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vanillafluffyTitle: An Answer to Prayer
Authored by:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
vanillafluffy
Pairing/spoilers: Previous aired eps only.
Rating/Work-safeness: PG-13, Green
Approximate word count: 550
Disclaimer: All rights belong to other people and/or corporate entities.
Summary: An angst fest. Dean's life weighs heavily on him; he's ready to resort to desperate measures to feel better about himself. How does that translate to a shopping trip on the morning of February 15th? You're only as sick as your secrets....
An Answer to Prayer
They say you're only as sick as your secrets, right? Some secrets you can bury deep, or try to---all those feelings of weakness and inadequacy. All that guilt: that you're the reason Dad died, that you haven't been able to protect your brother as well as you should have, that you broke the first Seal, that you haven't been able to stop the oncoming Apocalypse---trying to bury it all is like shoveling quicksand. But you try.
One of the diners you stopped at last week had the Serenity Prayer tacked to the wall behind the cash register. "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change," it read in fourth-generation photocopy. "The courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." You remember Pastor Jim teaching you that when you were...what, seven or eight? A long damn time ago.
Of course, that’s not the only definition of wisdom. Bobby's got a fancy-ass calligraphy version framed in his study that has the last line as "...the wisdom to hide the bodies of the people I had to kill because they were being idjits.". That seems to work for him.
Serenity is more of a myth than unicorns, as far as you're concerned---which may be why you haven't given the damn prayer a whole lot of thought until lately. The thing is, a while ago, you were forced to admit something to yourself, and ever since then, it's been nudging you. Persistently. Burying it isn't working any more, and you're starting to think that maybe accepting and embracing it is the way to go. Maybe one small corner of your angst-ridden soul can find peace.
That's why you're up and out the door early on the morning of February 15th. All those Valentine gifts for lovers have just been reduced by 50% or more, and you can stock up and do something just for Dean for once. The cashier is old enough to be your mother; she smiles coyly at you as she rings up your purchases. You smile back, your face hot. You're light-headed with anticipation as you snatch the bag and head back to the motel.
Sam's not in the room---he's probably out hunting coffee---which gives you a chance to examine your purchases. Oh, yeah...you realize your palms are sweating, and you wipe them on the thighs of your jeans before you reach into the cheap plastic sack and your fingers tingle. Some instinct of self-preservation kicks in, and you bolt into the bathroom so you can savor this moment, uninterrupted. You lock the door behind you and dig into the bag and a couple of minutes later, there's a big smile reflecting on your face in the mirror---along with some really cheesy hearts and flowers. Is this serenity? Two thumbs up if it is. You could get used to this kind of indulgence.
The outer door to the bedroom opens and closes, and Sam calls that he's back. No shit. You pull yourself back together, trying to look as normal as you can, rolling the bag up so you can stash it in your duffle. Acceptance is awesome.
Pastor Jim had his definition of wisdom, and Bobby has his. Yours is the wisdom not to let your brother know you're wearing satiny boxer shorts.
***
Comments are shiny.
.
Authored by:
vanillafluffy Pairing/spoilers: Previous aired eps only.
Rating/Work-safeness: PG-13, Green
Approximate word count: 550
Disclaimer: All rights belong to other people and/or corporate entities.
Summary: An angst fest. Dean's life weighs heavily on him; he's ready to resort to desperate measures to feel better about himself. How does that translate to a shopping trip on the morning of February 15th? You're only as sick as your secrets....
They say you're only as sick as your secrets, right? Some secrets you can bury deep, or try to---all those feelings of weakness and inadequacy. All that guilt: that you're the reason Dad died, that you haven't been able to protect your brother as well as you should have, that you broke the first Seal, that you haven't been able to stop the oncoming Apocalypse---trying to bury it all is like shoveling quicksand. But you try.
One of the diners you stopped at last week had the Serenity Prayer tacked to the wall behind the cash register. "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change," it read in fourth-generation photocopy. "The courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." You remember Pastor Jim teaching you that when you were...what, seven or eight? A long damn time ago.
Of course, that’s not the only definition of wisdom. Bobby's got a fancy-ass calligraphy version framed in his study that has the last line as "...the wisdom to hide the bodies of the people I had to kill because they were being idjits.". That seems to work for him.
Serenity is more of a myth than unicorns, as far as you're concerned---which may be why you haven't given the damn prayer a whole lot of thought until lately. The thing is, a while ago, you were forced to admit something to yourself, and ever since then, it's been nudging you. Persistently. Burying it isn't working any more, and you're starting to think that maybe accepting and embracing it is the way to go. Maybe one small corner of your angst-ridden soul can find peace.
That's why you're up and out the door early on the morning of February 15th. All those Valentine gifts for lovers have just been reduced by 50% or more, and you can stock up and do something just for Dean for once. The cashier is old enough to be your mother; she smiles coyly at you as she rings up your purchases. You smile back, your face hot. You're light-headed with anticipation as you snatch the bag and head back to the motel.
Sam's not in the room---he's probably out hunting coffee---which gives you a chance to examine your purchases. Oh, yeah...you realize your palms are sweating, and you wipe them on the thighs of your jeans before you reach into the cheap plastic sack and your fingers tingle. Some instinct of self-preservation kicks in, and you bolt into the bathroom so you can savor this moment, uninterrupted. You lock the door behind you and dig into the bag and a couple of minutes later, there's a big smile reflecting on your face in the mirror---along with some really cheesy hearts and flowers. Is this serenity? Two thumbs up if it is. You could get used to this kind of indulgence.
The outer door to the bedroom opens and closes, and Sam calls that he's back. No shit. You pull yourself back together, trying to look as normal as you can, rolling the bag up so you can stash it in your duffle. Acceptance is awesome.
Pastor Jim had his definition of wisdom, and Bobby has his. Yours is the wisdom not to let your brother know you're wearing satiny boxer shorts.
Comments are shiny.
.