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Nov. 25th, 2005 11:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elohveeave maria.
Supernatural. Dean gen. PG or PG-13 for mild language and church violence.
Mary Winchester was born a preacher’s daughter, the only child of an Episcopal priest in a small town. Even after she married to a relatively unreligious man, Mary still attended Mass. On special occasions like Easter and Christmas, she took her firstborn son with her.
Dean remembers that he fidgeted a lot, more than he should have, and that he knows that he definitely didn’t always show the respect that was due. He remembers not liking church very much. Some of the songs were pretty, though.
He doesn’t know what pushes him to a confessional booth so many years later, but all he knows is that he’s here now, and he wishes he weren’t.
The last time he did this he was roughly four years old, and the minute he finds himself kneeling in that booth, Dean feels claustrophobic. He can’t remember whether he’s supposed to cross himself left-to-right or the other way around. He wonders if it would be awkward to just get up and run like Hell.
Instead, he hears himself repeat the words he’s heard more often as part of a television script than as an actual confession.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” He swallows, squints his eyes tight, and damn it, this was a Bad Idea. “It’s been... nineteen years since my last confession.” He thinks he can hear the man in the next booth turn to stare at him in disbelief through the latticework.
“Tell me your sins,” he recovers gently, and Dean smiles in spite of himself.
“Got a few hours?”
He hears a faint chuckling through the wall. “The Lord will listen.”
There’s silence for a while, just the sound of a few more pious members of the church going about their business. He tries to think of something witty to say to get himself out of this, but nothing comes to mind.
What’ve you got to lose?
So he starts in the middle, works his way around to the beginning and end, and he pretty much tells his fucking life story, because suddenly it seems like there’s something wrong with everything he’s ever done.
“You know those seven deadly sin things, Father?” He sighs. “I’ve pretty much got those covered. Particularly with the greed, lust, and wrath...” Which brings him to Sam. Jesus, there goes another hour of his life, or at least it feels like it, because there are so many things he could do differently in respect to his brother. Call him without any ulterior motives, for example, or, for just once, admit that he’s impressed with something Sammy’s done all on his own.
“And we’re not talking,” he says heavily. “And... God damn it – sorry – I just miss him. Dad told him to go and he went, and I didn’t do anything to make him stay. But I’m proud of him, Father.” He runs his fingers through short hair and rubs his eyes. “And I never told him that. I don’t know if I ever will.”
There’s more. People he’s lied to, people he’s slept with, people and things he’s killed, even if that last bit was usually in the name of the greater good.
When Dean finishes, his throat feels dry and there’s a long silence on the other end. He wonders briefly if perhaps the priest fell asleep.
“I see,” says the elderly voice slowly. “That’s... a rather remarkable list.”
“Don’t I know it.” He sighs, fiddles a bit with the ring on his hand. “We’ve saved people too, you know. It just doesn’t feel like enough sometimes. I mean, I’d like to think I’m not a bad guy, you know?” His knees ache. “What’s the verdict, Father? Am I damned?”
“A penitent man, if he truly wishes to change his ways, will be given absolution.”
He nods for a full five seconds before he realizes he can’t be seen all too well. “It couldn’t hurt.”
Dean doesn’t remember much after that, but he knows that the priest mentioned something about Hail Marys and that after several painful minutes spent trying to remember anything at all about contrition, they did finally get to ego te absolvo before the demon burst through the church doors.
There’s a deafening crash, which comes with the demon throwing a pew through the window and heading for the confessional booth as the two men come hurdling out to see what the noise is all about.
He probably should have mentioned having a trunk full of unregistered weapons in that whole long speech, but somehow, it had managed to slip Dean’s mind. For better or worse, there’s a pistol loaded with silver bullets in the waistband of his jeans and it’s in his hand in under the three seconds. That thing is reaching for the old man’s throat in five and is dead in about seven.
The elderly priest looks ready to faint.
Dean shrugs and smiles apologetically. “I did mention that trouble kind of... follows me around, didn’t I?”
“I believe you did, as a matter of fact...” The priest crosses himself with a shaking hand, throws a terrified glance Heavenward. A mother and her two children are huddled in a corner, throwing Dean terrified glances.
He stows the gun hurriedly back in his jeans and tries not to look at the large crucifix hanging off the wall. Jesus doesn’t look very pleased.
“Thanks,” he mutters as he heads down the aisle and towards the door.
The priest’s eyes are focused on the demon. Blueish blood is congealing over a few scattered Bibles on the floor. “My son,” he calls, and Dean stops in his tracks, turns to look at him.
“Yes, Father?”
Dean thinks he can see the faintest shadow of a smile passing over the man’s face. “I think that you can forget about the Hail Marys.”
Note: I’m not very familiar with the whole confessional process, so this is based primarily on what I’ve found across the world wide web. Kindly forgive any inaccuracies, and possibly point them out so that I can fix them. :O)
Supernatural. Dean gen. PG or PG-13 for mild language and church violence.
Mary Winchester was born a preacher’s daughter, the only child of an Episcopal priest in a small town. Even after she married to a relatively unreligious man, Mary still attended Mass. On special occasions like Easter and Christmas, she took her firstborn son with her.
Dean remembers that he fidgeted a lot, more than he should have, and that he knows that he definitely didn’t always show the respect that was due. He remembers not liking church very much. Some of the songs were pretty, though.
He doesn’t know what pushes him to a confessional booth so many years later, but all he knows is that he’s here now, and he wishes he weren’t.
The last time he did this he was roughly four years old, and the minute he finds himself kneeling in that booth, Dean feels claustrophobic. He can’t remember whether he’s supposed to cross himself left-to-right or the other way around. He wonders if it would be awkward to just get up and run like Hell.
Instead, he hears himself repeat the words he’s heard more often as part of a television script than as an actual confession.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” He swallows, squints his eyes tight, and damn it, this was a Bad Idea. “It’s been... nineteen years since my last confession.” He thinks he can hear the man in the next booth turn to stare at him in disbelief through the latticework.
“Tell me your sins,” he recovers gently, and Dean smiles in spite of himself.
“Got a few hours?”
He hears a faint chuckling through the wall. “The Lord will listen.”
There’s silence for a while, just the sound of a few more pious members of the church going about their business. He tries to think of something witty to say to get himself out of this, but nothing comes to mind.
What’ve you got to lose?
So he starts in the middle, works his way around to the beginning and end, and he pretty much tells his fucking life story, because suddenly it seems like there’s something wrong with everything he’s ever done.
“You know those seven deadly sin things, Father?” He sighs. “I’ve pretty much got those covered. Particularly with the greed, lust, and wrath...” Which brings him to Sam. Jesus, there goes another hour of his life, or at least it feels like it, because there are so many things he could do differently in respect to his brother. Call him without any ulterior motives, for example, or, for just once, admit that he’s impressed with something Sammy’s done all on his own.
“And we’re not talking,” he says heavily. “And... God damn it – sorry – I just miss him. Dad told him to go and he went, and I didn’t do anything to make him stay. But I’m proud of him, Father.” He runs his fingers through short hair and rubs his eyes. “And I never told him that. I don’t know if I ever will.”
There’s more. People he’s lied to, people he’s slept with, people and things he’s killed, even if that last bit was usually in the name of the greater good.
When Dean finishes, his throat feels dry and there’s a long silence on the other end. He wonders briefly if perhaps the priest fell asleep.
“I see,” says the elderly voice slowly. “That’s... a rather remarkable list.”
“Don’t I know it.” He sighs, fiddles a bit with the ring on his hand. “We’ve saved people too, you know. It just doesn’t feel like enough sometimes. I mean, I’d like to think I’m not a bad guy, you know?” His knees ache. “What’s the verdict, Father? Am I damned?”
“A penitent man, if he truly wishes to change his ways, will be given absolution.”
He nods for a full five seconds before he realizes he can’t be seen all too well. “It couldn’t hurt.”
Dean doesn’t remember much after that, but he knows that the priest mentioned something about Hail Marys and that after several painful minutes spent trying to remember anything at all about contrition, they did finally get to ego te absolvo before the demon burst through the church doors.
There’s a deafening crash, which comes with the demon throwing a pew through the window and heading for the confessional booth as the two men come hurdling out to see what the noise is all about.
He probably should have mentioned having a trunk full of unregistered weapons in that whole long speech, but somehow, it had managed to slip Dean’s mind. For better or worse, there’s a pistol loaded with silver bullets in the waistband of his jeans and it’s in his hand in under the three seconds. That thing is reaching for the old man’s throat in five and is dead in about seven.
The elderly priest looks ready to faint.
Dean shrugs and smiles apologetically. “I did mention that trouble kind of... follows me around, didn’t I?”
“I believe you did, as a matter of fact...” The priest crosses himself with a shaking hand, throws a terrified glance Heavenward. A mother and her two children are huddled in a corner, throwing Dean terrified glances.
He stows the gun hurriedly back in his jeans and tries not to look at the large crucifix hanging off the wall. Jesus doesn’t look very pleased.
“Thanks,” he mutters as he heads down the aisle and towards the door.
The priest’s eyes are focused on the demon. Blueish blood is congealing over a few scattered Bibles on the floor. “My son,” he calls, and Dean stops in his tracks, turns to look at him.
“Yes, Father?”
Dean thinks he can see the faintest shadow of a smile passing over the man’s face. “I think that you can forget about the Hail Marys.”
Note: I’m not very familiar with the whole confessional process, so this is based primarily on what I’ve found across the world wide web. Kindly forgive any inaccuracies, and possibly point them out so that I can fix them. :O)