Ficlets: Beyond the Reach of God's Faith; The Smile of the Dawn | SPN | Sam, Chuck | PG | 1/1 ea
Title: Beyond the Reach of God's Faith
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam
Rating: PG
Word Count: 527
Summary: After Dean declares his loss of faith, and trashes his amulet, Sam is stunned.
Disclaimer: Kripke and CW own it all. I own nothing. Darnit!
Author's Notes: SPN 5.16 coda, terribly late. Titles of both ficlets borrowed from (and here's where I show my age) In a Darkened Room (lyrics) by Skid Row.
Beyond the Reach of God's Faith
After Dean disappeared from the doorway, Sam stood there for what felt like a pretty damn long time, reeling from the sheer enormity of what had just happened. And not just from Dean dropping his amulet in the trash, but from everything that had happened in-he still couldn't quite get his mind around the concept-heaven.
Knowing what he knew now, all the things he'd never had so much as an inkling of, the way his family was more fractured, more broken than he'd ever understood, well, it was like a dunking in an ice-cold lake in Minnesota in winter. The sudden sheer sobriety of it was almost too much to handle.
Yeah, you never thought about it like that.
But Sam had been all of eighteen then, and so itching for normal and a different sort of freedom that it'd nearly brought him and his father to blows. All hero worship aside, he'd had to get out of there, or else he would've imploded.
Dean never saw that, not while they were upstairs, and certainly not back then.
Sam had never seen things from Dean's side, either.
Maybe it was you.
No. No, it was never Dean. Never his fault, never.
You lost your faith, even in your brother.
The sudden weight of guilt settled firmly in Sam's gut, added right on top of everything else. How could he possibly deny that all of this, from the very beginning, had been his fault, in one way or another? The fact remained that their lives had been built around his very existence, Dean's supposed role as a vessel notwithstanding. Angels and demons might have played a part in the broader picture, but it was clear that from moment one, Sam's mere birth had been the nail in the coffin for the Winchester clan.
No. No, dammit!
No surprise that it was his brother's voice in his head now, refuting his own self-loathing; Dean had-surprisingly, at times-somehow always managed to be the voice of reason when things went sideways. He'd always had faith that-
Faith.
And now Dean's amulet had been consigned to the same fate as yesterday's McDonald's wrappers and today's blood-soaked, bullet-shredded shirts.
No way that was happening. Not now. Not when the entire world hinged on both of them standing together, faith intact. Not with God gone AWOL, angels and horsemen running amok, and even Castiel falling so hard that he'd actually started cursing.
Tearing himself from the spot he'd rooted to, Sam bent down and reached into the trash can. His fingers found the sharp points of the amulet, as familiar to him now as if it'd been his all these years, and slowly, he drew it out from its circular grave. A quick glance at it, and it sparkled as it caught the light streaming in through the doorway, a beacon of hope that he just couldn't let go.
A brief millisecond of hesitation, and with no more doubt, he slipped the cord over his head and dropped the amulet down the front of his shirt, the weight of it warm and comforting, familiar.
If Dean had truly lost faith, then Sam would just have to keep it for both of them.
~*~*~*~
Title: The Smile of the Dawn
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, Chuck
Rating: PG
Word Count: 912
Summary: Sam's confused when he finds himself outside Lisa Braeden's house, watching Dean through the window, but Chuck makes everything clear.
Disclaimer: I *still* don't own a damn thing. :/
Author's Notes: SPN 5.22 coda. Follows "Beyond the Reach of God's Faith". Forgive the tense change; this was written without the first for reference, weeks later.
The Smile of the Dawn
The first thing Sam's aware of is the knot of grief burning inside his chest as he watches Dean through the window. It should be an idyllic scene of domesticity, family dinner in a cozy kitchen, the three of them seated around the table enjoying a home-cooked meal, easy conversation, and each other, but it isn't.
Instead, it's tense. Dean is silent, zoning out and not even eating, Lisa and Ben-Sam's still sure the boy is Dean's son, he's so much the spitting image of the elder Winchester-watching him warily, as if he's likely to spook and bolt at any moment. Sam's seen Dean broken before, in many ways, but not like this. Never like this.
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
Startling slightly at the question, Sam turns to find Chuck standing beside him, and realizes that they're standing almost in the road.
“Chuck? What-what's going on?” Confusion and apprehension wrap him in a haze, and he blinks heavily for a moment, clarity escaping him. Wasn't he just somewhere else?
Chuck looks at him with sad eyes. “You don't remember?”
Sam only shakes his head, nothing making sense.
Power, agony, fire, screams.
The swarm of images-memories?-makes his head swim for a moment, and he swallows down a wave of nausea. “I-I don't-”
“You made him promise, Sam,” Chuck explains, “before you let Lucifer in and locked him up down below. As far as Dean knows, you're trapped in the Pit with the Devil.”
Lucifer.
Panic.
But Chuck's hand is on his arm, and the adrenaline-fueled terror subsides. He doesn't know how, but he's somehow certain that Lucifer is still in the cage in Hell. There's no demon within him, no fallen angel, no twisted powers, no thirst.
No thirst.
It's as if-
Blinding light, calm, peace, life.
-as if-
“Who-who are you?”
Chuck gives him a small smile, and Sam realizes that his demeanor is completely changed. Instead of flighty and tense, he seems... confident, calm.
Blinding light.
Sam blinks at what seems to be an after-image of staring into the sun for an eternity.
“You know who I am.”
And he has to fight the urge to fall on his knees in supplication, worship, tears welling up in his eyes as the sense of total love and grace fills him, spreading along every nerve, throughout every blood vessel. He can't remember anything before feeling so... perfect.
He doesn't even feel the need to question what he now knows. That should be strange, a foreign concept to him, to be so completely trusting, but at his very core, he knows. He doesn't know how, but he knows.
Just as he knows with that same blinding sense of lucidity that the demon blood is gone, that the war is over, that Dean is miserable.
Chuck finally lets Sam's arm go, turning to look at the scene in front of them. “He really won't be happy here, you know.”
And of course, Sam knows.
“He was made for hunting, not the suburbs.”
“I-” Sam breaks off, forcing down the knot that's risen to his throat. “I just want him to not hurt anymore. He deserves that, at least.” He's surprised by the clarity of the statement, but it's so true he almost aches with the need to ease his brother's pain. “I just wish he didn't have to remember Hell anymore. And that he didn't have to worry about me, that he could know I'm okay.”
Chuck glances at him with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “I don't do wishes, Sam. Nevertheless, it's done.”
A breath of relief escapes Sam, and he feels a weight lifted off of him, his own grief for Dean lessened.
“You could let him know, yourself, though. Assuming you don't want to come along with me back home.”
Home.
Sam knows he means Heaven, and he shivers at the thought. He could go. Or....
“It's free will, Sam. Wasn't that what your whole team was about? No predestination, making your own choices?”
“I... I don't-” But he pauses as he thinks about what Lucifer did to them all before he was locked in the Pit. “What about Bobby? Cas? Adam?” He hesitates again, then ventures, “Gabriel?”
“All restored. Though Castiel accepted a promotion, and Gabriel decided to spend a millennium or two with Kali.” Chuck laughs quietly, seeming wistful. “Those two are such a pair.”
Another look at Dean through the window, already appearing calmer, less spooked, and Sam knows he doesn't want to go.
But he doesn't want to intrude, either, not when Dean is so close to having that idyllic apple-pie life he's so desperately dreamed of, even if he'd never have admitted it.
Maybe... maybe with time, things will change, and he'll feel that need, that drive to hunt again, and then Sam will go to him, but for now, he wants Dean to have this, to at least try.
“I don't suppose you could drop me at Bobby's?” he asks while he reaches beneath his shirt to fish out the necklace he'd saved for his brother. At the very least, he can give him this, his faith in them both, a promise for the future.
“Whenever you're ready,” Chuck nods, smiling sadly again.
With the cord slipped over his head, Sam palms the gleaming pendant, steps up the driveway to the Impala, and hangs it over the driver's side mirror.
“Okay,” he nods, turning back to Chuck with one last glance at Dean through the window.
A hand finds his arm again, and with a brilliant, all-encompassing light that reflects with a glint off the tiny golden amulet, Sam and Chuck are gone.
~*~*~*~
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam
Rating: PG
Word Count: 527
Summary: After Dean declares his loss of faith, and trashes his amulet, Sam is stunned.
Disclaimer: Kripke and CW own it all. I own nothing. Darnit!
Author's Notes: SPN 5.16 coda, terribly late. Titles of both ficlets borrowed from (and here's where I show my age) In a Darkened Room (lyrics) by Skid Row.
Beyond the Reach of God's Faith
After Dean disappeared from the doorway, Sam stood there for what felt like a pretty damn long time, reeling from the sheer enormity of what had just happened. And not just from Dean dropping his amulet in the trash, but from everything that had happened in-he still couldn't quite get his mind around the concept-heaven.
Knowing what he knew now, all the things he'd never had so much as an inkling of, the way his family was more fractured, more broken than he'd ever understood, well, it was like a dunking in an ice-cold lake in Minnesota in winter. The sudden sheer sobriety of it was almost too much to handle.
Yeah, you never thought about it like that.
But Sam had been all of eighteen then, and so itching for normal and a different sort of freedom that it'd nearly brought him and his father to blows. All hero worship aside, he'd had to get out of there, or else he would've imploded.
Dean never saw that, not while they were upstairs, and certainly not back then.
Sam had never seen things from Dean's side, either.
Maybe it was you.
No. No, it was never Dean. Never his fault, never.
You lost your faith, even in your brother.
The sudden weight of guilt settled firmly in Sam's gut, added right on top of everything else. How could he possibly deny that all of this, from the very beginning, had been his fault, in one way or another? The fact remained that their lives had been built around his very existence, Dean's supposed role as a vessel notwithstanding. Angels and demons might have played a part in the broader picture, but it was clear that from moment one, Sam's mere birth had been the nail in the coffin for the Winchester clan.
No. No, dammit!
No surprise that it was his brother's voice in his head now, refuting his own self-loathing; Dean had-surprisingly, at times-somehow always managed to be the voice of reason when things went sideways. He'd always had faith that-
Faith.
And now Dean's amulet had been consigned to the same fate as yesterday's McDonald's wrappers and today's blood-soaked, bullet-shredded shirts.
No way that was happening. Not now. Not when the entire world hinged on both of them standing together, faith intact. Not with God gone AWOL, angels and horsemen running amok, and even Castiel falling so hard that he'd actually started cursing.
Tearing himself from the spot he'd rooted to, Sam bent down and reached into the trash can. His fingers found the sharp points of the amulet, as familiar to him now as if it'd been his all these years, and slowly, he drew it out from its circular grave. A quick glance at it, and it sparkled as it caught the light streaming in through the doorway, a beacon of hope that he just couldn't let go.
A brief millisecond of hesitation, and with no more doubt, he slipped the cord over his head and dropped the amulet down the front of his shirt, the weight of it warm and comforting, familiar.
If Dean had truly lost faith, then Sam would just have to keep it for both of them.
~*~*~*~
Title: The Smile of the Dawn
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, Chuck
Rating: PG
Word Count: 912
Summary: Sam's confused when he finds himself outside Lisa Braeden's house, watching Dean through the window, but Chuck makes everything clear.
Disclaimer: I *still* don't own a damn thing. :/
Author's Notes: SPN 5.22 coda. Follows "Beyond the Reach of God's Faith". Forgive the tense change; this was written without the first for reference, weeks later.
The Smile of the Dawn
The first thing Sam's aware of is the knot of grief burning inside his chest as he watches Dean through the window. It should be an idyllic scene of domesticity, family dinner in a cozy kitchen, the three of them seated around the table enjoying a home-cooked meal, easy conversation, and each other, but it isn't.
Instead, it's tense. Dean is silent, zoning out and not even eating, Lisa and Ben-Sam's still sure the boy is Dean's son, he's so much the spitting image of the elder Winchester-watching him warily, as if he's likely to spook and bolt at any moment. Sam's seen Dean broken before, in many ways, but not like this. Never like this.
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
Startling slightly at the question, Sam turns to find Chuck standing beside him, and realizes that they're standing almost in the road.
“Chuck? What-what's going on?” Confusion and apprehension wrap him in a haze, and he blinks heavily for a moment, clarity escaping him. Wasn't he just somewhere else?
Chuck looks at him with sad eyes. “You don't remember?”
Sam only shakes his head, nothing making sense.
Power, agony, fire, screams.
The swarm of images-memories?-makes his head swim for a moment, and he swallows down a wave of nausea. “I-I don't-”
“You made him promise, Sam,” Chuck explains, “before you let Lucifer in and locked him up down below. As far as Dean knows, you're trapped in the Pit with the Devil.”
Lucifer.
Panic.
But Chuck's hand is on his arm, and the adrenaline-fueled terror subsides. He doesn't know how, but he's somehow certain that Lucifer is still in the cage in Hell. There's no demon within him, no fallen angel, no twisted powers, no thirst.
No thirst.
It's as if-
Blinding light, calm, peace, life.
-as if-
“Who-who are you?”
Chuck gives him a small smile, and Sam realizes that his demeanor is completely changed. Instead of flighty and tense, he seems... confident, calm.
Blinding light.
Sam blinks at what seems to be an after-image of staring into the sun for an eternity.
“You know who I am.”
And he has to fight the urge to fall on his knees in supplication, worship, tears welling up in his eyes as the sense of total love and grace fills him, spreading along every nerve, throughout every blood vessel. He can't remember anything before feeling so... perfect.
He doesn't even feel the need to question what he now knows. That should be strange, a foreign concept to him, to be so completely trusting, but at his very core, he knows. He doesn't know how, but he knows.
Just as he knows with that same blinding sense of lucidity that the demon blood is gone, that the war is over, that Dean is miserable.
Chuck finally lets Sam's arm go, turning to look at the scene in front of them. “He really won't be happy here, you know.”
And of course, Sam knows.
“He was made for hunting, not the suburbs.”
“I-” Sam breaks off, forcing down the knot that's risen to his throat. “I just want him to not hurt anymore. He deserves that, at least.” He's surprised by the clarity of the statement, but it's so true he almost aches with the need to ease his brother's pain. “I just wish he didn't have to remember Hell anymore. And that he didn't have to worry about me, that he could know I'm okay.”
Chuck glances at him with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “I don't do wishes, Sam. Nevertheless, it's done.”
A breath of relief escapes Sam, and he feels a weight lifted off of him, his own grief for Dean lessened.
“You could let him know, yourself, though. Assuming you don't want to come along with me back home.”
Home.
Sam knows he means Heaven, and he shivers at the thought. He could go. Or....
“It's free will, Sam. Wasn't that what your whole team was about? No predestination, making your own choices?”
“I... I don't-” But he pauses as he thinks about what Lucifer did to them all before he was locked in the Pit. “What about Bobby? Cas? Adam?” He hesitates again, then ventures, “Gabriel?”
“All restored. Though Castiel accepted a promotion, and Gabriel decided to spend a millennium or two with Kali.” Chuck laughs quietly, seeming wistful. “Those two are such a pair.”
Another look at Dean through the window, already appearing calmer, less spooked, and Sam knows he doesn't want to go.
But he doesn't want to intrude, either, not when Dean is so close to having that idyllic apple-pie life he's so desperately dreamed of, even if he'd never have admitted it.
Maybe... maybe with time, things will change, and he'll feel that need, that drive to hunt again, and then Sam will go to him, but for now, he wants Dean to have this, to at least try.
“I don't suppose you could drop me at Bobby's?” he asks while he reaches beneath his shirt to fish out the necklace he'd saved for his brother. At the very least, he can give him this, his faith in them both, a promise for the future.
“Whenever you're ready,” Chuck nods, smiling sadly again.
With the cord slipped over his head, Sam palms the gleaming pendant, steps up the driveway to the Impala, and hangs it over the driver's side mirror.
“Okay,” he nods, turning back to Chuck with one last glance at Dean through the window.
A hand finds his arm again, and with a brilliant, all-encompassing light that reflects with a glint off the tiny golden amulet, Sam and Chuck are gone.
~*~*~*~