FIC: Of Bastard Saints, 21

[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, violence, more angst than you can shake a stick at, WIP.



After the gremlin, John had let Sam take over the driving, catching a few hours of sleep while they drove. It was just before dawn when Sam poked him. "Dad? Something up ahead."

John came awake with no pause between sleep and alert. "Where?" His eyes narrowed. "Oh, hell. It's Katya, and her crew."

"The ones who saw Dean? Maybe they can-"

"No," John said sharply. "They can't. Follow my lead, and don't answer any questions. I'll explain once we're clear of them."

"Why are we stopping, then?"

John raked a hand through his hair, looking so much like Dean in his frustration that it made Sam's breath catch. "Because if one of them looks up and sees us, it'll be suspicious if we don't stop."

"Oh." Sam pulled the car to a stop, and John opened the window, giving Katya a practiced smile.

She strode over, all tanned skin and loose-limbed grace. Same Katya that Sam remembered from when he was a kid, with her crooked smile and new gray starting at her temples. "John, good to see you. And is that little Sammy? Jesus, I'm getting old."

John offered his hand through the window, and she shook it. Then she reached past to offer Sam her hand, her shake warm and firm. "How do you think I feel?" John said. "Boy's taller than me."

"You're about a day behind Dean," Katya said bluntly. "Was kinda surprised to see him alone, to be honest. He never leaves you two be unless something's wrong."

John shrugged. "I'm not as fast as I was. With the gates of hell opening in Lawrence, we figured one of us should be there."

She nodded, still eyeing him. Over her shoulder, Sam saw Jericho lope over and winced inside. If the ex-con got too close to the van, odds were good that Dad would just shoot him. They'd never gotten along after that machete fight Jericho and Dean got into while Sam was in high school. "Glad to hear it," Katya said, her voice dangerously even. "Because you know, a lot of us were worried that it was like Amanda all over again."

"Yeah, I figured. But you know Dean."

She nodded. "Yeah." She reached into the pack at her hip. "He left these behind."

John stared at the two blood encrusted daggers, then took them through the window with a tight smile. "Ill be sure to deliver them. And remind the boy about taking care of equipment."

Katya looked at Jericho and sighed, then leaned in the window a little. "John, I'm gonna say this, and you know I think the world of Dean. Get to him quick, before someone who knows him but won't cover his ass sees him."

"What do you mean?"

Katya flipped her short hair out of her eyes. "He's not Dean. Not the Dean I know. Close, but... off. Wrong. And the way he went after that hydra- Jesus. He buried the daggers in its ass and used them as step stools."

"Seriously?" Sam blurted.

"Like he thought he was Lara fucking Croft. Just stood up there and unloaded about forty rounds in its heart, with the heads snapping at him the whole time. Dean's good, but-" Katya broke off, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "Just get to him. People are starting to talk."

John nodded. "Thank you. You need any help?"

"Nah. Fucking zombies. We'll be here all day between shooting and burning. You have more important things to do." She gave John a smile. "Tell him I said hello. And take care of him. He's one of the good ones."

John smiled. "Thanks, Katya."

Sam pulled out smoothly and continued down the highway.

After a few dozen miles had passed, John sat up a little straighter. "There's a rest stop at the scenic overlook in five miles. Pull in there. "

Sam nodded, not sure he liked the faintly grim note to his father's voice.

As soon as the van stopped, John stepped out, walking over to the railing, looking out at the valley.

"Dad?" Sam followed him warily, peering at his father's face. He couldn't read John's expression, but between them, that was nothing new.

"After her mother's death, Sinclair started killing humans," John said starkly. "At first, it was murderers, rapists, pedophiles. I'll be honest. No one cared. Hell, a lot of us were sorry we didn't have the time or energy to do it. Then, it became drunk drivers, or domestic disputes. Both parties in a domestic dispute."

"She became a serial killer," Sam said.

"More or less. We finally had to take action, since the police were getting edgy. Caleb got in a spot of trouble for being in the same area as Sinclair just after she'd killed again. Elkins, Bobby, Dean and I went out to find her-to take her down. I found her first." John looked at the ground. "She was pregnant."

Sam sucked in a hard breath.

Not very, just that first little bulge of the stomach. I couldn't do it. All I could remember was how protective of your mother I was, and how fiercely she'd loved you, even before you were born. How Mary would've done anything to make a safe world for you and for your brother. Amanda was making that safe world. One bullet at a time, she was making it.

"Sinclair was gone, out of her mind. Just... nothing of the Amanda I knew left. Like the only think keeping her sane was her mother, and with her gone, she'd gone over the edge. She kicked my ass, and was about to put a bullet in my head when Dean showed up."

"Dean?" Sam echoed.

John nodded, his expression distant and haunted. "His face when he saw her holding a gun on me... I never wanted to see him look like that again. He didn't hesitate. Put a bullet right between her eyes. Elkins saw the whole thing. He told me I was going to have to keep a leash on Dean, because otherwise, if I went down, he'd blow up like Sinclair."

Protective anger flared up unexpectedly in Sam, making him bristle. "Elkins was an asshole. That's such a load of shit."

John shook his head. "I wasn't so sure. So, I started thinking. I figured I'd die in the attempt to kill Belial. I didn't want to take Dean down with me. But there was you. I knew you weren't going to be a hunter, even then. So I aimed every ounce of Dean's protective streak at you. Figured you weren't going to die before either of us."

"You make it sound like he was just another thing to fix," Sam said.

"I did what I felt was right," John returned.

Sam paced away, then came back, eyes dark with anger. "Jesus, is that all we are to you? Pawns to move the way you see fit? You see something you don't like, you brainwash him, make it better?"

"That isn't the way it-" John started, temper rising.

"Jesus, Dad," Sam continued, not even pausing. "No wonder Dean's running from you-"

John felt something in him snap. "Fine. How about what you've done to him?"

"What do you mean?" Sam blinked, backing up a step. "I haven't- if you don't remember, you're the one who left him to go on your hunting trip. I'm the one who stayed with him this last-"

"What did Dean do to you?" John bit off, moving into Sam's space. "As far as I know, he was always there for you, on your side. Staying up all night to help you piece together your past schooling so you could apply to college. Cheered you on, and drove you to fucking Stanford, even though it killed him to see you go."

"Yeah. And you told me never to come back," Sam snarled.

"Yeah, I did. And that was fine. You were safer away from me, anyhow," John growled. "But Dean. That boy loves you. Thinks you hung the moon. We split up so he could take the west side of the country, so he could be closer to you just in case you needed something."

"I-"

"And every few months, I would get a call from him, 'Sammy got honor roll, Sam did this, or that. Sam's got a girl.' And there was always something about those calls that bothered me. So when he said, "I'm going to visit Sam," I figured it was a good time to find out."

Sam shut up. He just stood there, stone faced, knowing what was coming and hating his father a little for each word.

John gave him a sour smile. "So, I got to Palo Alto and I looked for the Impala. Big car, college town, shouldn't have had problems. Couldn't find the damned thing anywhere. So I followed you, in your cab. Fifteen miles outside of city limits. To a diner. Where you didn't even have the cab leave. And ten minutes later, you were on your way back to your apartment and your girlfriend."

"It wasn't like that-"

"And then, a few months later, I'm up Bobby's way, and Dean shows up looking like shit. He was coming to ask Bobby to keep an eye on you for a few weeks. It took a lot of tequila, but I finally got the story. You didn't want to hear from him, wanted him out of your life," John thundered. "And even then, Dean didn't blame you. He loves you, would kill or die for you, and you treated him like he was fucking contagious."

"Fuck you, it wasn't-"

"But then the demon turns up and suddenly, Dean is useful again," John said sarcastically. "Sammy, you're my boy, and I love you, but sometimes, you're a selfish son of a bitch."

John didn't see the punch coming, but he sure felt it. It caught him square in the jaw and rocked him back until only his grip on the railing kept him upright.

Sam threw another punch, all temper, but his father deflected it. He didn't hit back, Sam realized. He just kept blocking or deflecting, letting Sam use all his energy. It was infuriating. Without thinking, Sam pulled his power and shoved his father, trying to get that patronizing frown off his face. Instead it sent John toppling over, the prosthetic making a little rattle as he landed on his ass.

Oh. God. Sam felt his heart wrench sideways, looking at his father in the dirt. Sam stared down for a moment, then he turned to walk away a few steps, to make his heart slow down and stop hurting like he was dying.

The worst of it is that his father hadn't said anything he hadn't thought himself. That was why you were so pissed, he thought. Because he was right.

John tensed as Sam came back towards him, wondering if he should be gearing up for round two. He loved his son, but if Sam did that again, he was going to put him over his knee, twenty three or not. Then he saw the tears in Sam's eyes.

"You're right," Sam said softly. "I treated him like shit. I told Jess you were an alcoholic. I told her Dean was a drifter."

After a long moment, John nodded grudgingly. "I know."

Sam blinked, startled, and rubbed quickly at his face. "You knew? How?"

John smiled tightly. "Jess told me."

Sam glared.

John shrugged. "When Dean says you're serious about a girl, I'll be damned if I'm not going to meet my daughter in-law. She was a good woman."

Sam sighed. "Yeah. She was." He offered his hand to help his father up, absently brushing the dirt off his father's jacket.

John took it, coming to his feet and meeting Sam's eyes. Word by painful word, he managed, "Sam, I've made a lot of mistakes. And I'm not proud of them. I should never have said the things I did to you when you left. I'm sorry I was an ass. At the last second, I just... panicked. All I could think was how much I'd miss you, and that I couldn't protect you, and I don't do well with panic."

Sam blinked rapidly, swallowing, getting himself back under control as he stared at John's jacket. "I'm sorry I believed you when you said not to come back."

John smiled sadly. "Me too. For what it's worth, I know I'm a selfish son of a bitch, too. What I've never understood is how, with all that, I got Dean."

"Because." Sam looked down at his shoes. It was ridiculous to say after he'd just knocked his father on his ass, but... "Because. As bad as it ever got, there was good in it. And we knew you'd do anything for us you could. So." He shrugged. "Dean."

Silence from John's quarter.

Sam jerked his head at the van. "We should go. Stubborn jerk's still headed east."

Nodding absently, John tossed the keys at Sam's chest. Sam caught them easily, and headed for the driver's side without looking up. John stopped a minute to watch him.

He knew the sweet-tempered baby, the innocent boy, the sullen teenager. He wasn't sure what to do with Sam now, a grown man with a new deep strength to go with the old spit and vinegar. And it had taken strength for Sam to swallow his pride and tell John that he understood.

Which was good. Dean would need that strength. Hell, John might need it before the end.

He couldn't pull the trigger on Dean. Couldn't put his own boy down in the dirt, like some fucking rabid dog. It'd be easier to. God, knowing what John knew of demons and the way they crept in the cracks of your mind, it might even be kinder. But this wasn't about kind or easy. It was about family.

Sam poked his head out of window. "Dad?"

Once, before Mary and their boys, John didn't know how much he'd come to see in that one word. He gave Sam a lopsided smile and climbed into the van. Pulling the door shut, he said, "You know, Sam?"

"Mm?"

"I really hated Palo Alto. Not Stanford," John added quickly as Sam glared. "Just the town. Fucking granola crunchy bullshit. I stopped at a bar, and ordered a beer. They offered me a vegan currant ale. How the hell is that beer?" John looked down, taking in the well worn jeans, flannel shirt. "Do I look like I even know what a currant is?"

Sam's mouth quirked a little, like he was trying not to laugh at his old man. "Did you try it?"

"Hell no."

"Good. Tasted like moldy sweatsocks." Sam grinned. "I always stuck with soda when I was there. Drove Jess crazy. I'd get home and down a six pack of Molson, which she'd remind me was more expensive than $1 tap night."

"Man was not meant to mix fruit in his beer," John said firmly. "Or chocolate, or any other things for that matter." He tilted his head at Sam. "Can't see you in there somehow."

To John's surprise, Sam's cheeks went pink. "I, um. Used to go there to hustle pool to earn a couple extra bucks."

"Seriously?" John couldn't have been more startled if Sam had announced he'd danced on the bar for tips. They'd taught the boy to hustle pool, and poker, and any number of tricks to use when between credit card frauds. But Sam, in his infinite Sam-ness, had always balked. "You?"

"Yeah."

"I'm so proud," John smirked. "My little boy, all grown up."

Sam smiled wryly. "Once a Winchester, always a Winchester, I guess," he offered, holding his breath to see if his father would take the... well, as close to an apology as Winchesters would give.

The smile slid from John's face, replaced by something almost tender. "Glad to hear that."