in 10x02, Demon Dean sits at the piano and tools around a little. He plays two notes.
Those two notes are the first two notes to the melody of “Hey Jude” which is the song that Mary used to sing to Dean as a lullaby when he was little.
Demon Dean is this wild, strange thing. You would think that he would let go of all of those things that human Dean held onto, but Demon Dean seems to hold on tighter. To the point of languishing in a dive bar, instead of taking Crowley up on his offer to rule hell.
Demon Dean is Dean’s depression turned up to eleven. Sleeping with women he doesn’t care about, drinking himself half to death (if he were human), and thinking of the things his dead mother used to do to give him comfort.
He tells Sam in 10x03 that he wants to be a demon, and that’s a lie, which is interesting, because in Supernatural demons don’t generally lie. They tell you all of the true things you never want to hear. But Dean is different because his demon is not freedom the way other demons are. It’s depression.
And depression lies.
And that’s all Demon Dean is. Dean’s depression and trauma turned up to 11.
All evident in playing a C and and the A below it, one after the other.
You know how 20 looks like the hollowed out shell of what it was supposed to have been? You know how you can still see some of the spaces where the actual heart of the finale was meant to fit?
I’ve seen posts about the funko pops going around, I’ve seen conversation about Dean’s driving montage, and Dean’s reaction to Bobby mentioning Cas. But what about the huge hanging thread of Dean’s final step towards actualization? What about Dean finally being able to mirror Cas’s confession and say what he wasn’t allowed to say in 15.09 and 15.18? Well, look at Dean’s speech to Sam. Does anything look off to you?
Here, let me help (and thank you @write-nerdy-to-me for the Gas n’ Sip idea & polol for the enabling and feedback):
“So...there's a few things that I need you to hear. Come here. I'm so proud of you, Cas. You know that? I've always looked up to you. When we were fighting Billie you were so damn brave. You never... You never took any of Chuck’s crap. I never knew how you did that. And you're more caring than me. You always have been.
Hey, did I ever tell you... did I ever tell you that day that, uh...that I came for you when you were at the Gas n' Sip? You know, after I told you to leave the bunker? I must have stood outside the store for hours... because I didn't... I didn't know what... what you would say. I thought you'd tell me to... to get lost or get dead. And I don't know what I would've done... if I didn't have you. 'Cause I was so scared. I was scared, 'cause when it all came down to it, it was always you. It's always been you. I love you so much.”
The first thing I remember is being placed here next to a new concrete path with a sapling and a wooden structure nearby. I wasn’t sure what to think as I watched more pathways put in along the large swaths of open grass. I could feel the grass tickle the base of my post. I was tall, thin, and had some ornate decorations molded into my metal. I noticed there were other lampposts like me scattered along the concrete walkways. We all looked the same. What was this project going to be when it was completed? I wondered what my purpose would be.
During the day, my light was shut off, but at dusk, I shone brightly on the path below me. I enjoyed having something to do other than just standing like a sentry during the day. Couples would walk hand in hand, murmuring to themselves and stealing kisses. I would see someone walking their dog and hope that they would take the path that came toward me. I liked to watch over those who came to the park day or night. I enjoyed providing a place of safety for those that walked under me, stopped to lean on me, or sat on the grass beneath me. I listened to all the conversations around me, hoping to learn more about the world I was placed in.
I was curious about the octagonal wooden structure that had railings and bench seats in it that was next to me and my tree. There was a big celebration when the park was officially opened. There was a festive bow tied on me, and the gazebo had decorations on all its railings. Several people with shiny, sometimes bulky things that make noise set up inside the sheltered space and played sounds I had never heard before.
A couple standing underneath me talked about the band and the jazzy, upbeat, patriotic music they played. The people clapped and whistled their enjoyment of the songs. I had never seen so many people in the entire park.
A group of families spread out their quilts on the grass below me. The little ones would chase each other around my post and then fall down laughing. Food was set out for the people to eat. I heard someone call that a picnic. It made me happy that they chose to set out their blankets or quilts next to me. I liked hearing the sound of laughter, from the small children's giggles to the men's deep belly laughs. Even though my light wasn’t on during the day, it gave me joy to have activities around me.
During the celebration, different people spoke from the gazebo, people clapped, and a ribbon was strung between the posts of the structure that men in dapper suits cut. Everybody was dressed up that day. I wore my bow proudly, showing that I was dressed up too.
As the days passed, I became used to seeing the same faces walking the paths of the park. It made me feel good when they walked under me because I felt like I was doing my job of watching out for them. I watched as a couple stopped under my light on an evening stroll, and the man went down on one knee and held out a ring to the woman. there was lots of high pitched laughter and sounds of excitement. The man swung the woman around, and they kissed.
On other days it was families that drew my attention. Children on bicycles whizzed by me, with adults not far behind. They would have little ones being held either in their arms. Or if the littles could walk, they would alternate walking and swing between the tall ones. It was always nice when they would rest under my light. Sometimes the adults just chatted with each other while the older children played games in the grass or rode their bicycles around the concrete paths. I always felt special when they chose me to rest under. It was like they were letting me in on a secret.
Most people who walked the park went to the gazebo. Even though I served my purpose of giving people light for an evening stroll or a solid place to set their back while they sat on the ground, I couldn’t keep the rain off of anyone. The gazebo was where people could stay dry, stay in the shade, or sit on the benches and talk. I could always hear their voices but couldn’t make out what they were saying unless they were loud. When voices sounded angry, I jumped a little inside. They were my town friends.
One exciting time of the year for me was the Fourth of July. It was when the town made sure the park looked perfect. I was decorated with a red, white, and blue bow. The gazebo was given a new coat of white paint, and the festive buntings were tied to its railings. The park was full of people having picnics, playing games, and talking to each other and with friends. The band was in the gazebo, and tables were lined out in front of it with people selling food and objects I overheard called fireworks.
That special night they did not turn my light on at dusk. I was confused at first, but with the first bright flash, I understood that the people in the park couldn’t see the gaily colored sparkles in the sky if my light was on.
It was the one time I was happy not to have my light shine in the nighttime hours. Bursts of blue, red, yellow, and green, along with loud booming sounds, made everyone in the park collectively gasp with awe during the display. Once the presentation was finished, my light was turned back on, and I watched the families pack up their belongings under my light and return to wherever they came from. It became my favorite time of year.
Another interesting occurrence baffled me during the summer months. Sometimes people brought blankets or quilts, laid them out in the grassy areas, away from my light, and stayed the night. It wasn’t common for me to have visitors that stayed all night. It bothered me that they wouldn’t stay in the safety of my light until one evening, I overheard a family say that it was too hot to sleep in their home. They didn’t want to be under my light because it made it too bright to sleep, but they felt safe in the park. I began to see it as a normal thing that people sometimes did. Even though they weren’t under my light, I felt comfortable standing guard over them anyway. Some nights the entire part of the park that wasn’t bright with lamppost lights was full of people sleeping outside. We were a second home to a lot of the town.
There was a period of time when everything changed. The men were dressed in uniforms, and there wasn’t as much laughter as there had been in the past. Many people were crying under my light. I didn’t understand why until I overheard about a war and men being sent away. I noticed many more single women or small groups of women alone in the park. There weren’t many men around unless they were old or very young.
I missed the laughter from the people walking under me. The tree beside me had grown tall enough to provide shade for those that wanted to sit on the grass. I listened as couples and families cried for their sons, husbands, and fathers that were no longer in the town. Letters were written while loved ones leaned up against my post. I didn’t know how to help other than to be tall and strong, just like I had been in years past. My park didn’t feel the same. There weren’t the usual celebrations like before the men left. All I could do was stay in my place, shine my light, and be there for people to lean against when they sat in the grass beside me under the shade of the tree.
I was quite surprised when one summer workmen started to clean me up. A new coat of paint on my metal, a new shade for my light, and even the gazebo looked brand new again. The bunting I’d missed was brought out along with the bow for my post. There were so many people in the park again I felt like it was buzzing with excitement. I captured snippets of conversations about a war being over and the men were home. The park workers were preparing us for a celebration in honor of our town heroes. I wondered if I would get to listen to a band again.
Something was added to our park for the first time in my memory. In one of the green spaces not far from the gazebo and me was a tall marble slab put in the ground. It bothered me that they used a machine to make holes in our beautiful green grass. But after the slab was straight, they returned all the dirt and replanted the grass, good as new.
A new celebration happened in my park. The festive decorations came out, the band played, and the park was full of people. It was nice to have people sit at my base and lean on me or have a family put a quilt down for a picnic. It felt like the old days.
A man started speaking from the gazebo and called all the men and women who had served in the service of our country to come to the front of the gazebo. They all stood in a large group with a cover over the slab. A song was played that evoked a lot of emotion from everyone in the park. The people in uniform saluted while the rest of the crowd put their hands over their hearts.
I heard the man on the gazebo announce that they were dedicating the slab to everyone from the town who had died serving our country. And that their names were carved there, along with the war they died in. There were blank spaces left for any future town members who died. I did not know whether to be happy or sad. On one hand, I was delighted because I recognized many people in uniform in the group from their time walking under me, but I also was sad because people near me were crying. There wasn’t any way I could help them.
I tried to be the same lamppost they always saw. I was still a meeting place, a safe place to sit in the grass, a light to walk under my night for evening strolls, but I couldn’t take away their pain. I thought I was supposed to shine brightly and keep people safe, but hearing their tears, I felt like I had failed.
I started seeing a difference in the people who would come and visit me, the gazebo, and the park. I started seeing men in uniform. The people walking under my light or the tree were not as happy as they used to be. There were still children that rode their bicycles on the park paths laughing as they zoomed by, but the groups that walked under me were more somber.
Since the memorial was created, people came to the park, walked under me, sat at my base on the grass, brought lunches, and many spent time standing in front of the memorial looking at it. I couldn’t always tell how they felt. There were many tears. Many of those whole stood in front of the monument had their shoulders hunched while looking at the carvings. I started craving to hear laughter in those years. Children on roller skated, couples laughing as they held hands, or families out walking together. The laughter made me feel useful.
Things changed in the years after that memorial service. I started to hear a lot more growling, roaring, and rumbling sounds in the streets surrounding my park. Fewer people came to walk on the concrete below my light. The tree beside me continued to grow taller and broader. I enjoyed its shade, even though I felt like it diminished my light. It was the comfort of an old friend. Children still used the park for games, roller skates, or riding their bicycles, but older people tended to walk the park rather than young couples.
As more time passed, teenagers began to use the gazebo instead of bands. It needed a new coat of paint. I noticed more carvings on its wood. The paint on the railings was chipped. I heard the men working on me say I was old-fashioned and needed a more modern look to keep up with the times. They gave me a modern, sleek pole and a new globe for my light. Suddenly my light was a lot brighter: I hadn’t noticed how faded the old globe was!
The grass was still green, mowed weekly, and sometimes people still liked to sit under my light or the shade of my tree friend. But I felt the park wasn’t the center of town anymore. It was a lot lonelier without the company of people walking under me and using the gazebo for celebrations and picnics.
I felt like the town had moved away from me. I and the other lampposts still were bright each night, but we were forgotten by time. There were still dog walkers and the occasional couple that took a stroll under my light, but the days of picnics, the laughter of families playing in the park, and the band striking lively music during town celebrations had passed. I still stand tall by the old gazebo with my old tree friend, waiting for someone to walk by or sit under my light.
I don’t know who needs to hear this but Cas was in the Veil to meet Dean EXACTLY WHERE WE SPECULATED IT WOULD HAPPEN and they omitted it. That’s what happened. Cas was supposed to be with Dean when he crossed. That’s where the story, the mytharc, LOGIC dictated he would be. And it was Omitted.
