Chapter 2: Like Water Through Fingers
All Out of Faith
Chapter 2 – Like Water Through Fingers
Summary: What if Dean had not been chosen by Roy Le Grange.
A/N I don't own anything related to Supernatural. All I can claim are the errors, grammatical or otherwise.
¹ -² These are phrases taken from Heaven is for Real by Todd Burpo.
Thank you to all the reviewers, readers and followers.
No copyright infringement is intended. This fic is for entertainment purposes only. Enjoy.
SPN~SPN~SPN
Dig the grave already, Dean thought, not missing the sideways glances and the sad eyes directed at him as they sat in the one local diner.
It was Monday morning and he'd have thought the good people of Nebraska would be used to seeing a steady stream of frail, sick and terminal patients parading in to their town. Nonetheless, they all looked at him like there was no hope, like he was already dead. And if none of these righteous folks believed he could be saved then the preacher was a fake and Sam, his Sam…Dean sucked in a shaky breath before peering up at his brother who was busy scanning the local paper.
Sam looked tired, anxious, haunted. It was the same look he wore when at the hospital after the doctor told him there was nothing they could do. Dean had seen the horrible desperation in his brother's face and he would have done anything to take it away. He tried to get his brother to go on without him, to spare Sam from going through this again so soon after Jessica. But Sam refused, and Dean watched helplessly as his little brother walked out of that hospital room a little more desperate, a lot more broken and so close to shattering that a part of Dean died right then and there.
Afterwards, Dean hadn't heard from Sam in three days. He convinced himself that his brother had taken his advice and left even though the nurses tried to persuade him otherwise, telling him Sam was checking in, always when he was asleep. But Dean knew all about these types of lies and a part of him was relieved that Sammy hadn't come back while another part of him was heart sick. He didn't want to lie in that bed knowing Sam had gone and his dad wasn't coming so he'd gone back to the motel to see with his own eyes.
Dean let out a shallow sigh and looked out the window. He tried to forget all that and he tried to see beyond this place that reminded him of the hospital where everyone stared, but no one wanted to touch. Where they looked right through him like a ghost. He felt worn-out by the suffocating pity. He was tired, bone tired and all he wanted was to escape.
All of it.
No. Not all of it, he thought stupidly. Not Sammy or his dad, never his family. It hadn't been an option since he was four years old, since his mom had been taken away and he'd became consumed by the fear that his brother or father would leave him too. It made him cling to them more fiercely than anything else since and from that day forward, Dean knew he would never be the one to leave.
Ever.
No matter what. And that's when his fate was sealed and he was destined to be the one left behind…always the one left behind because they had an out; his dad had his obsession with the yellow eyed demon and Sam had his dream of school and a normal life.
And although Dean never wanted an out, he had one now and it trumped everyone else's and wasn't that a bitch because what good did it do him? No good at all because he didn't want revenge for the times he was dropped off at Bobby's or Pastor Jim's like an unwanted puppy. He didn't want to rub it in their faces for all the times they ditched him. All he wanted was to be together, with his brother and dad, as a family.
One last time.
Dean wondered whether he could coerce his mule headed brother to give up this quest and leave this shit hole so they could look for dad. But he knew it would be impossible to get Sammy to trade in one long shot, finding a miracle, for another, finding dad. He knew if he was in his brother's shoes, he wouldn't let anything get in the way of saving Sam. And his little brother was about a hundred times more stubborn than Dean could ever be.
"Dean, please…" Sam pleaded, pointing at Dean's barely touched breakfast.
Dean's chest tightened at Sammy's tone; it was needy and whiny and reminiscent of the little four-year old he used to hold those many years ago. It hurt because there was nothing Dean could do to make it better.
Nothing.
Because he was slipping away.
Slowly.
Inevitably.
Like water through fingers.
Dean closed his eyes, just so he wouldn't see Sammy's face, just so he wouldn't have to die a little more in Buttf*ck, Nebraska.
"Dean," Sam called.
Just give me a moment, Sam, just resting my eyes. Forever.
"Dean, are you done with breakfast?" Sam asked, letting the frustration and impatience leak out because he could tell Dean was done. He could tell by the way the coffee had gone cold before his brother had even taken one sip. He could tell by the way Dean made a face like he was eating bugs when he nibbled at his pancakes. He could tell by the way the fork was hooked onto the side of the plate like it would stay that way forever.
Sam scrubbed at his face hoping he could wipe the fatigue and worry from his mind, but he couldn't. He couldn't because Dean was barely holding on and Sam had to make sure his brother was eating, drinking and taking his meds. Had to make sure Dean was resting instead of puking and breathing instead of falling over. To do all that Sam needed to watch his brother constantly. It didn't matter whether Dean was in the car, in a diner, a motel room, asleep or awake. Even when Dean was in the washroom, Sam stopped what he was doing and listened for any sound of distress, observing the shadows slipping out from underneath the door frame to make sure Dean was still upright.
It meant Sam hardly had a moment to himself; even in his sleep, his mind was constantly churning over possible problems and solutions. It felt like time moved at an accelerated pace and Sam couldn't understand how the morning had come so quickly. How instead of doing research, he spent last night trying to get Dean comfortable.
Sam hated that word. It was what the doctor said was all they could do for his brother. But Dean was never comfortable, never at ease, never pain free and at times it took all of Sam's resolve not to reach out and do things for Dean when his arms and legs jerked and failed to perform the simplest tasks. It was at those times that he wished his dad was here because then one of them could take care of Dean and the other could look for a cure, or a miracle or some way to stop time…instead, Sam was trying to do it all himself and he was doing a piss poor job of it.
When Dean finally fell asleep last night, Sam leaned over and watched him breathe. He allowed himself the luxury of trying to memorize his brother's features, to commit them to memory. But the pallor of Dean's skin and the shallow, wheezy puffs passing for breaths were nothing like his brother. Nothing at all…
"Sam?" a soft voice called from behind.
Sam turned to see a sunshiny smile reflected at him. He forced a smile because he was unprepared to have his time taken up with idle conversation.
"I didn't expect to see you in town after...yesterday," Layla said diplomatically.
Sam noted how she chose her words, not wanting to broach the subject of Dean's reticence to Roy Le Grange. But at the sound of her voice, Dean opened his eyes.
"Good morning, Dean." Layla smiled genuinely then turned back to Sam. "Are you planning to stay a little longer?"
Sam understood Layla's underlying question – 'are you staying until Sunday?'
Sam cleared his throat. "I'm not sure yet. I wanted to find out more about what happened yesterday," he said, hoping this wouldn't set Dean off, but his brother didn't seem to be paying him much attention.
"Yes, wasn't it wonderful what happened to Mr. Miles? Gives hope to the rest of us, doesn't it?" Layla said.
Sam had pulled out his wallet to pay for breakfast and his head snapped around at the mention of the old man. "You know him?"
"Why sure, Mr. Miles has been paralyzed for years. None of the doctors gave him any hope of regaining his mobility but God works in mysterious ways." Layla beamed beatifically.
"Do you think he would talk to me…about his healing?" Sam placed the bills on the table without taking his eyes off the young woman.
Layla turned towards Dean before offering her help. His brother responded with a breathy sigh and a defeated shrug of his shoulders.
Layla turned back to Sam, "I can speak to him, if you like."
"Do you think I could see him today? I really need to speak to him as soon as possible. Today would be best," Sam's words tumbled out, strung together in one panic filled breath.
Layla's smile faded. "Of course, I'll do my best, Sam. Give me a minute to make a call," she replied softly then excused herself.
SPN~SPN~SPN
Dean stared vacantly at the darkening sky. Most of the breakfast crowd was gone and Sam had left 10 minutes earlier to meet Mr. Miles, the 'miracle man'. Layla had taken up Sam's seat, sipping at her coffee while she thumbed through the tourist flyers clipped to the wall of their booth.
"We're not far from the World's Largest Time Capsule or the Largest Porch Swing," she said lightly, turning the colorful advertisement so Dean could see. "I wonder what they have in that time capsule?" she asked rhetorically. "Might be worth a trip," her eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"Probably not," Dean muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I've seen my share of World's," he breathed, "Largest, Biggest," then waved his hand to signify all other descriptions before he swallowed dryly.
He really wanted to close his eyes and fall asleep right there in the diner but he didn't think the patrons would find that too amusing.
"Oh really?" Layla's eyebrows arched up. "Anything you could recommend?" she asked earnestly.
Dean didn't answer.
Layla rifled through her purse, grabbed a small notepad and opened it to a page that was half filled. "I'm working on a list," she revealed then turned the pad towards him.
Dean read the first line, 'Bucket List'. "Aren't you… a little young?" he wheezed.
"I say no time like the present to make your dreams come true," she responded softly.
Dean eyed the list. "No…Grand Canyon?" he rasped, swallowing hard. "Never seen it myself…hear it's beautiful…would have it…on my list…," his voice waned as he grabbed his chest to soothe the growing ache.
"Maybe, I should call your brother," Layla said, concern lacing her voice.
"I know Sam… put you up to this but I don't need…a babysitter," he sighed.
"Oh, is that what this is?" Layla asked cheekily. "Well, I better find out what the going rate is for babysitters nowadays. I wouldn't want Sam to take advantage of me," she joked.
"Look, I'm sure…you have…better things to do…" Dean huffed.
"Actually, I'd rather sit with you if that's okay?" Layla offered, pointing to her list.
Dean shifted to try to find a better position. "I don't need…your…pity."
"That's not what I'm offering," Layla said seriously.
Dean let out a half snort. "I don't have…any life insurance…and…nothing but…the clothes…on my back…which I'm leaving… to my brother," he added. "So…what's in it…for you?"
Layla pulled the pad towards her. "I'm trying to pay it forward," she whispered, gazing into Dean's eyes.
The young hunter glimpsed at the emotion behind her words and felt guilty for questioning this woman's motives. He looked out the window, willing Sam to show up and rescue Layla from his ass of a brother. "I didn't mean it like that..." he apologized.
"When we're strong," she explained gently, "we have the capacity to bless others."¹ Layla placed her pad in her purse and held her cup with both hands. "I understand this is difficult," the young woman continued, "Sometimes the best thing we can do is to let others be strong for us, to give others the opportunity to bless us."²
As if on cue, Dean felt his heart stutter lazily in an uncoordinated sequence. With one hand, he grabbed his chest and with the other he gripped the side of the table. He closed his eyes against the fuzziness invading his peripheral vision.
Layla rose and moved to his side. "Should I call your brother?" she asked.
Dean shook his head and tried to swallow down the pain rising in his chest. He slumped forward, leaning heavily on the table.
Layla covered his trembling hand. "Do you want to go back to your room?" she asked in a soothing voice.
Dean felt the iciness within his bones evaporate, replaced instead by the warmth of her hand. It filled him and he closed his eyes, leaning against her while he steadied his breathing. She stood there, solid and constant and he relaxed, allowing her to prop him up.
He felt the anger that had built up inside of him, leach out of his body and he gazed up at her in apologetic gratitude. "Pay it forward, huh?" he rasped thoughtfully.
She rewarded him with a glowing smile. "Something like that…"
Dean pushed himself up from the table. He continued to lean on her as he tried to get his bearings. Eventually, they made their way out of the diner, his arm hooked lazily around her shoulder and hers wrapped around his waist.
Layla couldn't help but think it was she who was humbled by the trust he'd placed in her and she was the one who felt blessed.
TBC...