DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I must in fact admit that I own nothing. Supernatural belongs to its respective owners and the song "DOUBTING THOMAS" belongs to Nickel Creek (Who I highly recommend. More bluegrass-y than country but lyrical content, vocal ability and the actual playing of instruments is just astounding!).
This is my first SN fic. Actually inspired by solitaire and having the song in my head. The bold are Dean's thoughts, italics within the -- are song lyrics. Oh, I also would like to claim all grammatical errors as my own, since I have no beta. Hopefully I don't suck too badly.
Enjoy.
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"…I took a promise, but I do not feel safe. Oh, me of little Faith…"
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Is there an unwritten rule somewhere that says the Winchester brothers can't sleep at the same time? It seemed like every time Sam slept these days Dean was standing guard over him. Which in and of itself – not completely uncommon, but if Dean were to sleep and Sam stay up it became…not right, and lately it's been happening too often. Soon one of them would be off their game and that just had bad written all over it.
At the present moment it was Dean who was awake, leaning back against a pillow-cushioned headboard, squinting against the glow of the computer screen.
Research?
Not at two in the morning. No, his eyes were straining against the light because for the last hour or so he'd been playing solitaire in an attempt to not stare at his brother, to not linger on their father, on his words and to not wonder how the hell they were going to live past their next birthdays.
Something bad is going to happen. It's coming and Dean is doing his best to ignore it until it gets here.
Sweet, a five of hearts, I can move that damn four now.
After another twenty minutes of solitaire Dean was starting to feel sick. Cards were meant to be held anyway and he was tired of having to double tap the little square that was the mouse pad in an attempt to be quiet for Sam.
Folding the screen down he effectively ended his game. Placing the lap top next to him where his pillow should have been he turned to look over to Sam.
Sammy.
His baby brother.
God, he wanted to smash something. He wanted to kill something, something so evil he could pound his fists into it until there was nothing left and feel like maybe; maybe he just prolonged his brothers life a little.
Dean had promised his father he wouldn't say anything. Wouldn't let Sammy know. And Dean kept his promises. He didn't have a lot of things in life; he had Sammy and his word. And secrets, he had lots of those.
This though, this was something else all together. This was huge and life altering and he wanted so badly to tell him. He could give Sam half answers to the questions he'd been asking and then they could figure everything out together.
How was Dean supposed to keep his brother safe if Sam was only operating with half the information?
Dean could feel a rage start to grow in his chest and he had to stand. He moved quietly from his bed to the foot of Sammy's. He ran both hands through his hair in a weak attempt to release some of his quickly building stress. He had to watch it or he was likely to start pulling hair.
Dean had had a lot placed on his shoulders from a very young age, nothing quite this immense. He had no one to go to with it. His father was dead, he couldn't tell Sam, and damn if he didn't trust anyone else enough to let them in on the secret.
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"…I can't keep my promises, 'cause I don't know what's safe. Oh, me of little Faith..."
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He moved up into the small hallway (if it could be called that) in front of the bathroom and away from his view of Sam. Pacing at the bottom his bed would no doubt wake him and Dean needed to think this through. After all, he'd promised.
After what seemed like an eternity of pacing he'd only managed to come up with 'Keep a promise to a dead father, or keep his brother alive and good.' Because that was something he couldn't do without Sam. He moved back towards the beds, got to the corner and did a one-eighty.
Standing at the corner with his hands balled into fists at his side, he took a few deep breaths.
This is your word Dean. This is it.
He went back to his bed and sat.
And sat.
Sam must really have been in a deep sleep if he wasn't feeling the staring. When Sammy did finally stir, Dean stiffened up. He knew moving didn't mean awake, but he had to say it now. If Sam didn't hear him…it'd be easier the next time he said the words.
So, with his hands in his lap and his gaze set on his brother, he speaks; "Dad says…" he blinked hard against that pain, "Dad said it's war. All out war Sammy. I'm talking Heaven versus Hell, good and bad, angels and demons. And you were born for the front lines."
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"….Oh, me of little Faith..."
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Thank you for reading! I take any and all reviews so let me know what you think. I feel it may be a little choppy, but I don't think it takes away from what I was going for and I like it.
I actually have been writing bits and pieces for a SN story along the lines of the only spoken words in this story – perhaps I may use this as a beginning. Anyway, please review.