Hey guys. I'm not even sure what this is, just something that I wrote while I was in school. Hope you enjoy it.

The first time Dean caught Sam praying, it was an accident. He'd been pretty hammered and was thinking about the killer hangover he was going to have tomorrow as he opened the door and stumbled into the motel. Sam had looked up from where he was at the table with his hands clasped and a quiet 'amen' slipping from his lips.

In his drunken stupor, Dean managed to remember that Sam once mentioned that he prayed, and regarded his brother in confusion. What was he praying about? Sure, the Gates of Hell had been opened and demons were swarming the earth, but what did he think 'God' could do about it?

"What're you doin'?" he slurs.

"Thinking, Dean. Get some sleep before you hurt yourself."

Finding no fault with that logic, he crashed onto the bed and slipped into unconsciousness.

. . .

The second time was when Dean was more sober. They were staying at Bobby's house researching ways to get his soul back and he was getting bored. Sam had already retired to the room, so Dean decided to do the same. When he got into the hallway he heard soft murmurs coming from inside and decided to listen in.

". . . need to know if I'm doing the right thing. I just . . . don't really know what to do anymore. We're running out of time—Dean is running out of time and we haven't found anything. I keep acting like I think we can get out of this but . . . I don't think we can. We only have a few months before . . . and I don't think we can save him. Just . . . tell me that what I'm doing is right, that it's helping. I—," his voice cuts off there and there's a muffled, choked sob. A quiet 'amen' is uttered before the sound of blankets shifting.

Dean walks into the room and sees his brother facing away from the door, his body shaking with quiet sobs. He crawled into his bed and tried to forget the sound of his brothers broken words.

. . .

The third time Dean found his brother praying, it was after he met Castiel and Uriel. They'd just saved the town from a demon and two trigger happy Angels and he'd resolved to get himself totally shit-faced.

He severely regretted it when he was holding onto the toilet for dear life the next morning.

Everything was too bright and and loud and his throat burned. Another wave of nausea washed over him and he vomited into the toilet. Then he took a sip of the water that Sam had gotten him.

The bathroom door was open so he perked up when he heard a soft voice talking.

"Um, dear Heavenly Father, uh, I guess. I know I haven't done this in awhile but, uh, I really need to talk right now. I just, uh, met some of your Angels, heh, and they're, uh . . . different than I expected them to be. They, um, tried to wipe out an entire town just to kill two witches. I know that they're, uh, not like most people say, righteous anger and all that, but that seemed excessive."

It was silent for a long moment. "They also called me an, um, abomination. In fact, Cas' exact words were, 'Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood'. I know that it sounds bad, but I'm helping people. I can exorcise demons much easier and soon I'll be able to kill them. That's all I'm trying to say, uh, I guess. Amen."

Dean took another sip of water and unsteadily got to his feet. Deciding that he was done puking, he hobbled out of the room before booting up Sam's laptop and looking for a new case.

. . .

The fourth time was after Lucifer had been set free. They'd gotten off of the plane and located the Impala before driving to Bobby's house. Sam was quiet the whole way and when they finally got there he made a beeline towards the bedroom, almost slamming the door behind him. Dean assured Bobby that they were fine and walked up to the room. Just as he raised his hand to knock, he heard Sam start praying.

"Dear Heavenly Father," his voice cracked, "I, um, don't even know if I'm allowed to do this considering . . . um, anyways," he sighs and there's a long pause, "I'm sorry. I didn't believe—I didn't want to believe that Ruby was bad. I didn't . . . I didn't know that it would lead to this. I'm sorry that I couldn't be stronger, that I couldn't . . . that I couldn't stop this."

He fell silent. A minute later he started up again, this time with more fervor, "I'm sorry that I didn't know—that I didn't think about the consequences, that I . . . that I failed." He said the last few words in a tone of finality. A hollow, broken, desperate, realization.

That same tone carried on in his next words. "It's all my fault. I'm the reason that mom and Jess are dead. The reason why . . . why Dean sold his soul and went to Hell. It's my fault that the first and last seals were broken. I couldn't stop the other ones either."

Dean froze when he heard all of that. It wasn't Sam's fault. It was the demons', it was the Angels'—Hell, God's. Not Sam's. He walked into the room and saw his brother kneeling in the center of the room, silent tears streaming down his face.

Not really knowing what to do, he knelt in front of Sam and pulled him into a hug. After a few seconds he felt Sam's arms embrace him back and they sat there.

"I thought you didn't do chick-flick moments," Sam says eventually.

Dean chuckles and says, "I don't."

. . .

Chuck heard all of Sam's prayers. Each one from the first when he was five and Pastor Jim was teaching him how. He never responded, those days were over. But He listened. That was the most He could do.

There were times He wanted to say something, times He wanted to help Sam. But He didn't. He'd sworn off meddling millennia ago. No one likes a helicopter parent.

Sam didn't know this. Still, even after everything, he continued to believe.

He chuckled. It was almost ironic how the Morningstar's vessel was the one who believed, while the Michael Sword outright refused.

But they were Winchesters. And Winchesters were nothing if not incongruous.

So, thoughts? Again I'm not sure what this is, but I hope that you liked it.