FIC: OF Bastard Saints, 14
May. 21st, 2006 09:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceTitle: Of Bastard Saints
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
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, violence, non-con, more angst than you can shake a stick at, WIP.
As Seattle faded behind him, Dean started to relax. Not much-he wasn't stupid enough to think that it was going to leave him alone. But at least he was doing something. One thing he was doing was research. A quick stop at a local new age shop secured a book on demons, with a couple of potential binding spells. They didn't sound quite right to him, but he could work with them.
Old Man Anders bike had turned out to be a classic, netting him enough money to get an old truck without having to dip in the money in the locker. The body was made of steel, a real tank. It comforted him, made him feel safer somehow. The tarp stretched over the bed also helped to hide the arsenal he'd brought with him from the locker-enough ammo and guns to take on a small army.
The shotgun and journal were laying on the seat beside him. If the highway patrol
wanted to stop him, oh well. He got the feeling it wasn't the first time he'd had to talk his way out of trouble, if it came to that.
The cool, wet weather of the northwest gave way to clear, sunny skies as he drove down the coast, sliding into California just before nightfall. He didn't bother to find a hotel, just pulled off and slept in the truck, stopping to etch a sigil he'd found in the demon book on every window of the truck. The book called it a Devil's Trap.
The next morning, he unfolded himself from the seat and drove onwards, not stopping until he reached a truckstop an hour later.
Then, the rapidly sliding fuel gauge and the lure of coffee conspired to convince him that it was time to take a break. And a piss.
The truckstop was one of the soulless, corporate kind. Dean preferred the grubbier ones, the weird little family-run slices of Americana that differed from Massachusetts to Georgia. The newer stops were cleaner and more efficient, but if he saw one more McDonalds-giftshop-TCBY-Starbucks mini-mall, he was going to lose his mind. Such as it was.
He'd cut out and saved the obituary on Rachel Adams, mother of two. He'd see her face whenever he closed his eyes. So he scrimped on sleep, these days.
Thankfully, this particular mini-mall didn't have a Starbucks. There was a cart of overpriced coffee drinks, with a young man sitting on a stool behind it. He looked like he was nursing a monster of a hangover, complete with sunglasses and tousled dark hair hanging in his face. He looked up and offered Dean a pale smile. "Good morning."
"Afternoon," Dean said. "Rough night?"
The kid gave him a grin that scrunched up his nose. Dean felt something ache in his chest, gone before he could reach for it. "You have no idea. Coffee? We have a latte special-"
Ugh. "Just... caffeinated. Regular is fine. Thanks." Dean paid the kid in crumpled bills and put the change in his mostly empty tip jar. "Can you hold that for me?" He jerked his head meaningfully at the bathroom. "I'll be back in a second."
With a nod, the kid settled back on his stool. Even with the sunglasses, Dean got the distinct feeling he was getting the full up and down once-over. Flattering. Horrifying, since the kid was basically trying to get in the pants of a serial killer, but flattering.
Before the kid could say anything about Dean hanging around until his next break, Dean turned and headed into the bathroom. It was empty. He took care of business, went to wash up from the night in the truck. His roots were starting to grow out from under the blue. Not entirely attractive, but damned if Dean felt like messing with-
The bathroom door opened and shut. Dean started, tensing automatically, and relaxed when he saw the kid. There was that nagging sense of familiarity again, of wanting to warn the kid not to talk to strangers or follow them into the bathroom. No matter how devastatingly handsome they were, if Dean said so himself. "Hey. Who's manning the cart?"
The kid gave him a slow, crooked smile as he deliberately locked the door. Then he crossed to the sinks, his long legs eating up the distance. "I want you," he said. "Now."
Yeah. Somebody obviously got their dirty talking 101 from bad porn. Dean turned to look at him, readying a smile. "Not that I mind spontaneity, but-"
The kid's hands locked around his hips, spinning him with unexpected strength. Dean's hands slapped against the wall just before the kid pressed him there, hot and hard against his back. He smelled good, clean.
"Relax," the kid ordered, his voice smoky and surprisingly low. "I'll take care of you."
Dean opened his mouth to snark at him, something about the kid waiting until his balls dropped to make claims like that. Then the kid's hands were moving, touching, and Dean shut up. Stroking lightly, the kid slid one hand under Dean's shirt, steadying him with the other. He didn't have calluses, smooth fingertips teasing over Dean's flat nipple, making him hiss and jerk.
The kid purred, rubbing his head against Dean's shoulder like a big cat. There was something about that, the way it moved-
It.
"Fuck," Dean swore, trying to turn on it.
The demon moved, locking an arm around his hips and holding him still. It ground against Dean's back, slow and devastatingly good. "That's the idea. You're objecting late in the game, boy."
Its other hand was still moving, still touching Dean with surreal gentleness. Dean snarled, twisting in its grip to try to bring his legs up, to push off against the sink. It shoved him forward hard into the mirror. Dean heard something crack. He sincerely hoped it was the glass.
"Don't make this difficult," the demon suggested. "I can be nice."
Dean gritted his teeth as the memory hit him, sharp and distracting. An old cabin; fear; the wall against his back. That voice, that rough comforting voice gone cold and oily. Begging for his life. A pain-blurred impression of his father's face, stricken and pale as he looked down at Dean. It had used his father, it had wanted to do this then. It had planned to rape him there on that bloody floor while Dean choked and died.
And that would've just been the start.
Dean swallowed hard before he could gag. He made himself relax, sinking back into the demon's borrowed body. He slid his hands down the shattered mirror, feeling for the catch that meant he could pry a shard loose. He felt his hands get slippery with blood.
"Good boy," crooned the demon, nuzzling him. "Ah, Dean. You're going to make things interesting. Don't think I believe you."
No, it couldn't be a stupid demon, could it? Dean bit back a shudder as he felt the demon shift, felt its fingers slide down the loose front of his jeans. He'd lost weight since Chicago, he hadn't thought it mattered, he hadn't thought-
Think, Dean, don't fucking panic. Think.
"Go on, Dean, get that piece of glass. Kill this body, like you killed the last. Kill him like I killed your brother." When Dean choked, the demon laughed low in his throat. "Oh, you remember that much. Do you remember why? It was because you failed him. You weren't good enough, fast enough. You never were. He died hating you-"
Dean grabbed for the bits of the ritual he'd memorized, forcing out, "Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde-"
The demon hauled him back, cracking Dean's face against the mirror again, staggering him. "Party tricks, boy! I expected better. If you're not going to try, I'll just go back to your father. He'd rather it had been you, you know. You instead of your brother. You instead of your whore mother."
Dean blinked against the blood trickling into his eyes, struggling to grab onto the memory. The exorcism eluded him as hard as he tried. "In nomine Dei. P-patris omnipotentis, et in... noimine Jesu Christi-"
It let him go. That much, Dean couldn't miss. If it had wanted him, it would have had him.
He slid down the mirror, rolling over to blink up at the demon. Then he spat at it, the last few words he remembered. Not enough. Not nearly enough. "Christi Filii ejus, Domini et Judicis nostri."
The demon scratched its jaw, yawned, and turned its back on him. It strode over to the bathroom door, unlocked it, and paused in the doorway. "You're never safe, you know. Next time, I'll make sure we have time enough to enjoy ourselves. Think about what I've said."
And it left him there, bleeding on the ground.
Authors:
nilchance and beansideRating: 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, violence, non-con, more angst than you can shake a stick at, WIP.
As Seattle faded behind him, Dean started to relax. Not much-he wasn't stupid enough to think that it was going to leave him alone. But at least he was doing something. One thing he was doing was research. A quick stop at a local new age shop secured a book on demons, with a couple of potential binding spells. They didn't sound quite right to him, but he could work with them.
Old Man Anders bike had turned out to be a classic, netting him enough money to get an old truck without having to dip in the money in the locker. The body was made of steel, a real tank. It comforted him, made him feel safer somehow. The tarp stretched over the bed also helped to hide the arsenal he'd brought with him from the locker-enough ammo and guns to take on a small army.
The shotgun and journal were laying on the seat beside him. If the highway patrol
wanted to stop him, oh well. He got the feeling it wasn't the first time he'd had to talk his way out of trouble, if it came to that.
The cool, wet weather of the northwest gave way to clear, sunny skies as he drove down the coast, sliding into California just before nightfall. He didn't bother to find a hotel, just pulled off and slept in the truck, stopping to etch a sigil he'd found in the demon book on every window of the truck. The book called it a Devil's Trap.
The next morning, he unfolded himself from the seat and drove onwards, not stopping until he reached a truckstop an hour later.
Then, the rapidly sliding fuel gauge and the lure of coffee conspired to convince him that it was time to take a break. And a piss.
The truckstop was one of the soulless, corporate kind. Dean preferred the grubbier ones, the weird little family-run slices of Americana that differed from Massachusetts to Georgia. The newer stops were cleaner and more efficient, but if he saw one more McDonalds-giftshop-TCBY-Starbucks mini-mall, he was going to lose his mind. Such as it was.
He'd cut out and saved the obituary on Rachel Adams, mother of two. He'd see her face whenever he closed his eyes. So he scrimped on sleep, these days.
Thankfully, this particular mini-mall didn't have a Starbucks. There was a cart of overpriced coffee drinks, with a young man sitting on a stool behind it. He looked like he was nursing a monster of a hangover, complete with sunglasses and tousled dark hair hanging in his face. He looked up and offered Dean a pale smile. "Good morning."
"Afternoon," Dean said. "Rough night?"
The kid gave him a grin that scrunched up his nose. Dean felt something ache in his chest, gone before he could reach for it. "You have no idea. Coffee? We have a latte special-"
Ugh. "Just... caffeinated. Regular is fine. Thanks." Dean paid the kid in crumpled bills and put the change in his mostly empty tip jar. "Can you hold that for me?" He jerked his head meaningfully at the bathroom. "I'll be back in a second."
With a nod, the kid settled back on his stool. Even with the sunglasses, Dean got the distinct feeling he was getting the full up and down once-over. Flattering. Horrifying, since the kid was basically trying to get in the pants of a serial killer, but flattering.
Before the kid could say anything about Dean hanging around until his next break, Dean turned and headed into the bathroom. It was empty. He took care of business, went to wash up from the night in the truck. His roots were starting to grow out from under the blue. Not entirely attractive, but damned if Dean felt like messing with-
The bathroom door opened and shut. Dean started, tensing automatically, and relaxed when he saw the kid. There was that nagging sense of familiarity again, of wanting to warn the kid not to talk to strangers or follow them into the bathroom. No matter how devastatingly handsome they were, if Dean said so himself. "Hey. Who's manning the cart?"
The kid gave him a slow, crooked smile as he deliberately locked the door. Then he crossed to the sinks, his long legs eating up the distance. "I want you," he said. "Now."
Yeah. Somebody obviously got their dirty talking 101 from bad porn. Dean turned to look at him, readying a smile. "Not that I mind spontaneity, but-"
The kid's hands locked around his hips, spinning him with unexpected strength. Dean's hands slapped against the wall just before the kid pressed him there, hot and hard against his back. He smelled good, clean.
"Relax," the kid ordered, his voice smoky and surprisingly low. "I'll take care of you."
Dean opened his mouth to snark at him, something about the kid waiting until his balls dropped to make claims like that. Then the kid's hands were moving, touching, and Dean shut up. Stroking lightly, the kid slid one hand under Dean's shirt, steadying him with the other. He didn't have calluses, smooth fingertips teasing over Dean's flat nipple, making him hiss and jerk.
The kid purred, rubbing his head against Dean's shoulder like a big cat. There was something about that, the way it moved-
It.
"Fuck," Dean swore, trying to turn on it.
The demon moved, locking an arm around his hips and holding him still. It ground against Dean's back, slow and devastatingly good. "That's the idea. You're objecting late in the game, boy."
Its other hand was still moving, still touching Dean with surreal gentleness. Dean snarled, twisting in its grip to try to bring his legs up, to push off against the sink. It shoved him forward hard into the mirror. Dean heard something crack. He sincerely hoped it was the glass.
"Don't make this difficult," the demon suggested. "I can be nice."
Dean gritted his teeth as the memory hit him, sharp and distracting. An old cabin; fear; the wall against his back. That voice, that rough comforting voice gone cold and oily. Begging for his life. A pain-blurred impression of his father's face, stricken and pale as he looked down at Dean. It had used his father, it had wanted to do this then. It had planned to rape him there on that bloody floor while Dean choked and died.
And that would've just been the start.
Dean swallowed hard before he could gag. He made himself relax, sinking back into the demon's borrowed body. He slid his hands down the shattered mirror, feeling for the catch that meant he could pry a shard loose. He felt his hands get slippery with blood.
"Good boy," crooned the demon, nuzzling him. "Ah, Dean. You're going to make things interesting. Don't think I believe you."
No, it couldn't be a stupid demon, could it? Dean bit back a shudder as he felt the demon shift, felt its fingers slide down the loose front of his jeans. He'd lost weight since Chicago, he hadn't thought it mattered, he hadn't thought-
Think, Dean, don't fucking panic. Think.
"Go on, Dean, get that piece of glass. Kill this body, like you killed the last. Kill him like I killed your brother." When Dean choked, the demon laughed low in his throat. "Oh, you remember that much. Do you remember why? It was because you failed him. You weren't good enough, fast enough. You never were. He died hating you-"
Dean grabbed for the bits of the ritual he'd memorized, forcing out, "Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde-"
The demon hauled him back, cracking Dean's face against the mirror again, staggering him. "Party tricks, boy! I expected better. If you're not going to try, I'll just go back to your father. He'd rather it had been you, you know. You instead of your brother. You instead of your whore mother."
Dean blinked against the blood trickling into his eyes, struggling to grab onto the memory. The exorcism eluded him as hard as he tried. "In nomine Dei. P-patris omnipotentis, et in... noimine Jesu Christi-"
It let him go. That much, Dean couldn't miss. If it had wanted him, it would have had him.
He slid down the mirror, rolling over to blink up at the demon. Then he spat at it, the last few words he remembered. Not enough. Not nearly enough. "Christi Filii ejus, Domini et Judicis nostri."
The demon scratched its jaw, yawned, and turned its back on him. It strode over to the bathroom door, unlocked it, and paused in the doorway. "You're never safe, you know. Next time, I'll make sure we have time enough to enjoy ourselves. Think about what I've said."
And it left him there, bleeding on the ground.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 01:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 02:02 am (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 01:58 am (UTC)...
If it's wrong to be turned on by this... I don't want to be right. Good grief.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 02:01 am (UTC)Nah, it kind of turned our cranks, too. *grin*
Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 02:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 02:06 am (UTC)Also, I love that icon. Must find the pic that came from one day. Mmmm...Papa W.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 02:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 02:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 02:43 am (UTC)see? you've got me so worked up I'm apparently hitting buttons indiscriminately. :P
no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 04:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 02:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 05:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 03:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 03:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 05:13 pm (UTC)I'm glad you're enjoying it. We'll see you in five days!
no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 04:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 05:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 04:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 05:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 06:22 am (UTC)Hmmm. It didn't seem to hurt it, yet it left him alone, so he was doing something right.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 05:16 pm (UTC)Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 06:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 05:17 pm (UTC)I'm glad you enjoyed!
Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 07:08 am (UTC)wow dudes
no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 05:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 11:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 05:22 pm (UTC)I'm glad you're enjoying it though! Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 04:56 pm (UTC)This has become a treat I look forward to every day. :)
no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 05:23 pm (UTC)I'm glad it was worth it for you!
no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 05:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 07:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-31 10:11 pm (UTC)Would you mind telling my if this is going to turn into wincest or slash is anything? Just so I'm prepared/warned lol.
And what is 'WIP'?
no subject
Date: 2006-06-01 11:56 am (UTC)This story will not have wincest. The sequel will. As far as slash, there are mentions, but not overly explicit.
And WIP means work in progress. We're not quite done writing it yet. But we're about parts ahead of where we're posting.
Please don't take the following in any personal way (I don't think you're homophobic, just new to fandom):
Can I make a tiny suggestion? Never use the words "I'm not homophobic" when you ask a question like that. It pings every "fight or flight" response most gay/lesbians have, because usually it means "I am, and I'm about to ask a horribly insulting personal question that will put your sexual identity on par with fucking a goat." In fandom, it's better usually to say "I'm not a slash/wincest fan." Since your authors are not just co-witers, we're partners, it kinda pinged us both.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-01 08:05 pm (UTC)And if me asking why people thought Dean was gay insulted you I'm also sorry. I really wasn't trying to insult anyone, and reading how I worded the question I can see where I sounded rude -facepalm- sorry about that, but I really was just curios. But then again we all know what curious did to the cat right? :P
And as for the warning/preparing part is because I'm not a fan of wincest and I also don't like reading anything too sexually explicit whether it's male/male, male/female, or female/female.
So again I'm really sorry and I hope this doesn't put us on bad terms.
Still loving the fic! It's completely taken over my life :)
no subject
Date: 2006-06-01 08:39 pm (UTC)But no, I'm not at all upset, or anything along those lines. *grin* It was more of a I should mention this in case its a problem, type thing, not a "wow, I'm peeved" thing.
I'm glad you're enjoying the fic. It's kind of taken on a life of it's own.
I can certainly understand not wanting to get blindsided by graphic sex, and having a squick about incest, too. Though to be fair, I mostly object to reading badly written graphic sex. *grin*
no subject
Date: 2006-06-01 09:10 pm (UTC)And I'm pretty sure there's no specific verse in the bible that says "gays go to hell" or "gays are bad". I know there was one about "loving your neighbor" though. I think following the Catholic church and following the bible are completely different. I mean the church is run by people with opinions and sins of their own (priests molesting little kids anyone?). I mean the Pope is not God lol. No one really knows what God thinks ya know? I think the church likes to interpret the bible they way they think it should be. And I could just rant about this forever so I'm gonna but myself off lol.
And this: Though to be fair, I mostly object to reading badly written graphic sex. *grin* Ahahaha killed me dead :D