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It’s someone’s job to nail Christ to his cross.
You take it unwillingly, when you’re laying in your crib, tears in your eyes. You’re too young, not in the way most people say someone is too young, you actually are. You don’t understand at six months old, that your life is already over. That you’ll have no memory of the life you had before this moment, only of the pain that comes after.
“Hey Sammy, you okay?”
If you could talk, if you could stop this before it goes any further, you might’ve said don’t look up, Dad. It’s nothing you need to see. Go back to bed, fold your hands, and rest.
“Mary?”
You don’t know any better, don’t know that this is how it always is. She burns, and you all inhale the smoke.
-
People tell you how brave you are, you tell them God helps you through it. Because He does. Through every mile on Dad’s speedometer, every tear Dean sheds, you keep them together because it’s your job. You don’t know what else to do. It’s not very often you meet someone you can talk to; not trust, never trust. He tells you the best advice he can, he’s only been your teacher a week and a half. He tells you that you can leave when you’re older, it’s not your job to hold them together.
You smile, tell him of course it is, they’re my family.
Pastor Jim understands more than anyone else. “I think God has something special planned for you, Sam.” You set down your Bible and turn towards him, “He does? Something good?”
“Something important,” He tells you. He’s not Dad, he’d never lie, especially not to you.
You pray daily, but you’re not always sure what to ask for. Pastor Jim tells you to always be thankful, other people have it worse. “God, if you’re listening, help me do what has to be done.”
You’re not aware of the weight of the cross, not until you kiss a girl for the first time. You know what she is, a monster. She knows what you are, a freak. You’re both just kids, but you let her go, help her live a life.
Leaving is the hardest thing you’ve had to do yet. You don’t feel very Holy, light backpack and heavy heart, as you pray for the bus to come early. It’s so cold, but still better than the fiery heat of your family. “I’ll pray for you, Dad,” you told him, his face twisted in the same angry snarl you’ve seen for years. “I’ll pray that you can let go, that you can move on. God will heal—” He doesn’t physically shove you, but you’re halfway across the room when he says it, “Go to hell, Sam!”
You know what he’s thinking, he’s your father, even when you hate him you’re the same. Same flesh, same blood, same curse, and unbeknownst to you at this time, same destiny. Like father like son, fucking miserable.
You think God is your friend?
Dean’s the one who says it, “You walk out that door, don’t come back.”
You think of Stanford as the promised land. Meet a nice group of people, they invite you to their church. You can tell it’s shallow for them, like going to brunch or shopping in the mall. Jess is the one who turns you away from your conversation with the minister, “Sam! I want you to meet someone.” He’s beautiful, bright smile and radiant skin, “Hi, I’m Brady.”
When he burns too, you don’t want Dean to drag you out. Apparently, God’s will is for just you, not both of you. It must be some kind of punishment, having this freedom for four years before it’s taken away. You close your eyes as Dean drives you out of God’s promised land, now known to you as Sodom. You’re not Lot’s wife, you don’t look back. You pray to Brady, hope that he can hear you.
Loving you never felt like sin.
You’re not Lot’s wife, but you turn into a pillar of salt anyway.
-
The first time you question God is when he lets you get Dad that coffee. Why couldn’t I have just another moment with him, Lord? You pray with your eyes open when he burns, Dean’s presence next to yours is wavering. You don’t dare to reach out, test the waters. This grief won’t swallow you.
-
Dean thinks it’s stupid. “Yeah, well, don't worry about that. All right? I'm watching out for you.” You sniffle, “Yeah, I know you are. But you're just one person, Dean. And I needed to think that there was something else, watching too, you know? Some higher power. Some greater good. And that maybe . . .”
He gawks at you, “Maybe what?”
“Maybe I could be saved.”
God, strike me down before I become something you would no longer claim as yours. You pray to Him, but you also ask your brother. Somehow you know he’ll disappoint. He won't be able to, so you ask God, and you receive. When you die it feels like a blessing. You die in your brother’s arms, the way God intended. I love you, I want you to have a better life. You pray for Dean up until your final moment. When your heart stops beating, goes silent, and there’s nothing your big brother can do but wail and gnash his teeth as if this is his own Hell.
You wake up cold on Bobby’s old mattress and hope this isn’t the great Heaven you were promised. For a moment you think you didn’t deserve it enough, not until Dean’s there, all over you like he always is.
It’s later, after Dad’s free. When you learn the truth. When you turn, bitter and hurt, you’re faced with your brother’s smile. The same one he always has when he knows he’s done something wrong. Something that hurts you, when he’s trying to fix whatever is broken. “Don’t get mad at me. Don’t you do that.” He tells you sternly, like he’s head of the house for a week or two again. “I had to. I had to look out for you. That’s my job.”
You look at him with love, because now, that’s all you have.
“What do you think my job is?”
God gives, and he takes away. It’s one of the few times you curse Him, hate him with every fiber of the being in your body that He created. Not my brother, take me instead.
He doesn’t answer your prayers, leaves you alone for the first time in your life. Crouched over shreds of him, more blood than you’ve ever seen and it’s all his. You still reach out, still hold the parts that aren't falling apart in your arms, and you still pray. Even when the words will no longer come out and Bobby holds back the family that owns this house as they scream in horror. This isn’t right, you think. God made a mistake and took the wrong one.
But God doesn’t want you, won’t let you take his place.
So you turn from God to the adversary, “Not my brother, take me instead.” Even the filth of the Earth won’t take you. God told you that He forgave you, and then he splits you open. Ripping out the other half of your soul. You’re a lost man, but no longer looking for God. You find a woman, not a real one. She’s flesh and blood, but not God’s creature, not in the ways that count. You take the blade and pry out your faith, pry out the broken pieces of God, and you do it for love.
Her blood runs in your veins as you search for your brother.
I love you more than God.
-
Who brings him to you but an angel of the Lord?
You fall on your sword and repent, sorry I lost my faith, it won’t happen again. And it doesn’t.
-
Samael, you remember from Pastor Jim, “The venom, the poison of God.” You were just a boy, barely capable of understanding His Word, “Who was he?”
“Lucifer, before he fell. He had a different name then.”
You could ignore the parallels then, you can’t now.
-
Are you still unwilling?
No, I can do this. I can die for them.
-
Despite everything, you don’t lose your faith again. “Other men kill themselves for less,” Bobby tells you, “it’s not a testament of endurance, just a reminder you don’t have to suffer.” You don’t speak, just stare at your arms, your body. Trying to see what he could want with it. What makes you so much worse than the other men? Your aches are no one’s but your own, despite what your brother tells you. He can’t share them with you. You never asked him to.
“It’s okay, Dean. It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got him.”
Because this was always the plan.
-
God did have plans for you. Important, yes. But they’re anything but good. Someone nails Christ to a cross, yes. But they forget that he picked it up willingly.
-
FIN.