AN: This was very quickly put together so sorry if it's a little jumpy and choppy! Also, I dunno if there are any Grey's Anatomy fans here, but if there are this was partly inspired by April's spiralling as she loses touch with her faith!

Never drift from your God, Atticus. His actions may seem questionable at times, but remember He is beyond our earthly understanding.

Atticus Finch had never doubted the existence of God. Almost from the cradle he had been taught to believe, and as he grew older his faith only seemed to grow stronger. His children often saw him with the Bible open on his lap as he highlighted favourite passages and Scripture, and he was a regular worshipper at the Methodist Church in Maycomb. In testing times his faith had been his comfort, his space in the third row pew had been his refuge, his God had been his beacon.

Atticus Finch's faith had never been shaken until October 31st 1935.

As he sat rigidly in the church pew he felt like his faith was being chipped away piece by piece, he felt his firm belief in his God diminish with each word the preacher said. The preacher echoed his mama's words, claiming how the actions of God went beyond humanely understanding. Atticus had the desire to approach the pulpit and slam the stupid book shut. He had been taught that God was gracious and compassionate, that those who were merciful would obtain mercy, but what gracious and compassionate God would have allowed this to happen? If God granted mercy to those who were merciful then why was he siting here?

If there were a God, why had He allowed Bob Ewell to stab his son 17 times?

Atticus had always believed in his mama's teachings that everything that happened in life was part of God's great plan, that even when something terrible happened to a person, God had a reason for making it so.

But it was impossible to find the reason for Arthur Radley carrying his son's broken, bloody body through the front door.

He had felt bile rise in his throat as Alexandra had screamed. Jem looked as though he were bleeding from every orifice in his body, his neck was hanging at that ungodly angle, and he wasn't moving.

But Jem could never even bring himself to hurt a June bug. Jem was merciful to every living creature he encountered.

Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.

God wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't.

Atticus followed Arthur Radley into Jem's room and watched him place his son on the bed, watching for the twitch of an eyelid, the move of a finger. Anything to indicate that Jem had been shown mercy.

He was still.

Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, Atticus took his son's hand in his; it was ice cold. "Jem?" He didn't know why he was whispering, though maybe it was because Jem looked so peaceful, almost as if he were asleep and would wake any moment. "Jeremy?" Atticus tried again, unable to stop the catch in his throat.

He was so still.

Atticus tried to ignore that his son's chest wasn't rising or falling, tried to ignore how his fingers seemed to become stiffer every minute. His God wouldn't allow this to happen.

"Oh, Atticus." Alexandra was by his side, one hand clamped over her mouth, the other tight on his shoulder. Neither of them said anything, they didn't have to. Jem was gone.

In all his life Atticus had never been more grateful to have Alexandra around. While he sat with his son, Alexandra made all the necessary arrangements. It was Alexandra who contacted the undertaker; it was Alexandra who sorted the flowers and the prayers; it was Alexandra who sorted everything with the preacher.

It was Alexandra who made arrangements to get a wheelchair for Scout.

When they had though the worst of the night had already happened, Heck Tate had carried his profusely bleeding, screaming daughter through the door. Alexandra nodded that she would stay with Jem while Atticus went to tend to his daughter. On an instinct, he knew that his nightmare wasn't near over.

For the rest of the night Atticus stayed with his daughter, holding her hand tight as Dr Reynolds examined her. Through her tears they could only make out one sentence: "I can't feel my legs." After over an hour of examining her, Dr Reynolds confirmed that Scout would never walk again. His tomboy daughter who loved nothing more than climbing trees and running around town with her brother would be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of the life. It somehow felt like a fate worse than death.

On the day of Jem's funeral Scout had to be sedated. The past while had proven to be too much for her; her life changing overnight learning of both her brother's death and the loss of her legs. She had taken a fit of hysteria so bad that calling the doctor was the only option. Atticus had had to excuse himself from the room, struggling to keep himself together. Why was he being punished like this? Why were his children being punished?

God is merciful, Atticus. Always know that in your heart. Your God will always show you mercy.

It was all bullshit. God wasn't merciful, he was sadistic, twisted. If God were real and merciful, he wouldn't be in this situation. If God were real and merciful, he wouldn't have found himself in Maycomb's Methodist church for the second time just over one week later.

Scout, being unable to cope with her confinement to a wheelchair, had drowned herself in the bath while left unattended. In contrast to Jem's death where he felt as though everything inside him was crumbling, with the death of Scout he felt nothing. He was numb, unable to feel anything. What had he got left to live for? The little family he had created for himself had been completely wiped out, along with any remaining faith he had in his God.

When the funeral was over and his baby had been put in the ground, he told Alexandra and Jack he needed to be on his own. He was going to take a walk through town and they shouldn't wait for him. Alexandra had opened her mouth to rebuke him, but Jack had nudged her.

"We'll be here when you need us, Atticus." He had said, simply.

He had walked to town, not meeting anyone as next to all of Maycomb had been at Scout's funeral. Instead of heading towards his own office beside the bank, he turned towards the sheriff's office, knowing that Heck wouldn't be there. As he had known the door had been left opened and he was able to slip in with ease.

Atticus walked to Heck's desk, pulled out the third drawer from the bottom and picked up the handgun.

And remember, Atticus, suicide is a mortal sin. It's the absolute worst thing a child of God could do. It's one sin God can never forgive you for.

He put it to his head and pulled the trigger.