Fic: The Gospel According to Becky
Title: The Gospel According to Becky
Author: brightly_lit
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~2,500
Genre: gen, humor
Characters: Sam, Dean, Becky, OCs
Spoilers: Up through "Season 7, Time for a Wedding"
Summary: Cas did say Chuck's books one day would be known as the Winchester gospel, and where there's a gospel, there must be a church ....
"Becky was danger wrapped in lies wrapped in a sweater vest."
Sam never turned on Skype. Any time he’d been contacted via that channel, it had never been good--Chuck, Bela, angry hunters, the occasional tech-savvy demon, angels finding ways to manifest their image through fiber optics ... but he knew Dean must have been cybersexing again and left Skype on when it chimed. “SamLicker81.” If there was something worse than homicidal hunters, psychopathic demons, and dick angels chasing them down, this was it.
Sam ignored it and went back to doing research when Dean suddenly appeared at his side long enough to look at the screen, grin, and accept the call, then he darted out of the room, chortling. Sam didn’t even have time to utter the colorful words that popped to mind before Becky’s face appeared, and Sam, oh so reluctantly, turned to her with a sighed, “Hi, Becky.”
“Hello, Sam,” she said, already way more restrained than usual. Sam also noticed she was wearing a white shirt buttoned all the way up to her neck ... but that was pretty much how she usually dressed. He knew all too much about her sartorial tastes, her personal habits, her likes and dislikes, her creative writing about him and Dean .... It had all seemed so magical and entrancing when they were ... he cut off the thought. Annulled meant it had never happened. Never happened. “I’m sure I’m probably not the first person you’re hoping to see ...,” she said.
“You got that right,” he said shortly.
He saw the hurt on her face before she managed to cover it slightly with a haughty pride. Ah, Becky. “Well ... I wanted you to know I’m a reformed woman,” she went on, lifting her chin. “I go to church now, and I just try to do good works and help my fellow human beings--like you and Dean! Help my community, and ... well, just so you know, I’m not the same woman I was.”
Sam snorted. “Really? You’ve decided maybe stalking, roofying, and kidnapping aren’t the way to get a guy?”
She really did look regretful. “I’m sorry, Sam. I guess I’ve probably ... ruined my chances with you ... forever, now.” She had the audacity to look hopeful for a second.
“Yeah, probably,” Sam hissed sardonically. He heard Dean laugh out loud from the other room. “But the fact is, Becky, you never had a chance with me in the first place.”
“Well, then why do you think I--?” she began hotly before restraining herself again, as Sam scowled. “Anyway, that’s all in the past,” she said primly. “And that’s not why I’m calling. I just thought you and Dean would want to know about an event coming up soon where there will be a lot of people who ... need ... to be saved.”
Sam narrowed his eyes. She’d tricked them into coming to a Supernatural convention before, and she wasn’t exactly their go-to gal for cases. Dean came out of the bathroom, wiping his face with a towel, curious despite himself. “Oh, yeah?” said Sam suspiciously. “Where?”
She gave him an address, which he quickly Googled while they chatted--a church, in her hometown. “What is it?” Dean said, coming to his side.
Becky’s eyes lit up. “Hi, Dean!”
“Hey, Becky.”
“Remember how when we first met, I said you weren’t what I expected? Well, I’ve been thinking it over, and just because you weren’t what I expected doesn’t mean you’re not ... you know, good.” She gave him a winning smile. Dean and Sam exchanged a glance.
“Definitely reformed,” Sam grumbled.
“Glad you’ve finally seen the light and realized who the better brother is,” Dean told her with a wink, and she giggled flirtatiously.
“Don’t encourage her!” Sam hissed.
Dean took in Sam’s exhortation and, for once, seemed to take it to heart. “Whaddya got, Becky?” said Dean. “What’s the case? It’s a church, huh? Will there be demons, angels ...?”
“Probably,” she hedged. “Just--it’ll be big. I know, because Chuck told me, and--and he said an angel told him, so ... you know. You should--you should really be there.”
“Okay, we’ll check it out,” Dean said, and ended the call as she was brightly saying she’d see them there. He and Sam looked at each other for a few seconds. “Well,” Dean said, “guess we better get packed.”
“You seriously want to go?” Sam sputtered, huffing a laugh. “You heard her, didn’t you? She’s lying. Or ... something.”
Dean shrugged. “She said Chuck and an angel said it’s something, and Cas is ... you know, so ....”
“So you trust her? Becky??”
Dean shrugged. “Say what you want, Sam, but I’m never underestimating her again.”
Sam let out a disbelieving laugh. “Are we talking about the same person? Becky couldn’t intimidate a child.”
“Yeah? Sam, we’ve broke out of more jail cells than I can count. We’ve been tied up by demons, shifters, psychopathic humans, and we got out of ’em all. Guess who locked you down for days and you couldn’t get away? The whole stalker, Misery thing ...,” he shuddered. “I’m not takin’ any chances. It’s always the quiet ones. Anyway, what can it hurt?”
“’What can it hurt’?!” Sam hissed disbelievingly. “You’re the one who just brought up what happened to me the last time we saw her!”
“Well,” Dean shrugged, “you know, we are kind of low on allies, not to mention angel friends. Chuck and Becky are about all we’ve got left. It isn’t much, but it’s somethin’. ’Sides, I’ve gotta see what Becky thinks counts as ‘reformed.’” He grinned, thinking of it. Sam did not grin. Oh, Becky. It really was always the quiet ones. How could the supernerd half his size have turned out to be so much trouble? That girl was danger wrapped in lies wrapped in a sweater vest. Sam could think of a dozen demons who weren’t half as hard to quell as her. But Sam wouldn’t be intimidated. He wouldn’t let Dean know he had a worse feeling about this in the pit of his stomach than he did before most hunts.
As they pulled up outside the church, they stocked up on weapons--anything they thought might be useful--except that guns seemed useless when it came to Becky. Her dangerousness was on a whole other level. “What’s wrong, Sam?” Dean said shortly, pausing as he caught sight of Sam’s face as he was about to close the trunk. “You’re kinda turning the color of a ghoul.”
“Nothing,” Sam mumbled, glancing huntedly around the parking lot full of cars but empty of people. “Just ... this looks like a regular church, right? Like a regular service is in session. It doesn’t seem like anything’s going on.”
Dean looked around, too. “Well,” he said with a shrug, slamming the trunk, “that’s always how it looks right before all hell breaks loose.”
They crept up the steps, through the entry hall (Dean stocked up on holy water--it was easier than making it yourself, and at least priests got paid to do it, unlike Sam and Dean), and peeked through the crack between the big double doors. The sound of organ music filtered through, but Sam couldn’t place it until Dean nodded and started trying to groove to it. “Hey, check it out--‘Smoke on the Water’! I like this church!”
Sam scoffed. “That is not what it is.”
“Yeah, it is,” Dean said, and started singing along softly.
Sam frowned. It sure did sound like it, down to the droning guitar between verses, only played on an organ. Dean was now head-banging. “It has to just be some hymn we’ve never heard,” Sam insisted in a whisper.
“Yeah, or--no, you know what I bet it is?” Dean whispered back excitedly. “Deep Purple probably based it on a hymn. Lots of those rock guys do that.”
“No, they don’t,” Sam growled, trying to see through the crack between the doors, only to realize Dean was not the only one head-banging along. What the hell?! He looked anxiously at all the parishioners. He had to say, they seemed pretty much like regular church-going folk, dressed very nicely and sitting listening respectfully, although--perhaps because of the music--the teens present seemed to be way more into the proceedings than any other church Sam had ever been to. Despite the head-banging, everyone seemed dressed pretty conservatively, like respectable people.
He saw Becky up at the front next to a woman in fancy robes who must be the minister, as if Becky was assisting her during this service. Becky was dressed very primly in a white shirt buttoned all the way up to her neck and down to her wrists, an uncharacteristically long skirt, and--yes--a sweater vest, though it hurt his eyes much less than her usual attire. She really was way more restrained than she used to be, even when she didn’t know Sam and Dean were watching her, but Sam didn’t buy it for a second. He did, after all, know her much better than he ever wanted to, and some things never change.
The song came to a dramatic end, the last note held for a long time, as Dean nodded his approval, and the minister finally took the pulpit. “Thank you, Jen,” she said. “I love your organ renditions of these sacred songs. You are such a wonderful addition to this community.”
The young organist nodded, shuffling through her sheet music.
“This is a wonderful day for our church,” the minister went on. “Many of those who came for Chuck’s guest sermon last week have decided to become permanent members!” There was applause, and some unexpectedly rowdy whooping. “And our founder Becky truly believes that after today, there will be many, many more. It seems impossible for our tiny church just starting out, but well, we’ve all seen greater miracles than that, haven’t we? A generous benefactor built this church for us though our flock is small, and our flock is growing by leaps and bounds. I believe the reason is because we can relate to the struggles described in our gospel, and thus we may find real answers to the baffling problems of today. These are real people, people we can touch--” here, for some reason, Becky’s eyes rolled back in her head a little, and she got a dreamy smile on her face “--talk to, ask our questions of; we can see that they’re real with our own eyes. Becky has. Becky, would you like to say a few words?”
“Yes, reverend,” Becky said, and took the mic.
“Our ‘founder’ Becky?” Sam said suspiciously, turning to look at Dean, only to find him snacking on pretzels. Sam stared at him, and followed Dean’s guilty gaze to the small snack bowl on a sideboard. Dean just shrugged and kept eating.
“So she founded a church. People do it all the time. I guess. They must, right? No shortage of churches for us to find relics and holy water in.”
“It’s kind of a big deal, Dean. You have to have enough charisma to get people to follow you, or at least a firm belief in something, some way of seeing ... oh no,” he said as Becky began to speak. “No. Dean,” he said desperately, “what was the name of this church again?”
Dean grabbed a program off the same sideboard, then handed it to Sam. “The Church of Free Will.”
Just as all the blood drained out of Sam’s face, he heard Becky say, “And I know they’re here, because I can hear them talking out there--Sam and Dean Winchester, everyone!”
The double doors flew open to reveal them, just as Dean was stuffing more pretzels into his mouth. He froze for a second, chewed hard, gulped, coughed, and waved awkwardly at the rapturous crowd, who were turning around in their seats, getting to their feet, clapping wildly. Becky ran down the aisle, grabbed them both by the arms, and dragged them to the front as Sam hissed, “Becky, what have you done?”
“Something good,” she said piously. “Not saving-the-world good, but almost. Chuck said his books would one day be known as the Winchester Gospel, and I finally realized my love for you is of a more ... holy nature than I realized before. I was sick of waiting for someone else to start a religion in your name, so I did it!” They arrived at the front then and she turned them to face the crowd. Sam was pale and glassy-eyed. Dean was still trying to brush off all the crumbs. Becky leaned over to whisper, “Chuck said this is the thing that’s gonna start it all, you guys showing up here today. This is the day when it takes off and people start becoming true believers. I did it!” Sam’s knees went weak. The organist started playing Kool and the Gang, and the parishioners began to dance--well, as much as you can to organ music, anyway.
“We’re saved!” cried the minister. The crowd roared. “Let us read from the gospel, a passage of celebration!” the minister declared. The flock took out their copies of Chuck’s terrible books--this one was called ‘Bad Day at Black Rock’--and embarked on a call-and-response reading of Dean’s joy upon learning they’d won the big prize at Biggerson’s. Sam would never forget the look in Becky’s eyes as she smiled shyly and proudly up at him from her book. She really did think she’d done a good thing. Sam was right; she would never change.
“Sammy, you gotta admit, starting a religion all by yourself ... I mean, that’s pretty impressive,” Dean said, admiring all the gifts they’d received from the church, which was mostly drawings and posters and sculptures and quilts featuring the two of them in various dramatic poses, but which did also include a few snacks and weapons. Give Dean a good gun and a bag of chips and you had a friend for life. “’Sides, they told us straight out that if we ever needed a place to stay, we could use the church basement, which was sweeet--did you see that place? Pool table, widescreen t.v.--free porn--fully stocked fridge ....” He whistled. Seeing Sam’s frown, Dean went on quickly, “And--and they got stuff there you like, too! Law books, and a laptop, and ... whatever that stuff is you like,” he finished at a mumble; Dean had only had eyes for the ‘Dean relics’ they’d collected in their so-called ‘reliquary.’
“Dean, you seriously don’t see the problem with someone starting a religion about us??”
Dean shrugged and eyed him with that irrepressible look. Sam envied Dean’s ability to lose himself in pleasure in the smallest things, after everything they’d been through. “I can ... see the benefits,” Dean responded carefully.
“It doesn’t creep you out at all to know that, every Sunday, dozens--or, who knows, maybe someday hundreds, THOUSANDS--of people gather to talk and read about all the things we’ve done and--Dean--WORSHIP US??”
Dean pulled a handful of slips of paper out of his pocket and rubbed them together in Sam’s direction. “Phone numbers,” he said gustily. “Practically every chick there.”
Sam only prayed when it was important. Now he turned his eyes heavenward and whispered, “Why, God? Why?”
~ The End ~
Notes:
- I'm fascinated with religion. I got all excited when Cas reverently looked over Chuck's pulp fiction and said it would one day be known as the "Winchester Gospel," so I couldn't resist following up on it ...
- I really loved the "Season 7, Time for a Wedding" episode (though I seem to be in the minority in that feeling ...?). Sam was married to her, however briefly and unwillingly, and she figured into their lives in some measure at various times; I figured there should at least be some follow-up to all that.
- What can I say, I adore Becky. She and Chuck are always good for some yuks .... ;-)
Author: brightly_lit
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~2,500
Genre: gen, humor
Characters: Sam, Dean, Becky, OCs
Spoilers: Up through "Season 7, Time for a Wedding"
Summary: Cas did say Chuck's books one day would be known as the Winchester gospel, and where there's a gospel, there must be a church ....
"Becky was danger wrapped in lies wrapped in a sweater vest."
Sam never turned on Skype. Any time he’d been contacted via that channel, it had never been good--Chuck, Bela, angry hunters, the occasional tech-savvy demon, angels finding ways to manifest their image through fiber optics ... but he knew Dean must have been cybersexing again and left Skype on when it chimed. “SamLicker81.” If there was something worse than homicidal hunters, psychopathic demons, and dick angels chasing them down, this was it.
Sam ignored it and went back to doing research when Dean suddenly appeared at his side long enough to look at the screen, grin, and accept the call, then he darted out of the room, chortling. Sam didn’t even have time to utter the colorful words that popped to mind before Becky’s face appeared, and Sam, oh so reluctantly, turned to her with a sighed, “Hi, Becky.”
“Hello, Sam,” she said, already way more restrained than usual. Sam also noticed she was wearing a white shirt buttoned all the way up to her neck ... but that was pretty much how she usually dressed. He knew all too much about her sartorial tastes, her personal habits, her likes and dislikes, her creative writing about him and Dean .... It had all seemed so magical and entrancing when they were ... he cut off the thought. Annulled meant it had never happened. Never happened. “I’m sure I’m probably not the first person you’re hoping to see ...,” she said.
“You got that right,” he said shortly.
He saw the hurt on her face before she managed to cover it slightly with a haughty pride. Ah, Becky. “Well ... I wanted you to know I’m a reformed woman,” she went on, lifting her chin. “I go to church now, and I just try to do good works and help my fellow human beings--like you and Dean! Help my community, and ... well, just so you know, I’m not the same woman I was.”
Sam snorted. “Really? You’ve decided maybe stalking, roofying, and kidnapping aren’t the way to get a guy?”
She really did look regretful. “I’m sorry, Sam. I guess I’ve probably ... ruined my chances with you ... forever, now.” She had the audacity to look hopeful for a second.
“Yeah, probably,” Sam hissed sardonically. He heard Dean laugh out loud from the other room. “But the fact is, Becky, you never had a chance with me in the first place.”
“Well, then why do you think I--?” she began hotly before restraining herself again, as Sam scowled. “Anyway, that’s all in the past,” she said primly. “And that’s not why I’m calling. I just thought you and Dean would want to know about an event coming up soon where there will be a lot of people who ... need ... to be saved.”
Sam narrowed his eyes. She’d tricked them into coming to a Supernatural convention before, and she wasn’t exactly their go-to gal for cases. Dean came out of the bathroom, wiping his face with a towel, curious despite himself. “Oh, yeah?” said Sam suspiciously. “Where?”
She gave him an address, which he quickly Googled while they chatted--a church, in her hometown. “What is it?” Dean said, coming to his side.
Becky’s eyes lit up. “Hi, Dean!”
“Hey, Becky.”
“Remember how when we first met, I said you weren’t what I expected? Well, I’ve been thinking it over, and just because you weren’t what I expected doesn’t mean you’re not ... you know, good.” She gave him a winning smile. Dean and Sam exchanged a glance.
“Definitely reformed,” Sam grumbled.
“Glad you’ve finally seen the light and realized who the better brother is,” Dean told her with a wink, and she giggled flirtatiously.
“Don’t encourage her!” Sam hissed.
Dean took in Sam’s exhortation and, for once, seemed to take it to heart. “Whaddya got, Becky?” said Dean. “What’s the case? It’s a church, huh? Will there be demons, angels ...?”
“Probably,” she hedged. “Just--it’ll be big. I know, because Chuck told me, and--and he said an angel told him, so ... you know. You should--you should really be there.”
“Okay, we’ll check it out,” Dean said, and ended the call as she was brightly saying she’d see them there. He and Sam looked at each other for a few seconds. “Well,” Dean said, “guess we better get packed.”
“You seriously want to go?” Sam sputtered, huffing a laugh. “You heard her, didn’t you? She’s lying. Or ... something.”
Dean shrugged. “She said Chuck and an angel said it’s something, and Cas is ... you know, so ....”
“So you trust her? Becky??”
Dean shrugged. “Say what you want, Sam, but I’m never underestimating her again.”
Sam let out a disbelieving laugh. “Are we talking about the same person? Becky couldn’t intimidate a child.”
“Yeah? Sam, we’ve broke out of more jail cells than I can count. We’ve been tied up by demons, shifters, psychopathic humans, and we got out of ’em all. Guess who locked you down for days and you couldn’t get away? The whole stalker, Misery thing ...,” he shuddered. “I’m not takin’ any chances. It’s always the quiet ones. Anyway, what can it hurt?”
“’What can it hurt’?!” Sam hissed disbelievingly. “You’re the one who just brought up what happened to me the last time we saw her!”
“Well,” Dean shrugged, “you know, we are kind of low on allies, not to mention angel friends. Chuck and Becky are about all we’ve got left. It isn’t much, but it’s somethin’. ’Sides, I’ve gotta see what Becky thinks counts as ‘reformed.’” He grinned, thinking of it. Sam did not grin. Oh, Becky. It really was always the quiet ones. How could the supernerd half his size have turned out to be so much trouble? That girl was danger wrapped in lies wrapped in a sweater vest. Sam could think of a dozen demons who weren’t half as hard to quell as her. But Sam wouldn’t be intimidated. He wouldn’t let Dean know he had a worse feeling about this in the pit of his stomach than he did before most hunts.
As they pulled up outside the church, they stocked up on weapons--anything they thought might be useful--except that guns seemed useless when it came to Becky. Her dangerousness was on a whole other level. “What’s wrong, Sam?” Dean said shortly, pausing as he caught sight of Sam’s face as he was about to close the trunk. “You’re kinda turning the color of a ghoul.”
“Nothing,” Sam mumbled, glancing huntedly around the parking lot full of cars but empty of people. “Just ... this looks like a regular church, right? Like a regular service is in session. It doesn’t seem like anything’s going on.”
Dean looked around, too. “Well,” he said with a shrug, slamming the trunk, “that’s always how it looks right before all hell breaks loose.”
They crept up the steps, through the entry hall (Dean stocked up on holy water--it was easier than making it yourself, and at least priests got paid to do it, unlike Sam and Dean), and peeked through the crack between the big double doors. The sound of organ music filtered through, but Sam couldn’t place it until Dean nodded and started trying to groove to it. “Hey, check it out--‘Smoke on the Water’! I like this church!”
Sam scoffed. “That is not what it is.”
“Yeah, it is,” Dean said, and started singing along softly.
Sam frowned. It sure did sound like it, down to the droning guitar between verses, only played on an organ. Dean was now head-banging. “It has to just be some hymn we’ve never heard,” Sam insisted in a whisper.
“Yeah, or--no, you know what I bet it is?” Dean whispered back excitedly. “Deep Purple probably based it on a hymn. Lots of those rock guys do that.”
“No, they don’t,” Sam growled, trying to see through the crack between the doors, only to realize Dean was not the only one head-banging along. What the hell?! He looked anxiously at all the parishioners. He had to say, they seemed pretty much like regular church-going folk, dressed very nicely and sitting listening respectfully, although--perhaps because of the music--the teens present seemed to be way more into the proceedings than any other church Sam had ever been to. Despite the head-banging, everyone seemed dressed pretty conservatively, like respectable people.
He saw Becky up at the front next to a woman in fancy robes who must be the minister, as if Becky was assisting her during this service. Becky was dressed very primly in a white shirt buttoned all the way up to her neck and down to her wrists, an uncharacteristically long skirt, and--yes--a sweater vest, though it hurt his eyes much less than her usual attire. She really was way more restrained than she used to be, even when she didn’t know Sam and Dean were watching her, but Sam didn’t buy it for a second. He did, after all, know her much better than he ever wanted to, and some things never change.
The song came to a dramatic end, the last note held for a long time, as Dean nodded his approval, and the minister finally took the pulpit. “Thank you, Jen,” she said. “I love your organ renditions of these sacred songs. You are such a wonderful addition to this community.”
The young organist nodded, shuffling through her sheet music.
“This is a wonderful day for our church,” the minister went on. “Many of those who came for Chuck’s guest sermon last week have decided to become permanent members!” There was applause, and some unexpectedly rowdy whooping. “And our founder Becky truly believes that after today, there will be many, many more. It seems impossible for our tiny church just starting out, but well, we’ve all seen greater miracles than that, haven’t we? A generous benefactor built this church for us though our flock is small, and our flock is growing by leaps and bounds. I believe the reason is because we can relate to the struggles described in our gospel, and thus we may find real answers to the baffling problems of today. These are real people, people we can touch--” here, for some reason, Becky’s eyes rolled back in her head a little, and she got a dreamy smile on her face “--talk to, ask our questions of; we can see that they’re real with our own eyes. Becky has. Becky, would you like to say a few words?”
“Yes, reverend,” Becky said, and took the mic.
“Our ‘founder’ Becky?” Sam said suspiciously, turning to look at Dean, only to find him snacking on pretzels. Sam stared at him, and followed Dean’s guilty gaze to the small snack bowl on a sideboard. Dean just shrugged and kept eating.
“So she founded a church. People do it all the time. I guess. They must, right? No shortage of churches for us to find relics and holy water in.”
“It’s kind of a big deal, Dean. You have to have enough charisma to get people to follow you, or at least a firm belief in something, some way of seeing ... oh no,” he said as Becky began to speak. “No. Dean,” he said desperately, “what was the name of this church again?”
Dean grabbed a program off the same sideboard, then handed it to Sam. “The Church of Free Will.”
Just as all the blood drained out of Sam’s face, he heard Becky say, “And I know they’re here, because I can hear them talking out there--Sam and Dean Winchester, everyone!”
The double doors flew open to reveal them, just as Dean was stuffing more pretzels into his mouth. He froze for a second, chewed hard, gulped, coughed, and waved awkwardly at the rapturous crowd, who were turning around in their seats, getting to their feet, clapping wildly. Becky ran down the aisle, grabbed them both by the arms, and dragged them to the front as Sam hissed, “Becky, what have you done?”
“Something good,” she said piously. “Not saving-the-world good, but almost. Chuck said his books would one day be known as the Winchester Gospel, and I finally realized my love for you is of a more ... holy nature than I realized before. I was sick of waiting for someone else to start a religion in your name, so I did it!” They arrived at the front then and she turned them to face the crowd. Sam was pale and glassy-eyed. Dean was still trying to brush off all the crumbs. Becky leaned over to whisper, “Chuck said this is the thing that’s gonna start it all, you guys showing up here today. This is the day when it takes off and people start becoming true believers. I did it!” Sam’s knees went weak. The organist started playing Kool and the Gang, and the parishioners began to dance--well, as much as you can to organ music, anyway.
“We’re saved!” cried the minister. The crowd roared. “Let us read from the gospel, a passage of celebration!” the minister declared. The flock took out their copies of Chuck’s terrible books--this one was called ‘Bad Day at Black Rock’--and embarked on a call-and-response reading of Dean’s joy upon learning they’d won the big prize at Biggerson’s. Sam would never forget the look in Becky’s eyes as she smiled shyly and proudly up at him from her book. She really did think she’d done a good thing. Sam was right; she would never change.
“Sammy, you gotta admit, starting a religion all by yourself ... I mean, that’s pretty impressive,” Dean said, admiring all the gifts they’d received from the church, which was mostly drawings and posters and sculptures and quilts featuring the two of them in various dramatic poses, but which did also include a few snacks and weapons. Give Dean a good gun and a bag of chips and you had a friend for life. “’Sides, they told us straight out that if we ever needed a place to stay, we could use the church basement, which was sweeet--did you see that place? Pool table, widescreen t.v.--free porn--fully stocked fridge ....” He whistled. Seeing Sam’s frown, Dean went on quickly, “And--and they got stuff there you like, too! Law books, and a laptop, and ... whatever that stuff is you like,” he finished at a mumble; Dean had only had eyes for the ‘Dean relics’ they’d collected in their so-called ‘reliquary.’
“Dean, you seriously don’t see the problem with someone starting a religion about us??”
Dean shrugged and eyed him with that irrepressible look. Sam envied Dean’s ability to lose himself in pleasure in the smallest things, after everything they’d been through. “I can ... see the benefits,” Dean responded carefully.
“It doesn’t creep you out at all to know that, every Sunday, dozens--or, who knows, maybe someday hundreds, THOUSANDS--of people gather to talk and read about all the things we’ve done and--Dean--WORSHIP US??”
Dean pulled a handful of slips of paper out of his pocket and rubbed them together in Sam’s direction. “Phone numbers,” he said gustily. “Practically every chick there.”
Sam only prayed when it was important. Now he turned his eyes heavenward and whispered, “Why, God? Why?”
~ The End ~
Notes:
- I'm fascinated with religion. I got all excited when Cas reverently looked over Chuck's pulp fiction and said it would one day be known as the "Winchester Gospel," so I couldn't resist following up on it ...
- I really loved the "Season 7, Time for a Wedding" episode (though I seem to be in the minority in that feeling ...?). Sam was married to her, however briefly and unwillingly, and she figured into their lives in some measure at various times; I figured there should at least be some follow-up to all that.
- What can I say, I adore Becky. She and Chuck are always good for some yuks .... ;-)