ht_murray | Got Faith? SPN, gen fic, 1/1

Title: Got Faith?
Author:

tru_faith_lost
Rating: G
Warnings: none really, pretty mild
Word Count: about 1600
Disclaimer: Yeah, I own 'em but not in any 'verse where I'm getting paid for this stuff, so suing me would be pointless. I also quoted a song by Michael Card. I don't own that either.
Summary: A question of faith? Sam has never seen God, but he's seen Dean...
A/N: Anyone waiting for me to update my other stories, I do have those updates, but I'm learning HTML, and I'm kinda crazy in that I'm trying to write an entire post in nothing but HTML code just to prove I can do it. LOL. Might take awhile....

Got Faith?

To hear with my heart,

To see with my soul,

To be guided by a hand,

I cannot hold,

To trust in a way,

That I cannot see,

That’s what faith must be. – Michael Card

Dean burrows in as close to her as he can wiggle. He remembers how, before Sammy came, Mommy’s lap was too small, and there was a good long time when he couldn’t get this close no matter how hard he tried. He’d missed this, feeling her arms around him, her hair tickling down across his cheek, and breathing deep the scent of old paper, ink, and dust as she reads to him from the same books her mommy had read to her.

They’d done this every night for as long as Dean could remember, and he wasn’t sure how long that was, because minutes seemed like hours when there was so much to see, hear, smell, and learn. Every story had him bouncing with anticipation, waiting for the next page, the next grainy, faded picture, the next chance to reach out and touch the page in awe and wonder.

Mommy says they are just stories, so he shouldn’t be scared. He shouldn’t worry about dragons, and fire, and haunted forests, and witches. Dean knows Mommy wouldn’t lie to him, but when the witch opens the oven to put poor Hansel in, Dean can’t help but snuggle closer.

Dean believes in witches. That’s okay, though, because he believes in Mommy, too.

Dean had missed Mary’s lap so much when Sammy was in her tummy. He’d thought he could never miss it more. He’d been wrong. He knows that now.

When the story is finished, Dean feels the familiar sadness start to crawl toward him, long fingers, like the tails of dragons, striking out at him. He turns to Mommy, eyes deep and swirling watercolor green. “You’ll still be here when I wake up, won’t you Mommy?” He asks.

“Of course, I will baby,” she says.

Dean knows she’s lying, but he lets his heart get lighter anyway.

He wakes up not long after, as baby Sammy squirms beneath his big brother’s protective hand. Dean takes a wary glance around. Mommy isn’t there. She hasn’t been since the night Daddy sent him running from the house with Sammy wrapped in his arms.

Every night she promises she’ll be here, and she never is. But neither is there anything here to hurt Sammy, so that’s something. And if Dean tells him self sometimes, that they’re safe because Mommy’s there when he’s sleeping, that’ll have to be enough.

He puts his arm back around his baby brother and shushes him with a soft coo and a rub on his tiny tummy. Sammy goes back to sleep, tiny mouth working around his pudgy thumb, a soft gurgle of contentment in his throat.

Sammy doesn’t know that Dean is only four. He doesn’t know that Dean is afraid, too, and that Dean misses Mommy so, so much. He does know there’s no reason to cry, because Dean is there, and that’s enough.

********

Dean is ten and curled in the scratchy sheets of his own twin bed when he hears his father in the hallway, despite the stocking feet that John thinks allow him to escape detection. Dean always hears Dad leave, and when he comes back, smelling of liquor, eyes dull and listless, Dean knows where he’s been. Sometimes Dean just lets him go, because he isn’t supposed to be awake.

Then there are nights like this, when despite his best efforts, Dean can’t sleep. Nights like this, when even Sam’s soft snores in the bed across the room can’t lull him into believing all is right with the world, Dean needs someone to tell him that it is. So he gets up.

John hears the bedroom door creak open, and like he always does, he stands straight up and pretends he isn’t sneaking. Dean knows he is. That’s okay, though. Dean knows, too, that John only does it because he wants his boys to believe he’s in the next room and not down the block, or across town, or wherever the bar stays open the longest, and the beer is the cheapest. Dean knows he wants them to feel safe. He knows Daddy doesn’t feel safe. Not ever.

“Hey, sport,” John says, eyes ducking away. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I know,” Dean says, not accusing, not blaming, only accepting.

“I’m sorry if I woke you, son,” John apologizes awkwardly. “I just had a few…errands to run, and I didn’t want to keep you boys up late on a school night. I thought I could do them while you were asleep, and you wouldn’t have to be scared that I wasn’t here.”

“I know,” Dean says. He knows it’s mostly the truth. “It’s okay, Dad. You can go. I can watch Sam.”

John blinks slowly, gratitude sparking in eyes heavy with despair. “I know you can, Deano. You’re such a good helper. ” John crouches in the hallway, eyes even with his son’s. “You know that, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean says, averting his eyes. “Dad, I can help fix breakfast in the morning if you need me to,” he offers without raising his glance.

“You won’t need to, Dean,” John assures. He puts a giant hand on Dean’s shoulder and shakes it gently in reassurance. “And guess what?”

“What?” Dean asks, raising his eyes expectantly.

“I got eggs, and bacon, and fresh bread for toast. All your favorites, and I’m gonna have ‘em all fixed for you when you get up in the morning.”

“Promise?” Dean asks, eyes wide.

“Promise,” John says, patting Dean’s shoulder with finality before standing. “Now if you hurry up and go back to sleep, you won’t even miss me.”

Dean knows he’s lying. Dean’s seen that look in his father’s eyes too many times. He knows that empty, dark, pit behind John’s lashes only gets deeper and deeper until Daddy finds something to pour in and fill it up. He knows Daddy doesn’t mean it when he sometimes pours in a little too much, gets a little too numb, and somehow doesn’t make it up off the seat of the car before the boys leave for school. Dean knows.

Still, when Daddy promises, Dean can’t stop the smile from spreading across his freckled face. And somehow, when he wakes in the morning, and there’s no smell of bacon in the air, he’s surprised.

Sam doesn’t know that Dean gets up early on mornings like this and sometimes burns himself on the heavy cast iron skillet as he fries up the bacon and the eggs. Sam doesn’t know that Dean gets up early, turns up the heat, and lays Sam’s socks across the radiator to warm them up.

Sam knows that when he wakes up, the house smells of bacon and cheap laundry detergent, his feet are toasty warm, even on the coldest winter mornings, and Dean is there. Dean is always there. That’s all he needs to know.

********

Dean follows Sam out the door when he goes, follows him down the block, and halfway to the bus station before Sam is calm enough to speak to him.

“I’m not leaving you, Dean,” Sam says, his jaw still clenched. “It’s this life. I can’t settle for this. There has to be more. I’ll write you. I promise.”

Sam doesn’t know that Dean checks his mail every day and is surprised that there is never anything from Sam. Sam doesn’t know that he will never get normal, doesn’t know that there’s a Demon out there, and it’s hunting him, whether he’s hunting it or not. Sam doesn’t know his whole world will come crashing down around him, fire, smoke, and pain. He knows Dean catches him when it does. He knows Dean will always catch him.

********

“Tell me,” Dean says. “What can you possibly say to make that all right?”

Dean doesn’t believe in ghosts anymore. He doesn’t believe in witches. He doesn’t believe in the monster under the bed, or the demon in the closet. He’s seen too many.

He’s actually surprised, though, when Sam says nothing.

********

Sam’s heard it said that angels have no faith, for they have seen God. Sam has never seen God. Neither has Dean, he’s pretty sure. But Sam has seen Dean.

Dean has seen too much. Not God, he’s pretty sure. But he’s seen evil, lots of it, called it by name, and still, he believes they can win.

Sam doesn’t know as much as he used to. But he still knows Dean, and that’s all the faith he needs.

The End