Jack Kline's Sister

Chapter Twenty Nine: Absence, Part Two

"This is the door to heaven." Monica gazed down at the intricate pattern in the sand. "Doesn't anyone ever play in this park?"

Castiel looked at her, then at the door. "Apparently not. Naomi. It's Castiel and Monica. We need to talk to you." Nothing. "Naomi. I'm still here, and I'm not going anywhere, not until I have a word with you."

All of a sudden, an angel rose from the sand.

"Dumah? Where's Naomi?" Castiel asked.

"Well, I'd tell you it's none of your business, but you already know it's none of your business. Why are you here?" Her eyes shifted to the girl by Castiel's side. "Why did you bring her?"

"She wanted to come. We're looking for someone."

"Mary Winchester? If that's why you're here, then you should leave now."

"Why?" Monica asked, stepping closer. "We need to bring her back."

Dumah studied her. "She's at peace, Monica. She's happy."

"How do we know?"

Dumah sighed. "If you must, I can show you."

"Good." Monica stepped inside the sandbox and closed her eyes as the shimmering waves surrounded her.

She and Castiel followed Dumah to the door that read, 'Mary Winchester.'

Dumah opened it and they stepped inside. Mary was sitting with her husband, eating dinner.

Monica felt a pang of jealousy for a split second, then she pushed it aside. You are fine.

Dumah looked at them both. "See? Happy. Satisfied?"

"Yes," Castiel said. "Thank you, Dumah." He took Monica's wrist gently, breaking her trance. They went back to earth, Monica a little reluctantly.

On the way back, she was silent.

Castiel looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "You liked it in heaven, didn't you?"

"It was...it felt right. Like where I finally belonged." She turned to him. "The first year of my life I spent running, trying to find my home. I couldn't go to heaven, not with everyone fearing me. Wanting me gone. But now...heaven is nearly empty. Every archangel is dead. They need power."

"You're saying you want to live in heaven."

"Well--not always. I mean, can't I have both? Didn't you used to do both?"

Castiel grinned slightly in reminisce. "Yes. I did. But--it doesn't work. At some point, you have to choose. Angels or humans. I chose humans, and I'm satisfied with my choice. When you're older--then you can make that choice."

"Why can't I make it now?"

"Angels--well, you know angels aren't always so innocent. I have no doubt that they would try to take advantage of you."

"I'm not stupid," Monica said, a little defensive.

"Of course not. But I don't think it's a good idea for you to be on your own again. Which you would be in heaven. There is no companionship. It's everyone for themselves."

"I was on my own for a year."

"And how did that work, Monica? Was it a good life?"

She didn't answer.

Castiel looked at her. "I know how you feel. And I don't want to control you. Your life is your life. But I need you to trust me."

Monica thought before meeting his gaze. "I trust you." She was silent for a minute. "You blame yourself for Jack, and you don't want to make the same mistakes with me. Castiel, what happened with Jack is not your fault. It's no one's fault. It's--it's life."

Just then they got to the bunker.

"So Naomi told you, huh?" Sam asked later.

"Dumah, actually," Castiel said quietly.

"So, what? Are you just gonna take her word for it?" Dean asked.

"No. No, she let us in. We saw your mother's Heaven, and she is happy. She's with John, and there's no sorrow. There's no guilt. Just joy."

"I talked to Rowena," Monica cut in. "Um, she said she thinks that what Jack brought back -- He just brought back a shell. A body, you know. That it was empty. Just a--a replica. 'Incapable of holding life.'"

"So, what are we supposed to do now?" Sam asked.

Dean's face remained as rock-hard as ever. "What we always do."   

                                                                                      ✴✴✴

The sky was a soft gray as if it, too, were acknowledging the death of Mary Winchester. The air was still, and all was quiet except the flicker of golden flame, erasing every last piece of her. Dean tossed a picture in the fire and watched, stiff and silent.

Silent tears rolled down Monica's face. Mary was the only mother she had ever known, and even they had only been together for a few months. She couldn't imagine the pain of Sam and Dean, who got her back only to lose her a few years later. But, she realized, that was human life. It was short and precious, but beautiful. Every single moment mattered. Angels, their life was long and tedious. Without a leader, they were lost. They were lost, anyway. They had completely lost their principles of protecting their father's earth and people. Now they merely lived because they had to.

What if I become one of them? Monica's mind spun. She was more angel than human. Unless murdered, she would live for eons, watching as everyone she knew and loved died. And then what would she do? Drift through life without purpose, without hope. Every day would be just another thing to do. Who would want that?

But it didn't matter, she figured. Fate is fate. There is no changing it, just refusing what wasn't meant to happen after all.

As she watched Mary burn and thought of her brother, her lost, broken brother, she realized life wasn't so much a gift as it was a responsibility, and every move she made today would affect tomorrow.

So she decided to make her moves well.

She was going to save her brother.