The Good Soldier ~ SN Fanfic
This entry is a coda to witchofthedogs The Good Son. You are strongly advised to read that one first. Otherwise, the only thing I will tell you is that Dean made a deal with the devil.
Warning: This fic deals with Catholic dogma and imagery. If this is not your thing, move on. I will still love you in the morning.
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In the time before creation, you are the second-in-command to the universe. You have the greatest family ever conceived; your Father is Creator, your soulmate is the most perfect being in all creation. Your role in the heavens is written for all eternity and you are committed to fulfilling your duty. You are the Guardian of Creation, you are your Father's chosen protector. When language is invented and you are named, you are identified as "who is like God."
When your brother is given dominion over humanity to test them, you are given the role of juror and instructed to dispense judgment upon the unworthy, to punish the wicked. When your brother invents pain, you realize it is a tool that can be used in your duties and you and your brother become bound. You are the left and the right hands of God.
You and your brother are alike and, yet, different and together you are perfection.
With your brother, you forge what will be the soul of humanity. Every action you take is to benefit humanity, a race that is weaker than your brethren, but loved all the more for their faults and foibles.
You exist to serve them and your Father, for it is your only purpose.
Your brother excels as only a perfect being can. He is a master of pain and darkness, but perfect nonetheless. And in his perfection, he forges a gift for the fledglings of God and an offering to the Creator that made you both.
Free Will.
In the blink of an eye, humanity gains knowledge of themselves and though, with this new gift, some fall and must be judged, the Children of God choose to follow God. You are assigned to guard the Children from the darkness and pain your brother creates. It is your duty.
The break from that perfect union that you shared with your brother, you understand far more than you knew before. To have light, there must be darkness, and your brother must generate that darkness. Instead of banishing the darkness as it is created and used to illuminate the world of humanity, your brother begins to reflect it, to become the darkness itself.
It is your realization of your brother's true nature which creates betrayal, and that ignites the war in Heaven. You are the Archangel. You lead the Faithful and banish the unworthy, and all of your skills that you used upon humans you must use upon your brothers and sisters. Angels are destroyed, fall down upon the Earth in a rain of fire and, following God's word, you are victorious, for there is no other possibility.
You and your brother battle at the Gates of Heaven. He begs you to join him in the darkness, for you are the same, you are his mate and his fate is yours. In all of creation there is no one you love more. But God is Love, and your Duty as the Archangel is to pass judgment upon the wicked. The only way to show your love is to act as your Father's juror. You judge your brother and cast him out of Heaven.
Creation trembles.
Destruction, Creation, Death, Life. The Circle that controls humanity is in fact the battle for your brother's soul and the meaning of this moment ripples forever into eternity. It is his choice - be destroyed or banished from your Father's sight forever. If you could beg, if it was possible, you would beg him to let you cleanse him in fire, but he flees and you are left with nothing but the shadow of the perfection that once existed.
In the millennia that pass, in the world you think of as "After," it is your duty to guard the other children of your Father from your brother, to battle the demons as they dare to raise themselves from the darkness he created. You never question your orders, your path or your faith.
If you ever thought of him you would mourn, but it is not your role. You are the good soldier.
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Two heartbeats.
In the span of two heartbeats, the demon that killed their mother was dead and so was Sam. Dean knelt beside the torn and broken body of his brother. There was an awful scream and, for a full sweet minute, he thought Sam was still alive. When he realized the shattering cries came from his own throat, he knew that Sam was truly dead.
This was not supposed to happen. This was not part of the deal. He found he was offended that the Prince of Lies would lie to him when they had a deal.
Did I lie? The beautiful voice asked in his mind. I said that without this deal, "Your brother's sons and your sons will see their women consumed in blood and fire. And their sons, and generations of Winchester men, will see nothing but blood and death on the ceilings above them. And on for eternity...
"And you would have. This thing was of your blood and was turned from your blood and the demons that your family would fight would all come from your brother's seed.
"I didn't lie. I said I would not take him. That creature is not mine."
Dean realized that the seal of his bargain had been made with the darkness, and he had forgotten the light. Sam, always the sun and the sky and the life, had stepped between Dean and the darkness. He reminded Dean that the shadows won't always be triumphant.
Sam, his body ripped in a thousand places, had bled out onto the floor, and Dean found the paleness eerie. The stillness was more proof that Sam was truly not coming back. Sam was all motion and flashes, long limbs and laughter. Dean had always teased him about how someone that pretty was oddly unphotogenic - as if stillness of a photo could never hold his true beauty in motion.
The body lay across him now, Sam's too long form pulled in for one last embrace. Dean's heart pounded in his ears. A faint reflection of the sound their hearts had made together.
This is not the deal. It was me. It was always supposed to be me.
But the dead form in his arms mocked him and Dean's constant repetition of the words did not make it any less dead, any less still.
In a moment of clarity, Dean stopped screaming, as if a switch had been turned and the map lay before him. He was supposed to die. The deal brokered in the smoke and the fumes of that tiny bar would come to fruition. He would fulfill his end of the bargain because he had no choice.
No one could stay alive when half their soul was missing.
John Winchester slumped in the corner of the room in shock. His life's goal was achieved, bought in the blood of his youngest son. As he tried to find words to comfort his eldest, he could only see Mary and Sam and the thing that had hunted them, the thing that was blood of his blood, and his breath came in short, aching bursts.
As John watched, Dean lifted the weapon, his hand steady and even as he had been taught.
Years before, when he lost his wife, John believed he had lost everything. It was only through seeing her reflection in his sons that he learned to live in the present, to wake in the morning and not wish to sleep, to not take the step his one remaining son was taking. The sight in front of him made him wonder how he could have been so blind to all he still had. All that he was about to lose.
What have I done? Oh God, Mary, what have I done?
"Do your duty, Soldier!" The words were barked before John even realized he had thought them.
Dean's weapon froze. His father's commands were the Word of God. They were law and etched into the very essence of Dean's being. And for two heartbeats, he hesitated.
It was enough time for John to make a plan, a plan that would save what little he had remaining. He swore to all the gods he could name that he would make up all the pain, all the lost time but first he would use his mistake - his sin against his sons - one last time. He would treat them as troops instead of flesh and bone.
"What the hell do you think you're doing? I can't move. You need to salt and burn that ... body and come here." His voice only offered the slightest suggestion of breaking, a triumph that sickened him to the core.
The gun fell from Dean's hand and clattered against the wood under his feet.
Time froze.
"What are you doing?" Jess asked. She was standing in front of Dean, her blue eyes wide and confused.
I have to salt and burn the body, Dean answered without words. Dad says I have to salt and burn the body. It will be open to possession. He might become a ghost. Must make sure. The job's not done until you are sure it can't come back. Commandments from childhood filled his mind. The pain overwhelming his heart made it difficult to move but he had to. He had a duty to perform.
Dean's weight shifted and Sam's head lolled back. As Dean clutched his brother's shoulders; he felt the darkness tease him with a choice - hold Sam and die with him or destroy Sam and do his duty. Numb with pain, Dean could only stare at the woman in front of him.
Salt and burn the body. You have to destroy Sam's body. His lone heartbeat pounded the message to his arms. Moving more by rote than will, he pulled Sam to him. He sobbed at the sight of the broken body.
Like a sad, old photograph, the image of his sons burned its way into John's mind, reminding him of something he couldn't quite place. Then he sensed, rather than saw, the darkness surrounding his sons, inching closer and reaching its silky fingers around their bodies. He tried to move but was held in place by unseen hands and a voice whispered, This is not your choice. This is...
Familiar. The awe in their voices was almost reverent.
An overwhelming darkness filled the room, and Dean could see only Sam in his arms and Jess before him and her words filled his mind, soft and sweet.
"What are you doing? You are both the same. You can't destroy him and live! Join him."
Dean saw an image in his head, bright and fiery and so overwhelmingly beautiful he could barely breathe. There was a battlefield and, at its center, he sat holding his brother, struggling with his duty to destroy and weeping in the face of Sam's pleas. Join me.
"I have to..." Dean's voice broke. Duty first.
A blinding light filled the room. The demons holding John flinched, and he could see Dean holding Sam across his lap, his face drenched in blood, tears and pain. The darkness filled the space on his left and the bright, white light shone on his right and John suddenly knew where he'd seen the image before. The image of La Pieta made from his flesh and blood, and he prayed like he had not prayed since childhood.
Holy Mary, mother of God,
pray for us sinners
now and at the hour of our death.
The light spoke. "I remember this. What do you choose?"
Dean was confused, "Choose?"
The darkness answered, "Your brother or your duty?"
Dean looked down at Sam, beautiful Sam who would never again blush or laugh or shine like sunshine. Beautiful Sam who was the other half of his soul. The second heartbeat that he would never hear again. His purpose and his strength broken and bleeding before him.
In between two heartbeats that is eternity at the gates of Heaven, Dean made his decision. For it was truly no choice at all but the truth, written on his bones and in his blood and in the light that danced in the edges of his mind.
He turned his head to the darkness and replied, "You don't understand. Duty isn't a choice."
With a roar, the darkness fled, chased by an army of brilliant beings. Across the room, John collapsed to the floor, unrestrained but unable to move.
"I understand this," the light said and, from the brilliance, Mary walked to stand before her sons. She smiled at Dean, her blue eyes softer than the warmest sky, and said quietly, "You are a good soldier."
Dean broke and sobs wracked his body, his lips pressed to Sam's forehead, his hands tightening on his brother's skin. Mary leaned over and kissed his forehead.
"Shh, baby. Hush, Dean. You are judged worthy. Never doubt it."
And then the light was gone.
Dean closed his eyes against the pain and listened to his heart beating. As the cadence slowed, he realized that the impossible had occurred.
There were two heartbeats.
Suddenly, Sam's voice, ragged and hoarse and more beautiful than anything Dean had ever heard, rang in his ears. "Dean?"
Dean opened his eyes and stared at his brother, the heartbeat under his hands telling him that it was all so very real.
"What happened?" Sam asked.
Dean couldn't answer because their father was hugging them to him and the breaths were mixed with tears and the weight of his own heart felt as though it would swallow him completely.
So this is what faith feels like.
Elsewhere, the only true soul in Hell screamed in agony and understanding, the sound of two heartbeats echoing on to infinity.