I Believe In You
Title: I Believe In You
Author: chosenfire28
Pairing/Character: Dean Winchester
Disclaimer: I DO NOT Own. All recognizable characters and situations belong to their respective owners and I make no profit off of playing with this.
spn_contest Prompt: Book
Rating: PG
Word Count: 483
Warnings/Spoilers: Season 2 “Houses of the Holy”
Author Notes:I just joined this community and after pondering what I could write as my introduction this hit me and wouldn’t let go. This is unbeta’d and probably full of grammar mistakes so I apologize in advance.
Summary: Dean doesn’t believe in the words in the book but in the woman who left it behind.
He couldn’t remember a time when he believed in God. He had spent too many years with his hands drenched in blood, most of the time his father and brother’s blood and after that it was hard to believe in Him
When you’re nine years old and you’re pressing your hands tightly against your fathers blood soaked chest its hard to believe there is a God or a Heaven. It’s even harder when you are sixteen and holding your unconscius brother in your arms screaming for somebody to help you in a busy hospital.
He had stared into the eyes of pure evil, had felt its foul breath on the back of his neck and had the scars to prove that it cut and it shredded. More than once he had felt the cool metal in his hand as he had blown it away.
Dean had faith, not in a higher power though. He had faith in his father, faith that he knew what he was doing and would never lead him wrong.
He had faith in his brother, faith in the fact that without Sammy none of this would matter, that this constant fight and struggle wouldn’t be worth it unless Sammy was safe.
So, he didn’t believe in God.
He believed in her though. Believed in her soft voice whispering in his ear about Angels he didn’t believe in anymore. He believed in the smudge he could see at the corner of one of the pages from her mascara.
He didn’t believe in God but he believed in his mother’s name written in the corner of the first page of the worn black leather bible that had always rested safely in the bottom of his bag. Wrapped up in the soft blue baby blanket that had held his brother when he had rushed him out of the fire and away from the place where Angels hadn’t been watching over them.
Because she had never abandoned him, not willingly, and she had always loved him. To her he had been her son, not her soldier, or her Hunter, or her Protector. His mom had never asked anything of him, had never wanted him to be anything other than her little boy.
Because of that he would always treasure the bible he had found stuffed under the passenger seat when he was five. He had found it the day he started talking again and asking his dad where the Angels had been and why they hadn’t been watching over mommy.
One day he would show it to Sam, because he knew Sam believed in Angels and God and maybe Sam would believe in her again when he saw the highlighted passages and their mothers name.
Maybe Sam would understand what Dean believed in, where his faith had been born from.
Not from crosses and empty promises, but from fire and a mother’s love.
Author: chosenfire28
Pairing/Character: Dean Winchester
Disclaimer: I DO NOT Own. All recognizable characters and situations belong to their respective owners and I make no profit off of playing with this.
spn_contest Prompt: Book
Rating: PG
Word Count: 483
Warnings/Spoilers: Season 2 “Houses of the Holy”
Author Notes:I just joined this community and after pondering what I could write as my introduction this hit me and wouldn’t let go. This is unbeta’d and probably full of grammar mistakes so I apologize in advance.
Summary: Dean doesn’t believe in the words in the book but in the woman who left it behind.
He couldn’t remember a time when he believed in God. He had spent too many years with his hands drenched in blood, most of the time his father and brother’s blood and after that it was hard to believe in Him
When you’re nine years old and you’re pressing your hands tightly against your fathers blood soaked chest its hard to believe there is a God or a Heaven. It’s even harder when you are sixteen and holding your unconscius brother in your arms screaming for somebody to help you in a busy hospital.
He had stared into the eyes of pure evil, had felt its foul breath on the back of his neck and had the scars to prove that it cut and it shredded. More than once he had felt the cool metal in his hand as he had blown it away.
Dean had faith, not in a higher power though. He had faith in his father, faith that he knew what he was doing and would never lead him wrong.
He had faith in his brother, faith in the fact that without Sammy none of this would matter, that this constant fight and struggle wouldn’t be worth it unless Sammy was safe.
So, he didn’t believe in God.
He believed in her though. Believed in her soft voice whispering in his ear about Angels he didn’t believe in anymore. He believed in the smudge he could see at the corner of one of the pages from her mascara.
He didn’t believe in God but he believed in his mother’s name written in the corner of the first page of the worn black leather bible that had always rested safely in the bottom of his bag. Wrapped up in the soft blue baby blanket that had held his brother when he had rushed him out of the fire and away from the place where Angels hadn’t been watching over them.
Because she had never abandoned him, not willingly, and she had always loved him. To her he had been her son, not her soldier, or her Hunter, or her Protector. His mom had never asked anything of him, had never wanted him to be anything other than her little boy.
Because of that he would always treasure the bible he had found stuffed under the passenger seat when he was five. He had found it the day he started talking again and asking his dad where the Angels had been and why they hadn’t been watching over mommy.
One day he would show it to Sam, because he knew Sam believed in Angels and God and maybe Sam would believe in her again when he saw the highlighted passages and their mothers name.
Maybe Sam would understand what Dean believed in, where his faith had been born from.
Not from crosses and empty promises, but from fire and a mother’s love.