Fic: Of Bastard Saints, 30
Jun. 5th, 2006 09:30 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.
It was two days before John saw his son again. Sure, Dean was there. But only in body. After the little breakdown in the bathroom, Dean's mood shifted, and not in the way John had been hoping.
He'd been a surly, unpleasant little bitch, snapping at John. Even at Sam, which startled John into silence the first time he saw it, sure it was a trick of the demon's or John's own sleep deprivation. The boys used to scuffle, but now Dean turned and verbally bit at Sam like an animal with one foot in a trap.
When the knock came at the back door, they were finishing Dean's first lunch downstairs. Sam had helped him down the stairs, with Dean bitching the whole way.
At least his appetite was good, John grudgingly thought. He got up to answer the door, hand undoing the strap that kept his sidearm in place. Never hurt to be prepared.
He stepped to the side of the door and flicked the curtain out of his way.
Bobby's serious face met his in the split second before the curtain fell back.
Well, shit. The day got better and better. "Just Bobby," John murmured to the boys, feeling their sudden attention on him.
Dean winced, relaxing only slightly. "Hope he doesn't want a rematch."
John opened the door a little, not bothering to restrap his gun. "Bobby."
Bobby nodded, stepping forward, nudging the door open the rest of the way. "Just here to check things out," he said in passing, too low for the boys to hear. "Relax."
"Somehow, I'm not reassured," John murmured. "Come on in. Want a beer?"
"Nah. Can't stay. Just wanted to drop something off. Can I borrow Dean for a moment?"
John was on the verge of protesting as Dean levered himself slowly up. "Bobby," Dean said, a wary edge to his voice.
"Hey, son. Looking a little rough."
Dean flashed his cocky smile. "You should see the Horde."
Bobby laughed softly. "So I heard. Can you make it onto the porch?"
Dean nodded, strolling out like every movement wasn't sending spikes of pain along his ribs. If it wasn't so fucked up, John would be proud of him. As it was, John was just relieved that Dean could still read his father's tension and know to be careful. "Sure thing," Dean drawled.
Bobby stepped out onto the porch and pointed towards the driveway. "Brought you a get well present."
Dean paused in the doorway for a heartbeat, frowning. Then his eyes widened, and he tore off at a dead sprint like he hadn't been gimping down the stairs.
John swore and shoved past Bobby, going to either provide cover or tell Dean to slow the hell down. Gleaming black metal and chrome caught him mid-step, shut him up. John just stood there, watching as Dean skidded to a stop beside the Impala where Bobby had unhitched it from his truck.
Behind him, Sam made a soft choked noise. He slid past them both, moving towards the Impala. After he hit the bottom step, he started running to catch up with Dean.
"Holy Jesus fuck, Bobby, what the hell?" John looked at Bobby. "I thought she was in pieces. I thought you were selling her for scrap."
"Her? Nah." Pulling off his hat, Bobby sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. "I had some time to kill. Turns out she's a tough lady. She'll take a hell of a lot of mechanical work yet, but the body's sound. I don't have much patience for piddly shit. Figure that's your department."
"Huh." John turned his head, watching Dean smile- really smile- as he bent and touched the hood, crooning at the Impala. The sight tugged an answering smile from John. "Thank you."
"Hold off on that, John." Bobby shifted on his feet, moving closer so they could speak quietly. Up close, John could see the gun holstered under Bobby's jacket. "How's your boy? Remembering much?"
"Enough." John lowered his eyes to the gun. "That'd better not be for my son, Bobby, or you and me are going to have problems."
"You've got problems already. I cased the house. Heard him give you nothing but grief."
"That's nothing new-"
"You and Sam. It's a good act, but that's not your boy over there."
"He nearly died," John bit off. "He went through hell. You going to tell me you'd be sunshine and light?"
"Nope. But I wasn't trained to be a weapon from when I was a kid. And I'm not the one who bound a greater demon and carried him around on my damn back." Bobby looked out over at Dean, who was kneeling by the Impala and running a reverent hand over the hood. Bobby's mouth tightened, and he shook his head. "We can't afford to let it go if you can't control him. We had enough trouble with Sinclair, and she was half what your boy is now."
"You don't know trouble. None of you do." John let his hand drop to his own gun. "Don't threaten my boys."
"You think it's my first choice? Hell, I practically raised that boy like he was mine. Helped you train him myself. If anybody goes down for this, it's back on me as much as you." Bobby shook his head. "I'll give you the time. But broke is broke, and you know that. Some things you can't fix."
Sam was watching them, eyes narrowed, body tense. He glanced at John, his hand easing towards the gun he had holstered under one of the few thousand shirts he seemed to be wearing.
John gave him a curt, silent shake of his head. Glanced at Dean. Not yet. Watch your brother.
Sam gave Bobby a look that could've soldered iron, then stepped protectively between Dean and the porch. Dean wasn't so distracted he was oblivious, from the way he was eyeing Bobby with sudden intensity. If Dean set Bobby on fire, John wasn't sure he'd move too fast towards an extinguisher.
"That's damned giving of you." John jerked his head towards Bobby's truck. "Get the fuck off this property before I shoot you."
Bobby flicked him a look, gauging. "Two weeks. If it's not me, you know it'll be somebody else. Somebody who might start thinking like he'd be a nice weapon. Something to stick in a cage and use when it's handy."
Yeah, damn it, John did know. It was the sort of damn fool thought he'd have had a year ago for someone else's child. Wouldn't have done it- probably- but he'd have thought about it hard. But there were others, Elkins, maybe Katya's Jericho, who wouldn't flinch. John managed a grudging, "Call before you come."
Bobby gave him a sardonic salute on his way off the porch. John watched uneasily as Bobby said goodbye to his boys, and didn't really breathe easy until Bobby's truck had pulled out of Missouri's driveway.
The twisted thing was, Bobby wasn't wrong. If John couldn't pull Dean back...
John'd give him a warning and a few day's head start. Tell him to go out past Mexico, keep running until the others couldn't find him, and not look back.
Dean gave John a long, silent look. Then he went back to babying the Impala. He stayed out there most of the day, out into the night, working until John figured he had to be exhausted. Dean looked that way when Sam finally harassed him into coming inside for the night.
Apparently John had been wrong. That was the only reason that he found Dean kneeling outside the basement door at 4 am, picking the damn lock.
"Dean, what in the hell do you think you're doing?" John thundered.
Dean jumped, but didn't bother to look at his father. "Tripped," he muttered, going back to working on the basement lock.
Lying bold-faced to John was a new trick. John silently counted to ten, trying to rein in his temper.
Sam had passed the last few days of bad temper off as Dean's normal restlessness. As his body healed, he could handle sitting still less and less. John had known better, though. He'd seen the protracted silences where Dean's expression would flicker through a myriad of emotions, seen the way his son had looked at him when he didn't think John could see.
He knew too well what the demon could offer Dean, knew that Dean was still vulnerable. His memories were coming back, trickling in sluggish and slow. But they were far from complete. Snippets of their lives that might or might not make sense.
It was exhausting, trying to keep up with Dean's moods. One moment, smiling, the next glaring daggers as another memory slid into place. Worst of all, viewed without context, the memories seemed to be destroying the bonds that had pulled Dean back.
"You tripped," John said, eyes narrowing.
"Yup."
"And you disconnected the alarms on the way down?" John asked sarcastically.
"Yup." The lock gave, and Dean smiled triumphantly, reaching for the door. It remained firmly stuck, and Dean tugged it harder, the smile sliding away. "What. The. Fuck." He turned, eyes darkening to stare at his father, who was now leaning against the other wall. He'd barely spared time to yank the prosthetic on, and was standing there in his boxers and t-shirt.
Somehow, the sight of the gleaming metal joint and fleshtone plastic- his fault, Dean reminded himself- set Dean's temper on edge. "What the hell did you do to the door? Open it," he ordered.
"Why?"
Dean fumbled for a moment. "I need to see that it's safe," he lied.
John shook his head. "It's fine."
And you're going to trust the man who couldn't even keep me from possessing him? the sickly sweet voice echoed in Dean's mind.
"Dad-"
"Don't fucking lie to me, Dean," John spat. "It's calling you. We both know it."
Dean shook his head. "No. I-"
You're what, boy? Losing your mind? the demon chuckled darkly. That'll go over well. You know Bobby's probably waiting at the city limits. Where are you going to run?
"Tonight can't come fast enough."
Dean's eyes narrowed. "Tonight?"
"Andrew has a way to get rid of the damned thing, permanently." John watched Dean's face closely.
Get rid of me, of the power I can give you. You know I can. Give you power, save millions of lives. You owe them that much.
"You can't do that," Dean said flatly.
"Oh yes. I can." John pushed off the wall, taking a step towards Dean. "We can't-"
He thinks you're a child to be led, Belial whispered. He thinks he can still tell you what to do. He doesn't know what you've seen. What you've done.
"It's a weapon," Dean bit off, "no different from a gun or an axe. You wouldn't throw away the Colt, why should we get rid of this-"
"The Colt doesn't regularly try to possess my son," John said.
"It's not your fucking decision to make!" Dean stepped forward, until he was in his father's face. "I bound it! I'm the one who went through hell! You don't get a say in the matter, Dad."
John shook his head. "You gave it to me willingly in the graveyard. According to Andrew, that makes it equally mine."
Dean's eyes darkened. "Sonofabitch. That still doesn't give you the right-"
"And I gave it to Sam," John said, hearing Sam shuffling down the stairs behind him. "We outvote you."
To Sam, the demon echoed. To the good son. His favorite.
Dean looked past John at his brother's stricken face. "Sammy?"
"Dean," Sam said, shaking his head. "It's gotta go. It's killing you."
"Just fucking great!" Dean snarled. "You two finally agree on something, and it's to fuck me over." He spun, stalking towards the back door.
Sam moved to intercept him, reaching for Dean's wrist. "Dean-"
"Leave me alone, Sam," Dean growled, jerking away.
John closed his eyes, cursing as the door slammed behind Dean. After a moment, he opened his eyes, giving Sam a weary smile. "That went well."
Sam sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Should I go after him?"
John shook his head. "He'll meet us at the church."
"How can you be so sure of that?"
"I would want to be there, if I was him," John murmured. With a slight, pained noise, he limped to the couch. "We're doing the right thing."
"Was that a question?" Sam asked, sitting on the arm. "He can't go on like this. Every day, a little more of him erodes."
"I know. Fuck. I should have told him before. Given him time-"
"To do what? Take it and run?" Sam asked. "No. Better not to let him think too much."
John glanced at him. "Not like he could get the door open, Sammy. Hell, no one but you can."
Sam smiled, thinking of the heavy bolt he'd installed on the inside of the door. "Good idea, by the way."
"Saved our asses this morning." John laid his head in his hands. "We're lucky he didn't think about burning through the door."
Sam blinked. "You think he could?"
John nodded. "We exorcised the demon, Sam. Not the power Dean willingly accepted. That's all his now."
"Shit."
"Yeah."
"You could've told me."
"Just did," John grumbled.
"Whatever, Dad." Sam stared into space for a long moment. "Did Andrew say anything about this option?"
"Nope. Just that it wouldn't harm Dean, and that it was permanent."
"You trust him?" Sam asked.
"Andrew?" John considered. "As much as I trust anyone outside of you two."
Sam nodded.
"But I don't think he'd fuck over Dean." John sighed, closing his eyes and stretching his neck. "I always wondered if there was something there."
"What?"
"Andrew and your brother. When they were both younger."
"Excuse me?" Sam asked.
John's eyes opened, glancing at Sam. "Oh, for God's sake, Sam. You're the college boy. Figure it out."
Sam stared blankly for a moment, then his cheeks flushed. "Seriously?"
"Yup."
"You're okay with that?" Sam asked quietly.
"Not my speed, but whatever gets you through the night," John shrugged. "I may have been a crappy father, but I was paying attention, Sam." His eyes slid to Sam's face, a long silent look. Waited a second.
Sam's face got redder. He stared at the floor.
John smirked, enjoying Sam's discomfort just a little. Okay, he admitted to himself. A lot. "You're my boys. Nothing changes that."
Sam closed his eyes. "Great. Thanks. Now let's never have this talk again. God, this is worse than when Dean tried to explain sex. With diagrams."
John just smiled at him, reaching up to push the hair out of Sam's eyes. "Fine. Make sure there's no goddamn rainbow anythings stuck on the car the next time I look."
"C'mon, Dad," Sam muttered. "Might make it a little hard if we ever needed to go through Oklahoma. Or Alabama. Or anyplace where you hear the Deliverance banjos when you pass the 'welcome to' sign."
John paused, his hand still on Sam's head as he looked at him hard. When Sam didn't glance away, his expression serious, John let his hand drop. "I thought you were going back to school, Sam."
Jaw flexing a little, Sam shrugged. "I thought I was, too."
"They'd let you back in." Laying his head back against the couch, John frowned at the ceiling and tried to make the painful triple-time of his heart slow down. "If it's a problem, we can always forge documents. Doctor's note or something."
"That's not the problem. I mean, trying to get my scholarship back would suck, and explaining the leave of absence..." Sam rubbed at the back of his neck. "But that's not why."
John's mind wouldn't be organized into any sort of order. There were about twelve different things going on at once. Irritation, fear, pride, regret. He wanted to issue the order, wanted to tell Sam to get his ass back to a normal life while he still could. Fall back and use the picket fence for cover.
Dean wasn't giving up the hunt. Even before this clusterfuck, that much had always been clear. But John had hinged a lot on the thought that at least Sam might be okay.
Sam was okay. He'd grown up into a good man, basically decent and surprisingly whole for everything he'd lived through. At the end of the day, he wasn't the baby John had grabbed from out of the fire. It was his call, and John pushing anything else on him would just make Sam bolt again.
Damned if John didn't want to bark an order at him anyway.
"Do me a favor," John said finally. "Wait until after this is over to make that call."
"Dad." Sam turned around on the arm, his smile sad and too damned old for his face. "I already made it."
"Bullshit. When we were in that asshole's office, I was watching you." John looked at Sam. "You were having a hell of a time-"
"Running a con job," Sam said simply. "Like all the others. I'm good at it. But that doesn't mean I want to spend the rest of my life running a con job that gets me two kids and an office door with my name on it. Especially not when I'm waiting to get the call that says Dean died on a hunt because nobody was there to cover his back."
John watched his son, the quiet resolve written on his face, and tried to come up with a decent argument. There weren't any, which stung. Dean wouldn't be okay on his own, not like this, and short of locking him in the basement John couldn't keep him off the hunt. John wasn't in any shape to hunt, and probably wouldn't be for at least as long as the PT took. Maybe never. He'd been getting slower on the hunt, his instincts dulled by wear and by the rage even before the wreck took his damned leg.
He was supposed to die. Not left crippled and sitting on the sidelines while Dean took his suicide dive back into the hunt. Not left staring at Sam, unable to come up with a good reason why this life shouldn't eat up Sam's good years like it had John's.
Dean needed Sam. John needed them both alive. And it wasn't like John could call them safe anymore, even if they laid down arms now. Dean had made himself a target. Sam had always been one. Belial wasn't the last, or even the worst, of the things that would be tailing them.
The gate to hell had opened. The Horde had showed up. The demons were starting to show their hand, which only meant things would get worse from here.
"I can't keep you safe from here," John said finally. "I can guard that gate, but there are others."
Sam shrugged, studying his fingers with a small smile. Then he curled them up and murmured, "I think we'll be okay to keep each other safe for a while."
John glanced down, blinked, and said, "Sam, put the couch down- gently- and I won't let Missouri kill you when she comes back."
Sam continued to stare at nothing. Not even winded. Jesus. "I hoisted the van yesterday. Got it to hover. I threw that statue in the cemetery like it was made out of paper. I can keep track of Dean."
Despite everything, John managed a smile. "Don't throw your brother."
"Aww," Sam muttered. Relaxing his fingers, he let the couch down towards the floor. The landing was more than slightly rough. With a sheepish grin, he said, "Sorry. I'm a little sloppy."
"I noticed that." John got carefully up, not quite trusting gravity. "We'll get there."
Sam looked out the window at the slow drizzle. "Wonder where Dean went?"
***
Small slabs of marble flew in the cemetery, shifting away from the cracked and broken tomb. Amazing the damage a tiny pipebomb could do. The pile of rubble next to it grew quickly.
"Goddamn it," Dean muttered, finally sitting on a tombstone, breathing heavily, ribs aching. He scrubbed at his face with his hand.
"Feel any better now?" a soft voice asked.
Dean turned, squinting against the rain to see the slight blond man standing there. "Andrew, right?"
"Ah, you remember." Andrew walked over, hands in the pockets of his overcoat and sat on the tombstone.
Dean winced at the sudden flash of memory. Stealing communal wine from Pastor Jim, drinking with Andrew while Sam played look-out. Touch football and Led Zeppelin and poker games. "Yeah. Sort of."
"It's a start." Andrew gestured towards the tomb. "Having fun?"
"I-" Dean started, then stopped. "Why do you care?"
"The gate won't open for you. Probably won't open again for a long while. Certainly not while you're in town. Not after the damage you've done." Andrew stood, walking over to the mouth of the tomb, running a hand over the cracked and blackened marble.
"And I repeat, you care because why?"
Andrew didn't bother to answer, just glanced over his shoulder with an odd smile. After a long moment, he shrugged. "I just thought you might need a friend."
"Jesus, you too?" Dean closed his eyes, leaning his head into his hands, fingers pressing into his eyes. When he lifted it, Andrew was still there, but there was something else, a striated afterimage from his fingers, a disturbance in the air around Andrew's form, like heat coming off the road. It looked-- Dean shook his head, and it was gone.
"What are you?" Dean snarled.
Andrew smiled slightly. "Listening. And not your father, which should buy me some bonus points right about now."
"You're the one who's helping them get rid of the hourglass," Dean accused.
"Of course," Andrew said evenly. "It has to go, Dean. The binding's already straining."
"What do you mean?"
Andrew shook his head, sitting next to Dean. "The binding is only as strong as your will. You've got an amazing strength of will, but even you can't hold it forever."
"Could," Dean muttered.
"Do you know what that demon is?" Andrew asked. "You didn't bind a demon. You bound the highest ranking demon in hell."
"Nuh-uh. The five Princes-"
"The Princes of Hell aren't demons."
"How the fuck would you know-"
"Demonologist. I trained with Jim, who was probably the closest thing the field has to an expert." A shadow of grief crossed Andrew's face. He toed at the grass under his feet, then cleared his throat. "Anyway. Belial was it. There are demons with more personal power, but Belial had the children. Like Sam. And he had their power- an army of those poor kids, twisted up until they thought they were being loyal. He- it was the demon of men's worst nightmares. Child molesters and rapists, and every twisted, perverse desire."
"That's funny, coming from a priest."
"Fuck. Off. You know better." Andrew squinted at Dean. "What, I get too close and you take a cheap swipe? Fucking nice. I saved your life."
"Want a medal?" Dean shot back. "I still don't know why."
Andrew made a rude gesture with his apparently flexible wrist, then continued, "You bound Belial. And even you can't hold that forever."
"What will happen if it isn't taken care of?" Dean asked.
"The binding will break, and it'll kill you. Then, because they have claims on it, the power will turn on your father, then your brother. Probably kill John, too. Then, it'll rebound into Sam. Might not have enough left to kill him. Might just shatter his mind, drive him insane. Then the demon will be free to use his power, or to use him as a vessel as it pleases," Andrew said flatly. "Do whatever it pleases to attractive young men like your brother."
"Oh." Dean swallowed. "Oh."
"Yeah." Andrew looked up at the sky, the steady drizzle. "God's pissing on us. Want to go grab some coffee before you catch your death?"
Dean nodded slowly. "Okay." He let Andrew lead him out of the cemetery to his waiting car.
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.
It was two days before John saw his son again. Sure, Dean was there. But only in body. After the little breakdown in the bathroom, Dean's mood shifted, and not in the way John had been hoping.
He'd been a surly, unpleasant little bitch, snapping at John. Even at Sam, which startled John into silence the first time he saw it, sure it was a trick of the demon's or John's own sleep deprivation. The boys used to scuffle, but now Dean turned and verbally bit at Sam like an animal with one foot in a trap.
When the knock came at the back door, they were finishing Dean's first lunch downstairs. Sam had helped him down the stairs, with Dean bitching the whole way.
At least his appetite was good, John grudgingly thought. He got up to answer the door, hand undoing the strap that kept his sidearm in place. Never hurt to be prepared.
He stepped to the side of the door and flicked the curtain out of his way.
Bobby's serious face met his in the split second before the curtain fell back.
Well, shit. The day got better and better. "Just Bobby," John murmured to the boys, feeling their sudden attention on him.
Dean winced, relaxing only slightly. "Hope he doesn't want a rematch."
John opened the door a little, not bothering to restrap his gun. "Bobby."
Bobby nodded, stepping forward, nudging the door open the rest of the way. "Just here to check things out," he said in passing, too low for the boys to hear. "Relax."
"Somehow, I'm not reassured," John murmured. "Come on in. Want a beer?"
"Nah. Can't stay. Just wanted to drop something off. Can I borrow Dean for a moment?"
John was on the verge of protesting as Dean levered himself slowly up. "Bobby," Dean said, a wary edge to his voice.
"Hey, son. Looking a little rough."
Dean flashed his cocky smile. "You should see the Horde."
Bobby laughed softly. "So I heard. Can you make it onto the porch?"
Dean nodded, strolling out like every movement wasn't sending spikes of pain along his ribs. If it wasn't so fucked up, John would be proud of him. As it was, John was just relieved that Dean could still read his father's tension and know to be careful. "Sure thing," Dean drawled.
Bobby stepped out onto the porch and pointed towards the driveway. "Brought you a get well present."
Dean paused in the doorway for a heartbeat, frowning. Then his eyes widened, and he tore off at a dead sprint like he hadn't been gimping down the stairs.
John swore and shoved past Bobby, going to either provide cover or tell Dean to slow the hell down. Gleaming black metal and chrome caught him mid-step, shut him up. John just stood there, watching as Dean skidded to a stop beside the Impala where Bobby had unhitched it from his truck.
Behind him, Sam made a soft choked noise. He slid past them both, moving towards the Impala. After he hit the bottom step, he started running to catch up with Dean.
"Holy Jesus fuck, Bobby, what the hell?" John looked at Bobby. "I thought she was in pieces. I thought you were selling her for scrap."
"Her? Nah." Pulling off his hat, Bobby sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. "I had some time to kill. Turns out she's a tough lady. She'll take a hell of a lot of mechanical work yet, but the body's sound. I don't have much patience for piddly shit. Figure that's your department."
"Huh." John turned his head, watching Dean smile- really smile- as he bent and touched the hood, crooning at the Impala. The sight tugged an answering smile from John. "Thank you."
"Hold off on that, John." Bobby shifted on his feet, moving closer so they could speak quietly. Up close, John could see the gun holstered under Bobby's jacket. "How's your boy? Remembering much?"
"Enough." John lowered his eyes to the gun. "That'd better not be for my son, Bobby, or you and me are going to have problems."
"You've got problems already. I cased the house. Heard him give you nothing but grief."
"That's nothing new-"
"You and Sam. It's a good act, but that's not your boy over there."
"He nearly died," John bit off. "He went through hell. You going to tell me you'd be sunshine and light?"
"Nope. But I wasn't trained to be a weapon from when I was a kid. And I'm not the one who bound a greater demon and carried him around on my damn back." Bobby looked out over at Dean, who was kneeling by the Impala and running a reverent hand over the hood. Bobby's mouth tightened, and he shook his head. "We can't afford to let it go if you can't control him. We had enough trouble with Sinclair, and she was half what your boy is now."
"You don't know trouble. None of you do." John let his hand drop to his own gun. "Don't threaten my boys."
"You think it's my first choice? Hell, I practically raised that boy like he was mine. Helped you train him myself. If anybody goes down for this, it's back on me as much as you." Bobby shook his head. "I'll give you the time. But broke is broke, and you know that. Some things you can't fix."
Sam was watching them, eyes narrowed, body tense. He glanced at John, his hand easing towards the gun he had holstered under one of the few thousand shirts he seemed to be wearing.
John gave him a curt, silent shake of his head. Glanced at Dean. Not yet. Watch your brother.
Sam gave Bobby a look that could've soldered iron, then stepped protectively between Dean and the porch. Dean wasn't so distracted he was oblivious, from the way he was eyeing Bobby with sudden intensity. If Dean set Bobby on fire, John wasn't sure he'd move too fast towards an extinguisher.
"That's damned giving of you." John jerked his head towards Bobby's truck. "Get the fuck off this property before I shoot you."
Bobby flicked him a look, gauging. "Two weeks. If it's not me, you know it'll be somebody else. Somebody who might start thinking like he'd be a nice weapon. Something to stick in a cage and use when it's handy."
Yeah, damn it, John did know. It was the sort of damn fool thought he'd have had a year ago for someone else's child. Wouldn't have done it- probably- but he'd have thought about it hard. But there were others, Elkins, maybe Katya's Jericho, who wouldn't flinch. John managed a grudging, "Call before you come."
Bobby gave him a sardonic salute on his way off the porch. John watched uneasily as Bobby said goodbye to his boys, and didn't really breathe easy until Bobby's truck had pulled out of Missouri's driveway.
The twisted thing was, Bobby wasn't wrong. If John couldn't pull Dean back...
John'd give him a warning and a few day's head start. Tell him to go out past Mexico, keep running until the others couldn't find him, and not look back.
Dean gave John a long, silent look. Then he went back to babying the Impala. He stayed out there most of the day, out into the night, working until John figured he had to be exhausted. Dean looked that way when Sam finally harassed him into coming inside for the night.
Apparently John had been wrong. That was the only reason that he found Dean kneeling outside the basement door at 4 am, picking the damn lock.
"Dean, what in the hell do you think you're doing?" John thundered.
Dean jumped, but didn't bother to look at his father. "Tripped," he muttered, going back to working on the basement lock.
Lying bold-faced to John was a new trick. John silently counted to ten, trying to rein in his temper.
Sam had passed the last few days of bad temper off as Dean's normal restlessness. As his body healed, he could handle sitting still less and less. John had known better, though. He'd seen the protracted silences where Dean's expression would flicker through a myriad of emotions, seen the way his son had looked at him when he didn't think John could see.
He knew too well what the demon could offer Dean, knew that Dean was still vulnerable. His memories were coming back, trickling in sluggish and slow. But they were far from complete. Snippets of their lives that might or might not make sense.
It was exhausting, trying to keep up with Dean's moods. One moment, smiling, the next glaring daggers as another memory slid into place. Worst of all, viewed without context, the memories seemed to be destroying the bonds that had pulled Dean back.
"You tripped," John said, eyes narrowing.
"Yup."
"And you disconnected the alarms on the way down?" John asked sarcastically.
"Yup." The lock gave, and Dean smiled triumphantly, reaching for the door. It remained firmly stuck, and Dean tugged it harder, the smile sliding away. "What. The. Fuck." He turned, eyes darkening to stare at his father, who was now leaning against the other wall. He'd barely spared time to yank the prosthetic on, and was standing there in his boxers and t-shirt.
Somehow, the sight of the gleaming metal joint and fleshtone plastic- his fault, Dean reminded himself- set Dean's temper on edge. "What the hell did you do to the door? Open it," he ordered.
"Why?"
Dean fumbled for a moment. "I need to see that it's safe," he lied.
John shook his head. "It's fine."
And you're going to trust the man who couldn't even keep me from possessing him? the sickly sweet voice echoed in Dean's mind.
"Dad-"
"Don't fucking lie to me, Dean," John spat. "It's calling you. We both know it."
Dean shook his head. "No. I-"
You're what, boy? Losing your mind? the demon chuckled darkly. That'll go over well. You know Bobby's probably waiting at the city limits. Where are you going to run?
"Tonight can't come fast enough."
Dean's eyes narrowed. "Tonight?"
"Andrew has a way to get rid of the damned thing, permanently." John watched Dean's face closely.
Get rid of me, of the power I can give you. You know I can. Give you power, save millions of lives. You owe them that much.
"You can't do that," Dean said flatly.
"Oh yes. I can." John pushed off the wall, taking a step towards Dean. "We can't-"
He thinks you're a child to be led, Belial whispered. He thinks he can still tell you what to do. He doesn't know what you've seen. What you've done.
"It's a weapon," Dean bit off, "no different from a gun or an axe. You wouldn't throw away the Colt, why should we get rid of this-"
"The Colt doesn't regularly try to possess my son," John said.
"It's not your fucking decision to make!" Dean stepped forward, until he was in his father's face. "I bound it! I'm the one who went through hell! You don't get a say in the matter, Dad."
John shook his head. "You gave it to me willingly in the graveyard. According to Andrew, that makes it equally mine."
Dean's eyes darkened. "Sonofabitch. That still doesn't give you the right-"
"And I gave it to Sam," John said, hearing Sam shuffling down the stairs behind him. "We outvote you."
To Sam, the demon echoed. To the good son. His favorite.
Dean looked past John at his brother's stricken face. "Sammy?"
"Dean," Sam said, shaking his head. "It's gotta go. It's killing you."
"Just fucking great!" Dean snarled. "You two finally agree on something, and it's to fuck me over." He spun, stalking towards the back door.
Sam moved to intercept him, reaching for Dean's wrist. "Dean-"
"Leave me alone, Sam," Dean growled, jerking away.
John closed his eyes, cursing as the door slammed behind Dean. After a moment, he opened his eyes, giving Sam a weary smile. "That went well."
Sam sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Should I go after him?"
John shook his head. "He'll meet us at the church."
"How can you be so sure of that?"
"I would want to be there, if I was him," John murmured. With a slight, pained noise, he limped to the couch. "We're doing the right thing."
"Was that a question?" Sam asked, sitting on the arm. "He can't go on like this. Every day, a little more of him erodes."
"I know. Fuck. I should have told him before. Given him time-"
"To do what? Take it and run?" Sam asked. "No. Better not to let him think too much."
John glanced at him. "Not like he could get the door open, Sammy. Hell, no one but you can."
Sam smiled, thinking of the heavy bolt he'd installed on the inside of the door. "Good idea, by the way."
"Saved our asses this morning." John laid his head in his hands. "We're lucky he didn't think about burning through the door."
Sam blinked. "You think he could?"
John nodded. "We exorcised the demon, Sam. Not the power Dean willingly accepted. That's all his now."
"Shit."
"Yeah."
"You could've told me."
"Just did," John grumbled.
"Whatever, Dad." Sam stared into space for a long moment. "Did Andrew say anything about this option?"
"Nope. Just that it wouldn't harm Dean, and that it was permanent."
"You trust him?" Sam asked.
"Andrew?" John considered. "As much as I trust anyone outside of you two."
Sam nodded.
"But I don't think he'd fuck over Dean." John sighed, closing his eyes and stretching his neck. "I always wondered if there was something there."
"What?"
"Andrew and your brother. When they were both younger."
"Excuse me?" Sam asked.
John's eyes opened, glancing at Sam. "Oh, for God's sake, Sam. You're the college boy. Figure it out."
Sam stared blankly for a moment, then his cheeks flushed. "Seriously?"
"Yup."
"You're okay with that?" Sam asked quietly.
"Not my speed, but whatever gets you through the night," John shrugged. "I may have been a crappy father, but I was paying attention, Sam." His eyes slid to Sam's face, a long silent look. Waited a second.
Sam's face got redder. He stared at the floor.
John smirked, enjoying Sam's discomfort just a little. Okay, he admitted to himself. A lot. "You're my boys. Nothing changes that."
Sam closed his eyes. "Great. Thanks. Now let's never have this talk again. God, this is worse than when Dean tried to explain sex. With diagrams."
John just smiled at him, reaching up to push the hair out of Sam's eyes. "Fine. Make sure there's no goddamn rainbow anythings stuck on the car the next time I look."
"C'mon, Dad," Sam muttered. "Might make it a little hard if we ever needed to go through Oklahoma. Or Alabama. Or anyplace where you hear the Deliverance banjos when you pass the 'welcome to' sign."
John paused, his hand still on Sam's head as he looked at him hard. When Sam didn't glance away, his expression serious, John let his hand drop. "I thought you were going back to school, Sam."
Jaw flexing a little, Sam shrugged. "I thought I was, too."
"They'd let you back in." Laying his head back against the couch, John frowned at the ceiling and tried to make the painful triple-time of his heart slow down. "If it's a problem, we can always forge documents. Doctor's note or something."
"That's not the problem. I mean, trying to get my scholarship back would suck, and explaining the leave of absence..." Sam rubbed at the back of his neck. "But that's not why."
John's mind wouldn't be organized into any sort of order. There were about twelve different things going on at once. Irritation, fear, pride, regret. He wanted to issue the order, wanted to tell Sam to get his ass back to a normal life while he still could. Fall back and use the picket fence for cover.
Dean wasn't giving up the hunt. Even before this clusterfuck, that much had always been clear. But John had hinged a lot on the thought that at least Sam might be okay.
Sam was okay. He'd grown up into a good man, basically decent and surprisingly whole for everything he'd lived through. At the end of the day, he wasn't the baby John had grabbed from out of the fire. It was his call, and John pushing anything else on him would just make Sam bolt again.
Damned if John didn't want to bark an order at him anyway.
"Do me a favor," John said finally. "Wait until after this is over to make that call."
"Dad." Sam turned around on the arm, his smile sad and too damned old for his face. "I already made it."
"Bullshit. When we were in that asshole's office, I was watching you." John looked at Sam. "You were having a hell of a time-"
"Running a con job," Sam said simply. "Like all the others. I'm good at it. But that doesn't mean I want to spend the rest of my life running a con job that gets me two kids and an office door with my name on it. Especially not when I'm waiting to get the call that says Dean died on a hunt because nobody was there to cover his back."
John watched his son, the quiet resolve written on his face, and tried to come up with a decent argument. There weren't any, which stung. Dean wouldn't be okay on his own, not like this, and short of locking him in the basement John couldn't keep him off the hunt. John wasn't in any shape to hunt, and probably wouldn't be for at least as long as the PT took. Maybe never. He'd been getting slower on the hunt, his instincts dulled by wear and by the rage even before the wreck took his damned leg.
He was supposed to die. Not left crippled and sitting on the sidelines while Dean took his suicide dive back into the hunt. Not left staring at Sam, unable to come up with a good reason why this life shouldn't eat up Sam's good years like it had John's.
Dean needed Sam. John needed them both alive. And it wasn't like John could call them safe anymore, even if they laid down arms now. Dean had made himself a target. Sam had always been one. Belial wasn't the last, or even the worst, of the things that would be tailing them.
The gate to hell had opened. The Horde had showed up. The demons were starting to show their hand, which only meant things would get worse from here.
"I can't keep you safe from here," John said finally. "I can guard that gate, but there are others."
Sam shrugged, studying his fingers with a small smile. Then he curled them up and murmured, "I think we'll be okay to keep each other safe for a while."
John glanced down, blinked, and said, "Sam, put the couch down- gently- and I won't let Missouri kill you when she comes back."
Sam continued to stare at nothing. Not even winded. Jesus. "I hoisted the van yesterday. Got it to hover. I threw that statue in the cemetery like it was made out of paper. I can keep track of Dean."
Despite everything, John managed a smile. "Don't throw your brother."
"Aww," Sam muttered. Relaxing his fingers, he let the couch down towards the floor. The landing was more than slightly rough. With a sheepish grin, he said, "Sorry. I'm a little sloppy."
"I noticed that." John got carefully up, not quite trusting gravity. "We'll get there."
Sam looked out the window at the slow drizzle. "Wonder where Dean went?"
***
Small slabs of marble flew in the cemetery, shifting away from the cracked and broken tomb. Amazing the damage a tiny pipebomb could do. The pile of rubble next to it grew quickly.
"Goddamn it," Dean muttered, finally sitting on a tombstone, breathing heavily, ribs aching. He scrubbed at his face with his hand.
"Feel any better now?" a soft voice asked.
Dean turned, squinting against the rain to see the slight blond man standing there. "Andrew, right?"
"Ah, you remember." Andrew walked over, hands in the pockets of his overcoat and sat on the tombstone.
Dean winced at the sudden flash of memory. Stealing communal wine from Pastor Jim, drinking with Andrew while Sam played look-out. Touch football and Led Zeppelin and poker games. "Yeah. Sort of."
"It's a start." Andrew gestured towards the tomb. "Having fun?"
"I-" Dean started, then stopped. "Why do you care?"
"The gate won't open for you. Probably won't open again for a long while. Certainly not while you're in town. Not after the damage you've done." Andrew stood, walking over to the mouth of the tomb, running a hand over the cracked and blackened marble.
"And I repeat, you care because why?"
Andrew didn't bother to answer, just glanced over his shoulder with an odd smile. After a long moment, he shrugged. "I just thought you might need a friend."
"Jesus, you too?" Dean closed his eyes, leaning his head into his hands, fingers pressing into his eyes. When he lifted it, Andrew was still there, but there was something else, a striated afterimage from his fingers, a disturbance in the air around Andrew's form, like heat coming off the road. It looked-- Dean shook his head, and it was gone.
"What are you?" Dean snarled.
Andrew smiled slightly. "Listening. And not your father, which should buy me some bonus points right about now."
"You're the one who's helping them get rid of the hourglass," Dean accused.
"Of course," Andrew said evenly. "It has to go, Dean. The binding's already straining."
"What do you mean?"
Andrew shook his head, sitting next to Dean. "The binding is only as strong as your will. You've got an amazing strength of will, but even you can't hold it forever."
"Could," Dean muttered.
"Do you know what that demon is?" Andrew asked. "You didn't bind a demon. You bound the highest ranking demon in hell."
"Nuh-uh. The five Princes-"
"The Princes of Hell aren't demons."
"How the fuck would you know-"
"Demonologist. I trained with Jim, who was probably the closest thing the field has to an expert." A shadow of grief crossed Andrew's face. He toed at the grass under his feet, then cleared his throat. "Anyway. Belial was it. There are demons with more personal power, but Belial had the children. Like Sam. And he had their power- an army of those poor kids, twisted up until they thought they were being loyal. He- it was the demon of men's worst nightmares. Child molesters and rapists, and every twisted, perverse desire."
"That's funny, coming from a priest."
"Fuck. Off. You know better." Andrew squinted at Dean. "What, I get too close and you take a cheap swipe? Fucking nice. I saved your life."
"Want a medal?" Dean shot back. "I still don't know why."
Andrew made a rude gesture with his apparently flexible wrist, then continued, "You bound Belial. And even you can't hold that forever."
"What will happen if it isn't taken care of?" Dean asked.
"The binding will break, and it'll kill you. Then, because they have claims on it, the power will turn on your father, then your brother. Probably kill John, too. Then, it'll rebound into Sam. Might not have enough left to kill him. Might just shatter his mind, drive him insane. Then the demon will be free to use his power, or to use him as a vessel as it pleases," Andrew said flatly. "Do whatever it pleases to attractive young men like your brother."
"Oh." Dean swallowed. "Oh."
"Yeah." Andrew looked up at the sky, the steady drizzle. "God's pissing on us. Want to go grab some coffee before you catch your death?"
Dean nodded slowly. "Okay." He let Andrew lead him out of the cemetery to his waiting car.
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1 of 2
Date: 2006-06-06 07:40 am (UTC)Oh Dean. Things are really getting to him, aren't they? The slow drip-drip return of memories (never all good, always gotta be a mixed blessing), the continued lack of emotional context, the demon whispering in his ear ... and the lack of emotional context and swiss cheese memories that together make it so very difficult to reject the demon's whispers.
*whimper* Oh Dean.
Plus, he's snapping at his Sammy too. Seriously, not half-teasing. Ouch.
And then there's Bobby's visit. And the implied threat from outside. (And the Impala *squee* which made Dean smile!!) On the one hand, Bobby's presence lessened the claustrophobia, on the other, it added to the seige-like feeling, knowing (having it confirmed) that the hunter community are watching them close, and having assorted ideas about how to handle Dean and all.
And Bobby gives him/them two weeks to get themselves/Dean pulled together. If all goes well with the Friday spell, wonder if that'll be enough time to actually get Dean pulled together a bit. Also ... Bobby's only talking for himself. Somebody else might have a different timeline. *shivers*
Oh John - you can be a total SOB sometimes, can't you? Contemplating using some poor wounded "child" as a weapon! He makes it so hard to sympathize with him sometimes. And the demon and others call *Dean* the psychotic one. Huh. Where'd he learn it from, huh? But he gets a few sympathy points back for planning out how he'd help Dean get away if the other hunters come for him.
Impala! *bounce*
John and Bobby are not having a friendly sort of reunion there, are they? This whole ... attitude, of life being cheap and all (there's a better way to phrase it but I can't find it right now) is just all ... fucked up. Totally. In his right mind, Dean is, like, so much better than the rest of them. Mr Hero. (If you missed it, I *am* a total Dean fangirl here. Even if he can be an unlettered chauvanistic pig sometimes. He's the cutest unlettered chauvanistic pig EVER! And I don't just mean his physical appeal.)
Oh man. Dean trying to get to the demon, thinking about using it as a weapon. *flails tiny fists of angst* He's so broken and hurting and- *flails flails flails*
It's kinda interesting, though, considering how John wasn't sure earlier if Dean was lying to him, but now he's totally certain, no problem telling. Has Dean changed that much (again) in a few days? Or is John not seeing the contradition from his earlier observations/interactions?
And Dean himself is so out of it that he doesn't even seem to recognize that his lies/con is transparent and John's totally seen through it. That's actually the most disturbing part.
And there goes that demon whispering, regular as clockwork. It so needs to shut up and leave my woobie alone.
~continued~
Re: 1 of 2
Date: 2006-06-06 01:59 pm (UTC)Bobby and John aren't nice guys. Good men, yes. But not nice. But on one hand, Bobby's not wrong. Dean's dangerous, and if he's a loose cannon, things could go to shit real fast. And yeah. Sadly, John's probably one of the more moral of the hunters--scary thought there.
I think after two days of bitchy Dean, John's re-evaluating Dean's emotional state, and realizing that his boy will lie to him in a heartbeat. Which has to sting a little.
The demon isn't good at the shutting up thing, apparently. Evil damned paperweight.