Disclaimer: This all belongs to the WB and Eric Kripke and none of it is mine
Disclaimer: This all belongs to the WB and Eric Kripke and none of it is mine. More's the pity.
A/N: Just a short short. I got the impression that Dean and Sam were crossing in season 3, moving to the other's position on faith (Dean and his "I'd like to," in "Sin City," for example). Of course, all that thinkin' and thinkin' led to a story! Please R&R.
UNBELIEVER
By: MistWraith
He had laid all of the weaponry out on the bed in Bobby's spare room. The last couple of weeks before De--his mind shied away, shut down, because if you don't acknowledge it, it just isn't. So…just before. The guns had been neglected, forgotten as the desperation and fear had grown. But now he was remembering what Dad had taught him, what Dean had taught him. Never let your weapons fall into disrepair; they're your first and last line of defense.
His hands moved automatically. Not with quite the swift skill that Dean had—used to have—it had been a long time since he had done it, Dean generally shouldering the task, but it had been hammered into him enough that his muscles and nerves knew the way.
Good thing, since his thoughts raced everywhere except the present. The cold, empty, terrible Deanless present. Alone as he had never been before. Even after Jess, devastating as that had been, there had been Dean. And there had been his belief, his faith, that something greater was out there, something that they could rely on in the darkest nights. His voice, so full of certainty, arguing with Dean in that muddy field outside Roy LeGrange's tent.
"But if you know evil's out there, how can you not believe good's out there, too?"
Sam Winchester could feel his jaw clench so tightly, he thought his teeth would grind into powder. What an arrogant fool he had been. So sure Dean was being blind and pigheaded, but that he knew. College boy with his Philosophy 101 semester under his belt understood the essence of faith.
Ass.
It was Dean in the end who had truly seen the Big Picture. Sam could still hear the bleakness in Dean's voice, see the pain in his eyes. "There's no higher power, there's no God. I mean, there's just chaos, and violence, and random unpredictable evil that comes out of nowhere and rips you to shreds."
I get it now, Dean. I'm only sorry it took so long for me to see the light. Or maybe that should be, the dark.
He had prayed every day. He had truly, truly believed and, at the last, what had it gotten him? Jess was lost, Dad was lost, demons ran rampant over Earth seeking dominion, an ancient mistress of evil walked the world in the guise of a child and Dean suffered the torments of Hell for eternity.
He had promised to save his brother. And he had failed. Failed Dean in the one thing he had ever promised him. All his supposed smarts, all that research he was supposed to be so good at, meant nothing in the end.
And neither did his prayers.
He had prayed this last year as he had never done before. Fiercely, fervently, desperately. Day and night. Please, there isn't anything I won't do if You ask me to. Dean doesn't deserve this. He's always been one of Yours, a fighter for good. He's sacrificed everything, for Dad, for me, for all those helpless innocent people out there being preyed on in the dark. And he never asked for anything for himself. Please.
The silence in response had been deafening. And Lilith had giggled and practically sucked her thumb—and had had his brother ripped to shreds. While he stood there helpless, watching.
Azazel would have given him the world. God would not even give him his brother.
He would never pray again.
Why had he been able to save himself but not Dean? For the moment, he hated himself even more than he hated Lilith or God. Fucking coward, that's what he was. He hadn't been able to find the shield, or whatever the hell it was, for Dean, but when his own life was on the line, well, there it was.
Somewhere deep inside him, he could feel something stirring, power searching for release, seeking to fill the terrible emptiness. It whispered to him, both seductive and demanding. I can help you. We can rescue Dean together, even out of Hell. We can make them both pay, Lilith and your faithless God.
And he listened. Because the only other voice he would have listened to had been stilled by the viciousness of Hell and the indifference of Heaven. Dean had been his strength and his shield. Dean had not believed in God or angels, but he had believed that Sam was good and worthy and strong enough to push away the evil gifted to him when he was six months old.
We were both wrong in our faith, Dean. God isn't what I thought He was, and I'm not what you thought I was. Without you…I feel myself slipping, nodding my head when that voice whispers to me.
And if it would get Dean out of Hell—well, he had already broken one promise to his brother, though he had tried his hardest not to. This one was a no-brainer. Whatever it took to rescue Dean is what he would do.
As if in response to his decision, the power within seemed suddenly to blaze with a dark red fire that he could "see," and he thought he heard deadly laughter. He would leave Bobby's tomorrow, knowing the wily old hunter would sense the change and try to stop him. He didn't want to hurt Bobby, but he would not let the older man get in his way.
A grim smile settled over his features and he thought he heard that cold laughter again. He would learn how to use what he had been given. He would get Dean out of the Pit and even if he could not have his brother back—the torn and destroyed body, nothing now but cold flesh and vacant eyes, lay buried in a shallow grave, with no name on the marker; Dean had deserved so much more in death than Sam had been able to give him—he would send Dean on to some place where Dean could find the peace that had been denied him in life. And then he would kick Hell's ass.
And Heaven's, too.
A/N: I couldn't help but wonder if Sam's feelings had changed, and I couldn't imagine they hadn't. Let me know what you think!