All Out of Faith - Epilogue

Summary: What if Dean had not been chosen by Roy Le Grange?

A/N: My undying gratitude to my beta Sharlot who had the patience of Job in dealing with my million changes, doubts, errors…I couldn't have done it without you!

To all the lovely readers: Thank you for your loyalty, your follows, your reviews and especially for believing in this fic.

SPN~SPN~SPN

The cold wind blustered through the cemetery. It bowed the stalks of dried grass until they nearly touched the ground and propelled the exiting mourners towards their waiting cars. Sam stood by the Impala, mouth set in a grim line, nodding his goodbyes as one by one, the hum of engines faded into the frigid air. He jammed his fists into his coat pocket, hunched stiffly and tracked the faint outlines of the cars as they disappeared over the horizon.

Dean alone stood before the open grave. He stared unmoving at the muddy clumps of earth strewn over Layla's white coffin. His right hand clenched reflexively around the dirt in his palm but he refused to toss it in. This was wrong, backwards; he wasn't supposed to be the one burying the dead. He was supposed to be the one who dug them up, cracked open the caskets and burned the bones. It was, he realized, the first time he'd put the bones into a grave.

The wind intensified, gusting against him. All around ancient trees swayed, their limbs groaning against the pull from above while their roots remained imprisoned by the barren ground below. This battle between earth and sky didn't matter to Dean because neither side would give her back; not the ground that swallowed her, not the heavens that took her. All he knew was that he was here and she wasn't. Despite understanding this, he couldn't bring himself to leave.

Long minutes passed and the wind abated. Brown leaves floated down on the turf and a profound stillness descended over the worn headstones. To Dean, this interminable silence was more agonizing than the muted thud of Layla's coffin when it hit the wet ground and anchored itself to its final resting place. It had taken all of his strength not to sink down next to her. It should have been his soul lying in that cold, hard earth, not his love. She was buried like a seed and her sacrifice, her love, her story was buried with her. It was no different than the ghosts he'd salted and burned countless times throughout the years.

Those vengeful spirits were once human; they'd lived, they'd loved but the moment he banished their souls they were doomed to be forgotten. A little piece of him died every time he lit the match that would end their existence and he'd lost track of how many graves bore his name. That didn't matter because only one held his still-beating heart.

"Dean."

The familiar voice was gentle, soft like Sam's apologetic gaze that wandered between him and the grave. "We should go."

When Dean refused to budge, Sam remained steadfast, standing by his brother in the cold silence.

It reminded Dean of the unspoken moments he'd shared with Layla that day on the swing and he felt compelled to share something of her, to tell Sam her story. "You know, I lost that bet fair and square."

Sam half-turned, eyebrows knitting. "You mean the make-up and glitter?"

Dean nodded and sniffled. "She…she bet me she could tell if I was lying."

Sam's eyes widened. "You lost that bet?"

Dean blinked and swallowed hard. "She was so sure of herself...she said that if I told her five things about myself, she'd know if I was telling the truth but first, I had to tell her about my best day," he explained, letting out a shaky breath. "I didn't know what one had to do with the other, but I went with it."

Sam lowered his gaze and slipped his hands into his coat pockets.

"I told her about the first time dad let me drive the Impala. Not the times I drove 'cause he was hurt, or too out of it to get to a nearby hospital. But the first time he really let me drive her."

Sam peered sidelong at his brother.

Dean scanned the distant landscape. "It was a Sunday morning, my fourteenth birthday. We had just finished breakfast…Dad said we were going for a drive. You moaned and groaned something fierce 'cause you wanted to stay behind and study for some history test." Dean's gaze turned wistful as he envisaged that nerdy 10 year old. "We were in some dead end town in Nevada. Remember what we called it?"

The corners of Sam's mouth turned down and he gave a shake of his head.

"Asswipeville," Dean snorted. "I hated that place. It was all dry dust and hicks but I ended up having the best day of my life there." He bit his lip, lost in thought while his eyes shone. "We piled into the car. You in your regular spot in the middle and me shotgun. Dad started squirming, saying we needed to pull the bench forward. He always liked it back, but hell, we didn't question it, just did as we were told. Dad's knees were practically at his chest and he gave us that look like it was our fault. 'Only some shorty could drive like this,' he griped before flashing me a smile and offering me the keys. Your eyes got so big, Sammy, I thought they were gonna pop right outta your head and me, I never moved so fast in my whole life. Man, when I slid into the driver's seat, I knew it was where I belonged." Dean's smile deepened into something genuine. "Then Dad shoved the shoe box at me. 'Driver picks the music,' he said." Dean's shoulders relaxed and looked over at Sam. "I made you pick, remember?"

"Yeah, AC/DC." Sam nodded.

"We drove up and down those desert highways for hours. You singing at the top of your lungs, dad's arm around the both of us, windows rolled down, wind whipping through the car." Dean licked his lips. "Dust never tasted so good."

"It was a great day," Sam confirmed with a small smile.

"The best..." Dean's voice faltered and his gaze skittered away from Sam's. "I wanted her to know something good about me...I wanted her to know me. I didn't lie...not to her, not once and she guessed right every time," he explained about the bet.

Sam cleared his throat. "She was good at reading people."

Dean dragged the back of his hand across his nose. "That day on the swing, she told me about the life she wanted, about her dreams for the future. Then I asked about her best moment and you know what she said?"

Sam bit his lip and shook his head.

A tear streaked down Dean's cheek. "She said it was right there and then. That very moment, sitting on that swing and growing old with me." Dean's gaze filled with failure. "I wanted her to have that future…"

"I know," Sam acknowledged. "And she wanted you to have yours. She wanted you to carry on."

Dean swallowed back tears. "How am I supposed to do that, huh?"

Sam let out a long breath. "I don't know, but we'll figure it out. Together, we'll figure it out."

Dean wiped his cheeks and he stared at the gaping hole that threatened to swallow him. "Is it deep enough?" he asked.

Sam surveyed the ground. "It's been warm lately, ground isn't solid. It'll be fine," he stated.

"You sure?" Dean's didn't mean to question his brother because after all Sam had just buried Jessica, but he needed to be sure.

Sam tensed and his worried gaze sank to the casket, scrutinizing the depth and calculating the drop. "Yeah, it's deep enough."

Dean took a tremulous breath, opened his fist, and let the earth fall at his feet.

Sam placed a hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezed. "C'mon. Let's go."

Dean complied, dragging behind his brother. He tilted his face up to catch a glimpse of the pale winter sun. It had been a lifetime since he'd laid eyes on it. It looked different; its light diminished, its warmth stolen - for him. He moved half-heartedly, each step heavier than the one before. With distance, the grave grew smaller, his burden heavier and he doubted Sam was right. He doubted they had dug a grave deep enough to hold his grief.

SPN~SPN~SPN

Things had gone south - literally. That became clear when Sam traced their course across the tattered map he'd splayed out on the table. He ran his finger along the route he let Dean choose, always asking which way to dad. But when they'd gone too far east, Dean pointed him west. Too far north and they'd headed south. They literally drove in circles, and a week after hauling Dean away from Nebraska they were no further from her grave than on that first day.

It wasn't what Sam had expected. The brother he knew would have put as much distance between himself and the thing that hurt him to prove he was fine. But Dean hadn't taken the long way out, hadn't driven as far as his guilt would take him. His brother was in no hurry to get back to his old life and Sam couldn't shake the trepidation in his gut.

Dean stepped out of the bathroom and trudged over to the bed. He sagged into the lumpy mattress while staring at the crisscross pattern on the carpet. He was sinking deeper into himself as if he was being pulled right into the ground with her. The sight scared Sam and strengthened his resolve not to spend another week circling around the issue.

"I know what you're doing," he said, voice collected despite the maelstrom in his chest.

Dean ignored the question and dropped his gaze.

"We're not heading towards dad. Are we?" Sam pushed, holding up the map to show Dean.

Still nothing.

Sam wasn't beneath using dirty tactics. He folded the map and kept his voice low. "Listen, we haven't heard from dad in a long time. Something's wrong. We need to find him."

Dean shifted, glancing at the peeling wallpaper on the far wall. He let out a long, weary breath. "You go." It was said plain, matter of fact.

Sam moved back, eyes wide. "Without you?" He shook his head, refusing to believe what he was hearing. "C'mon man, even if I found him, me and dad…we'd…it wouldn't turn out so good," he said, hinting at the last time they'd all been in the same room.

Dean stayed silent and still.

Sam leaned forward. "Listen, I can't do this alone," he appealed. "You know dad better than anyone. Me and you, we'll find him and then we'll be together, the three us, hunting again."

Dean's face remained blank. "I'm done hunting."

"C'mon Dean, you don't mean that," Sam argued because hunting was the thing Dean loved most, the thing that gave him purpose.

"Yeah, I do," Dean voiced in a solemn tone. "I've done enough killing."

"You didn't kill her," Sam snapped, anger pounding in his ears.

Dean half-shrugged. "Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better," he said, "I don't care."

"It's the truth," Sam growled.

Dean's jaw clenched. "Truth is she's dead 'cause of me."

"She did it for you. Why are you throwing it all away?" Sam yelled.

"What am I throwing away, huh? Am I some world class surgeon, some genius or something?" Dean grated between bloodless lips.

Sam ran his hands through his hair, forcing himself to breathe. "Look, you've done a lot of good. Saved a lot of people. You're a hunter. It's what you do. It's what you're good at."

"Yeah, some hero..." Dean's eyes darted away. "You wanna hunt or chase after dad, go ahead," he said with finality.

Sam balled his hands. "So, what are you gonna do, huh? You gonna rescue kittens or help old ladies cross the street."

Fury sparked on Dean's face. "You think that's all she did?"

"Of course not," Sam back pedaled, regretting his mistake. "All I'm saying is…she had a good heart, but that's not who you are."

"You got that right," Dean uttered in disdain before angling away.

Sam clasped his hands together. "She wouldn't want you to change. She'd want you to do good in your own way."

Dean stood, reaching for his car keys.

"Where you going?" Sam questioned.

"To a bar, to do some good."

Dean grabbed his coat and Sam followed suit, keeping a neutral tone. "Look, I'm not leaving you."

A sad smile played across Dean's face. "Oh yes you are. You just don't know it, yet."

A familiar regret crawled under Sam's skin but there was an equal measure of anger growing in his chest. "How can you think that? After everything we've been through."

Dean's jaw muscle jumped. "I've got a lifetime of experience," he chafed, pain slipping from the crack in his armour.

Sam tasted the bitterness behind the words, knowing where they came from. "Listen, I know this is hard. I was scared after Jess. If it wasn't for you…"

"Yeah, if it wasn't for me," Dean elaborated, guilt shining though his eyes. "You'd still be in California, still be in school, with or without Jessica. It's what you always wanted, not this…"

"Maybe," Sam started. "But I'm not there. I'm here. This is where I want to be."

Dean scoffed. "Until you find something or someone better," he murmured, readying to open the door.

Sam bristled at the lack of faith, clamping down hard on his brother's arm. "You're not gonna find the answer in the bottom of a bottle," he lectured, hoping to get through this once.

Dean smiled. It was disturbingly empty. "What makes you think that's what I'm looking for?"

Sam's lungs emptied and he relinquished the illusory hold on his brother.

Dean blinked, shuttering his emotions behind a wall of indifference and Sam couldn't stand to watch as his brother walked away without a look back.

SPN~SPN~SPN

Dean pressed his tongue against his swollen and split lip, testing the tender flesh until it flared in anger. He grimaced, easing off, calculating how many more drinks were needed to numb the pain or get him into even more trouble. There was one way to find out, he thought, clutching his glass then tossing it back. He followed that with a hiss, unable to ignore the fiery explosion in his mouth. He tried to focus on the slow burn gliding down his throat wishing it would scorch away who he was. Moments later, a raw heat pooled in his empty stomach, giving him the illusion of fullness except that was a lie; nothing could fill the space she had occupied. He knew because no matter what he did, he woke up cold and empty each morning.

He rummaged inside his jacket, dragging out a notepad, staring at the loops and lines that shaped her name. It was all that was left of her. He brushed his thumb across the cover before he flipped it open, skimming over her words. He read the pages countless times and had been surprised to find himself in every page, in her doubts, her hopes, and her dreams. He'd have thought they were nothing alike.

He paused, stopping at her bucket list, studying the lines he had scrawled underneath hers.

The Blue Whale, Catoosa, Oklahoma.

Dinosaur Park, Rapid City, S.D.

World's Largest Basket – Newark, Ohio

Santa Claus Statue – Santa Claus, Ind.

He had driven every which way trying to live for her, to see the world the way she had, but he couldn't find her anywhere and her words echoed in his ears. 'It's not life. It's just a list.' She was right, without someone to share these moments they became meaningless. With her by his side his heart was whole and anything was possible.

Like the thought that snuck up on him when he held her close during their one and only dance. H'de allowed himself to dream of what it might have been like if they were together. It wasn't about the home they would have built or the kids they might have raised. No, it was much simpler. It was about having her there by his side and how he would have held her high above so that if anyone saw them together, they would see her first. He would want the world to know her, would have gladly stood in her shadow to reflect her splendour, to be the sky to her sun, the night to her stars.

But that was never meant to be because he was the knife and she the lamb. He had robbed her of her life and the world of her light and then had committed another transgression by taking Sam's future, as well. Had he died, his brother would have had a chance at normal but now, no one did.

Dean's eyes misted at the idea he wasn't worthy and Layla's sacrifice had been wasted. He tore at the bottom of the page, at the portion that contained his reverse bucket list. He'd gotten it all wrong. He had written down the things he'd experience for the first time when he should have written the things he'd never do again. He crushed the slip of paper, not needing to pen what was etched in his bones.

He'd never love like that again.

He'd never be the one left behind.

He downed another shot and this time the pain barely registered. He glanced at the woman sitting at the end of the bar. She was far from shy and innocent. One look and she swooped in next too him in the blink of an eye.

He knew exactly what she was; a warm body, nothing else.

"Do you know who I am?" Dean whispered, slurred and desperate.

She shook her head no, her leer revealing it didn't matter. He didn't matter to her.

"Do you love me?" he whispered; lids half-closed, unable to swallow the bitterness of those words.

She responded with a patronizing smile. "Love's not part of the bargain," she hissed through parted teeth.

He peered at his watch as it moved past midnight, the date sliding to Feb. 14. It was no coincidence, he thought as the woman snaked her hand behind his head drawing him into a hollow kiss. He pulled back, memorizing her as he caught a glimpse of his loveless future. This was how he would live the rest of his days; in lonely towns, in the company of empty souls just like his.

He fingered his keys and followed her out. There was no hesitation in his step because no amount of dreaming and wanting would change who he was and what was meant to be.

SPN~SPN~SPN

March 20, 2006

It was the incessant chattering of birds that woke him. Dean yawned, rubbed a closed fist across his lids and levered up on one elbow. He peered over the dash, finding this place as desolate as he remembered.

He hitched up his sleeve, checking his watch; it was 6:30 am. Most of the world was asleep and that suited him just fine. He rolled his neck one way then the other, untying all the knots that had tangled into his shoulders during the long drive. Shades of orange and blue streaked the interior of the car, illuminating the dash and leather seats with the colours of stained glass as the sun crested over the hood of the Impala. Time to get up Dean reasoned, opening the car door with a squeak.

He blinked several times, dry washing the sleep out of his eyes and raking his fingers through his hair. A blanket of snow, virgin and unblemished coated the ground while the crisp air bit into his skin. After they'd left Nebraska, winter had descended on the Central Plains with a vengeance. While the days should have lengthened and warmed with the promise of spring, they were instead weighed down by dark clouds and air made solid with snow and ice.

But today was different.

Dean stood under the vastness of the prairie sky; the heavens were cloudless, the sun a shimmering ball of fire as it rose higher above the earth. Only the moon and Venus were visible but not for much longer. He texted Sam to let him know he'd be back in a few hours then pulled his jacket tight around his throat before pushing out into the world.

The crystalline snow glinted, crunching underfoot. Tiny crocuses sprouted along this fragile white carpet; their tender green shoots and tightly wound purple flowers reached up towards the sun.

The idea of life burgeoning against all odds stopped him. Layla would have loved this, he thought and wished she could see this. Maybe she could, she was after all, the reason he was here.

A while back, he'd hit his lowest point. He'd felt so unworthy of her sacrifice that his guilt became a relentless dagger running through his heart. He fought hard to detach from her by denying what she'd done. It had culminated in a month-long bender when he'd done his damnedest to drink it away or have it beat it out of him. But, he couldn't blot her out.

Everyday, fragments of her voice came to him until his inner chaos convinced him a cursed object was keeping them tied together. One night, he staggered out of the motel room in a drunken stupor, clutching her notepad and a lighter, vowing to burn the damn thing.

"I'm sorry," he repented, blinking up at the brightening sky.

In answer, a couple of sparrows landed a few feet away, cheeping and twittering wholeheartedly, eliciting a wan smile from Dean.

"Go ahead, laugh at my expense," he chaffed, picturing Layla smirking at him.

The sparrows were unaffected by his presence. They hopped and scratched at the brittle snow, spraying ice ships all around, prattling on about something to each before taking off in unison. Their lively playfulness flew off with them and was replaced by a cold solitude.

Dean lingered, recalling a shared isolation in this very place. His eyes dampened, missing the touch he hardly got to feel before continuing until he stood before a swing, red and metallic. He swept a bare hand over the seat, ploughing through the slushy snow, clearing off a space large enough for two. When he sat, the swing swayed and he kept the slow rhythm going with the toe of his boot. He felt the same sense of peace creeping back into his body, calming his restlessness and allowing him to express what was in his heart.

"There's so much I should've told you…," he breathed into the cold air. "I just wish I hadn't been such a coward," he confessed, forcing the words out of his parched throat.

"Before I met you, the only things I believed in were the things I could see and touch," he disclosed, eyes stinging with regret. "I knew that monsters were real and bad things happen...but you…you showed me that good things happen, even if you don't ask for them, even if you never wanted them to happen to you." He took a contrite breath, watching the mist dissipate.

"You gave up everything for me and I've been screwing it up ever since," he agonized, owning up to his greatest sin. "Been drinking and pissin' it away…even tried to get Sam to ditch me," he divulged, tucking his chin into his collar.

"Despite all my crap, Sam never abandoned me," he choked, wiping a sleeve across his eyes. "Neither did you," he added, pulling out a small notepad, intact and undamaged. "I couldn't go through with it...," he admitted about the night he'd wanted to burn it. He fingered the metal rings of the binding like the beads of a rosary.

"I know it by heart," he remarked, flipping through the pages, stopping at the one that contained large doodled letters – Pay it Forward. He closed it and laid it on the seat. "I'll leave it right here…for someone to find…someone who could use your help." His mouth quirked and he arched an eyebrow, "…someone with five kids," he added, knowing she'd pout and glare at him while delighting in the idea.

"This isn't goodbye," he said with as much confidence as he could muster. "I still need you to tell when I'm being an idiot," he added with a faint smile, watching the long shadows begin to pull away.

"You know, I never believed in angels…" he whispered, his chest opening up with each word. "Until I met you…" The sheer honesty of his declaration scared him. "If you see my mom up there, tell her hi for me."

A car drove by signalling the small town was waking. Dean took a cleansing breath knowing it was time to go.

"Sam's waiting," he explained, staring at the notepad, praying he was doing the right thing by Layla. He sat for a moment until he was ready, then without a word rose and headed towards the Impala. He passed the same crocuses, noting how the flowers had unfurled to welcome the spring sun.

His pocket vibrated and he chuckled at the idea Sam was placing his order for some sugar free, low fat, non-dairy, extra hot, no foam, friggin', supremely complicated coffee. Instead, it was numbers - a set of coordinates.

Dean froze; they hadn't heard from dad since before his accident and after so much time away from the family business, he wondered whether he was ready, whether this was the right path for him. He deliberated all this while returning the phone to his pocket. His fingers brushed against something hard and cylindrical. He pulled it out and stared at a colourful package that had gone undiscovered for weeks – Lifesaver.

It was one simple word but it encompassed the path of his life. It was all he needed to know as he faced the sun, feeling its warmth on his skin and her guiding hand on his heart.

He started the car, sliding a cassette into the tape deck, listening to the words he'd heard thousands of times. He watched the landscape roll by, seeing the same hills, the same twists and turns except something about it looked different, something he couldn't quite see. He wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel, enjoying the feel of the car and the road. There was so much he didn't know. He had no clue where the coordinates would take him or what he would find, but he had faith that wherever he was headed it was where he belonged and what he was meant to do.

The End