What They Called Salvation
Warnings: Religious extremism / abuse, homophobia / anti-LGBTQ+ slurs, violence against a minor, child abuse, graphic injury (snake bite), character death, animal use in violence, psychological trauma, cult-like behavior, angst/no comfort
**Contains homophobic slur used in a narrative context**
Summary: AU! After his mother’s death, Dean’s Pentecostal father takes odd jobs, including wrangling snakes for church services. In church, Dean learns what people call salvation, and what they call the wrath of God.
A/N: This is my first time sharing anything Supernatural related, so any and all feedback is welcomed! <3
The beautiful borders were made by @saradika-graphics.
Like those nasty, muggy, destructive storms that came at the beginning of spring, when the cold saw its way out and summer urged its way in.
Or, those rain storms that made things worse on cold days, where they soaked you all the way to the bone.
Bad things tend to happen during storms. Once, when Dean was six, and he and Dad and Sam were staying in Texarkana, a huge storm crashed its way through the town. That time, Dean and Sam huddled together in the stained motel bathtub. Dean shivered with each shriek of the siren, his little body covering Sam’s. Dean held on to the edge of the tub, his knuckles white, hot, fat tears running down his chubby cheeks.
“Daddy!” he hollered loudly.
Their dad was down the street, sheltering under the bar of the Nightingale Tavern.
Another time, when Dean was thirteen, and his dad had them living in Yellow Springs for six months, he had to bike home by himself because the town only had one bus and it only ran for elementary school. It was a cold, windy November afternoon when it started pouring. As he rode, Dean’s thin windbreaker became completely soaked. When he got home, the only thing that was on his mind was getting inside and getting warm. He finally did, hurrying through the house to take a lukewarm shower. Later, he realized that he had forgotten to clean up his trail of water when he heard his Dad yell sharply from the kitchen. That night, he wished that he had something cold to hold against the lashes he had gotten for his troubles.
Dean was seventeen when he had the actual realization that he didn’t like storms. This time they were in Clay City, Kentucky. They were in a church, a ramshackle little thing on the side of the highway. Dean can still remember the smell of the place, a mildewy, sulphuric imprint in time. The carpet in the place was still a wavy, sculptured carpet, in avocado green. The old plexiglass windows had been jimmied up to let out the stale summer air. There was a storm outside, causing the sky to swallow up the afternoon sun. Shattering rumbles of thunder made the aged pew Dean was sitting on vibrate.
Dean was sitting with Sam, near the back, watching the frenzy around him. The congregation around him ululated wildly, jumping and running about the crowded room. Some even had tambourines.
A large man in jeans and a white tee walked out from a side room, followed by an older man in a nice button up. The man in the white tee, Dean knew, was Pastor Greg. Dean had met him a couple times before, when they had visited this church through the years. Dean liked him for the most part.
Pastor Greg raised his hands, outstretched, and the congregations eventually tarried to silence.
“My brothers and sisters in Christ! Blessed be the day!”
The congregation cried in agreement, then quieted down once more.
“Now, brothers and sisters, today is an important day. Today we must save the soul of our brother.”
“Of course, you know my son. David.” He pointed to the front row, where a stick-thin boy sat beside a squat woman. His head was bowed.
“David, get up here, son.”
David stood up immediately, rubbing his hands on his faded jeans. He crept to the altar, beside where his father stood.
“Brothers and sisters. The Lord, in his mercy, gave us the ability to know right and wrong. And in his mercy, he allowed free will. But free will is dangerous. Free will leads to death. Free will leads to suffering and death,” his voice rings throughout the sanctuary.
“In my son David, we see that even being brought up in a God-fearing household cannot stop the ways of the world. You see, in my son, we see the sins of lust. Idolatry. Pride. Gluttony. Even being brought up in a God-fearing household didn’t stop my son from turning into a faggot the first chance he got. The first time he stepped out into the world as a man,” he spat. Dean could see specks of spittle fly through the air.
“So now, God’s judgement will come upon him.” Pastor Greg stretched a hand towards the older man in the button up. “Brother Roger. If you please.”
Brother Roger, with his bowlegs, teetered to a corner in the back of the room. He came back with a stained cloth bag. Dean held his breath; he knew what was inside.
“Leviticus 18:22 proclaims, ‘You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination,’” Pastor Greg seethed. “My son took advantage of his free will. We will see if God will forgive his sins.”
Brother Roger came forward with the burlap sack, sticking his hand in blindly. His wrinkled hand came back with a serpent.
David’s shoulders began shaking, head bowing, eyes clenching. He doubled over, his forehead hitting the floor.
The congregation began again, jumping up, raising their hand, and yelling in a frenzy.
“Sit yourself up, boy,” Pastor Greg boomed as thunder did the same outside.
The boy continued to lay on the carpet, sobbing. The Pastor walked up from behind him, kneeled, and lifted him, holding him up. The boy lay limp against his father.
“If God still loves you, he will heal you,” the Pastor announced.
The congregation howled in agreement. Dean watched as Brother Roger held the snake outward towards the mass. The serpent held its head up resolutely.
Brother Roger approached David with a fury, as fast as his old legs would go.
“Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please forgive me! I won’t do it again” David cried to the room. The congregation shouted again, some words indecipherable.
Brother Roger thrust the snake at the boy’s face. Dean couldn’t look away.
The copperhead struck him in his tear-stained cheek.
David screeched, trying to escape, but held down by his father. David struggled against him, but made no leeway.
The congregation continued around them. Dean glanced to see his father jump around, arms raised, in the center aisle.
David continued to struggle, his cheek turning red and puffy; finally, he went limp in his father’s arms. His father laid him down gently on the carpet.
The mania continued around them hysterically. Dean swallowed and looked down at Sam’s wide eyes.
They left Clay City a week later.
Dean later learned that David died.
Dean learned a two things that day. He learned--or realized, really-- that bad things usually happen during storms. Not that that came as a surprise. He didn’t like them to begin with.
That day, he also learned about God’s wrath.
