Hi, everyone. Hope you're all doing well.
I would just like to say that I mean absolutely no disrespect to any religions or religious people whatsoever. This is just how I picture something like this would go in the American Dad universe. (But a more serious American Dad universe)

It was a Sunday. Not only was it God's day, it was also a day of rest. A day to be with family. A day to visit a place of worship and learn how to be a better person. A day where a man could relax and enjoy himself before getting ready to return to the monotony of office life.

They found out Steve was dead on a Sunday. Murdered. After spending 12 agonising, terrifying hours wondering where he was, they then had to learn that someone had killed him.

Stan had always believed that everything happened for a reason. He might not always understand God's reasoning, but he would never question it. God would always provide. That was what he had been taught his entire life, and he'd always believed it.

Until his son was killed. Now he believed in nothing. Why would God take his child? Not only that, why would He take Steve in such a cruel way? Everything happened for a reason. What reason could there possibly be for his son to be murdered?

Those were the thoughts that swarmed Stan's mind – when he wasn't drunk, that is. The majority of his sober hours were spent in his office, poring over his Bible, trying to find a psalm or a passage that would help him. 'Everything happens for a reason', he told himself, flipping through the pages. There had to be something in there; it wasn't called the Good Book for nothing.

But what was the reason? Was it to make him stronger? Stan failed to see how him breaking down and crying every day made him a stronger person. To show the world how cruel people could be? Impossible; that was already a well-known fact. Or could Steve's death be the final straw, the one that convinced judges all over the world to lock people like that away for good? Stan had trouble believing that, as God could have done that years ago if He really wanted to.

Besides, God had tested his faith years ago, and Stan had regained it. He couldn't imagine why God would want to do it again.

Every night he prayed. He prayed to God to bring Steve back and take him instead. Of course, no matter how hard he prayed, it didn't happen, and so Stan came to the conclusion that there was no God. There couldn't be a God, because Stan could not understand why his family were being punished like this. Because God could bring Steve back if He really wanted to, right?

Steve had done nothing that deserved what had happened to him, and neither had Stan or his family. He'd lived his life according to the Bible, and this was how God thanked him? By killing his boy?

Taking another swig of beer, Stan stared at the framed picture of Jesus in his office, swaying slightly. His eyes narrowed and his fists clenched.

"Fuck you!" he snarled, ripping the picture off the wall and hurling it to the ground, where it shattered. Stan looked down at the broken glass littering floor, feeling like it was a visual representation of his heart. "Bring back my son," he said to the photo. But he got no answer. He took another gulp of beer. "Take me instead."

The photo, unsurprisingly, said nothing.

If Steve's death had been an accident, maybe Stan could have 'come to terms' with it, for lack of a better phrase. It was unlikely, but perhaps he would be able to talk to his wife and daughter, to talk about Steve, and eventually be able to remember the good times they'd had. Okay, that was a lie, but still, his son dying in an accident might have been easier to cope with. Someone had deliberately done this. Someone had taken his son into their home and killed him, and Stan couldn't make sense of it.

Somebody had once told him that "when you weep, God weeps with you", and that was yet another thing he struggled to believe. Because if God felt that bad about taking Steve from them, why didn't He bring him back?


Stan lay in bed on a Sunday, staring at the ceiling. How many Sundays had it been since Steve had died? He'd lost count.

The door opened and Hayley and Francine came in, the both of them dressed.

"Dad?" Hayley asked tentatively. "Are you going to church today?" Not that she and Francine wanted to go; it just felt weird seeing Stan in bed later than 7am on Sunday.

"No," Stan said, not looking at them. He never wanted to step foot in a church ever again.

"Okay," said Francine quietly, before the two of them left. Stan's eyes did not move from the ceiling; life was just getting worse and worse. He wished the police had never told them what had happened to Steve. He really did not need to know what his son had gone through, because now he couldn't stop thinking about it. Like now; every single day, all he could think about was what Steve had endured before he died.

Even now, although Stan felt he knew too much, there was still so much they didn't know. Because even the police and the investigators didn't know. Like what that guy said to get Steve inside his house. Like why he did it. Like when he did it. Nobody knew if he attacked right away, or if he lulled Steve into a false sense or security first.

At that moment, he was thinking about when he and Francine had had to identify Steve's body.


A knock came at the door, and Francine rushed to open it, revealing two police officers.

"Well? Is it him?" she'd asked, knowing that they had gone to investigate the house the boy who she was certain was Steve had gone into. "Have you found my baby?"

The policemen did not answer; instead, they stepped inside and stood next to the sofa, where the rest of the family was.

"I'm afraid it's not good news," said one officer, and the Smiths froze, staring up at them. "We've found a body, and the description matches Steve. We're 99 per cent sure it's him, but we'd like for you to come and identify it."

The most inhuman, animalistic noise arose from Stan's throat, and his hands balled into fists, and he punched the wall, denting it. Not his child, not his only son. This couldn't be happening.

Soon, he and Francine found themselves at the morgue, a place no child nor parent should be. Hayley had wanted to come, but he had only barked "no!" at her before helping his sobbing wife out the front door.

They'd identified Steve from the picture shown to them, purple face and bruises and all, but the both of them had still insisted on seeing him.

Up until that point, Stan had been hoping it had been some kind of accident. Maybe that guy had invited Steve inside, and a terrible freak accident had occurred. It was unlikely, but not impossible. Deep down, he'd always known that it wasn't true, but it was just easier to believe. But seeing his son like that made it all too real for Stan.

Later, when his mind was a tiny bit clearer, he was all set for revenge. He had his gun, and was ready to hunt down the piece of shit who'd killed his child, but he couldn't shake off a hysterical Francine. Literally; she was sobbing and clinging to him with a vice grip, and he had no choice but to stay in the house. Unfortunately, by the time he was able to leave, the police announced that they had caught the murderer, and so Stan couldn't dish out his own personal form of justice.


It was mid-afternoon when Stan finally ventured out of bed, and made his way downstairs. Hayley was in the living-room, typing away on her laptop. She looked up at him, but he just walked straight into the kitchen, ignoring Francine who was in the middle of her daily rigorous cleaning. Heading to the fridge, he picked up a six pack of beer, and wordlessly made his way to his office, closing the door behind him.

Slumping at his desk, Stan cracked open his first beer. He glanced over at the face-down framed picture of Steve that he hadn't yet found the strength to put back up.

By his third beer, Stan's eyes were slightly glazed.

Lying discarded on the floor was his Bible. Shoving his bottle aside, Stan forced himself to move, and picked it up. Stan held the book, and looked up at the ceiling; time for one last attempt.

"God," he began, "if You're up there, please hear me. I have questions and I desperately need answers. I want to know why. Why did You let my son die in such a cruel way? Why did You let him die at all?"

He got no answer, but perhaps right now, that was a good thing, as Stan needed to get his thoughts out. "He was so young," he continued. "Steve was a good kid; why did You choose him to suffer like that?"

Stan didn't think he would ever understand. What had Steve done that was so bad that he deserved to die in the violent manner he had? To be punished the way he had?

From below, he heard the unmistakeable sound of Francine crying, a sound he'd heard far too often, and he covered his ears. He couldn't bear to hear it, especially knowing there was nothing he could do to help her.

Although he and Francine had not discussed it with each other, or even had said it aloud to themselves, they both knew the only reason were still alive was Hayley. Even if they hadn't been the best at caring for her lately, she still needed her parents. And Stan needed his wife, and Francine needed her husband, even if they didn't know it yet.

Maybe... Stan's eyes widened. "Is this my punishment?" he asked. "I know I've been a terrible husband and father, but wasn't there a way You could have punished me without killing my child?"

Stan already knew that he had failed as a parent; his son being murdered less than ten minutes away from his doorstep was proof of that. As a parent, the knowledge that he had outlived (one of) his child(ren) was awful, and if that wasn't bad enough, his fourteen-year-old had to endure the trauma of being raped before his life was taken.

"I just wanna know if he's okay. Can't You ask him to send me a message?"

Stan wasn't sure if he still believed in Heaven, but if there was one, then he was sure Steve was up there, happy and watching over them.

Stan looked down at his Bible, before looking back up at the ceiling. The sign he was waiting for didn't come, but still he remained where he was.

After a few moments, Stan nodded to himself and ripped up the Bible, his faith now gone completely. There was no God. He knew that now.


Hearing a knock at the front door, Francine put down the duster and trudged through the living-room. Opening it, she saw it was Father Carrington.

"Father? What are you doing here?"

"Hello, Francine. We've noticed you haven't been at church these last couple of months." He stepped inside, and Francine only stared at him.

"We've been.. busy," was all she found she could say. Had it really been a few months? Francine realised they hadn't been to church since the day they buried Steve. She didn't particularly want to go back, knowing that her son's body was lying in the ground not too far away.

"I see. Can I speak to your husband?"

"Sure; he's upstairs in his office." Francine went back to cleaning after Carrington climbed the stairs. She didn't want to hear what he had to say, and she knew that Stan wouldn't either.

Father Carrington walked down the hallway and knocked on the door of Stan's office. He got no answer, but entered anyway. He found Stan sitting behind his desk, the floor littered with clutter, torn Bible pages, and empty beer bottles. Stan had his head resting on the table, and only looked up when he heard his name.

"Stan?" Carrington closed the door, and waited for Stan's glassy eyes to focus on him.

"What do you want?"

"I wanna talk to you." A lot of the members of his congregation kept asking about the Smiths', and truthfully, he was a little bit worried about them, too.

"Talk about what?"

"Well, we're all concerned about you and the rest of the family. After all, you haven't been to church in over two months. I think if you come back, it might help you feel more at peace."

"At peace? My son is dead; how can I ever feel at peace again?"

"Being surrounded by people who share the love and light of God has been known to help deal with tragedy similar to yours," Carrington told him.

"I don't need to come back to church, because I don't believe in God any more," Stan informed Carrington, who looked shocked. He'd never imagined that anything could shake Stan's faith, and truth be told, he was a bit unsure of what to do now.

"What you have to remember is that Steve's in a better place, now. He's up in Heaven, and he's with God. He would want you to carry on."

"Oh, please. How would you know?" Stan spat.

"Well, I am a priest," Carrington reminded him, and Stan only huffed. "I understand you're still grieving, but this isolation can't be good for you. Can't you come to a service, just to see how you feel? You never know, it might make you feel better. I saw when I came in that you haven't opened the consolation cards everyone's sent you."

"I am never going back to church," said Stan firmly. "There is no God, and I don't wanna spend hours sitting there listening to how great He is when my son is dead. Nothing will ever bring him back, you know. I've been praying every day, and God hasn't brought Steve back. He could if He wanted to; you know it, and I know it. So why hasn't He done it?"

"Well, maybe this was all part of His plan, and He chose Steve for a reason. God never gives us more than we can't handle," Carrington soothed, moving closer to the desk.

"Well, He's not doing a very good job, is He?" Stan snapped. "Because I can't handle this! I just want my son back!" He grabbed his head; too tipsy to be very loud. Why couldn't Carrington understand? The world had stopped, and their lives would never be the same. Going to church would solve nothing. "If God can bring Steve back, but isn't doing it, then He's not good and loving, is He? And if He can't bring Steve back, then He's not all-powerful." That was one of the things that hurt the most; learning that God was potentially keeping his son away from him, especially when He could see how upset Stan was.

Carrington sighed; this was going to be harder than he thought.

"Everyone dies, Stan. Just remember that. We don't get to choose when that will happen. You will be reunited with Steve eventually. You will join him and God in the Kingdom of Heaven, where you'll spend eternity with him, but I think until that time, you will find comfort in the people who care about you here. You may not think it right now, but God loves you and cares about you -"

"If there is a God, He's a cruel, sick bastard!" Stan yelled, having had enough. "We're ants and God is the kid with the magnifying glass!"

Carrington looked shocked, and for a while, he couldn't say anything. He'd never heard any of his congregation speak like this, let alone his most devoted former attendee. Sighing, he finally took a seat, clutching his Bible tightly. Though Stan glared at him, he remained where he was.

"It may be part of God's plan."

"Why would God want to kill my son?"

"God gave us free will, and unfortunately, some men choose to use that free will to do bad things. Would you want God to take away free will, and have everyone under His control like puppets?"

"Yes, if it meant that Steve would still be alive."

"Just know that God was weeping for them both that day; for the man who chose to commit this act, and also for the innocent victim. We cannot tamper with free will, Stan. Unfortunately, that man chose to do something bad with his. And as tragic as it was, Steve also chose to go into that house."

Infuriated, Stan punched him square in the face. How dare he?

To his credit, Father Carrington did not react; instead, he merely gathered himself and stood. "I know you didn't mean that," he said calmly. "I forgive you, and we hope to see you and your family back at church soon. We really do."

"Get out," Stan spat, his voice full of venom, and Carrington silently left the room. Without saying a word to Francine or Hayley, he let himself out of the house, and once he had gone, the two of them ran up to Stan's office.

"We heard yelling. What happened?" Francine asked. Stan was still sitting at his desk, head in hands. He looked up, but did not look at them. His face looked even more hollow than usual, and his fingers were bunched into his hair.

"He blamed Steve," he said quietly. "He said it was Steve's choice to go in that house."

Francine and Hayley's jaws dropped.

"He said that?!" Francine brought a hand to her mouth. "How could he say something like that?"

"Some BS about free will," Stan muttered. He noted that it was his first time talking to his family in months. Actually talking, and not just drunken snapping. He remembered those days when they could actually bear to be around each other.

He looked up at them, properly looking at them for the first time in ages, and saw they terrible they looked. They looked like he felt.

The three of them looked at each other, unable to speak, but the pain in their eyes spoke volumes of their shared grief.

It took him a few moments to notice that Roger wasn't there, and Stan realised he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Roger. He turned away, and resumed staring at the opposite wall.

"I can't... believe it," said Francine, shaking her head. Well, that sealed it; they were definitely never going back to church.

Hayley didn't know what to say. How could anyone, let alone a priest, hear about what happened, and decide to blame the victim? She was outraged, and also very hurt. Father Carrington had always seemed like he had been a good guy; she'd always thought he was a better priest than Father Delaney. But now, after hearing that, Hayley was reminded of why she had never been a believer.

Stan could see Hayley and Francine standing there out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't look at them. He could sense they wanted to talk to him, but remained quiet, unsure if they were going to get Snappy Stan, Shouty Stan, or Sobbing Stan. Even he didn't know what one it was going to be.

He determinedly kept his gaze fixed on his desk, the three of them silent, until they gave up and left.

Only when he heard the door close did Stan look up. He let out a huge howling wail, and just cried and cried. Blindly reaching out, he clutched the photo of Steve to his chest as he sobbed.

~ X ~

Of course, I had to write this before I saw "Daesong Heavy Industries", but I figure something like this would shake Stan's faith.
What did you think? I'd love to know!