Hey guys,
So this is a prequel companion piece of sorts to my other stories 'Empty Bottles' and 'Reunion', though it can also easily be read on it's own.
I just CANNOT seem to stop writing Destiel fanfiction lately. Particularly Dean oriented ones. I do love to watch my baby spiral.
There are some dark themes in this and although it's not graphic, I figure I should let you know anyway.
Please forgive the amount of section breaks and how it's done in really short bursts but I thought it would work better this way.
Enjoy ^_^
When Dean Winchester was three years old, he prayed to Santa Claus. He prayed because his parents had told him Santa gives presents to all the good children and he could ask for anything he wanted. So, Dean got on his knees next to his bed and prayed for the baby that would come soon to be a sister. Dean liked the idea of having a sister, he liked the balance of it. He promised that he would look after his sister, that he would protect her from any bad kids who tried to be mean to her, he promised only to be mean to her if she was very very annoying. He prayed that his sister would grow up happy and he promised that he would try and help make that happen.
When little Sammy had come along instead, Dean had thrown a huge tantrum, even going so far as to throw a building block at the nurse. But when Mary had settled him on the bed and placed the surprisingly heavy bundle in his arms, that disappointment quieted at once. He supposed that a little brother wasn't much different from a little sister, and he made the same promises to Sammy that he had made to Santa Claus.
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When Dean was nine years old, he prayed to God. He prayed because he had since learned that Santa Claus wasn't real, and that God was who you prayed to for the big stuff. This time, he prayed because Sammy was sick and Dean had spent the last of the money his father had left him on some cough syrup. He prayed that John would give up on Hunting and come back, he prayed that the tickle in his own throat wouldn't get worse, that Sammy would get better overnight and that the heater in the room would finally turn on.
Come morning, Sammy was shivering one minute and sweating the next and Dean hadn't slept, alternating between taking the extra blanket away and tucking his brother in again. The cough syrup was half gone and although Dean too had begun coughing, he stubbornly left it all for his brother. It wasn't until two days later that John came back to find Dean in a state of near delirium, kicking the broken heater, with Sammy, terrified and hungry, running to cling onto his leg. John had taken a rare fortnight off from Hunting to whisk them away to Bobby's where it was warm and comfortable and once Dean had recovered enough to think clearly, he figured that although his prayer hadn't really come true, he was glad he'd been ill enough to make his father stay with them. At least for a little while.
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The next time that Dean prayed was when he was seventeen years old. This time he prayed because he was scared. He prayed that Sammy would come home before John did, he prayed while running towards the school, along the edges of the woods, the park, the library, anywhere that Sam had ever mentioned going. He prayed that Sam was okay and that when he got back to the house, Sam would be there, curled up on the sofa with a book and rolling his eyes at how worried his brother was. He prayed it so hard he thought his brain would burst while he called for his brother, trying not to draw the attention of the neighbours as he searched the whole town overnight. Dean prayed right up to the point he trudged home in defeat.
John had come home that afternoon and it was two days before Dean could walk properly again. John had regretted his harshness almost immediately but as soon as Dean could hobble, John had sent him out again to search the town for his brother while he took the main roads, worry for his youngest son eclipsing everything else. The next two weeks had been fraught with tension and outbursts of uncontrolled fury. When Sam had finally burst through the door, grinning and filthy, so damn proud of himself, covered with fur and Cheetos dust, Dean had just been so relieved to see him safe that he forgot to be angry and pulled his brother close, heedless of the way that the tightness of Sammy's grip sent sharp pains through his ribs.
After that, Dean figured that he'd given God His chance. Apparently, Dean's prayers hadn't meant crap. So, God or no, he gave up on the whole idea.
xxx
He had prayed once more to God, years later, after meeting Layla. He prayed because he had said that he would, not that he thought it would help. He had made this explicitly clear in his prayer, although he had also emphasised Layla's goodness and how much she deserved to live a full and happy life, regardless of what his own beliefs were.
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Then, he had met Castiel and learned that angels were real. He had always known about Hell; demons and Hell-hounds were creatures he had intimate experience with, but the idea that the opposite was also true had baffled him. But Cas hadn't been like what he would have expected. Sure, he had been kinda pompous and had a stick up his ass about something or other but mostly, he wasn't too bad. He had helped them out a couple of times, explained some things that no one else would, and then Lilith had become a threat, and Dean had been desperate. Throughout his years, God had never answered him, he had learned how to deal with disappointment and just keep swinging. But Cas, Cas was definitely real, and he wasn't as much of a dick as some of the other angels he'd met. It was a slim hope, but his career was a tapestry woven of slim hopes, and so he had prayed to Castiel.
And Castiel had answered.
xxx
It had been almost a decade and what felt like several lifetimes since that moment. The moment when Dean had found something worth believing in, though he hadn't known it at the time. Belief had come much later, after the friendship and Purgatory and the arguments and the plethora of mistakes. In fact, the belief hadn't truly come until now, just in time to shatter into stardust. Cas' eyes burned out and he fell to the ground, his wings leaving their broken imprint in the dirt.
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Dean Winchester was not a religious man. But he had met God, done Him a solid, the guy owed him a favour. And so, without faith, without hope, he prayed to God behind a pirate themed restaurant. He prayed because he was hurting and desperate. He prayed because he didn't know what else to do. He prayed because Cas had taught him that sometimes, praying worked. He wasn't surprised when nothing happened. Only angry. Furious at the debt left unpaid, eyes swimming with all of the could haves, would haves, should haves. Dean beat the crap out of a wooden pirate sign and felt nothing change.
xxx
Dean threw the lighter at the pyre and watched as his faith burned and flaked away into ash. Just because he knew that God existed didn't change the fact that He was as good as useless, even when it mattered.
Sam stood next to him, face sombre with his own grief. Dean loved and trusted his brother. He knew in his heart that Sam would always try to do the right thing, Dean would support him and question him and follow him and help him and do his best to keep him safe.
But Dean had believed in Castiel.
So that's it. It's quite short and doesn't go into too much detail but I think I just wanted to explore a bit of Dean's faith (or lack thereof) throughout his life up to 13x01.
I figured that going into too much detail and showing too many full scenes would kind of detract from the detachment of it and the contemplative-ness, if that makes sense.
All feedback is appreciated and welcome, it's always an amazing feeling to hear from you.
Love Tibbins xx