A/N: Drabble-ish. Don't ask me where this came from. I'm a slave to the bunnies.

Spoilers: None.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.

*Edited to add, I have not seen the whole series and at the time of writing this story, I hadn't seen the season 2 episode Houses of the Holy and didn't know about the parallels between that and this.

So if this story or any other story of mine tramples all over show cannon, or seems to copy something the show has already done without my mentioning it first, then that is probably because I'm unaware. Just so you know. Thank you.

Sunlight filtered in through a small crack in the thick flowery curtains of the musty motel room, painting a bright line across the middle of the rumpled bed. The light woke both of them, but neither had the strength or determination to actually get up and do anything about it.

Sam was tucked firmly inside Dean's warm embrace in a mass of tangled blankets, his back to Dean's front, and the strip of sunlight ran right across his eyes. Behind them, the other bed lay empty and forgotten, still nicely made with untouched blankets tight and smooth and pristine.

Sam made several shifts in position in an attempt to get the light out of his eyes, and Dean, though mostly asleep, patiently adjusted to each one. They finally settled with Sam on his back and Dean on his side next to him, breathing softly into his ear. Dean sighed with relief once the tossing and turning was over and immediately began drifting back into deep sleep.

"Dean?" Sam half whispered.

"Hmm," Dean intoned, eyes tightly shut.

"Do you believe in God?"

A snort tickled the fine hairs in Sam's ear indicating that either Dean was laughing at his question or he had somehow swallowed a hairball.

"Sam, we haven't even had coffee."

"No, I'm serious, Dean. I want to know. Do you believe?"

"No." No hesitation before his answer at all. Simple and clean, like a satisfying kill.

Sam didn't respond, and that caught Dean off guard. If there's one thing Dean could always count on it was that if Sam had something on his mind, Dean would hear about it. He almost never had to fish for information with his brother, and it always made him uncomfortable when he did.

"Okay. What." he asked impatiently.

"What what?" Sam echoed. "I was just asking."

"Bull. You never ask deep questions without a follow up."

"Whatever. You don't know me."

Dean actually lifted his head off the pillow to properly maximize the effect of his world-renowned "please-just-spit-it-out-so-we-can-go-back-to-sleep" look.

"Okay, fine," Sam admitted. "I just think it's weird how you believe in demons and evil... well, not believe, but actually see and interact with on a regular basis, but you don't believe in something good too."

Dean lowered his head again. "Sure I believe in good. Beer, darts, pool, more beer…"

"Dean, I'm serious."

"So am I."


Dean realized that his hope of sleeping in this morning was dwindling by the second. "Okay, listen. You just said it yourself, Sammy. I can see and interact with demons, have done my whole life. God on the other hand? Not a shred of evidence. I don't know what else to say."

Sam was quiet again, and although Dean's eyes were closed, he could clearly sense the pout on his brother's lips.

He sighed, reluctantly taking the bait for the second time in one morning. "Okay. What."

"Well, it just sort of makes sense, don't you think, that if there's evil out there, then there's good too?" Sam argued quietly.

"Reverse that statement, and you have the Christian argument for the existence of the devil."


"No, Sam, it's dumb logic. Not everything is a polarity, light and dark or whatever. There doesn't have to be an ultimate bad and an ultimate good. There's just things that want to hurt people, and the people who stop them from doing it."

"Which would be us."

"You said it."

Sam was quiet for a third time, but rather than hurt, this silence had a distinctly pensive tone to it. Dean smiled to himself as a thought occurred to him.

"What's the matter, kid? You think God might not like what we're up to here?"

"Dean…" Sam whined.

Dean reached around to squeeze his brother's ass. "Wouldn't be that surprising, I guess. Last night, you even had me blushing."

"Dean!" Sam gasped as Dean's grip traveled around to the front.

"Hey, it's still early. The old man is probably still in bed anyway, right?"

Dean's hands moved up Sam's shirt to the sensitive spot between his hip and the beginning of his ribcage, that infamous spot that to Sam was the combination of pure sex and unbearable tickle torture.

"Ah, God! De-- Ah!" Sam cried out a litany of profane phrases interspersed with shouting laughter and vigorous moans. He finally succeeded in fighting Dean's mischievous hands away, and the boys ended their brief tumble with a long and lingering kiss that left them both delirious and drowsy. Their heads landed back onto the pillow soundlessly.

Sam was quiet for another little while as he smiled to himself. "Well, if there is a God," he said softly, "of course he would like this. Or, I mean, at least he wouldn't mind it. I mean..." he struggled to find the words. "How could there be anything wrong with you and me?"

Sam's words sounded confident, but there was just a breath of insecurity in them, something so subtle that no one but Dean would ever be able to perceive it. He suddenly understood why this conversation was happening in the first place, and he cuddled into Sam protectively.

"Of course there's nothing wrong with this," he said in his most convincing tone, as any existing tension in Sam's body drained away deliciously, allowing Dean to fold in even closer. "Not saying I believe in God, though."

"No, I mean... me neither."

"Too many evil things in this world, you know? I can't imagine any loving God allowing all of that to be."

Another insistent silence.



"Spit it out."

"It's just that... yeah, there's a lot of really scary stuff out there, and people get hurt or killed or worse..."

"All the time."

"Right, all the time, I know. And if there is a God, I guess he does let all of that happen."

Dean grunted in stern agreement.

"But, Dean... if there is a God... he lets this happen too." Sam squeezed his brother's hand to emphasize his point. "I mean, if there is a God… Who knows? He maybe even... gave this to us?"

Dean didn't respond immediately, and Sam felt a panicked compulsion to justify his reasoning. "Dean, I know. You think it's stupid. It's not like we've ever been religious before, but I guess I've been trying to figure things out lately, you know, with you and me, and sure maybe there's a part of me that worries about us being brothers, 'cause you know, everyone thinks that's weird or something, and then there's the whole 'sinful' aspect to it, not that I buy into that obviously, and that's not even what made me bring up the God thing anyway, it's more that I'm having a hard time understanding… I mean, I can't really reconcile how… you know, sometimes it almost feels like there has to be a God because… because…" He took a deep breath as he felt his cheeks burn like fire. "…because I've never been so happy," he finished in a winded whisper.

Sam held his breath in anticipation of a diatribe on all the pitfalls and problems with the concept of God and faith and things that can't be touched, seen, or heard. At the very least, he expected a severe eye rolling for being so maudlin.

What he finally received, though, was a drawn out kiss on the side of his neck and a powerful tightening of Dean's arms around his waist.

"If there is a God," Dean stated with a voice that was not quite steady, "tell him Dean says thanks."

Sam's heartbeat slowed at Dean's validation, and he sunk into his brother's arms with a sigh. He turned his head slightly to look at Dean's face, but Dean gave him another forceful kiss on the cheek, pushing his head back to its original position.

"Dean… are you crying?" Sam asked gently.

Dean sniffed. "Ssh, Sammy. You're keeping me awake."

Sam smiled, satisfied, as Dean's breath gradually returned to the deeper and more even pattern that accompanied sleep. As Sam eventually felt his own eyes beginning to droop, he squeezed Dean's arm gently, feeling his chest fill to capacity with overwhelming warmth and love.

"Thank you," he whispered, whether to Dean or to someone else, he didn't really know.

Then he drifted off.