spn fic: "the greatest of these" (R for language, SamnDean)
title:the greatest of these
author: Fannishliss
pairing: Brotherly Sam and Dean, more if you squint
rating: R for language
1300 words
no spoilers for s10, pure speculation on my part. :)
series: Vatican Cameos
for thursdaysisters, who jumped with a prompt. thanks very much! her prompt, WHICH I LOVE! was:
"Supernatural: Sam and Dean, Season 10. The Pope declares that the Church should recruit a new army of exorcists, and the brothers are tapped as trainers considering their expertise and Dean's...unique position."
===
"You are men and women of faith," Sam said. He'd designed the application process himself, vetted hundreds of applications personally, and now stood in front of a crowd of twenty-five prospective New Exorcists.
The Rituale Romanum didn't cut it anymore. Demons routinely branded themselves with locking sigils. Since Dean had murdered Crowley, there was a power vacuum that led to, literally, Hell on Earth. Demons ran rampant and the Church had been forced to change or admit defeat.
"Faith is good. Faith is strong. But it's not enough. You have to realize that demons have their own brand of faithfulness. Many of them worked in and out of Hell for eons toward the coming of Lucifer. Now, that misplaced faith is broken, they're out for themselves. Faith, in whatever, is no longer the strongest tool in our favor."
A fit young woman raised her hand. Sam made sure the Church did not restrict the process to priests only. He needed young, strong, active Hunters -- "young and dumb enough to think they'll live forever" as Dean had said.
"Yes?" Sam called on the woman: Veronica Stone, a librarian in her old life.
"Demons used to flinch at the name of Christ, isn't that true?"
"Yes," Sam said. "But you may find they would flinch at Krishna just as quickly, or Kali -- depending on what's inside you."
"So it is about faith," Stone answered.
Dean spoke up, his rough voice carrying from where he sat slouched in a corner of the room. "It's not faith, sister. It's something more absolute. Something deep inside you, a belief that's the bedrock of everything you know -- that's what hurts a demon."
"It's more like an assumption," Sam said, trying to work it through for these new recruits. "That thing you just assume is true, that you don't ever bother to question. We used to say Christo and it worked because we believed it would."
"So the name of God will still hurt a demon, then? Practically speaking," Stone pressed.
"Yeah," Dean drawled. "But life is pain. Hurting a demon is like pouring a pot of hot coffee into Old Faithful. It don't make a hell of a lot of difference, beyond the stain."
"That's why you're all here," Sam said, retaking the floor. "Everyone in this room has gone through heartbreak. Heartbreak is just the beginning for a demon -- it's the stepping stone that leads to a soul being sold. In Hell, the process of becoming a demon is the eons-long process of losing all hope-- in a torture without mercy, without end, where the only hope is to become the torturer."
You could have heard a pin drop in the room as the new recruits breathed silently, each caught up in personal memories of all they'd lost.
"You remember that moment, when you would have sold your soul," Sam said quietly. "Demons are no different from you, except that they made that awful mistake, signed a deal that doomed them forever. We're here to form a new corps of exorcists. We know how to cure demons. And we're here to teach you how to do it."
"Isn't the first step, wanting to change?" a young man said sarcastically. Tom Heidegger, extreme sports vlogger.
"The first step is getting caught," Dean laughed, and it was an ugly sound. "We'll teach you how to summon and trap. Ordinarily, once you got 'em you'd just cut through the bind and send 'em back to hell. But we're in the cure business now, apparently."
"Yes," Sam said. "Curing a demon requires true penitence on the part of the exorcist. You have to stay in a state of grace throughout the cure, and it isn't easy -- demons excel at psyching you out, and they won't hold back."
"How many demons have you cured?" Stone asked.
Dean scoffed a harsh laugh from his chair.
"We've had some success," Sam said, keeping his chin up.
"The King of Hell himself was jonesing for human blood, till we took him out," Dean drawled.
There was a silence that quickly turned sour as Sam didn't follow up with any other success stories.
"You had one, qualified, success?" Heidegger challenged, disbelief plain in his voice. "One?"
"Two," Dean said, taking off his shades. He stalked to the center of the room and opened his coal-black eyes.
"I'm a Knight of Hell," he roared, and his face was savage. "If it wasn't for Sam's blood every hour on the hour, I'd be tearing you all to little pieces right now."
Mayhem erupted as the recruits sprang out of their chairs, falling over themselves and each other to get back from Dean, who just laughed, his black eyes gleaming, the mark of Cain glowing with hellish fire on his arm.
"Dean," Sam keened, throwing his arms around his brother from behind. "Dean," he repeated in placating tones.
"God damned puking little shits," Dean exclaimed, thrashing a little against Sam's hold, but he didn't try to get away. It was more than evident to anyone in the room that a mere mortal's strength wouldn't come near to holding him back.
"I know, Dean, I know," Sam said, in soft tones. "But they're trying, okay?"
"Put 'em out of their fucking misery!" Dean screamed. The recruits quailed again, a wave of hatred almost visible as it erupted out of Dean and permeated the room with terror.
"Dean, I love you, please, calm down," Sam said, kissing Dean's neck. The students suddenly noticed how Dean was riddled with pock marks, where Sam had been injecting him relentlessly with his own blood.
"I -- I'm trying, Sammy, it's just, it, it hurts, you know?" and the black in Dean's eyes blinked away, and the tears ran down from his crystalline green eyes, and Sam held on to his brother, soothing him, rocking him.
"Their faith, their stupid fucking faith," Dean croaked through his sobs.
"I know," Sam repeated, loving his brother as they stood there, all their sins exposed.
The students slowly recovered themselves, murmuring a little and trying to find their seats again, along with their composure.
A woman stood up. Cecilia Lopez, elementary school teacher. Her face was tracked with tears.
She lifted her hands. "Bless you, Sam and Dean Winchester. Bless you, en nombre de la Santa Madre Maria."
Dean shook as the blessing stung him, but he didn't lash out, and Sam soaked it in.
"That's all for today," Sam said, a little hoarse. "Think about what you've seen here today, put it in your journals, and prepare to discuss."
The recruits began to file out. Several of them said thanks to Sam and Dean, but didn't get too close, Dean's snarling lip quivering too dangerously for any of them to think about approaching.
Finally they were all gone. Sam's hold on his brother didn't falter, but Dean's tears started up again.
"What the hell are we doing here, Sammy?" he whispered. His hands rose up to cling to Sam's embracing arms, the brand on his own arm fading back to a dull red.
"Same as always," Sam said, stroking Dean's tense body gently, unable to avoid the dozens of tiny wounds keeping Dean close enough to sane. "Saving people. Just, saving people."
Faith, hope, and love, these three -- but the greatest of these is love.
author: Fannishliss
pairing: Brotherly Sam and Dean, more if you squint
rating: R for language
1300 words
no spoilers for s10, pure speculation on my part. :)
series: Vatican Cameos
for thursdaysisters, who jumped with a prompt. thanks very much! her prompt, WHICH I LOVE! was:
"Supernatural: Sam and Dean, Season 10. The Pope declares that the Church should recruit a new army of exorcists, and the brothers are tapped as trainers considering their expertise and Dean's...unique position."
===
"You are men and women of faith," Sam said. He'd designed the application process himself, vetted hundreds of applications personally, and now stood in front of a crowd of twenty-five prospective New Exorcists.
The Rituale Romanum didn't cut it anymore. Demons routinely branded themselves with locking sigils. Since Dean had murdered Crowley, there was a power vacuum that led to, literally, Hell on Earth. Demons ran rampant and the Church had been forced to change or admit defeat.
"Faith is good. Faith is strong. But it's not enough. You have to realize that demons have their own brand of faithfulness. Many of them worked in and out of Hell for eons toward the coming of Lucifer. Now, that misplaced faith is broken, they're out for themselves. Faith, in whatever, is no longer the strongest tool in our favor."
A fit young woman raised her hand. Sam made sure the Church did not restrict the process to priests only. He needed young, strong, active Hunters -- "young and dumb enough to think they'll live forever" as Dean had said.
"Yes?" Sam called on the woman: Veronica Stone, a librarian in her old life.
"Demons used to flinch at the name of Christ, isn't that true?"
"Yes," Sam said. "But you may find they would flinch at Krishna just as quickly, or Kali -- depending on what's inside you."
"So it is about faith," Stone answered.
Dean spoke up, his rough voice carrying from where he sat slouched in a corner of the room. "It's not faith, sister. It's something more absolute. Something deep inside you, a belief that's the bedrock of everything you know -- that's what hurts a demon."
"It's more like an assumption," Sam said, trying to work it through for these new recruits. "That thing you just assume is true, that you don't ever bother to question. We used to say Christo and it worked because we believed it would."
"So the name of God will still hurt a demon, then? Practically speaking," Stone pressed.
"Yeah," Dean drawled. "But life is pain. Hurting a demon is like pouring a pot of hot coffee into Old Faithful. It don't make a hell of a lot of difference, beyond the stain."
"That's why you're all here," Sam said, retaking the floor. "Everyone in this room has gone through heartbreak. Heartbreak is just the beginning for a demon -- it's the stepping stone that leads to a soul being sold. In Hell, the process of becoming a demon is the eons-long process of losing all hope-- in a torture without mercy, without end, where the only hope is to become the torturer."
You could have heard a pin drop in the room as the new recruits breathed silently, each caught up in personal memories of all they'd lost.
"You remember that moment, when you would have sold your soul," Sam said quietly. "Demons are no different from you, except that they made that awful mistake, signed a deal that doomed them forever. We're here to form a new corps of exorcists. We know how to cure demons. And we're here to teach you how to do it."
"Isn't the first step, wanting to change?" a young man said sarcastically. Tom Heidegger, extreme sports vlogger.
"The first step is getting caught," Dean laughed, and it was an ugly sound. "We'll teach you how to summon and trap. Ordinarily, once you got 'em you'd just cut through the bind and send 'em back to hell. But we're in the cure business now, apparently."
"Yes," Sam said. "Curing a demon requires true penitence on the part of the exorcist. You have to stay in a state of grace throughout the cure, and it isn't easy -- demons excel at psyching you out, and they won't hold back."
"How many demons have you cured?" Stone asked.
Dean scoffed a harsh laugh from his chair.
"We've had some success," Sam said, keeping his chin up.
"The King of Hell himself was jonesing for human blood, till we took him out," Dean drawled.
There was a silence that quickly turned sour as Sam didn't follow up with any other success stories.
"You had one, qualified, success?" Heidegger challenged, disbelief plain in his voice. "One?"
"Two," Dean said, taking off his shades. He stalked to the center of the room and opened his coal-black eyes.
"I'm a Knight of Hell," he roared, and his face was savage. "If it wasn't for Sam's blood every hour on the hour, I'd be tearing you all to little pieces right now."
Mayhem erupted as the recruits sprang out of their chairs, falling over themselves and each other to get back from Dean, who just laughed, his black eyes gleaming, the mark of Cain glowing with hellish fire on his arm.
"Dean," Sam keened, throwing his arms around his brother from behind. "Dean," he repeated in placating tones.
"God damned puking little shits," Dean exclaimed, thrashing a little against Sam's hold, but he didn't try to get away. It was more than evident to anyone in the room that a mere mortal's strength wouldn't come near to holding him back.
"I know, Dean, I know," Sam said, in soft tones. "But they're trying, okay?"
"Put 'em out of their fucking misery!" Dean screamed. The recruits quailed again, a wave of hatred almost visible as it erupted out of Dean and permeated the room with terror.
"Dean, I love you, please, calm down," Sam said, kissing Dean's neck. The students suddenly noticed how Dean was riddled with pock marks, where Sam had been injecting him relentlessly with his own blood.
"I -- I'm trying, Sammy, it's just, it, it hurts, you know?" and the black in Dean's eyes blinked away, and the tears ran down from his crystalline green eyes, and Sam held on to his brother, soothing him, rocking him.
"Their faith, their stupid fucking faith," Dean croaked through his sobs.
"I know," Sam repeated, loving his brother as they stood there, all their sins exposed.
The students slowly recovered themselves, murmuring a little and trying to find their seats again, along with their composure.
A woman stood up. Cecilia Lopez, elementary school teacher. Her face was tracked with tears.
She lifted her hands. "Bless you, Sam and Dean Winchester. Bless you, en nombre de la Santa Madre Maria."
Dean shook as the blessing stung him, but he didn't lash out, and Sam soaked it in.
"That's all for today," Sam said, a little hoarse. "Think about what you've seen here today, put it in your journals, and prepare to discuss."
The recruits began to file out. Several of them said thanks to Sam and Dean, but didn't get too close, Dean's snarling lip quivering too dangerously for any of them to think about approaching.
Finally they were all gone. Sam's hold on his brother didn't falter, but Dean's tears started up again.
"What the hell are we doing here, Sammy?" he whispered. His hands rose up to cling to Sam's embracing arms, the brand on his own arm fading back to a dull red.
"Same as always," Sam said, stroking Dean's tense body gently, unable to avoid the dozens of tiny wounds keeping Dean close enough to sane. "Saving people. Just, saving people."
Faith, hope, and love, these three -- but the greatest of these is love.