Unworthy - SN fic - PG13

[tigriswolf]

Title: Unworthy
Fandom: "Supernatural"
Disclaimer:  Not my characters. Just for fun. 
Warnings: blasphemy; character death; AU
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: none
Wordcount: 1206
Point of view: third and first

If it only took love to save the world, why then, it wouldn’t be damned, would it?

It takes more, children. Much more. It takes blood and sweat and pain—oh, so much pain—and sacrifice. It takes death, yes… it takes death to the save the world.

But you know what else it takes, kiddies? You know what else saves the world from damnation?

Life. Life. So get the fuck out there and live.

- 

Sam rolls his shoulders, pops his neck, and keeps on digging. The hole is already nearly five feet deep; he should reach the coffin soon. If a coffin’s down there, which he’s starting to doubt.

“Hey, Sam, you gonna be done soon?” Dean asks, laughter in his voice.

Sam can’t help grinning. “Yeah” he mutters, and digs faster.

- 

That’s how you defeat evil, kiddies. You just live. You go about your life, laughing and smiling and damned well fucking when you want to, and you don’t let all the bad stuff get in the way. 

Don’t believe me? Take a look around.

-

Reaching up to the branch, he snaps it off and swings, hitting the zombie in its’ decaying face. It snarls and keeps on coming, but he finally has a weapon.

Less then a minute later, its’ head flies off and its’ body falls. He breathes a sigh of relief and continues on towards the house.

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean calls from the porch. “What’s taking so long?”

Sam rolls his eyes and picks up the pace.

-

See that man? He’s got a family, two kids, a wife, a dog. I’d say a cat, but cats belong only to themselves. He’s not happy; he’s content, and there’s a difference. Happy people go around singing and dancing and sharing the joy. Content people sit on their asses and enjoy what they have. 

Happy people get in others’ faces, eager to share. Content people live.

Which do you think is doing better?

-

Sam sits at the bar watching the pool game while drinking water. The three guys are good, but certainly not the best he’s ever seen. He considers joining in—he can use the money—but he’s just so damned tired.

“Oh, come on, Sam,” Dean says from the stool next to him. “You could take ‘em easy.”

“I know,” Sam answers.

-

No, love alone isn’t enough. It’s barely enough, in fact. The world overflows with love and we’re all still on the fast-track to Hell.

Sacrifice… oh, they’ve sacrificed so much, haven’t they?

That guy, the one with kids and a wife and a dog, and maybe the cat? Those kids aren’t his. His wife loves another, a man who died long ago. Who died for you and the world—but mainly his brother.

Sacrifice, a word all humans know but cannot truly comprehend. He knew though, the father of those children. He knew.

It wasn’t just love, or even hope that his brother would live the life he’d craved for so long. It wasn’t just the blood they shared, or the pain they’d felt together in all their years.

He’d always understand about sacrifice. And he’d always known his purpose.

Can you guess? C’mon—prove to me you’ve been listening. 

-

Sam falls onto the bed and stretches his arms so that they lean over the edges. He stares at the stained and cracked ceiling, imagining his mom and Jessica and… Dean.

“You fucking bastard,” he mutters. “You selfish, stupid, foolhardy…” He harshly wipes at his eyes, rolling over and burying his face into the pillow.

“What’d you think I would do?” Dean asks softly from across the room. “Let you die?”

-

Oh, yes, he knew. He knew about blood and pain and death. He also knew about life, and that’s where he fucked up. 

He thought his brother understood, too.

-

Sam exorcises a poltergeist in Miami and deals with a haunting in Pierre. He crisscrosses the country five times, almost crashes the Impala due to exhaustion three times, and nearly dies too often to count.

His scars multiply far too quickly to be healthy and he’s bruised all the time.

He knows he should stop, rest, regroup. He knows Dean died so he could live, and he knows he’s failing.

He also knows he doesn’t care because Dean left him alone, and Dean swore to never leave, and the only time Dean ever broke a promise was when he died.

And Sam finds that brutally unfair, shockingly funny, and damned ironic.

-

Oh, yes, the father of that gorgeous little girl and that adorable little boy—he knew. But his brother didn’t. His brother couldn’t comprehend, because he’d always been there to shoulder the load.

Do you see?

He gave his blood and his pain and his sweat and his tears and his love—he gave it all so his brother could live. It was only incidental the world survived, too.

And his brother lived, for a time. Almost a year, in fact.

Quite a feat, considering.

-

Sam caresses the gun. Studies it. Memorizes its’ contours.

Sam stares into the mirror. Studies his reflection. Memorizes every bit of his face. Sees Dean looking over his shoulder and smiles.

Dean doesn’t smile back, and Sam had known he wouldn’t.

“I died so you could live, Sammy,” Dean growls and Sam knows he wishes he could still touch the living because he’d be kicking Sam’s ass. “You’ll make it in vain.”

Sam nods. “I know.”

-

He was all about sacrifice, the daddy was. Dean, he was called. All about sacrifice. His whole life was a sacrifice; only right his death was, too.

But the brother—selfish, right to the last. Wanted and wanted and wanted—and Dean always gave, didn’t he? Always. He was made to give.

-

“Don’t, Sam,” Dean says, begging. “Don’t do this.”

Sam meets his eyes in the mirror. “I have nothing left, Dean.”

“You’re doing good.” Dean reaches out, tries to touch Sam’s arm, and his hand goes through his little brother. Sam shivers and Dean pulls back. “You’re saving people. Isn’t that enough?”

Sam smiles almost bitterly. “No. Never was for me.”

-

And Sam—the brother—was made to take.

-

He raises the gun to his temple, closes his eyes, and pulls the trigger.

-

So, what have we learned?

Love isn’t enough, and sacrifice is pointless if the one you did it for cares more about himself than everything you've given up.

Oh, but that’s not right—sacrifice is sacrifice. Blood, pain, tears, sweat, life, death… if you give it all up, you should get to Heaven, sit by God and watch humanity. Not hang around your brother, the one you did it all for.

And after he kills himself because he’s always been a selfish bastard, the two of you should ascend, yeah? Finally rest.

But suicide’s a sin.

Doesn’t that just piss you off?

-

His eyes fly open and he sits up in bed.

Dean’s up across the room by the window, flipping through a book by moonlight and he glances over. “Bad dream?” he asks, “Or vision?”

“Not sure,” Sam answers and swings his legs over the edge.