Chapter 8 – Not Good Enough
Summary: What if Dean had not been chosen by Roy Le Grange?
A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my beta Siara Elen. She was not able to review this chapter. Hope you feel better soon.
As usual, feedback is appreciated. A huge thanks to the readers, followers and reviewers.
In case you didn't know, I don't own anything related to Supernatural. This is solely for my own enjoyment.
SPN~SPN~SPN
The preacher's entrance shuddered with each beat of Sam's fist as desperate energy surged through his arm and into that wooden door. Still no one came. Sam stepped back, surveyed the door before he grabbed the handle and shook it hard except it wouldn't budge or unlock. Sam huffed angrily as he ran his hands through his hair. Le Grange wasn't home and once again he was denied access to the gateway to Dean's salvation or destruction.
He thought for a second before he ran down the steps while fishing the car keys out of his pocket. He stopped short of the Impala then paced around it restlessly. His thoughts twirled around like plastic bags in the wind and he needed to free himself of the feelings pulling him away from the task at hand. He took a deep breath to calm his racing mind, but not his resolve and refocused on the goal. He stared forward knowing exactly where he needed to be.
Sam wrapped his fingers around the cold metal of the Impala's door handle, clicked it open then settled in the driver's seat. He allowed his body to sink into the contours of the worn leather, the leather that had taken the shape of his brother's body. It ignited something dark inside his chest and he put the car in drive allowing a hidden force to guide him along the roadway. The Impala's engine rumbled as it glided effortlessly over the black top, knowing instinctively in which direction to head. A few minutes later, he pulled into the barren field by Le Grange's makeshift church. He slowed to a stop, the car's tires sinking into the mud and emptiness.
Sam stepped out. His feet moved automatically until he was at the entrance of the tent. He felt for the knife at the back of his waistband then pulled the flap back and entered. He studied the dim interior; chairs were neatly stacked in the corner and Le Grange stood by the altar, his back to Sam.
The air was frigid almost solid but it couldn't hold him back. The young man waited, feeling the cold seep into his bones then allowing the ice in his veins to settle to the bottom of his stomach before he advanced slowly.
"Sam, I've been waiting for you," Le Grange said without turning.
The preacher's words didn't faze the young man. Of course, Le Grange knew he'd come back. This time he came prepared. "I've been thinking about what you said," Sam said coolly never breaking stride.
"And those thoughts lead you right back to me?" the Reverend asked twisting around.
Sam didn't miss a beat. "You were right…about my brother," he said calculatingly. "He may not feel worthy of a miracle, but he is."
The older man smiled sadly. "Of course," he agreed. "He's more than worthy."
The Reverend's words caused a bitter smile to pull at Sam's mouth. "Then you'll heal him?" he questioned.
The older man shook his head. "I am not a healer, merely a conduit, an inter mediator."
Sam scrutinized the preacher's face for a tell. "Well then, is there something I can offer for your intercession?" he whispered lowly.
The older man remained silent and still.
Sam was undeterred by this lack of acceptance. "I realize it was rude of me to expect a favour without proposing some type of exchange," he clarified, stepping closer to the altar.
The preacher did not comment.
"Money is no object," Sam asserted. If it was, he was willing to lie, cheat or steal to make this happen.
Le Grange felt his way around then came to stand before the young man. He squared his sightless eyes towards Sam's. "It's not a question of money," the older man explained.
With those words Sam became acutely aware of the darkness spreading throughout his body, fuelling his determination. "Then name your price," he said coldly.
The preacher laced his fingers together, creating a barrier between himself and the young man. "The thing is that everything is exactly as it's supposed to be," the older man explained. "The sick and the dying are supposed to be sick and dying."
"Then why do you heal people if they're supposed to die?" Sam whispered menacingly.
"What most people fail to understand," the preacher clarified, "is that miracles are as much a part of the perfection of the universe, as a blade of grass. They are what connect God to humans, Heaven to Earth. They are bestowed not to make believers of nonbelievers, but so that we can glimpse at the divine within each of us."
"My brother needs a miracle," Sam said slowly, not caring for biblical, religious or theological explanations.
"It's not a matter of need."
Sam's stomach fluttered dangerously. "You have no idea what I'm willing to do," he hissed. Hell, he was willing to sacrifice everything for Dean, himself, the preacher, he would even set fire to this whole town if he had to. He'd not only die for Dean but would just as easily kill for him.
The preacher sensed this as well. "What would your brother think about what you're doing?" he asked.
Sam hesitated. "My brother would do the same for me." It was the truth, to a certain extent but his belly filled with shame at the thought that Dean would disapprove, that his brother would be disappointed in him.
"Your brother's a righteous man." Le Grange said softly. "He understands there is no salvation without sacrifice and sacrifice is the act of surrender, not of taking."
Sam stepped closer, inches from the preacher's face. His heart was booming loudly in his ears. "Then I'd be the first to tell you that this is not about sacrifice," he hissed menacingly.
Le Grange felt the darkness overtaking the young man's heart, stoked by fear but also something else, something deeper, something embedded in his blood. There was only one way to fight this evil. The preacher opened his arms in surrender. "Take what you want, son."
Sam's jaw clenched painfully. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around the old man's neck and squeeze until he gave him Dean back.
Le Grange sensed the battle raging in the young man's soul. It was a battle Sam would fight his whole life and at least for now the older man wanted to alleviate his suffering. He reached out and clasped Sam's forearm. The young man stiffened like he had been caught.
"It's alright, now," the preacher drawled. "You don't have to go there."
Sam felt the cold surge up his throat, freezing his vocal chords. He wanted to scream but his tongue felt like it was encased in ice.
"Easy," Le Grange whispered.
"Let me go," Sam snarled. He could have easily shaken off the older man but his body was frozen.
"Let it go, son."
Sam fought against the preachers' request. He didn't want to let this go. He needed the preacher to heal his brother.
"It's alright, now," Le Grange whispered while pulling Sam towards him.
Sam resisted but his body was no longer under his control. The preacher reached up with his other hand and covered Sam's heart then bowed his head in prayer.
A spark in Sam's belly surged into a full-fledged fire storm. There it was the preacher thought, the break from the cold, hard evil lurking in the young man's body. Sam gasped as he felt something being pulled out of him.
"Take it easy, son," Le Grange said as he tried to still Sam's racing heart. Le Grange sighed wearily then let go of the young man.
Sam swayed, his knees weakened but he held strong to the altar to steady himself.
"Evil gives you a false sense of power," the preacher whispered lowly.
It was true. Sam had felt all powerful when he walked into this tent, knife at his back and evil in his heart. Now, it was all gone, replaced by shame and guilt for even thinking he could offer sin in exchange for Dean's life.
"It demands everything from you until you're emptied of your humanity, and it gives you nothing in return. Evil cannot create, it can only destroy."
Sam clutched at the altar as the meaning of those words slammed into him. The evil was inside of him. It was the only explanation because he was the one that had ripped his family apart when he left for Stanford. He was the reason Jess died. Hell, he was probably responsible for his mom's death too.
Dean had always been the good son, the obedient soldier, the one who saved people. Sam destroyed them.
"Love, kindness and compassion are much more powerful than sin," Le Grange said gently then lifted his head towards Sam. "They can create miracles."
Sam felt his heart drop to the floor. There it was. The thing he was most afraid of; he wasn't good enough to save Dean. He had come to this preacher, ready to kill when the opposite was required. He had tried to close off his heart to Layla when his brother opened his. Sam's chest tightened fiercely with shame and hopelessness. He wasn't good enough, had never been, and could never measure up to his dad's expectations or to Dean's selflessness.
The preacher stared at him blindly and yet saw everything. Sam backed away, his plan in shambles, his resolve in tatters and his very foundation swept out from underneath him. His brother was dying and there was nothing he could about it.
TBC...