Losing His Religion, Part 3/3
~*~FALL 2006~*~
Jimmy slid out from the small confessional, brushing away a piece of lint from his purple stole. He had had a small stream of people this afternoon for Reconciliation and some of the voices he hadn’t been able to recognize from the regulars that attended on Wednesdays. It was a sign that the church was stronger now than when he’d first come to Broken Bow nearly a decade ago. Or, it was a sign that the people of the town were starting to panic.
Three bodies in seven days. Each one bled out and left for dead in fields surrounding the city. Each one bearing the same symbol carved into their chest.
Jimmy had only heard rumors and, while it wasn’t usually his place to even humor those who were circulating them, he had to admit that they were scaring him. He remembered. All those years ago in Sallisaw. Those people. That church in the woods. Father Halloway. Sam Winchester.
The way the killings stopped as soon as that small family left the community.
The way the youngest boy was delusional with fanciful ideations of demons and fairies within the woods. The drawings and stories he’d told him, while curiously asking questions about faith and God and angels….
He felt a cold shiver go up his neck at the memories and he shook his head to clear it as he walked back towards the sacristy behind the altar. He cast a glance in the direction of the tabernacle as he passed it, the feeling of dread becoming thicker. It was silly to assume that the child had had anything to do with any of it, or that his family did. Jimmy had stronger faith than that now. Father Halloway had seen him through the dark period of uncertainty that followed.
He hung his vestments in the slender closets, applied a thin layer of lotion to his hands, and continued towards the rectory. He heard Belinda, the secretary, talking with someone at the desk; he peered around the corner to see whom she was speaking. Within moments, he was jerking back and sagging against the wall, willing his heart to slow.
The Winchesters were here. Ten years later, but there was no mistaking that’s who they were.
The men, one with floppy chestnut hair and deep dimples and one with deep green eyes and the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow, stood at the desk. They wore the clergy shirts and collars, but Jimmy couldn’t mistake the familiarity of these men. Ten years hadn’t changed the older man much - hardened his jawline and given him a few light scars amongst his freckles maybe. But the younger man had changed immensely. Solidly built and incredibly tall, Jimmy found his heart breaking at the thought of the boy he’d once known spending these past ten years with his brother and father - possibly killing people across the country.
And now they were here. At the source of more murders and specifically at his parish.
“We’d like to speak with the vicar, if that’s possible.”
“Yes, Father Smerick. I’m sure he’s going to be finished with Reconciliation soon. You and Father Destra can have a seat and I’ll go check on him.”
“Thank you.”
Jimmy’s heart sped up as he heard the conversation and Belinda’s soft-soled shoes coming closer. As she rounded the corner, she let out a squeak of surprise and dropped the notepad she’d been holding. “Oh! Father Novak. You scared the dickens out of me!”
“I apologize.” He bent down and gathered her notes for her.
“Forgiven, of course,” she said, taking them from him. She smiled up at him. “There’s some visiting priests to see you in the rectory. Seems that they’ve got some questions about the incidents around town?”
“From which parish, did they say?”
“St. Michael’s in Sallisaw?” Her face scrunched up in confusion as she looked down at her notes. “Isn’t that where you did your internment? The tabernacle….”
Jimmy felt his face pale. He nodded, left thumb reflexively stroking across his right palm, over the thick cross scar there. “Perhaps they’ve got some information for me. Sallisaw saw a few interesting days when I was there. I’m sure Father Halloway kept some records of them….”
Belinda’s eyebrows scrunched up and her mouth turned down. “Father, these priests are extremely young. I’m surprised they’re even of age to serve.”
Jimmy squeezed her shoulder softly in reassurance. “Maybe they’re baby-faced, like I was when I took the vows.” He smiled at her, hoping that it reached his eyes. Inside, his stomach ached. “I’ll take care of it. Thank you.”
Jimmy sucked in a calming breath before striding forward. Scripture came into his mind without warning as he rounded the corner and the young men came into view. Be sober-minded. Be watchful. Your adversary, the devil, prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. It sent a shiver through his body, recalling the last time he’d heard scripture within his head unbidden. He clenched his left hand - the one with the most substantial scarring - hard, feeling the bite of a decade old wound.
When the two men stood and acknowledged him, he saw the immediate recognition within their eyes. He bolstered his faith and stretched out his hand. “Welcome,” he said, voice somehow steady. “I’m Father Novak, the Vicar of Saint Francis. And I believe we’ve met before.”
~*~
“I spent a lot of years wondering about you, Sam Winchester,” Jimmy began, once the three of them were tucked into his small office. He clasped his hands together over the top of his desk. He ignored the throbbing from inside his palms that often came with too much strain. He smiled tightly at the men in front of him. “And it causes quite a few alarm bells to ring inside of me when I see you here. Now. With what’s going on.”
Sam shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “You remember the murders in Sallisaw.”
“I couldn’t forget those. Not with the information you and your brother brought to my attention.” The men exchanged glances. “The drawings. The stories about hunting. The holy water and salt as weapons?” He sighed. “It’s not often that a priest gets rattled.”
“You weren’t a priest then,” Dean said, an edge of hardness in his voice. Jimmy could see that time hadn’t softened the young man, nor given him peace.
“True. And you aren’t priests now.”
Sam swallowed nervously. “How…”
Jimmy sighed. “I can’t imagine that the two of you would ever be able to accept the call to the priesthood. And especially since I know that you, Sam, are no more than 22 years old. About the age I was when we first met.”
Sam’s cheeks turned rosy. “Oh.”
Dean moved forward in his chair. “Fine. You caught us. But we’re here because of a life and death situation. The same thing is happening around your parish and we’re here to help.”
“And why should I believe two men who wear the vestments in blasphemy? I find it odd that you come here and the murders begin. Is your father here, too? Perhaps testing his disguise as Bishop?”
Dean stood, fire in his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest. “You can try to deal with this problem on your own, but honestly, you’re out of your league here, Padre. And people are going to keep dying until whoever’s summoning this thing gets taken down. Believe what you want about us, but we are here to help. Come on, Sam.” Dean spun on his heel, not waiting to see if Sam was coming.
Sam stood up, more grace than he’d had ten years prior but still overly tall and lanky. “You know that people are dying, Father. You might not believe in the things I showed you back then, but you might want to open your eyes a bit this time around.” He dug in the leather shoulder bag he had slung around his body, then tossed a battered journal onto the desk. “I’ll be back for that in the morning. If you still think we aren’t here to help you, we’ll just leave you alone. But I think you’ll find our argument convincing.”
Jimmy watched the man walk down the hallway until he couldn’t see him anymore. He sat stock still in his chair, rubbing absently at his scars, for long minutes, purposely not looking at the notes before him. Belinda came in, asked if he was alright, then told him she was locking up and heading home for the night. Jimmy watched her leave, too. He waited until the church around him fell completely silent and the hallway before him was too dark to see into. He waited until the pulsing ache in his hands had become a painful roar. Then, he opened the book.
~*~
Sam Winchester, true to his word, was back at the rectory as soon as Belinda had unlocked the door. She guided him to Father Novak’s office and gasped, when she realized that the priest was already inside, apparently having stayed there all night. His eyes were red, his hair mussed, and his face pale.
“Are you feeling alright, Father?”
“I’m fine, Belinda. Thank you.” He cleared his throat and stretched his neck from side to side. “I could use some water, though.”
“Sure.” She cast a worried glance at him before opening the door further. Sam stood in the hallway, towering over her short frame, unobtrusively. “One of the priests from yesterday is back to see you again. Want me to send him in?”
“Go ahead.” Jimmy waited until Belinda had brought him water and left before addressing the man before him. He slid the leather-bound book across his desk with a sigh. “Is this your father’s?”
“Was. He passed this July.”
“Something from in that book?”
“Car accident. Sort of.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It was either him or Dean. He chose to go instead of Dean. Struck a deal with something in that book.”
“A demon.”
Sam nodded. “The one that murdered our mother.”
Jimmy frowned. “I’m not entirely sure that you didn’t just have me read an extremely elaborate work of fiction, Sam.”
"We wouldn't be here now."
“Unless you were behind the killings. You could be lying about everything. Demons, your parents, everything. You walk into my parish, dressed as priests. How am I supposed to trust you at all?”
Sam swallowed, pushing his chin forward in defiance. “I didn’t lie to you when I was younger and I’m not lying to you now. Not about this.”
Jimmy sighed. “I have no evidence of that, Sam. You’ve given me fairy tales and pencil sketches.”
“I’m asking you to trust us. We can help your people, once we find out who’s behind the summoning. I’m asking you to believe in something you’ve not seen, like you did all those years ago. I’m asking you to have faith.”
The scars on both palms throbbed. Jimmy rubbed at them absently. “Faith is something that I’ve struggled with for years, Sam. No thanks to you.”
“Not faith in your God, Mr. Novak. Faith in good over evil. Surely you can get behind that.”
~*~
Several hours later, Jimmy found himself watching the brothers in action. He was safely tucked inside their obnoxiously loud and flashy car, peering through the back window and clutching his rosary in both hands. In the darkness, he could see the ethereal beauty of the autumn nymph and the witches controlling her, circling the brothers. Weapons were raised. They seemed to be talking, but it wouldn’t be long before it came to blows. Jimmy felt as if he was in a dream.
Moments later, one of the witches shrieked a command and the nymph extended her claws. One scraped along Dean’s shoulder, ripping his jacket. Dean hissed in pain. Sam countered with a whip of his wrist, sending salt raining down upon her. This time, the nymph hissed, backing away.
Sam and Dean moved almost as if dancing; so in tune with each other that they didn’t even use words to alert the other to dodge a blow or anticipate an attack. Sam produced an iron crowbar and thrust it in the direction of the nymph. He spoke to her in a strange foreign language, which caused her to scream and hold her ears. Dean advanced on the two witches opposite the nymph. When one started to speak, Sam paused and rattled off an impressive amount of Latin in her direction. Instantly, her voice stopped. Jimmy saw her hands scrabbling at her throat.
Her sister witch’s face went pale and she dropped to her knees. “Please,” she sobbed, hands up in surrender. “Don’t….”
Dean strode forward, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. “What did you give him for her? What did you trade?”
“My soul….”
Dean grunted and tossed her backwards, causing her to land supine on the ground. She clapped her hands over her eyes and cried. “Stupid bitch,” Dean chastised. “Was it worth it? Was it?” He hauled himself up and faced the other witch, who was still desperately trying to speak. “And you? Same deal for you?” The woman nodded vigorously. Dean shook his head.
“We didn’t mean for people to die,” the witch on the ground hiccupped.
“What exactly did you think would happen?” Dean demanded. “Unicorns and fucking rainbows?”
“She wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she responded, pointing at the nymph who was still slashing her claws at Sam. “She was supposed to help restore balance to the earth. To help the crops!”
“When you summoned her, you needed help, didn’t you? Someone to get her attention. Someone who could help you get her under your control.” The witch nodded. “Who? Who was it?”
“DEAN! LOOK OUT!” Jimmy called out, head thrust out from the open window of the Impala. He gestured wildly at the shadow behind the hunter.
Dean spun around to see yellow eyes glowing in the darkness. He slid his pistol out from his waistband and held it steadily at the creature’s face. As it stepped forward, Jimmy could see that it wasn’t a creature - it was a man with glowing yellow eyes. His scars throbbed.
“Now, is that any way to treat the guy who saved your life, Dean?” the man crooned. He seemed unaffected by the fact that he was staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.
“Yellow Eyes.”
Sam, still fighting the nymph, looked over his shoulder in panic. “Dean! No!”
“I’ve got it, Sammy.” Dean cocked the gun and smirked. “Where’s the Colt?”
“Safe.” The demon smiled back at Dean. “I see you’ve found my presents to you….and brought one in return. How thoughtful.” He looked toward the Impala, where Jimmy sunk down in the foot well in fear.
“Leave him out of this.”
“Aw, but he’s so pretty,” the demon purred. “Although not as pure of heart as I like my priests.”
“Did you help these two summon the nymph?”
“They had such convincing stories. Farms in despair, families in need. The drought has been hell on these people, Dean.” He titled his head towards Sam’s battle and tsked. “But apparently, I gave them a little too much power with her.” He snapped his fingers and the nymph exploded with a splash of blood and guts.
Sam exclaimed in disgust and the witch who’d been on the ground began screaming. The other witch turned and fled. She didn’t get out of the clearing before the demon snapped his fingers again, causing her neck to turn around and crack sickeningly.
“Now, you,” he said, regarding the girl on the ground, “if you don’t stop that ruckus, I’ll make sure and help you.” When her voice quieted to whimpers, the demon tsked again. “Humans never listen.” He snapped his fingers again and her eyes exploded. Blood spilled down her cheeks and she was silent. Jimmy gagged and spat into the foot well.
“Enough!” Sam bellowed, charging forward.
“Oh, Sammy,” the demon smirked. “Growing into your big boy pants, aren’t you?” He chuckled darkly. “Or maybe you’re groping your way into your big brother’s pants….”
Dean shot the demon in the forehead. Smoke curled out of the bullet hole and a trickle of black blood ran down his forehead. For a moment, Jimmy thought it was over. But then, the demon’s eyes flashed yellow and his head pitched back in a guffaw.
“You know you can’t stop me with those little bullets, Dean.”
“Yeah, but it shut you up for a second, so…”
The demon laughed again. “Is it because of your friend over there? He doesn’t know about you, does he?” He clasped a hand to his breast in mock horror. “And whatever would he think if he knew that you and Sam were-“
The crowbar came through his throat from the back of his neck. He gasped and sputtered a moment, clawing at the iron. He cast a fiery glare at Sam as he pulled it loose. “I’d retaliate, Sam, but I’m afraid I’ve got bigger plans for you,” he croaked. He tossed the crowbar at Sam’s feet, then snapped his fingers and was gone.
Had Jimmy not seen it with his own two eyes, he wouldn’t have believed. As it was, he stumbled out of the backseat of the Impala and heaved, bringing up everything he’d eaten in the last twelve hours. He coughed, gagged, puked some more….until his body was ravaged and exhausted. Sam squatted down beside him, offering him a bottle of water.
“Thanks,” he groaned, taking a sip and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“No, thank you for not doing that in Baby,” Dean teased.
Sam’s face scrunched up and he grabbed Jimmy’s hand in his own. He scrutinized the scar tissue. “How….when?”
“Fourth of July about ten years ago. I’d fallen asleep at the church and woke up with it on fire. I didn’t think….grabbed the tabernacle and escaped.” He presented his other hand, with the matching scar. “It was not without consequence.” He cleared his throat. “St. Michael’s burned to the ground - had to be rebuilt. The tabernacle was the only thing that managed to be saved from the fire. When Father Halloway passed on a couple years ago, he told me to take it with me to whatever parish I served at. It’s followed me here. They called it a miracle.”
Sam sucked in a breath and backed away. “How…how far from the Missouri-Oklahoma border is Sallisaw?”
“About 35 minutes or so. The church was probably a bit farther, I guess.” Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. “What?”
“Nothing,” Dean said quickly. He helped Jimmy up and began putting things back into the trunk of the car. “They ever find out how the fire started? Arson?”
“The police said most likely some irresponsible kids shooting off fireworks in the country. The grass was dry….”
Sam stepped forward, taking his hands in his again. This time, he stroked a thumb across the scars and looked Jimmy in the eyes. Jimmy knew from experience with the public and reconciling sins, that the man was truly remorseful. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For everything.”
~*~
Dean drove the three of them back to town, frowning when Jimmy chastised them for not calling the authorities about the witches’ bodies in the woods. “Be my guest,” he told the priest over his shoulder. “We’d usually salt and burn them, but you were against that, too.”
“The families of those girls - they’ll surely want to at least have the chance to bury something.”
“Yeah, not everyone’s into that whole burial thing. Think of it as cremation.”
Sam chuckled. “It’s not exactly Orthodox, we admit.”
Jimmy slumped in the backseat. “Not a whole lot about you two is Orthodox.” The men exchanged a glance. “And the reason for putting salt on a body before your cremation process?”
“So the dead stay dead,” Dean answered gruffly. He pulled up to the church with a fancy U-turn maneuver that had Jimmy’s stomach protesting. “How’s that for door side service, Padre?”
Jimmy gave them a tight smile as he exited the car and leaned over to speak with them. “While I can’t say that it’s been a pleasant reunion…”
“You hope you never see us again?” Sam offered, one dimple cutting deep into his face.
Jimmy saw a glimpse of that boy of ten years past then. “Right.” He looked up at the church, tall and sturdy, lights illuminating the ancient bell tower he’d always been fond of. “If you ever need some questions about God answered…”
Dean leaned over his brother so he could see the priest’s face more clearly. “No offence, but I won’t be poundin’ down your door anytime soon if I have questions about my faith.” He flicked open the glove compartment, rooted around for a few seconds, then held out a tiny glass cylinder for Jimmy to take. “I can’t speak for Sammy, though.”
Jimmy grasped the small vial, shock evident in his face. It was what he’d given Sam all those years ago, filled to the brim with holy water. Now, it was empty - probably from evaporation. “You…”
“Sam had it stashed under his pillow in Sallisaw, when he had that nightmare about the nymph. He didn’t know I’d found it then. I hid it from him, thinking you were one bad dude. Hell, I thought for a little while that you were the one controlling the nymph.”
“I thought your father was the one carving people up in the woods.”
Dean shrugged. “I guess I could see that. Drifters that ask too many questions tend to get a lot of pointed fingers.” He looked at Sam. “But I was wrong about you. You were just trying to help Sammy out - talk to him about life and find something to believe in since you knew we were pretty in and out. I get it now.” He gestured to the vial. “But he had faith in something back then. He’s pretty stubborn when he wants to be, so he didn’t see it for a while.”
Sam frowned. “Hey.”
Dean smirked. “We have each other and that’s important. We’ve kept each other alive and healed each other, body and soul. It’s not easy and sometimes it sucks balls, but at the end of the day, even on the worst of them, there’s faith that we’re there for each other. And that’s what keeps us going.” He gestured to the vial. “You’ve got your religion and we’ve got ours.”
Jimmy looked between the men, embarrassed. Sam’s face was flushed pink and Dean’s eyes caressed Sam’s being with the care of a lover. He watched them for a moment, not sure what to say. Then, Sam cleared his throat and shifted in the passenger seat, breaking the spell over the three of them.
“Okay…,” the younger man said, teeth catching on his bottom lip. “So….yeah. Uh….any questions before we take off? We kind of laid a lot on you.”
Jimmy straightened up, looking around. “I think I’ve got the jest of it. Holy water, salt, iron. All things that ward off evil spirits and demons. Unless they’re higher order like that guy in the woods?”
“Yep.”
“Yeah….I’m still not sure that I’ve not fallen asleep at my desk and have been having an extremely vivid fever dream.”
Sam sighed. “Unfortunately not. But…if you do think of any questions, we’ll be here through the night. Probably stay late tomorrow morning so Dean can get his beauty sleep.”
“Hey!”
“We’re staying at the Road Runner, out by the interstate. Room 122. Feel free to stop by and ask away.” He looked over at Dean. “But, get some rest. Digest what you’ve seen and heard. Then let us know.”
Dean nodded at him before pulling the Impala back onto the road. Jimmy tipped his hand in a half-wave as the car roared away. He trudged back to the church, stopping inside the door to dip his hand in the holy water font and bless himself. He made it to the sanctuary and took a seat in a pew at the front. He sat for a long time, just trying to clear his head. Finally, without knowing what to do next and with adrenaline still pricking at his nerves, he pulled down the kneeler and began to pray.
~*~
The next morning, Jimmy woke up in his bed, far from rested. His head throbbed as if he’d imbibed too much alcohol - which he’d only experienced twice before in his life. His eyes were crusted around the edges and his mouth was wet from drool. Every muscle ached. He looked at the clock and was startled to see that it was late morning. He sat bolt upright, remembering that he wanted to catch the Winchesters before they left.
He forwent the shower and pulled on civilian clothing. Inside the front pocket of his tan slacks, he tucked the vial of holy water, now refilled. He’d even said an extra prayer over it, as if it would make it somehow more potent. He laughed at himself, thinking of the question he truly wanted to ask, and knowing that he probably already knew the answer. How did holy water harm demons and evil things if the user didn’t believe? The person surely must have some sort of faith in God above for it to have effect….or did the demon believe it?
Speeding along the streets, hoping to make it to the hotel in time, he was jolted to fear when scripture again entered his mind, unbidden. He had to grip the steering wheel tightly against the pain in his palms to keep from jerking it to one side and off the road.
But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt; because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.
It was a miracle in itself that he made it to the motel at all. His body was shaking with fear and his mind was whirring with thoughts. He pulled his car into the first parking spot off the road and sat panting and rubbing his palms against his legs with force. The tingling and throbbing of his scars was so bad that he feared that they’d burst open. It took him several minutes before he could feel the pain subside enough to take in his surroundings. Luckily, he spotted the Impala not far away, near the door marked 122.
He sighed deeply, then pressed forward, climbing out of the car and taking the vial in his hand. He made it to the large plate glass window of the room before he hesitated. The curtains weren’t closed completely and inside, he could see the men. His cheeks burned with what he was seeing.
Sam’s bare back was to the window, sheets slung low on his hips as he lounged in the single king-sized bed in the room. His body moved with a languid roll. In front of him, Jimmy could make out Dean’s form rolling along with his own. Dean’s rugged hand reached out and grasped Sam by the back of the neck, pulling him closer. One of them groaned lightly, but the sound was muffled against the crush of mouths together.
Jimmy willed himself to move - to leave - but for some reason, he was rooted to the spot. It’s not as if in his younger days, before the Calling, he hadn’t seen his fair share of pornography. But this? This was far from anything he’d seen before.
This was not just two bodies slapping together and pressing towards release. This wasn’t simply carnal desire. This was almost artwork. The muscles in Sam’s back bunched and relaxed with practiced ease. They moved together as they did the evening prior, while fighting. Anticipating movements, wordless communication. It was as if they were parts of the same soul in separate bodies, trying to meld together as they were meant to be.
Jimmy’s body began to shake with shock when he realized that, even though he knew it to be a sin to lie with one’s brother, he couldn’t see the reasons why in this pair. In fact, seeing this act of love making between Sam and Dean? He was almost certain that this was the most natural way for them to exist. He was even more disturbed with himself when pieces from their relationship that he’d noticed years ago started to make sense. To show him an obvious progression to this from that.
He hid himself behind the curtains, hoping not to be seen. But he could still hear… His face burned with shame as he leaned even closer to the glass so he could hear them better.
“Yeah, Sammy….yes, baby….right there….”
“I love you, Dean…”
“Always. Always, Sammy…always love you.”
“Forever.”
He stumbled back when one of the men shouted hoarsely in pleasure. The vial of holy water fell from his fingers and he gasped out as it shattered on the sidewalk. It had barely hit the sidewalk when he turned to flee - away from the men, away from his perversions, away from the Godless act he’d witnessed. He wanted to run from himself and his own lack of faith, but there was nowhere to turn. It was as if God had broken his soul with his own hands - this final blow to the already shaky faith he’d been pretending to have. He sped away, not daring to look back at the motel.
~*~
Jimmy’s face was hot, eyes burning and wet where they hadn’t been in years. His apartment was cold and dark, nearly unfamiliar to him. He made it just inside the door, latching it out of habit, before he fell to his knees on the threadbare carpet and panted. His stomach was churning. His throat convulsed into hiccups and he felt the sobs threatening to start. With a practiced inhale, he gathered himself enough to clasp his hands together; and he cleared his mind as he was instructed to do not long ago. How far he’d come in such a short time….
“Father,” he croaked, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. “Oh, God...please…I need your guidance and your healing light to come over me in this moment of weakness. In my hour of darkness, hear my prayer.” He swallowed thickly, eyes clenched shut and fingernails biting sharply into the backs of his hands. “I’m afraid I can’t serve you any longer and-”
“You’ve always served me, James.”
Jimmy startled as he realized that the voice was not in his head, as he had once believed. He heard it with his ears and his body felt a presence in the room with him. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming, opening his eyes very slowly. The outline of a man appeared in the shadows just off the living room. Short, slight build, definitely unassuming. Jimmy blinked and peered harder, trying to make out more of the figure. He wasn’t afraid, but rather curious as to who could have entered his apartment in the night.
“Who are you? And how’d you get in here?”
“If you’re asking that question, then I suppose I can truly see how you’d lost faith. In fact, one might even say that you’re like a wave of the sea…”
The man walked towards him, the moonlight coming in through the window illuminating his face. Shaggy curls, hooded eyes, bearded jaw. A slight, calming smile tugged at one corner of his lips. His arms were crossed casually over his chest and his clothing was nondescript. He settled in front of Jimmy, coming to rest on his own knees so they were face to face. “Don’t sell yourself short, James. Even as a small boy, pulling Candice Walton’s pigtails and putting frogs in the bathtub to show your father, you were always a disciple of God.”
Jimmy glanced over him and felt a warm calm settle over his own body. “God?”
The man nodded and let out a huff of laughter. “I prefer to be called Chuck when I’m on Earth, but yes, Jimmy. It’s me.”
Jimmy felt his breath rush out of his body rapidly, new tears spilling out over his face. “Oh...I-I’m so sorry I’ve lost my way. It’s just these boys-” He bit his lip severely, looking up at the man in front of him nervously. “It’s a sin according to Your word, Father. But the way those boys exist...it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before and I can no longer see it as wrong. Dean and Sam Winchester are…”
Chuck shook his head fondly. “You haven’t lost your way, boy; you’ve simply found a new one. In fact, you are on a much more forward path than the majority of my disciples on Earth currently. Your eyes are open, son.” He took a breath, casting a glance at the small tear on Jimmy’s coat. “The Winchesters are not to be disturbed. They’re my creations, Jimmy, just as you are. They are special and will serve a great purpose for the world. I need you to believe that they are exactly what they are supposed to be and nothing is wrong about that. They were designed specifically to be soulmates. To be two spirits intertwined. It’s unfortunate that the people of this time do not see the beauty in that.”
“But they’re brothers. Born of the same father.”
“As were Adam and Eve; they were the parents of all of humankind. I find no fault in that, nor should you.”
Jimmy shuddered. “I just...how do I…I can’t stand up in front of a congregation every day and lie about my faith. I can’t-”
“You’re in pain,” Chuck said, head tilted to the side in speculation. “I apologize for that, James. And I know that for many years - ever since the fire - you’ve tried to demonstrate a faith that you couldn’t fully commit to. You were angry with me for a long time. But I can help you, if you would like.”
Jimmy’s face flushed red at the realization that God had known about his caution with religion for year. “Help?”
“I will take away this pain you’re feeling. You can live a full life and enjoy your faith - a faith of your own conviction, as it shall be. You can forget about all of this. You can live in peace again.”
“Yes. Yes, please.”
“But I will call on you at some time. Your story isn’t over, Jimmy. You will be needed to help with what’s coming - what’s destined to come. It will be soon, but you won’t remember this conversation until the time comes. All you need to do is say yes when you’re asked. Can you do this?”
“Yes to what?”
“I cannot tell you right now. But you will be asked and you will answer yes.”
“I…”
Chuck leaned forward, a hand reaching out and wiping Jimmy’s face of tears. “You will say yes when the time comes.” He took one scarred hand into his own and pressed a light kiss upon it. The skin seemed to shimmer in the dim light and when Jimmy looked at it again, the cross pattern on it had disappeared.
Jimmy nodded quickly then, accepting Chuck’s touch. He closed his eyes when two fingers pressed lightly in the center of his forehead. A flash of light came over him, breath stolen and heart beating wildly. He tipped over onto the carpet. His body convulsed once, then all was dark.
~*~
“Daddy!!! Daddy, wake up!”
Jimmy groaned, rolling over in his bed, frowning as he took in his surroundings. Bright sunlight blinded him, but he was definitely in a bedroom. He blinked and sat up. Pictures of him and a woman were scattered on several walls and surfaces, smiles and kisses from shiny black and white frames. A few photos had the young girl sitting between them; in one, he was holding a tiny baby in a pink blanket. The room was clean, but slightly untidy with crumpled clothes over the chair of a vanity and books lying open on the nightstand beside him. His forehead crinkled in confusion as the door flew open.
A blonde child bounced onto the bed with him. “You’ve been in bed all morning, Daddy! Mommy says it’s time to get ready for Bible study.” She giggled at him, pointing. “Your hair looks funny.”
“Yeah?”
The little girl tugged at his arm, urging him to cross the room and stand at the vanity mirror. His face was slightly unshaven. His blue eyes were heavy with sleep and his hair was sticking up on one side. Unfamiliar pieces clicked all around him, sliding effortlessly into memories that he felt like he’d lived with forever. He laughed unexpectedly. “You’re right, Claire de Lune. It does look pretty funny.”
He reached over and tugged on her pigtail, smiling.
A fleeting thought poked sharply as his mind, but it slipped from his grasp before he could catch it. Something about saying yes??? That didn’t make sense…..
“Mommy’s making brunch. What’s brunch?”
Jimmy shook his head to clear it more and gathered his daughter into his arms. “Pancakes at lunchtime. Let’s go.”
~*~FIN~*~