Faith and Hope
Fandom: Supernatural
Series: Love, Curiosity, Freckles, & Doubt
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1225
Characters/Pairing: eventual Sam/Dean.
Summary: Sam believes. Dean doesn't get it.
Warnings: Fluff, weechesters, talk of faith
Notes: Series title taken from the Dorothy Parker quote "Four be the things I'd have been better without: love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt."
The first time Sam intentionally lies to his brother is the Easter before he turns fourteen. He spent the last twenty minutes talking himself into it in the bathroom mirror, and he's still more nervous than he thought he would be.
At least Dad is out of town. No way he could pull it off otherwise.
"Hey, Dean, I have a project due tomorrow, so I'm gonna go to the library for a couple of hours, okay?"
His brother looks up from where he's stretched languidly on the couch, only half-watching the fuzzy television screen. "M'kay. D'you need a ride?" He sits up, stretching his arms above his head, t-shirt riding up to reveal a thin strip of smooth, tanned skin.
Sam swallows, trying not to stare. "Nah. It's nice out, I can just walk."
Dean nods and slumps back against the cushions. "Suit yourself. Just be back before dark, yeah?"
"Sure thing Dean." Sam turns on his heel and makes quickly for the door, wanting to get out before he betrays himself.
"Sammy?"
"Mmm?" Sam pauses, hand on the doorknob, wondering if he's been caught out.
"You planning on taking your backpack?"
"Oh!" Sam laughs nervously, "I almost forgot. That woulda sucked."
Dean flashes him a blinding smile, the one that makes Sam feel trembly and weird. "That's what I'm here for, little brother. Don't talk to strangers."
"Yeah, yeah." Sam says, rolling his eyes to hide his own unwilling grin, "I'll be back in time for lunch, okay?"
Dean waves a hand dismissively in his direction and Sam hurries out of the motel, breathing a sigh of relief as the door clicks shut behind him.
Luckily, the library is in the same direction he needs to go, so Sam's not likely to get caught. He heads down the sidewalk, hanging on to his backpack, instead of abandoning it in the Impala, just in case Dean is watching out the window. Once he's sure he's out of sight of the motel, he breaks into a slight jog, checking his watch. Ten minutes. He can make it, no sweat.
Sam reaches his destination with three minutes to spare. The little white church looks like it came straight from a picture book, complete with bell, steeple, and bright red double doors.
There are still people milling about when Sam sidles in, so he slips quietly into the back pew, eyes down. He doesn't know anyone and no one tries to talk to him, but Sam is more than okay with that, a coil of anxiety still tight in his gut. He's still feeling pretty guilty about lying to his brother, but it's hard not to be irritated by the fact that he has to sneak off to church the way most teenagers do for parties. It's just another way his family is abnormal and the knowledge sits like lead in his gut.
Sam gives his head a little shake and focuses on the hymn pouring from the organ. He hasn't had many opportunites to visit churches, but on the rare occasion, it's always been more soothing than almost anything else. Sometimes Sam wonders if their mother ever took them to church, if she believed in an ultimate good the way John and Dean can't quite manage. Of course, he can't ask his brother; can't bear the pinched look in Dean's eyes any time someone mentions Mary. But Sam likes to think he's not the only Winchester to have that kind of faith.
The thing is, in Sam's estimation, if there are as many terrible monsters out there as he knows there are, there has to be a force to balance it. He's not overly concerned with denominations and dogma, but it comforts him to think that maybe someone is watching out for him....for his family, just a little bit.
An hour later, the service ends, and Sam hurries out as quietly as he had come, feeling more at peace than he has in weeks.
At least until he spots Dean, perched on the steps, waiting for him, face impassive. The smile slips from his face as his brother catches his eye and beckons him over.
"This doesn't look very much like the library to me, Sammy."
"How did you know?" Sam asks, feeling horribly caught out. He should've known better than to try to lie to Dean. The one person in the world who knows him better than anyone else.
"Library isn't open on Sundays." Dean answers coolly, "Any particular reason you felt like you had to lie to me?"
Sam hesitates. "I dunno."
"Sam, c'mon. I mean, I get why you might've lied if you were going to an orgy or something--" A well-dressed woman coming down the steps shoots him a dirty look, but Dean is oblivious, as usual. "--but why'd you lie about going to church?"
Sam shrugs uncomfortably. He really doesn't want to argue the merits of faith with his brother in the church parking lot. "Easter services are kind of a thing families do together," he says haltingly, "I didn't want you to feel like you had to come."
Dean studies his face intently for a long moment, long enough that Sam's starting to get anxious again. "I woulda come if you wanted me to, Sammy."
"But you don't even believe in God or angels or any of that!" Sam points out, his voice growing louder as his agitation increases. He's acutely miserable now, shoulders slumped, but Dean throws an arm around him and leads him away from the building, shushing him gently.
"Sammy, listen, just because I don't have faith or whatever doesn't mean you can't." he squeezes his brother's shoulders lightly, "If believing that angels are looking out for you makes you feel better, that's great. And...if you want to go to church sometimes, that's cool too," he hesitates for a moment and the adds: "I--I'll even go with you, if it's that important to you."
Sam looks up at his brother, surprised, but Dean is wearing an uncharacteristically serious expression, freckles standing out in the Easter sunshine. Sam knows just how much Dean hates these kind of touchy-feely conversations, but he's making an effort for his brother, and that knowledge makes Sam's heart flutter, a swoop of something warm and pleasant in his stomach, that dangerous feeling that he's still terrified to put a name to.
"Thanks, Dean," he says a little hoarsely, "You're the best."
Dean scrubs his knuckles through his little brother's hair a little and smirks again, and Sam barely restrains the shiver that races down his spine. "Don't ever forget it, bitch. Now let's go get some lunch, I'm starving. I thought that preacher was never gonna stop talking!"