Title: Pray
Summary: In the episode 2x13 "Houses of the Holy," Sam shocks Dean by revealing he prays everyday. This got me thinking. When did Sam start praying? And why? This is my answer to that question. I'm not good at summaries, but please read. I promise it won't be horrible =P
Warning: Rated teen due to slight language, and violence.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to Supernatural.
Side note: This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter SPN fic. And this story will have a Christian perspective
Chapter One
Providence, Rhode Island, 2007
This case was a difficult one to swallow. Three victims with evil secrets, and three killers completely at peace, who swore an angel of God had spoken to them. Sam believed them, believed in angels. Dean, on the other hand, wouldn't hear of it. He was convinced the true being behind these murders was, in fact, a vengeful spirit. The spirit of Father Gregory to be precise. A holy man gunned down in front of the House of God, with the knowledge of the victims' confessions. Why couldn't Sam see that?
"It's all starting to make sense," Dean declared, lifting the picture of the Father from its memorial. "A devoted priest dies a violent death, that's vengeful spirit material right there. And he knew all the other stiffs because they all went to church here. And I'm willing to bet that because he was their priest, he knew things about them no one else knew."
"Then again, Father Reynolds started praying for God's help about two months ago, right?" Dean's face was blank. "Right about the time all of this started happening?"
"C'mon man, what's your deal?"
"What do you mean?"
"Look, I'll admit I'm a bit of a skeptic. Since when are you all Mr. 700 club?" Sam shrugged. "No seriously. From the get-go you've been willing to buy this angel crap, man. What's next, you're going to start praying everyday?"
"I do."
"What?"
"I do pray everyday. I have for a long time…" Silence. Dean stared at him, shocked.
"The things you learn about a guy." Sam shrugged again, looking sadly at his brother. He couldn't tell him. Dean had been there, but Sam knew he'd never understand. Never.
PrayPrayPray
Another town, another hunt. 1999.
The trio sneaked quietly across the yard, their bodies dark silhouettes against the bright afternoon sky. Before them lay an old country house, perfect for hiding out during the day and sleeping. Stealing one final, longing glance at the sun, sixteen year old Sam Winchester followed his father and brother in.
The back door led into what was once a bright and sunny kitchen. Quietly they crept from the kitchen to the front hall, pausing in front of the staircase. With theatrical hand gestures John defined their game plan. He had already staked out the house last night, studied the layout. It would make things much easier.
It was decided John would take the front rooms, Dean the farther left back rooms, and Sam the back rooms farther right. They were to take care of business, then get the hell out of there. The boys nodded in agreement, no sense staying around longer than needed.
Dean was excited as they mounded the steps, his heart beating rapidly with the thrill of the kill. Sam, however, did not share his brother's enthusiasm, wishing instead he could be outside. Or maybe reading a book. Anywhere but here, just as long as he was away from monsters and hunting.
Sam paused in front of the first door, the weight of the machete in his hand felt all too familiar. The thought made him shudder. A warrior, that's what he was, how he and Dean had been raised. It may have been who he was, but that sure as hell didn't mean he had to like it.
Taking a deep breath he opened the door, and without a second thought, beheaded the sleeping vampires. As far as John was concerned anything evil needed to die. No two ways about it. It was as simple as black and white. If it was evil it should be killed, if it wasn't well then you left it be. To be sure, if there was one thing John did not believe in, it was the existence of anything good. No, he hadn't believed in decency and goodness since Mary died.
And vampires, well they were evil incarnated. Bloodthirsty monsters clothed in flawless human flesh. Wolves in sheep's clothing. Beasts living by animal instincts alone.
Sam stood before the final bed, ready and armed. He'd already killed five others, rapidly and blindly, afraid of what he might see. Don't look and it won't hurt, he told himself. Don't look and it won't hurt.
Raising the large knife high above his head, Sam made the mistake of looking at the sleeping form. His heart skipped a beat. He hesitated. Getting as close as he dared, he inspected the figure with curious eyes. Taking it in. Taking her in.
The vampire appeared no older than himself, although for all he knew, she could have been hundreds of years old. Her blond hair lay around her in cascades of gold, framing her face like a halo. Her face was extremely lovely, like an angel craved gracefully, tenderly from stone. This girl, this supposedly terrible sin, looked no more dangerous than a flower. In fact, to Sam's astonishment, she was beautiful. Flawlessly radiant in all her elegance. And he found himself wondering what color her eyes were.
This sudden revelation, this unexpected vision, overwhelmed him. Unnerving him to the very core. With a soft, clang, Sam's machete fell to the floor. He took a step backward, shaking his head vigorously as if to clear it.
She look so...so, well…human. He couldn't handle it, couldn't take it. There was no way he'd be able to bring himself to destroy her. This beautiful person. Burying his head in his hands, Sam couldn't help but wonder. He questioned this job, this lifestyle, his father's ideas. What were they doing? Looking evil in the face. What kind of person did that? No sane one, that's for sure.
Where, he wondered, did the distinction between right and wrong exist? After all, if one was to truly think about it, these people hadn't chosen to become vampires. They wouldn't have wanted this for themselves. But they had been turned, and therefore abandoned to the mercy of their newfound desires, their raging hunger, and blood lust forever.
Had Sam been paying attention, he would have noticed how the vampire's eyes flickered, and slowing opened, at the sound of his weapon dropping. He would have seen the way her face transformed when she heard his beating heart, and smelled the blood pumping through his veins. Had he noticed the savagery burning in her eyes, or the deadly, bloodstained fangs which emerged from her once celestial face, he would have broken from his trance-like state. He would have thrown himself into battle mode, and slain the bitch.
Only, he didn't notice, until it was too late. With an ear-splitting screech, she lunged herself at the youngest Winchester, her fangs gleaming murderous. Her mouth craving his blood.
To Be Continued...
Okay, so I realize it was kind of short. But I hoped you enjoyed, and will continue reading xD Reviews would be greatly appreciated.
BCA