FIC: Of Bastard Saints, 11

[nilchance]

Title: Of Bastard Saints
Authors: nilchance and beanside
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: We make no claim of ownership on the Brothers and Daddy Winchester. No infringement is intended, no money is made.
Author Notes: Set after the episode "Devil's Trap."
WARNINGS: Character maiming, more angst than you can shake a stick at, WIP.



The van was a bright, obvious cherry red. John stared at it in something approaching horror. "It's...very...nice," he said, lips twisting in an attempt at a smile.

The hospital administrator beamed. "I'm glad we could provide it for you," he lied. "Now, if you'll excuse me-"

John nodded, offering his hand. "Thank you for all your help," he said cordially. They'd won, no sense in rubbing it in.

The administrator shook it, and headed back for the hospital without a word for Sam. Then again, Sam was looking rather pleased with himself.

"I don't think he likes you, much, Sammy," John remarked.

"Sam," Sam said, with the tired tone that said he'd explained this to Dean already.

"Huh?"

"I hate being called Sammy."

John's mouth twitched. "Good to know."

Sam glared, but it looked half-hearted. "I don't know why we couldn't have worked on them a little more-"

"Sam, you got us close to two hundred grand. That's good enough." John climbed into the van, adjusting the seat for his tall frame. It was a dual control, meaning that it had both pedals and hand controls. Handy when you figured that Sam would probably insist on driving some of the time. Dean had spoiled the boy.

"It's because of the non est factum thing, isn't it?" Sam asked, climbing in on the other side.

John sighed, laying his head against the steering wheel. "Sammy-"

"Sam," he corrected.

"Sam. Non est factum is fine, whatever the hell it means. Non est factum, dude, on the other hand..." John had to bite back the smile at Sam's pissy noise.

After along moment, Sam laughed softly. "Yeah. I think I've been around Dean too long." He abruptly clutched his head as a vision swam into his brain. "Ow."

John winced, watching as his boy fought back the pain, gasping. He laid a gentle hand on the back of his neck, trying to help.

Finally, with a sigh, Sam sat back.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Head north."

"North?"

"Towards Illinois. Route 57."

John's eyes narrowed. "Dean?"

Sam looked over, smiling slightly. "Yeah. He was there-I don't know how I know, but he was there." Something close to triumph colored his voice.

John nodded, reaching for the hand controls of the van. "In that case, let's see what this baby can do."

The pleasure in his father's voice as he whipped the van out of the spot made Sam smile in earnest. He could see where Dean got it from. With a sigh, he reached for the radio.

John smacked his hand, a smile touching his mouth. "Driver picks the tunes," he said. "Besides, my luck, you like hip-hop."

"Nah, Celine Dion," Sam deadpanned. "I know the drill. Passenger shuts his hole."

John smiled wider. "Dean's taught you well." He fiddled with the knobs until he found an oldies rock station. "Now that's more like it."

Funny how Sam had forgotten, with the luxury of a few years of not driving with his father, how the man's habits could drive Sam absolutely bugfuck insane. For instance, there was the drumming on the steering wheel thing. The humming thing. The constant switching of the radio station thing, whether the station was going to commercial or not. Didn't matter. If the song was over, the station was changed unless the DJ managed to get out something about news or traffic before it switched. And John's tastes were? eclectic. If the station came in without static, it could play Bulgarian pipe music for all John seemed to care.

At least Dean would pick a tape and stick with it after the Impala's radio died a noble death a few years back. Come to think of it, though, Dean had drummed on the wheel, too. And at least Sam didn't have to worry about Dad trying to sing. Emphasis on the 'trying'.

Sam revised his opinion after his father's absent-minded rendition of Proud Mary. His father was a man with a lot on his mind, and lyrics weren't one of those things he remembered well.

Sam was almost grateful when the headache started to hit. Then it sharpened. Fuck, never mind. He reached across the emergency brake, swatting at his father's shoulder and jabbing his finger at the sign they'd just rolled past.

"Welcome to Mattoon, Illinois!" the sign perked.

Some welcome. All Sam got was double-vision, a blurry impression of the highway on a rainy night. Fear. Pain, like a burning in his lungs and across his chest. Gritting his teeth, Sam struggled to focus as he searched for some clue, some landmark where they might figure out what Dean was heading for. The weakness Sam could feel in the vision made him uneasy, making it hard to think clearly. Dean (and hell, if Sam was following around the tracks of someone who wasn't Dean, he'd be beyond pissed when they caught up) felt sick. Vulnerable. And if the demons were following him, vulnerable was something Dean couldn't afford to be.

Finally, his vision snagged on the impression of neon, a row of trucks... "Truckstop," Sam rasped. "Keep driving, it's on the right." Then he let the vision go, held his breath, rubbing at his shoulder. The nausea would ease up on its own. Hopefully.

The radio turned down. Sam felt the car slow and turn, as gently as a car on rough highway could, into the smoother path of a parking lot. The van grumbled as it stopped and turned off. When Sam opened his eyes, there was a bottle of water in one of John's hands, a painkiller in the other.

Gingerly, Sam shook his head. "I need to think clearly-"

John crooked an eyebrow and didn't move. After a long moment, Sam swore and took the pills with bad grace.

Learning to use his power, or the trauma from the wreck, had... changed the visions. They were sharper now, clearer, letting Sam pull in and focus where he needed. But the pain lingered where it had faded before, and the visions came faster and closer together. If he didn't take one of the pills, he'd be curled around his knees in a few hours. It wasn't like Sam could hide them in the narrow confines of the van. Didn't need Dad worrying about him, particularly since Sam didn't put it past his father to dump him on Bobby and leave to keep hunting.

"Okay," Sam said shortly, and climbed out of the van.

The truckstop was kind of a shithole, with a diner attached to its side. The smell of grease and rich food made Sam's stomach twist. They took a table near the door. John watched Sam over his stained menu, frowning.

"I'm fine," Sam murmured.

"I know." John glanced down, making a face at the menu. "To borrow your brother's phrase, this sucks." He quickly shifted further into the booth, putting his cane next to him on the seat.

"What?"

"I think the hospital corrupted me. None of this looks good."

Sam hid a smile behind the menu. "I'm sure they have a plain chicken breast or something."

"Of course we do," the waitress said, smiling. "It comes with bacon and cheese on top."

"I'll have that. Bacon and cheese on the side, though," John said. "And a cup of coffee."

"And for you, sugar?"

"Coke. And um. Something light."

"Plain toast," John supplied. "And one of the breakfast steaks, medium well."

Sam nodded miserably. "Thanks."

As the waitress hurried away, he held his head, forcing the vision into focus. "It was her," he hissed. "She saw Dean."

"Good job. Now, try to let the vision go. You've gotten what you need from it, just let it go." John reached over, touching Sam's hand, trying to get his attention back to the real word. "Sammy."

"Sam," Sam said sharply, annoyed.

John bit back a smile and asked, probably not without snark, "Better?"

"What?"

"The headache. Is it better?"

Sam considered for a moment. "Actually, a little. Wait, you were trying to piss me off?"

"Pretty much. I figured if you'd focus elsewhere, it would help the headache, maybe block the signal a little." John shrugged. "They had me trying to meditate in the hospital," he added sheepishly. "To deal with the pain, and to focus on...things."

Sam tried to fake another coughing fit, hand flying over his mouth. After a second, he gave up, head tilting back as he laughed. It was one of the best sounds John had heard from his boy in weeks. Still grinning, Sam started folding and refolding his napkin.

The waitress came back, giving Sam a flirty smile. "You look like you feel better."

"Yeah, a little." Sam dug in his coat pocket, coming up with a picture of Dean. "I was wondering. My brother was backpacking out this way, and we're trying to find him. Have you seen him, by any chance?"

"Oh, is there a problem?"

"Our grandmom is sick, we're trying to find him, bring him home before..." Sam looked down, eyes sad. "They've always been close."

John nodded, giving Sam a concerned face. "We'll catch up to him, Sammy."

Through his hair, Sam glared, wondering if he could choke his father with the paper straw wrapper. "I know," he said shortly. He put on his best concerned smile, and lifted the picture for her to see. "This is my brother Dean."

"Oh, the hottie!" she perked. "I thought he was homeless."

John's head dropped forward. "That's how he normally dresses, I'm afraid."

"Oh." Suddenly, Ms. Hormone didn't seem so hot for his boy. "He came in looking rough, but then, after he showered and shaved, he cleaned up pretty well. Bugged out of here pretty quickly."

"Why?"

She shrugged, chewing her gum. "I don't know. He may have talked to one of our regulars outside, but I don't know. Chuck was out there when I went out after him, to give him a coffee, but your boy was halfway down the road by then."

"What was Chuck doing?"

"Humming, well, whistling really. What's that song? Oh yeah, y'know." She took a breath. "I see a bad moon rising..."

John held up his hand quickly as Sam twitched. "Got it."

"He was going north, so he was probably heading for Chicago. 57 don't go nowhere else."

She brought their food, and they ate quickly, eager to get back on the road. She'd just brought their check when Sam stiffened looking sharply behind him. "Dad?" he said tentatively, feeling the cold chill slide down his spine, the scent of brimstone wafting to him.

"Got it. Demon, small fry."

"What are we going to do about it?" Sam asked.

"I'm down a leg, and you're high on drugs," John said reasonably. "Why is the jukebox moving? Sam? Samuel Gabe Winchester, stop that," he growled.

Sam looked at him. "I can do it."

"Not in public, you can't. There are cameras."

Sam didn't move, but there was a sharp 'pop' from the direction of the cameras. John felt the chill ease up his spine as Sam smiled and asked, "How about now?"

John laid a twenty on the table and turned, sliding out of the booth carefully.

"Dad, if I can't-I'm pretty fucked up with the painkillers. I don't know how much help I'm going to be." Sam followed him towards the door. "Is it following?"

"Yeah. Have some faith in your old man," John murmured with a surety he didn't feel. "I've got it covered."

They were nearly to the van when it made its move, out of view of the patrons of the diner. It was humming cheerfully behind them.

"I hate that fucking song," Sam whispered.

"I know." John slowed down, trying to make it grab him instead of Sam, but it wasn't playing that game. Instead, its claw-like hand snaked out, grabbing for his boy. John turned, using the prosthetic as his pivot and brought his cane down on the demon's wrist. As it turned towards him, he whipped out the nose spray bottle full of holy water and spritzed it in the eyes.

Sam turned, ready to--well. Do something, if whatever the hell Dad had planned didn't work.

John held up a small crucifix, and took a deep breath. Thank fuck Elkins had trained as an auctioneer at one point. "Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei. Patris omnipotentis, et in noimine Jesu Christi Filii ejus, Domini et Judicis nostri, et in virtute Spiritus Sancti, ut descedas ab hoc plasmate Dei, quod Dominus noster ad templum sanctum suum vocare dignatus est, ut fiat templum Dei vivi, et Spiritus Sanctus habitet in eo. Per eumdem Christum Dominum nostrum, qui venturus est judicare vivos et mortuos, et saeculum per ignem," he rattled, mouth moving at an almost impossible rate, pausing only to breathe and cross himself.

The host stiffened, and opened its mouth. A torrent of black dust flew out, and the man stumbled, going limp. John, stepped back, letting him hit the ground as he put away the crucifix and nose spray.

"Dad!"

"One leg, Sammy. Not like I could catch him."

Sam knelt next to the guy, touching his back. "Are you all right? You just fell over."

"You should probably get that checked," John said dryly.

Sam helped him over to the entrance of the diner, then came back, glaring at his father. "You can be a real asshole, you know that?"

"Yup." Smiling, John walked around to the driver side, and climbed in. "Let's get a move on. We need to make up for lost time.

Comments

[acf151.livejournal.com]

That's how you handle the demonically posessed! Go John and Sam! Now, what's Dean up to?

[beanside.livejournal.com]

*laugh* Glad you enjoyed it! More this evening!

[muffaletta.livejournal.com]

Really enjoying the dialogue between Sam and John-just snarky enough but with mutual respect and affection. And I love the way you bring continuity from canon into your stories: the Snuggle bear reference in the previous chapter, the CCR song in this one. Little details like those really help add texture and atmosphere. Your daily updates have become addicting!

[beanside.livejournal.com]

Sam and John are on the honeymoon at the moment. There's still a few good blow ups to come, I'm afraid.

But that's what makes them fun.

Since both of us love the world Kripke's created, we wanted to bring that along with the characters, try to keep things grounded in the cannon that the show's built. I'm glad you think we're doing it. Thanks for the kind words!

[marinarusalka.livejournal.com]

Love it! Great to see Sam and John working together as a team. Different from Sam and Dean, both in the ways they get along and the ways they drive each other nuts, but still a great team. The way they handled the possessed guy in the parking lot was priceless.

And they seem to be catching up to Dean! Yay! Dean all alone makes me sad. :-(

[beanside.livejournal.com]

Exactly. Dean's a lot like John, but just different enough that sometimes, Sam wants to choke him.

Dean might have to go it alone just a bit longer, I'm afraid. *grin* I'm glad you're enjoying it!

[geminigrl11.livejournal.com]

I like the way you are building the relationship between Sam and Dad. And I am so glad that they are closing in on Dean - poor guy is kind of floundering! He needs his Sammy!!!

Can't wait for the update!

[beanside.livejournal.com]

Oh, Dean's barely begun to have problems, I'm afraid. *evil grin*

Sam and John are fun to write, I have to admit. Though, this is kind of the "honeymoon period." Eventually, they'll get tired, and all those issues will come roaring back. Because they're family, and that's what family does.

I'm glad you liked! More tonight!

[tangledaria.livejournal.com]

I like how you can have Sam and John fighting, but still getting along. It's a delicate balance that most other authors don't really strike. Again, brilliant job. I'm on the edge of my seat! *rubs hands in glee* :D

[beanside.livejournal.com]

Oh, they'll have some knock-down, drag-out fights, too, but deep down, they love each other. So there has to be that, too, or it's not John and Sam, in my books.

I'm glad you're enjoying it. Thanks for the kind words!

[whisp.livejournal.com]

Loved that last exchange between Sam and John after the exorcism. I love how you can tell how much Dean takes after John because I keep reading their exchanges and thinking, that sounds like Sam and Dean talking.

[beanside.livejournal.com]

*laugh* I'm glad you enjoyed it. It's a fine line for us with John, making him still John Winchester, and showing how the accident changed him. It seems to be coming through, and I'm really glad.

Thanks!

[mellaithwen]

*screams until tonight's update*

[beanside.livejournal.com]

*laugh* Yet oddly I find myself humming the bridge from Metallica's "King Nothing."

"carefull what you wish...carefull what you say, careful what you wish you may regret it, careful what you wish, you just might get it..."

*evil grin*

I'm glad you're into it that much, though. It's a huge compliment, so thanks!

[daisymai.livejournal.com]

I've only just found this story and just have to say that it's just slaying me. It's wonderful. I love the way you have Sam and John working together, I think their relationship is fascinating and your descriptions of that relationship are just priceless - all that snarking with all their love just peeping through. I really loved Chapter 7 (I think it's #7) when John and Sam have that father-son moment after they see Dean on the picture. That was so exqusitely tender and beautifully written, wonderful angst without the melodrama. One of my favourite Sam/John moments in all the fan fic I've read - which is a lot.
And I love that you update everyday. Thank you.

[beanside.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it. We've been trying to walk a line between what John is, and what he's becoming, and I'm glad it came through for you.

We really appreciate the kind words! Thanks!

[cocombat.livejournal.com]

Just curious, what exactly was Non est factum? I mean, did they sign something?

Sam being more annoyed by the same habits in his father than in Dean seems fairly plausible. They are getting on a lot better already though.

Probably the most amusing moment for me was just the idea of Exorcism in double, triple, or even quadruple speed (and auctioneers *are* actually aiming for coherency, I mean, imagine how fast a reggae influenced rap exorcism could be. Ah. Ok, that's a rather trippy thought, so I think I'll leave that one alone... o_0).

[beanside.livejournal.com]

The strict translation is "it is not his deed." I figured at some point, they were going to try to put some of it on Dean, but with the extenuating circumstances, Sam would be able to argue non est factum--that because they gave him sedatives when it was on his records not to, it wasn't his deed, but theirs. However, non est factum, dude is Sam being a smartass and nearly blowing the "I'm a lawyer thing." *grin*

Sam and John are in the "let's do this, work together, bury the hatchet" phase. As with most families, it never lasts for long. *grin*

*snort* Now, I'm having horrific mental images of JDM in dredlocks. I may be scarred for life. Or deeply amused. One of the two. *grin*

[dolimir-k.livejournal.com]

Nose spray bottle ... giggling.

I like Sam's comparison of his Dad and Dean. Nicely done.

[beanside.livejournal.com]

I figured it's small, innocent looking, and gives a really good mist up to 3-4 feet. What could be better?

I'm glad you liked! Thanks!

[squee1123.livejournal.com]

John, stepped back, letting him hit the ground as he put away the crucifix and nose spray.
"Dad!"
"One leg, Sammy. Not like I could catch him."
Sam knelt next to the guy, touching his back. "Are you all right? You just fell over."
"You should probably get that checked," John said dryly.

I love John!

[roguem.livejournal.com]

"Sam, you got us close to two hundred grand. That's good enough." John climbed into the van, adjusting the seat for his tall frame. It was a dual control, meaning that it had both pedals and hand controls. Handy when you figured that Sam would probably insist on driving some of the time. Dean had spoiled the boy.

And here I was thinking the sentance would end with it being good for John so he could give Sam breaks while driving. Lol.

[zillahseye.livejournal.com]

"One leg, Sammy. Not like I could catch him."

Bwee! I'm enjoying all the characterizations, but I think I like John's best. *heart*

[onthehill]

Heehee - gotta love John there :)