Fic:Of Bastard Saints, 18
May. 25th, 2006 07:51 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, more angst than you can shake a stick at, WIP.
Dean'd had a lot of dreams in the last few weeks, but never one like this.
For one thing, there was a nursery. Quiet. Light slanting in through the window shades, spilling across a floor cluttered with toys and comfortable mess.
Dean wavered in the middle of that serenity. He was grubby, sticky with blood. There was a knife locked in his hand. He didn't belong here. He should go before they found him and tossed him out. He should-
Footsteps behind him. He turned, fingers tightening automatically on the blade, slackening again as he saw the woman in white the doorway. She tipped her head, a gentle smile curving her lips. She was so familiar it made his chest hurt. "Hi, baby."
Dean shook his head, backing up a step. He left footprints, rust red on the pastel carpet. Something moved in the corner of his eye, a mobile spinning. A breathy noise from the cradle.
"Dean." The woman's eyes were sad now as she searched his face, one graceful hand coming up towards him. "Honey, it's all right. I'm here now."
Dean shifted, moving between her and the cradle. He didn't want her touching Sam. He'd stand between Sam and hell itself if it came to that. But he'd been too late, too late to-
He glanced in the cradle, his breath choking out at the sight within. The blood.
"He didn't die easy," the woman crooned, coming towards them. "Poor little lamb."
Dean felt his vision swim. He shook his head again, over and over. The knife slid from his fingers.
"But you can make things better, Dean. You can." The woman drifted to him, her hands coming up to frame Dean's face. The gesture was too intimate for a mother. She smiled. "You can bring him back. Both of us. You can save your father."
Dean drew in a breath, feeling the heat and strength of her hands. He couldn't think. He was tired. He couldn't- "How?"
She let him go, curling one hand maternally over her flat belly. When she let it drop, there was a slash of red across the white field of her nightdress. "Lawrence," she said gently. "Lawrence, Kansas. Come on home, sweetheart."
Dean jerked awake, cursing as he barked his knee against the steering wheel. He automatically looked at the hourglass in its place beside him, evil strapped in the passenger seat. He'd sealed it as well as he could, wrapped it in duct tape and bubble wrap emblazoned with a Solomon's seal. So far, it had melted through two wrappings. He was running out of packing materials. Should stop somewhere, get more. Get food. Get sleep.
Right.
His face was wet. He smeared it dry, cleared his throat, and put the keys in the ignition.
He'd thought about staying in Palo Alto. It felt oddly familiar to him, a comfort. Then, the old lady who owned the cheap-ass hotel he'd been staying at showed up with blacked out eyes, and a seriously bad attitude.
The exorcism had worked on her, thankfully. He'd have had a hard time shooting an old woman who'd pinched his ass when he'd checked in.
Would have done it, though.
Lawrence was going to take a couple of days to get to, even if he wasn't planning on much sleep.
The desert outside of Vegas seemed to stretch on forever. It was peaceful, somehow. A good place to think.
The migraines had eased a little after he'd bound the demon. He had a sinking feeling it was only a temporary reprieve, but he'd take it. Something niggled at the back of his mind, something that told him his problems had just begun.
For now, though, he was ignoring it.
Then, the hydra ran across the road in front of his truck, two vaguely familiar men and a woman right behind it.
Wait, hydra? Dean pulled to a stop and closed his eyes for a moment. Yup. That was most assuredly a three headed lizardy-thing, Dean thought tiredly, looking down at the hourglass. "Seriously? You've got to be kidding."
With a tired sigh, he unholstered the shotgun from under the dashboard and swung out of the truck. Might as well, he thought, watching it spin and head his way. "Fuck. You're just like a giant target on my ass, aren't you?" he muttered.
The hydra screamed, and he winced, patiently lining up his shot, waiting for it to come in range.
The other hunters stopped, staring in shock at the man standing quietly in the middle of the road, stance cocky despite the enormous creature bearing down on him. "Shit," the woman breathed. "It's Dean." She gripped her gun tighter, striding towards him.
Dean waited until the hydra was almost in striking distance, then let fly with both barrels of the shotgun, hitting it full in the chest with rock salt laced buckshot. The hydra staggered, but didn't go down.
Oddly, he couldn't say he was surprised.
The hydra came closer, one of the three heads whipping out, needle sharp teeth aiming for his throat. "Come on, you ugly bitch," he growled, using the gun as a club, slapping the heads away. Something in the back of his mind told him that he couldn't use the machete, the heads would just grow back, two for each one he took off.
But the heart- Yes. The heart would kill it.
He slapped another head away, not noticing the third head coming up behind him. Thankfully, he managed to turn just before those teeth could tear his face off, taking the impact through his leather jacket. It took him down, bruised him, but that was the worst of it.
Except for the holes in the jacket. Dammit, Dean'd liked that jacket.
Dean grunted, picking himself up from the sand, and glanced at the tall, handsome woman who'd just run up. "Hey, sweetheart. Think you can keep her attention for a few minutes?"
"Asshole," she spat. "You got a plan, Dean?"
"Yup. Just keep big bitch here busy."
She nodded, turning to the other hunters and gestured them into a defensive formation as Dean slid two daggers from their sheaths. They obeyed her, with only a wary look at Dean. Which was good, because Dean was having enough trouble remembering anything about the woman. He didn't need to try to con all three of them into thinking he knew what was going on.
"You can't," the woman started, gesturing towards the blades. Her eyes had narrowed, suspicion in them.
"I know. The heads. I'm not going for the heads." Dean gave her what he hoped was a charming smile, and headed off at a jog.
The hydra's one head followed him, and Dean sighed. Couldn't be that easy. When he was well behind it, he turned, looped around and started running directly at the damned thing. The first dagger hit it about two feet off the ground, the second about three feet above it.
This was possibly one of the dumbest things he had ever done, bordering on complete insanity, Dean decided about ten feet away from the creature. But if it worked...
With a yell, he launched himself, foot hitting the lower dagger, digging his fingers into its rough skin to help him balance. His other foot found the second dagger, propelling himself to a precarious position half-standing on the creature's back. Without hesitation, he pulled out both handguns, pressing them at the base of all those heads and started pulling the trigger, over and over again.
It took four clips in all before the hydra stopped twitching. Dean hopped off, landing in a crouch in front of the hunters, feeling their stares acutely.
"They think you're a loose cannon."
Dean twitched, hearing the voice in his head. Never a good sign. He glanced at the two men standing point behind the woman, checking to see if they'd said it. The poison sweetness of it didn't match, too familiar. He knew the cadence too well from half-remembered nightmares, from the rest station bathroom and the burnt out apartment where he'd bound it.
'I bind you with blood.' Fucking brilliant, Winchester. Jesus.
It was in his head. In here with him.
"Very good, boy. Now stop staring at nothing. You're making the children nervous. They've just been waiting for you to slip up, for a reason to take you down."
Great, Dean thought. Like the insanity plea needed any help. He stood upright slowly, pulling a rag to wipe the machete clean. "Everyone all right? I've got a first aid kit in my truck." And a bound demon in my brain, he added silently.
They didn't answer, just stared, hands still on their unholstered weapons. The woman looked at him curiously, and he got a tiny flash of memory, of their bodies pressed together, the slick feeling of skin on skin, two loners taking comfort on a long cold night. Thank God. If he couldn't use libido and charm, he was kind of screwed, because his brain was currently working on half power. "Hey, Kitten, no hello kiss?" he asked, forcing a crooked cocky smile he didn't feel.
Her face darkened, and for a moment, Dean was sure he was done for. Great, survive the demon to get put down like a fucking dog by humans. It rankled.
Then, she stalked forward, drawing back a hand and punching him in the jaw squarely. "Sonofabitch," she growled.
Okay, then. Dean spat in the dirt, managed a sheepish smile. As he was opening his mouth, the memory came in to save his dumb ass. "This is for singing Freebird out the back window, isn't it?"
She snorted and grabbed his shirt, pulling him upright. Her hand slid into his hair, pulling him down for a hard kiss. She released him with a little shove and smiled at him. "Good to see you're not dead."
Dean let the smile widen. "Good to be not dead," he returned.
"What happened with Bobby?" one of the men asked, still eyeing him suspiciously. Big guy, ugly scar on one cheek. J something. Jimmy, Jack, John... Jerry... Jericho.
Dean gave him the megawatt cocky smile. "I was busy, dude. And, c'mon, you know Bobby. He's a little heavy handed sometimes, though to be fair, the first week after I left the hospital, I was a little," he twirled a finger at his temple. "Took a good knock on the head." He flashed a smile at the woman. "But hey, chicks dig scars, right?"
She made a soft derisive noise.
"Anyhow, I was confused for a few moments, Bobby came on strong, I reacted badly, end of story." He took a breath, took a chance. "It's not like I didn't have plenty of time to shoot his ass if I'd been so inclined, but I didn't. It's me. Dean. You all know me. Right?" He spread his hands wide, giving them his best "aw shucks" smile.
They seemed to relax a little, and Dean thought he heard the other man (older, long-haired, hippie- guy fucking reeked of patchouli) mutter agreement.
"You got somewhere to get to?" The woman asked.
"Afraid so, sweetheart. Mind dealing with the clean up?"
She smiled, shaking her head. "Take care, Dean."
"You too. Kitten," he added.
She threw a barely articulate curse over her shoulder at him as she stomped back to the hydra.
Shaking his head, Dean slid back into the truck and started out again. It wasn't until the group faded from his rearview that the shakes started.
Close. Way too close. He'd have to be more careful from here on out.
But in the meantime, he was alive. Half crazy, covered in hydra blood, stuck with a demon, but alive.
With a soft, contented noise, he flipped on one of the cassette tapes he'd liberated from the locker, and blasted some AC/DC.
Highway to hell, he thought. How appropriate.
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, more angst than you can shake a stick at, WIP.
Dean'd had a lot of dreams in the last few weeks, but never one like this.
For one thing, there was a nursery. Quiet. Light slanting in through the window shades, spilling across a floor cluttered with toys and comfortable mess.
Dean wavered in the middle of that serenity. He was grubby, sticky with blood. There was a knife locked in his hand. He didn't belong here. He should go before they found him and tossed him out. He should-
Footsteps behind him. He turned, fingers tightening automatically on the blade, slackening again as he saw the woman in white the doorway. She tipped her head, a gentle smile curving her lips. She was so familiar it made his chest hurt. "Hi, baby."
Dean shook his head, backing up a step. He left footprints, rust red on the pastel carpet. Something moved in the corner of his eye, a mobile spinning. A breathy noise from the cradle.
"Dean." The woman's eyes were sad now as she searched his face, one graceful hand coming up towards him. "Honey, it's all right. I'm here now."
Dean shifted, moving between her and the cradle. He didn't want her touching Sam. He'd stand between Sam and hell itself if it came to that. But he'd been too late, too late to-
He glanced in the cradle, his breath choking out at the sight within. The blood.
"He didn't die easy," the woman crooned, coming towards them. "Poor little lamb."
Dean felt his vision swim. He shook his head again, over and over. The knife slid from his fingers.
"But you can make things better, Dean. You can." The woman drifted to him, her hands coming up to frame Dean's face. The gesture was too intimate for a mother. She smiled. "You can bring him back. Both of us. You can save your father."
Dean drew in a breath, feeling the heat and strength of her hands. He couldn't think. He was tired. He couldn't- "How?"
She let him go, curling one hand maternally over her flat belly. When she let it drop, there was a slash of red across the white field of her nightdress. "Lawrence," she said gently. "Lawrence, Kansas. Come on home, sweetheart."
Dean jerked awake, cursing as he barked his knee against the steering wheel. He automatically looked at the hourglass in its place beside him, evil strapped in the passenger seat. He'd sealed it as well as he could, wrapped it in duct tape and bubble wrap emblazoned with a Solomon's seal. So far, it had melted through two wrappings. He was running out of packing materials. Should stop somewhere, get more. Get food. Get sleep.
Right.
His face was wet. He smeared it dry, cleared his throat, and put the keys in the ignition.
He'd thought about staying in Palo Alto. It felt oddly familiar to him, a comfort. Then, the old lady who owned the cheap-ass hotel he'd been staying at showed up with blacked out eyes, and a seriously bad attitude.
The exorcism had worked on her, thankfully. He'd have had a hard time shooting an old woman who'd pinched his ass when he'd checked in.
Would have done it, though.
Lawrence was going to take a couple of days to get to, even if he wasn't planning on much sleep.
The desert outside of Vegas seemed to stretch on forever. It was peaceful, somehow. A good place to think.
The migraines had eased a little after he'd bound the demon. He had a sinking feeling it was only a temporary reprieve, but he'd take it. Something niggled at the back of his mind, something that told him his problems had just begun.
For now, though, he was ignoring it.
Then, the hydra ran across the road in front of his truck, two vaguely familiar men and a woman right behind it.
Wait, hydra? Dean pulled to a stop and closed his eyes for a moment. Yup. That was most assuredly a three headed lizardy-thing, Dean thought tiredly, looking down at the hourglass. "Seriously? You've got to be kidding."
With a tired sigh, he unholstered the shotgun from under the dashboard and swung out of the truck. Might as well, he thought, watching it spin and head his way. "Fuck. You're just like a giant target on my ass, aren't you?" he muttered.
The hydra screamed, and he winced, patiently lining up his shot, waiting for it to come in range.
The other hunters stopped, staring in shock at the man standing quietly in the middle of the road, stance cocky despite the enormous creature bearing down on him. "Shit," the woman breathed. "It's Dean." She gripped her gun tighter, striding towards him.
Dean waited until the hydra was almost in striking distance, then let fly with both barrels of the shotgun, hitting it full in the chest with rock salt laced buckshot. The hydra staggered, but didn't go down.
Oddly, he couldn't say he was surprised.
The hydra came closer, one of the three heads whipping out, needle sharp teeth aiming for his throat. "Come on, you ugly bitch," he growled, using the gun as a club, slapping the heads away. Something in the back of his mind told him that he couldn't use the machete, the heads would just grow back, two for each one he took off.
But the heart- Yes. The heart would kill it.
He slapped another head away, not noticing the third head coming up behind him. Thankfully, he managed to turn just before those teeth could tear his face off, taking the impact through his leather jacket. It took him down, bruised him, but that was the worst of it.
Except for the holes in the jacket. Dammit, Dean'd liked that jacket.
Dean grunted, picking himself up from the sand, and glanced at the tall, handsome woman who'd just run up. "Hey, sweetheart. Think you can keep her attention for a few minutes?"
"Asshole," she spat. "You got a plan, Dean?"
"Yup. Just keep big bitch here busy."
She nodded, turning to the other hunters and gestured them into a defensive formation as Dean slid two daggers from their sheaths. They obeyed her, with only a wary look at Dean. Which was good, because Dean was having enough trouble remembering anything about the woman. He didn't need to try to con all three of them into thinking he knew what was going on.
"You can't," the woman started, gesturing towards the blades. Her eyes had narrowed, suspicion in them.
"I know. The heads. I'm not going for the heads." Dean gave her what he hoped was a charming smile, and headed off at a jog.
The hydra's one head followed him, and Dean sighed. Couldn't be that easy. When he was well behind it, he turned, looped around and started running directly at the damned thing. The first dagger hit it about two feet off the ground, the second about three feet above it.
This was possibly one of the dumbest things he had ever done, bordering on complete insanity, Dean decided about ten feet away from the creature. But if it worked...
With a yell, he launched himself, foot hitting the lower dagger, digging his fingers into its rough skin to help him balance. His other foot found the second dagger, propelling himself to a precarious position half-standing on the creature's back. Without hesitation, he pulled out both handguns, pressing them at the base of all those heads and started pulling the trigger, over and over again.
It took four clips in all before the hydra stopped twitching. Dean hopped off, landing in a crouch in front of the hunters, feeling their stares acutely.
"They think you're a loose cannon."
Dean twitched, hearing the voice in his head. Never a good sign. He glanced at the two men standing point behind the woman, checking to see if they'd said it. The poison sweetness of it didn't match, too familiar. He knew the cadence too well from half-remembered nightmares, from the rest station bathroom and the burnt out apartment where he'd bound it.
'I bind you with blood.' Fucking brilliant, Winchester. Jesus.
It was in his head. In here with him.
"Very good, boy. Now stop staring at nothing. You're making the children nervous. They've just been waiting for you to slip up, for a reason to take you down."
Great, Dean thought. Like the insanity plea needed any help. He stood upright slowly, pulling a rag to wipe the machete clean. "Everyone all right? I've got a first aid kit in my truck." And a bound demon in my brain, he added silently.
They didn't answer, just stared, hands still on their unholstered weapons. The woman looked at him curiously, and he got a tiny flash of memory, of their bodies pressed together, the slick feeling of skin on skin, two loners taking comfort on a long cold night. Thank God. If he couldn't use libido and charm, he was kind of screwed, because his brain was currently working on half power. "Hey, Kitten, no hello kiss?" he asked, forcing a crooked cocky smile he didn't feel.
Her face darkened, and for a moment, Dean was sure he was done for. Great, survive the demon to get put down like a fucking dog by humans. It rankled.
Then, she stalked forward, drawing back a hand and punching him in the jaw squarely. "Sonofabitch," she growled.
Okay, then. Dean spat in the dirt, managed a sheepish smile. As he was opening his mouth, the memory came in to save his dumb ass. "This is for singing Freebird out the back window, isn't it?"
She snorted and grabbed his shirt, pulling him upright. Her hand slid into his hair, pulling him down for a hard kiss. She released him with a little shove and smiled at him. "Good to see you're not dead."
Dean let the smile widen. "Good to be not dead," he returned.
"What happened with Bobby?" one of the men asked, still eyeing him suspiciously. Big guy, ugly scar on one cheek. J something. Jimmy, Jack, John... Jerry... Jericho.
Dean gave him the megawatt cocky smile. "I was busy, dude. And, c'mon, you know Bobby. He's a little heavy handed sometimes, though to be fair, the first week after I left the hospital, I was a little," he twirled a finger at his temple. "Took a good knock on the head." He flashed a smile at the woman. "But hey, chicks dig scars, right?"
She made a soft derisive noise.
"Anyhow, I was confused for a few moments, Bobby came on strong, I reacted badly, end of story." He took a breath, took a chance. "It's not like I didn't have plenty of time to shoot his ass if I'd been so inclined, but I didn't. It's me. Dean. You all know me. Right?" He spread his hands wide, giving them his best "aw shucks" smile.
They seemed to relax a little, and Dean thought he heard the other man (older, long-haired, hippie- guy fucking reeked of patchouli) mutter agreement.
"You got somewhere to get to?" The woman asked.
"Afraid so, sweetheart. Mind dealing with the clean up?"
She smiled, shaking her head. "Take care, Dean."
"You too. Kitten," he added.
She threw a barely articulate curse over her shoulder at him as she stomped back to the hydra.
Shaking his head, Dean slid back into the truck and started out again. It wasn't until the group faded from his rearview that the shakes started.
Close. Way too close. He'd have to be more careful from here on out.
But in the meantime, he was alive. Half crazy, covered in hydra blood, stuck with a demon, but alive.
With a soft, contented noise, he flipped on one of the cassette tapes he'd liberated from the locker, and blasted some AC/DC.
Highway to hell, he thought. How appropriate.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 12:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 07:50 pm (UTC)Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 12:50 am (UTC)Er. Maybe not. BUT, 'tis good he knows he made a mistake, and the importance of keeping the thing sealed (seriously, there's got to be something better than bubble wrap? A thermos, maybe?).
And way to improvise, dude. Now... about that dream...
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 07:56 pm (UTC)I'm thinking Dean won't be inviting the demon to Christmas dinner, but stranger things do happen.
Thanks!
Oh, also, am working on getting my site back up. My hosting co. sucks cock, and missed the e-mail where I said, "I'm changing banks."
Assholes.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 11:13 pm (UTC)The scenario reminds me a bit of Anita Blake and whatsername... munin lady. Raina. Not friendly, not really at all, but... something. *laugh*
*eyeroll* Assholes, indeed. May they be doomed to itchypants.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 01:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 07:57 pm (UTC)Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 01:18 am (UTC)With that said, that dream, knowing you two that has to mean something, anything, especially since part of it seems like it's his memory coming back. And I'm sure the words John and Jericho have some sort of meaning as well since they both came up in the pilot.
*claps*
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 07:59 pm (UTC)Bubble wrap seemed like a good plan at the time, I'm sure. Then it started smoking and burning through the bubble wrap, and suddenly asbestos looked better.
*grin* Thanks for the kind words!
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 09:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 01:24 am (UTC)Cool!
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 08:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 01:26 am (UTC)Dean's double-take when he saw the hydra had me giggling for a while. I liked the way you described the scene, and also, impressed because I can't write action at all.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 08:07 pm (UTC)I'm glad it worked for you!
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 03:38 am (UTC)What temperature does concrete melt at....
Still utterly enthralled by badass Dean. Having a total weakness for "our characters seen through the eyes of others", the reactions of the other hunters to Dean made me squee happily.
Top it all off, reruns of Supernatural started tonight on the WB.
::hums "Highway to Hell"::
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 08:13 pm (UTC)We actually put it up a little early last night so we could settle in and tape/watch the pilot rerun. *grin*
I kind of like badass Dean, espeically if you imagine him doing it with a manic smile the whole time.
Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 03:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 08:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 04:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 08:16 pm (UTC)Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 04:26 am (UTC)Question:did I miss a chapter? My last says 16 and this says 18. Don't want 17 to pass me by.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 08:18 pm (UTC)I'm glad you're enjoying it! Thanks!
Also, oooh, cute kitty!
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 09:35 am (UTC)And nilchance, I apologize for being late with this, but I wish you a very happy birthday and birthmonth!!
:)
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 08:21 pm (UTC)Any show where when your lead gets busted, and they point out that he has a fake id, stolen credit card, is anything about him real? And his reply is "my boobs" has my loyalty for at least the next few episodes. But I'm weird.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-27 01:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 01:38 pm (UTC)And that when I haven´t yet had the pleasure of seeing a single SPN episode. I will soon though (if the mail man carrying my season 1 DVD box would get here somewhat more quickly), and I can hardly wait.
In the meantime this fic fills the time. And I don´t mind that one bit.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 08:22 pm (UTC)Thank you for the kind words!
no subject
Date: 2006-09-09 10:00 pm (UTC)I love the fact that you had Dean remember everything about Palo Alto - all those reccies to make sure his kid brother was safe and sound in college ...
So - I'm off to chapter 19 to find out what John needs to tell Sam about Dean.
Wow, I do love this tale ...