree. Somehow that stupidly tall pine tree had become a part of his life, intertwined with every memory, putting down roots into the very core of Deans life.
And so Dean no longer felt stupid when he began to talk to the tree. Although talking perhaps is not the correct word. You see when talking with a tree, one feels that they can be completely, frighteningly honest with said tree. So perhaps it was not so much talking that Dean did with the tree, but rather an outpouring of his soul into the tree. It used to be just when Dean was feeling low, when his dad and Sammy fought, when he lost his father’s money hustling pool at the local bar, when his favorite cow, Clint, died. The night Sammy packed up his bags and left for good was the night that Dean started sleeping under the tree. He just lay there until he felt the wind sigh and the branches settle like a shield between him and the rest of the world. And so Dean lay there cradled, just breathing the same air as the tree, inhaling the peace that seemed to surround him completely. Without thinking he began to softly stroke the boughs of his tree with his fingertips, and he found that it almost felt like they were stroking back. Dean didn’t say anything that night; he simply curled up and slept. He didn’t wake till noon the next day, when John Winchester, fed up with waiting for his son to begin the farm work roughly yanked apart the limbs that had remained protecting him from night till morning.
After that night, Dean came to the tree even when he wasn’t upset. It was no longer just a balm to his wounded soul, but a pleasure that he sought out. He soon felt closer to that tree than he did to any of the people left in his life. He told the tree everything now. Every night would find him with his back against the sturdy trunk and his head looking up through the never ending tunnel of green towards the dark sky. He would ramble for hours, not even really saying much. Tales of his day, how he saw that Jo Harvelle was marrying, how someday he wanted that, a proper family who wouldn’t fall apart, who would provide strength for each other, who could withstand anything even death. He told tales of his childhood, that time when he was twelve and had accidentally seeded the field with chicken seed and how his father had fed both him and Sammy chicken feed for supper that night, how gut-wrenchingly guilty he had felt when he saw how little Sammy couldn’t even swallow his first mouthful and how he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to punch himself or his father. The pine tree also learned about Mary Winchester, about what little Dean remembered, how she had made apple pies while singing on Sundays, how she had caught him hiding a chicken from his dad, and how she and him together had hid the chicken in an abandoned farm shed, and how without fail they would visit it every day together. He told the tree of her unwavering faith, even through the sickness, how she would still sing on Sundays, songs about eternal light and rewards for goodness and how Dean would refuse to join in because he no longer believed that god cared. He even told the tree how after her death Dean had taken the stupid chicken and tried to get it to fly away, how he had thrown it from the roof and how he watched it plummet towards the yard with a sick perverse satisfaction, and how after he felt like the last bit of his mother was gone and how he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. Dean told the tree that his fear of heights had developed not long after that and how his father had tried to scare it out of him by taking him up to the roof and leaving him without a ladder. How on those nights Dean would huddle into a ball and try desperately to wake his drunk father, because he was cold and tired, and he could hear Sammy bawling through the window, and Sammy needed him and he couldn’t be there. Just like he couldn’t be there for him when he and dad were fighting and when he needed support for his dreams and all Dean could do was side with his dad, because he never wanted to be left behind. The tree learnt of all of Deans regrets and how he’s scared that he will forever be letting people down, and pushing them away with his selfishness.
The tree listens to everything Dean has to say. The tree hears his very soul. And the tree remains standing, perhaps even grows a little taller.
So Dean comes back and back again, because the tree is the one constant in his life, the one thing Dean is sure will never leave him. Good thing too, because Dean feels like he’s poured so much of himself into that tree, that if it were to fall Dean would fall too. Whenever Dean really thinks about what he’s doing, really processes it, he understands how strange it must seem. The most important person in his life is a pine tree. Sure it’s odd, but so are reality tv shows and everyone seems to appreciate those. Besides, no matter how unnatural his relationship with this tree is, it is something that Dean now acknowledges, would be physically impossible for him to leave. They share such a profound bond, him and the tree, that Dean’s essence would die if he left that tree. And he thinks that maybe the tree would die too.
When John Winchester died it came as a surprise to no one but Dean. His father was such a weed like man, surviving liver damage and car crashes and many a tractor accident that Dean had begun to believe he would always be around. The preservation and care of John Winchester was something Dean had resigned himself to since he was thirteen years old and he had to drive him to the hospital after John had drunkenly fell on an axe. As Dean sat there with his father’s head bleeding into his coat and Sammy howling in the backseat, and the country calmly breezing past, he had understood that this was his burden to bear, and he would be darned if he didn’t do a damn good job of bearing it. Of course Dean hadn’t counted on Sammy leaving. Heck, he hadn’t even counted on Sammy growing up, but there you were. Yet, John Winchesters death seemed like such an alien thing in the life he had resigned himself to, that he didn’t know what to do.
John Winchester had died in a bar room brawl where he had viciously attacked one of the other patrons, after said patron had made a comment about Deans lack of girlfriends. It ended when John Winchesters face was smashed into a pile of bottles, while he had his hands closed around the other mans throat in a punishing grip. Both men achieved what they had intended to do in their drunken minds. Kill the other. John made it to the hospital, made it long enough to tell Dean that he had died a hero’s death, defending his son. Then he made a comment about how he would’ve beat the other guy if he hadn’t tripped. After that it was mostly weak gurgling, till even that faded.
Dean drove home. He collapsed under his tree. Then he got up and determinedly slept in his father‘s bed. The next day he got up at the crack of dawn. He ate porridge for breakfast. He fed the chickens. He milked the cows. He sat on the porch. He sighed.
He was on his way to weed the garden when he noticed the car pull up. So he slowly walked forward and resigned himself to mourners and casseroles and weeping women who would only make him feel awkward. However, that was not what came out of the car. It was someone who Dean found he could understand fairly well. A man possessed by the demon of rage.
“You John Winchester’s boy?” The man challenged
“Well now, who’re we calling a boy? You look about five years younger than me, pup. But yes, I’m his son. Or was, I guess. Who the hell are you?” Dean asked, although he had a feeling he already knew the answer.
“I’m Jud Azazel’s son. I do believe our fathers were acquainted last night. The way I see it, we have some unfinished business, Dean.” He slowly inched towards Dean in a way that made him want to run in the opposite direction.
“I don’t see how you mean. I reckon our fathers took care of any business that needed to be taken care of last night.” Dean tried to sound cool and unassuming, but he could feel his heart rate speed up and his breathing quicken. His fingers twitched in anticipation of the fight that he felt was sure to come.
“Huh. Well everyone’s entitled to their own opinions, but in my opinion it was your father that started the fight. And it was your father that strangled my father till he died. So now, I’d say I’m entitled to a little familial revenge, don’t you think Dean?”
And at that the man positively grinned as he backed Dean onto the edge of his field. When Dean felt the bark he had felt so many times before he knew he was out of luck. The man’s grin widened as he assessed the fear on Deans face and he casually pulled a gun out of his pocket and then ever so slowly moved to turn the safety off. Now Dean knew a little about guns, and he knew that with its safety on a gun wasn’t exactly useful. So he knew this was his last chance at surviving, and well he sure as hell better take it.
Dean swiftly delivered a punch to the mans throat, effectively stopping him in his motions. However the gun remained clutched tightly in the mans coarse hand. Dean tried to grab the gun from his hands, but the man had a grip like a mother on her baby. A lot of flailing and struggling ensued over the gun, because although Dean knew how to fight, this man was just awkward at it, eventually however, Dean got the gun and he made to knock the man over the head with it. The man just smiled and said “You don’t think I came alone do you Dean?” And it was then that Dean looked up and saw the men coming at him from all sides.
There was only one thing to do. Climb.
So Dean clambered up the tree, instinctively knowing which branches were the strongest, which limb would be able to withstand his weight. He made good time of it too, for he was about fifty feet off the ground by the time the men started shooting. Unfortunately, the tree did not offer adequate shelter from bullets and they punctured Deans skin like a hot knife through butter. Dean felt his world go sideways as he slowly fell through the branches, needles ripping at his skin, and a fire burning in his hand and his gut. He felt the impact, lighter than it should have been, and then a second impact. Like the tree had caught him just before he hit the ground. And then he felt the enveloping darkness, and he welcomed it, because he knew that it, if anything, could satiate the flames that were roiling in his abdomen.
Waking up in a hospital was one of Deans least favorite places to wake up. Often he found himself sleeping on couches, waiting for his dad to recover, but this time it was different. For one thing he was in a weird smelling bed. For another thing he saw Sammy’s face overhead, looking as it always did, filled with worry. And for a third thing he felt a crippling pain in his body and he was willing to bet anything he was dying. Surprisingly the thought didn’t bother him as much as it should’ve.
“Dean! You’re awake.” Sammy, if possible, looked even more worried at that thought
“Sam. S’okay, don’t look so worried about me. People will think you’re PMSing. But… how did I get here?” As Deans muddled thoughts slowly came back to him, he remembered that the last place he had been was under his tree. In fact, Dean was kinda disappointed that he still wasn’t under it.
“I came home. For Dad’s funeral. And to see you, I mean gosh Dean. We haven’t seen each other in so long. I know how important family was to you and I thought dad’s funeral would be a good chance for us to get back in touch. And then I saw you fall.” Sam looked down, as though looking at his fancy shoes could hide the guilt from his face.
“Four years, nine months and two days. Actually I’m assuming yesterday already passed, so three days.”
“What?”
“That’s how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other. You’re my brother Sammy, you didn’t think I wouldn’t keep track? So how was it? How was California? How were your dreams? Did it hold up to your expectations?” Dean tried to catalogue the changes that had occurred in Sammy. He definitely looked older and damn. He had grown even more. Stupid giant, was he taking growth hormones or what? His face had sharpened out, but it looked like he smiled a lot. That was good. All in all, Sam looked better than he ever had while living with Dean. It was a good thing that Dean knew he was dying, because he was seriously starting to get depressed.
“I’ve never been happier….” Sam started, then flinched at the look on Deans face “I mean its freedom you know. I can breathe, I can do what I like, I can live without feeling guilty. And, I met someone. I’ve been going with her for two year now. Jess. She’s so smart and funny and just awesome Dean. And she’s so good and beautiful. I think falling asleep with her at night and waking up with her in the morning is the closest feeling I can pinpoint to heaven, y’know?”
And Dean did know. Because that was how he felt with his tree. Drifting off to those branches framing the stars, and then waking up to discover that those branches were now perfectly blocking out the sun, to discover that no birds ever roosted in that tree when Dean lay under it so he could laze as long as he wanted. Well if that didn’t make him appreciate the idea of god, then nothing did. Of course Dean knew that no god would ever be interested in giving peace to a screw up like him, but it was a nice though nonetheless. And suddenly Dean felt that there was no place he would rather breathe his last breath than under that glorious tree. His glorious tree.
So later, once Sammy had gone to find a motel to sleep in, Dean slowly began to detach all the wires that were on him and to untangle himself from his bed. He left the hospital, and he didn’t mind the fact that he had no car there and that he had to walk all the way back home on the highway. It was a nice clear night, with an almost full moon and a gentle breeze that smelled like apples and his mom. Dean felt that there couldn’t have been a better night to die on than this one. He was impatient of course to get to his tree, but he still felt a sense of contentment just walking even with the pain that was slowly pin pricking all over his skin.
When he finally did get to his tree, the branches gusted up at the sight of him. It seemed that the tree had been impatient for him too. Dean gently slid his arm around the trunk and letting out a pleased sigh, leaned his head back.
“Hey.” He breathed “I think I’m going to die and I couldn’t think of a better place to die than right here. You don’t mind if I do just that do you? Sorry for assuming, but I feel like you’re my best friend and I don’t even care if that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard, because I also think that it might be the most beautiful. And I know that makes me sound like a sappy girl, but I’ve never held back before when talking to you and I just thought you might want to know. So, yeah. I know you’re a tree and everything, but if you ever felt that there was a time that you might tell me about yourself, now would be the time. I know trees can’t talk, but for Christ sake you freaking caught me when I fell, so if you can do that you can talk to me somehow. So please, open up to me tonight. I’m afraid tomorrows all booked up. I have to attend a double funeral.” And Dean wheezed at this and he felt the air shift around him and then he felt the tree. He felt it talk to him. Not out loud, but through where its bark met Deans skin.
“Hello Dean. I’ve wanted to introduce myself for the longest time, but I am told that most humans would find it alarming. However, given the circumstances and the amount of pain medication in your body, I believe I will risk your fear. I am the angel Castiel. Or rather a part of Castiel, his grace that grew into the tree you perceive.”
“I’m sorry, but did you just say angel? Oh god Cas, I really hope you’re not a desperate part of my brain that wants to be saved or something before I die.” Dean shuddered as he felt a wave of pleasure emanate from the bark at his use of the nickname Cas.
“I would hardly call it religion, but rather facts. I was sent by the lord to watch over John Winchester. The lord had plans for him. However those plans and fate it seems, ran awry. It seemed he was not the man we thought he would become. Yet my grace remained implanted in this field. It could not be removed. It, like this tree had grown roots. However, these roots were not embedded in the soil, but rather into your soul Dean. You were my anchor to this earth, as a child stubbornly refusing to let go. At first I was angered by you. I did not understand why you, a human, would have such power over me. And then you grew. And as you grew, the bonds between us grew. Suddenly they weren’t just bonds on your part, but bonds on my part as well. I began to see you for the first time. Your strength, your goodness, your earnest love and your desire to protect. However, I think what caused me to become “hooked” as you would say, was your unwavering trust in me. Your honesty and your faith. You treated me as other humans would treat a temple. You saw me for what I was, so much more than a tree, and you loved me for it. And how could I resist but to love in return.”
Dean chuckled and the sound caused his entire body shake. “Yup, that about sums it up Cas. Well aren’t we a pair. I’m a man in love with a tree and you’re an angel in love with some nobody farm boy from Lawrence, Kansas. Who woulda guessed? I’m glad to hear your voice though Cas, even if it may be just an onset from my pain meds. It’s nice. It sounds like warmth and comfort yet strong and lasting. It sounds eternal you know? It sounds exactly like you and everything you’ve been for me. And I’m so glad I’ve got this chance to thank you, because after my mom died, you were the only one who ever took care of me. And I don’t think I would even have lasted this long without you. I feel like, when I’m around you I’m not some piss poor jerk who hasn’t got anything to his name but two dead parents and a brother in California. When I’m around you I’m actually glad to be myself, to be alive, so that I can be with you, a stupid tree in a stupid field. And I guess if you make me feel glad about that, then it must be love. So thank you for everything. Just thanks.” And Dean laid his cheek against the rough bark and inhaled that dusky pine needle smell that was even better than the smell of his mom’s pie. And he was content. He stayed like that till he saw the edges of dawn creeping into the sky and he felt his heart slow to a crawl. And he rolled over and looked up at the light coming into the sky.
“Cas?”
“Yes, Dean?”
“Tell god I’m sorry for breaking one of his angel’s hearts. I mean I can’t help it if I’m freaking adorable, right?”
“Dean, every choice you made has led you to have one of the most blindingly bright souls I’ve ever seen. So I would say that it is your fault. It is your fault for being so you that it would be impossible not to love you.”
“Thanks Cas. Right back atcha’.”
It was two minutes after dawn that Dean Winchester breathed his last breath. If anyone had been watching they would have seen the breath become trapped in the branches of the tree. But no one was watching and it was much later in the day that they found Dean’s body curled around the pine trees trunk, gently enclosed between its branches. If anyone had cared, they might have commented, that it was odd that a day after Dean Winchesters body was found under the old pine tree a sturdy elm sapling grew up beside it. They might have even watched it grown unnaturally fast, as though it was trying to catch up to the Pine tree at its side. However, as it was the Winchester farm was sold and those who knew about Dean Winchester were long gone by the week’s end. So the elm grew up, fast and strong and unnoticed. Unnoticed by everyone except the pine tree who stopped growing as if to wait for the elm.
There has always been an old pine tree growing on the edge of the old Winchesters field. As long as any of the people can remember back. And just as there has always been an old pine tree, there has always been an old elm tree with branches that intertwine with the pines, growing in that very same field, growing more and more connected as the years passed. Some people even speculate that the trees have been growing together so long that even their roots have become connected.
