nilchance | FIC: Of Bastard Saints, 31

Title: Of Bastard Saints
Authors: nilchance and beanside
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: No infringement is intended, no money is made.

They reached the church just after nightfall. Maybe it was Sam's nerves, but the shadows seemed longer as they climbed out of the van. Being the only person who hadn't been possessed, at least not by this demon, Sam was the one who had to keep the hourglass secure on the drive over.

'Keep it secure' being relative, since Dad wasn't taking chances with the thing. It was wrapped in three layers of bedsheets, duct-taped and shoved inside a cooler that Sam had shoved between his feet. By the time they reached the church, the duct tape was bubbling and the sheets were crumbling into rusty ash.

He gripped the handle tight, gritting his teeth against the whispering in the edges of his mind. The cool night seemed bitingly cold, easing only when he set the cooler down for a second to open the trunk. They probably didn't need weaponry for a walk across the parking lot, but you never knew.

A light touch on his shoulder made Sam jerk. His father looked at him, frowning. "You sure you're all right to carry that?"

"Yeah." Sam waited for his father to grab a shotgun and pulled the trunk closed. It'd be easier to carry the cooler without touching it, but he didn't want to risk fumbling the thing. Not after all this.

After pretty Jess.

This fucker needed to die. Now. Setting his jaw, Sam grabbed the cooler and stalked towards the big church doors.

Come on, boy. After everything I've done to you, don't you want a chance to take me down yourself? Let me out. You can use the Colt.

Sam walked faster.

Oh, that's right. You're too much of a pussy. Couldn't pull the trigger on your father. Couldn't let big brother end it. Wasn't Jess worth that much to you?

"Fuck," Sam muttered. His heart was pounding hard in his ears as he turned, hating himself even as he said, "Take it for a minute."

John took the cooler without a word and kept walking, long strides eating up the parking lot until they were on the stairs. Sam got to the door first, shoved it open-

The smell of smoke and burning skin hit him hard, choking him. Sam whipped around, shoving himself out of John's way. He blinked fast, struggling to see past the memory of the flames consuming Jess, consuming his life. Couldn't see-

John got through the threshold, set the cooler down, and pulled his hand back. His palm was already blistering, a burn welling up on his hand where he'd gripped the handle. He hissed softly, considering his hand, then shoved it in the holy water. After a moment, he barked, "Andrew!"

"Put it on the altar!" came Andrew's impatient response, then a clatter as he fumbled with something. "Oh, damn it."

There was a flash of motion in the corner of Sam's vision. He turned his head, and smiled as he saw Dean with his feet up on the pew in front of him. "Hey."

Dean gave him a tight smile and straightened, his feet dropping loudly. It gave John a warning before Dean got up, not looking at him, eyeing the cooler with narrowed eyed hate. Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a glove, holding it out to John at arms length. An oven mitt.

John's lip twitched. He took the mitt, sliding it painfully over his burned hand, and flexed his fingers. "Thanks."

Dean grunted and stepped out into the aisle, moving to flank John's left side, mirroring Sam. "You've got the bitch?"

"I've got the bitch." John picked up the cooler, grimacing as its voice picked up again in the back of his mind. It was bargaining now, flinging out pain and hate, cursing him. Its power crept up on him in desperate patches, trying to make him pull his gun, trying to make him drop the cooler.

The fucking thing couldn't break him when it was at full strength in the cabin. It certainly couldn't now, not with his boys behind him. He kept walking, setting his jaw. The pain got worse with each step, the cooler heavier. When he started to falter, he felt Sam's hand on his shoulder, bracing him, and he could keep going.

And then the altar was in front of him, the crucifix above him. Andrew was there, one hand outstretched, smiling. Not a pleasant smile. His eyes fixed on the cooler, alight in a way that reminded John eerily of Jim. "Give it here, John."

23 years on the hunt for this thing. 23 years of a waking nightmare, friends and his wife buried, his children's lives ruined. 23 years of patching up his own wounds, fake I.D.s and credit card fraud. John couldn't keep himself from hesitating.

Someone cleared their throat sharply from the other side of the altar, the side of the chapel of Mary. John glanced there and saw a woman in a violently red dress, a black cloak over it, hood pulled up. "Thank you, Andrew," she said, in a voice that was iron, "that'll be all."

Andrew turned his head and gave the woman a smile that was almost fond. "Or you could put it on the altar," he told John, stepping smoothly aside. His eyes lingered on the cooler for another poisonous moment, then on Dean's face, before he moved off the dais.

The woman stepped up to the other side of the altar, facing John. Her lips curved in an impossible smile. "So. Do you give it freely to my keeping?"

John set the cooler down on the altar with a gentle thump, prying his fingers off the handle. He looked at her, and couldn't get his voice steady. "I do."

"Now that sounds familiar," the woman murmured, raising her hands to pull the hood back. Mary looked at him, tired and smiling, and said, "Hello, John."

John swallowed convulsively and stepped closer to the altar, close enough to touch her. She walked around, sliding into his arms like she belonged there. She always had belonged there. His hands shook as he stroked her back, her shoulders, feeling her solid and whole. Not a dream. God, not a dream.

"I can't stay," she whispered, her voice ragged. "I need to talk to you. To the boys."

"Yeah. Anything. Just..." John closed his eyes, leaning his chin against the top of her head. "Just give me a second."

After a long minute, he could make himself let her go. John held her back at arms length, studying her face.

Mary gave him a wobbly smile back. "You made me cry, you jerk. I wasn't going to cry." When John just grinned at her, she sniffed and wiped at her face, clearing her throat. The look she gave him then promised trouble. "I'll be back with you in a minute, John Winchester."

At least it hadn't been the middle name. Rubbing her arm, John let her go. Mary turned away, looking at Dean. Whatever she saw there made her smile sadly, reaching out to stroke his face. "And you. We have a lot to talk about."

Dean just looked at her obstinately, tearing up and carefully not blinking.

Mary rubbed some new dirt off his cheek with her thumb, then nodded and turned away to look at Sam. Sam, who wasn't even bothering not to cry. Sam, the baby they should've raised together, the one Mary had planned for and kept John up all hours trying out baby names. The one Mary had spoken to softly, petting her stomach with a wise, crooked smile.

Reaching Sam, Mary tugged him into a hard hug. He had to bend to let her do it. "God, you got tall," she muttered into his shoulder. "And your hair. You've got a handsome face, Sam, honestly."

Sam made a muffled noise into her shoulder, half-laugh and half-sob. "Mom."

"All right, all right." Mary squeezed hard, turning her head to speak low in his ear. "As much as I want you to tell me about everything I've missed, we don't have time."

Sam swallowed hard and nodded.

"You're a good man, Sammy. You're going to be just fine. But they're going to need you." Mary gave him half a smile. "Dean's going to need you. So. I'll just say that I love you so, so much. I couldn't be prouder. And it won't make sense now, but I want you to know it's okay."

Sam blinked, turning his head to look at her. "What's okay?"

"Don't worry for now. I love you. Your father loves you. And that's not changing."

"Okay, Mom? That's a little unnerving."

"Sorry, baby." With a last kiss to the side of his head, Mary let him go. She smiled at him. "Anyway. I shouldn't steal you. She came for this one, and she wants to talk to you."

"She-?" Sam glanced over his shoulder, following his mother's nod, and froze. Jessica was there, arms folded in front of her, one eyebrow quirked as she grinned at him. "Oh, God."

Sam moved as though in a dream, slowly walking towards Jess as though she'd disappear if he startled her.

Jessica arched an eyebrow. "So, your father's an alcoholic trucker, hmmm?"

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry, I didn't know-" Sam babbled. "I shouldn't have ever- I should've told you- I saw-"

She covered his mouth with her hand. "It's okay, Sam." Jess met his eyes very seriously, her smile fading. "It's okay."

Sam made a soft noise and took the final step into Jess' arms.

Dean smiled a little, watching his baby brother's shoulders shake. This was good, he thought. Sam had needed her forgiveness, the closure. It would make it easier for Sam to get back to his life. He refused to acknowledge the aching emptiness that thought gave him. It wouldn't be like the last time. Sam'd call. They'd talk. It would be for the best.

His mother slid into the pew next to him.

"Hi, mom," Dean said. "I'm okay. Dad needs you."

Her lips thinned, and she swatted his head. "You just hush. What were you thinking?"

"Um." Dean reached up to rub his head. "Mom, that leaves a lot of ground."

"Exactly." Mary lifted her chin, arching an eyebrow at him. "I understand that you didn't have your memory. I understand that you were confused. But there were at least three or four times when you could've stopped, called your father and waited. Instead-"

"I was trying to-"

"Don't you raise your voice at me." Mary's voice was even, almost calm, and it was making Dean want to shrink down in the pew. Damn it. "Even if you didn't want to put your father in danger, you could've called Bobby."

"I did," Dean said, a little desperately. "I called him for help-"

"And he told you what you needed to do, which was come back in. Not fling yourself on the grenade. Not make a suicide run. Not try to walk into hell." After a moment where Dean only looked at her, Mary's expression gentled a little. She reached out, cupping his cheek in her cool hand. "Honey, I love you. And I miss you. But you're not supposed to join me. Not for a long time."

Dean glanced at the floor, leaning his head away from her hand. "I didn't want to die. I was just... I was tired, Mom, and I couldn't-"

"Ask for help?"

"I thought they'd killed Sam." Dean's attention wandered over her shoulder to Sam, watching as he held onto the blonde- no, to- Smurf, breasts, hey- to Jess like a drowning man. Sam would lose her all over again. It'd break his heart all over again. Who the fuck thought that was fair? "I couldn't lose Dad, too."

"Your father's a stronger man than you give him credit for-" Mary began.

"Sometimes," Dean said quietly.

"-But it'd kill him to lose you," Mary finished.

"Mom." Dean raised his eyes to hers, holding them. His lips tugged in a painful smile. "You don't have to lie to me, all right? I know how it goes."

Mary's eyes narrowed. She glanced at John, a long warning look, then back at Dean. "No, baby. Tell me how it goes."

Okay, that look didn't bode well. Dean shrugged, leaning his shoulder against the pew and wincing at the tug of healing muscle. "Dad needs back-up. I know I'm important to him."

"And your brother?" Mary asked.

"Yeah, I'm important to Sam. In that weird Sam way, sure." Dean shook his head. "It's fine. You ought to go talk to Dad, he's losing his mind over there."

Mary leaned forward, bracing her hands on her knees to stare at him. Dean resisted the urge to slide down the pew. Damn, if this was what it was like to have a mother on his ass- well, he wasn't happier without it, but it was a damn sight less uncomfortable. "You think your father went cross-country for backup?"

"No. For the demon." Dean shrugged again. "It makes sense. With the memories and sh-... stuff. Where I went, the demon was. He'd been hunting it for years. Hell, I probably made it easier for him."

Mary continued to stare at him. "That's all you think it was. That's really it."

"Yeah." Dean shifted on the seat. "I haven't gotten all the memories back, but enough for that to make sense."

The expression on his mother's face went through several small shifts, ending up somewhere near horror. And that? Was really uncomfortable, considering that it felt like she was looking straight through him. There were things there, things he'd done, that would be enough to horrify her. Things that Dean didn't want her to see.

"Okay," Mary said finally, straightening. "I've got an offer for you. I want you to really think about it before you say yes, because it's not an easy choice."

Dean felt his mouth quirk. "Hard choices. C'mon, Mom."

She gave him a lopsided grin back. Dean's heart wrenched when he realized that he recognized it as Sam's. Smile softening, she reached out and laid her hand on his head. "You're confused," she murmured. "It's okay. There's so much you don't remember. Pieces missing that don't make sense. You remember that you love them, but not why, or how much they love you. You remember that you all hurt each other without meaning to, but not everything else that went with the hurt and the duty. I can give you that back."

Dean didn't blink. "Yes."

"I asked you to think about it." Mary rubbed his temple with her thumb, soothing, making Dean want to lean into her. He hadn't slept great since they stopped with the drugs. He ached and twitched at sharp noises and wanted to check on Sam every ten minutes. "It'll be a lot to take in at once, and your mind's going to take a few days to piece it all together. It'll hurt. It's not going to give you the memories, though it might speed them up, but there'll be emotions with no context yet."

"Yes," Dean repeated firmly.

She smiled at him. "That's what I figured." She raised her hand to his forehead, then hesitated. "You know, that when I was here last time, when I sang to you- I wasn't here for the demon. I came for you."

Dean blinked. "I wasn't sure you were real."

"Very real. That was me, sweetie."

"Oh."

"You know how much I love you, right?"

"Yeah, Mom," Dean murmured. "I know. I love you, too."

"Okay." She laid her hand on his head. "Just relax."

Dean nodded, taking a deep breath, and waited. Nothing happened. "I don't think it-" He met his mother's eyes, and pain built in his head until it was all he could focus on. Then, it abated, and he was left with a thousand emotions running rampant. "Oh, shit-sorry," he apologized quickly, wobbling in the pew.

"It's okay. Close your eyes. Don't look at your father or your brother for a minute. Just... sit." She pressed a kiss to Dean's forehead, and turned to glance at Andrew. After a grudging moment, she asked, "Would you keep an eye on him?"

"I'll do my best." Andrew sat in the pew next to Dean and laid a hand on the back of his neck, urging his head down. "Put your head between your legs."

A faint twinge of memory: slow kisses, Andrew's smooth hands on his skin. Oh. So that was why- Dean barked a faintly hysterical laugh. "That sounds familiar."

"Your legs." Andrew rubbed his neck roughly. "Jesus, dude, you're lucky she didn't hear that."

John watched Mary climb the stairs back to him, and knew the look on her face meant trouble. Even as her hand settled on his shoulder, John knew her quiet, "We need to talk in private," was an order.

Andrew lifted his head from murmuring at Dean to point at one side of the church. "There's a sound-proofed room that way for crying babies and such," he said helpfully.

John wondered if he could hit Andrew with something from here. "Thanks," he drawled, and let Mary drag him.

As soon as the door closed, she turned on him. Her eyes were blazing. "John Winchester, what the fuck have you been doing?"

"Keeping the boys alive," John said dryly. "Hurting like hell. Thanks."

Mary's mouth twisted. "I know. I'm sorry. And I'd fix that if I could. But damn it, you're their father. When your son is falling apart, I'd expect you to notice-"

"I notice!" John shot back. "Every goddamn day, I watch him slip and I can't haul him back. I try and he shuts me down, and it's fucking killing me to have him flinch from me. So yeah, Mary, I kind of caught-" John stopped short, letting his head drop. After a moment of silence, he rubbed at the back of his neck. "God. I'm sorry."

"S'okay." Mary stepped closer, putting her hand on his chest. "Hey. Look at me." When John did, she smiled. "All right, so we're both jerks. Sorry. I could've handled that better."

"I know the feeling."

"All right." Absently, she rubbed tight circles on his chest, soothing. "Now. Dean's shutting you down. You're his father. Sit him down and make him talk. Talk at him, if you have to. He listens, even if he's bitching the whole way. Give him hell for scaring you and Sam like that."

"Mary." John lifted his eyes to her face. "Boy's been through enough."

"He doesn't think you love him," Mary said bluntly.

John blinked down at her. When he could make sense of it, he asked, "The fuck do you mean?"

"He'll say he does to you. He trusts you with his back. But otherwise? The demon got inside what was a crack and shoved it wide open. It twisted every memory until it made more sense for Dean to believe that you love Sam. That you need Dean for backup, maybe company you're a little fond of, and not much else."

"How in the hell-" John stopped, staring at the door. A quick snapshot of memories: Dean breaking up a few thousand fights, Dean being trained from way too goddamn young an age, Dean bleeding in that cabin, Dean taking John's crap from when he was tired or hungover or pissed off with Sam. Dean dying quietly in the backseat while John bitched at Sam for wasting a bullet to save his brother's life, because he was too goddamn spooked to let himself think how badly hurt Dean was. He exhaled, looking down, and said, "Should I yell now or when we get to the van?"

Mary laughed. "You'll take care of him. Give him until tomorrow. Tonight'll be rough."

"Okay." John looked at her. "You want to smack me?"

"No." Mary gave him a wry smile. "I won't say I agreed with every decision. I won't say I ever wanted my babies to pick up a gun. But you did what you could with what you had, and they're alive. They're damned good men because of you."

"In spite," John said.

"Because. Jackass." Mary sighed, looking up at him, then gave a watery smile and leaned into his arms. She squeezed him, hard. "I miss you every goddamn day."

John smiled into her hair. "Still going to want a one-legged man?"

"If there wasn't a glass wall right there, I'd show you."

"Mm." John grinned. "There's a curtain."

She made a mock-scandalized noise. "In a church?"

"Dressing room. Wedding. C'mon, Mary, I was there."

"Your fault," Mary muttered, then sighed. "I wish we had more time."

"Yeah." John closed his eyes. "Me too."

Sitting in the pew, Dean glanced over towards Sam, instinctively checking on him. Sam was sitting with his back to Dean, jabbering at Jess. Which really just proved what Dean had always said. Sam was just too much a pussy to close the deal. C'mon, a divinely sanctioned conjugal visit with such a pretty girl, who Sam obviously adored, and he was talking to her. Figured.

As Sam laughed, his head turned a little. Enough. The emotions welled up hard, and Dean felt his vision gray around the edges. Jesus Christ, that hurt. Pain and love, anger and laughter, and a thousand other things he couldn't name, crashing into place at once.

Andrew quickly pressed his head back down. "Breathe. It'll get better in a few minutes."

Dean tried to breathe, then jerked upright as a warm wet tongue swiped his cheek. He looked down into wide brown eyes. They were damned near the largest thing on the fluffball of a dog staring up at him. "What the fucking fuck is that?"

Andrew grinned. "That's Darcy. He's my baby."

"Andrew. That dog just screams 'I suck cock.'"

"Well, at least it's not false advertising, then," Andrew said dryly. "Darcy, go lay down."

The white and black fuzzball whined, but trotted off obediently. Dean shook his head. "Damn. That's just..."

"He'll get bigger," Andrew sulked. "Jesus. I'm sorry my dog isn't manly enough for you."

The door to the quiet room opened, and John walked out, a little swagger that had been missing back in his stride, Mary at his side, hands twined.

She stopped, glancing at the boys. "Oh, crap. I almost forgot. There's one other thing you need to know."

John looked down at her. "What's that?"

"The hourglass. The way you overruled Dean- you've bound yourselves together," she said.

"We're a family. We were already bound," John said, looking confused.

"Not that way. You bound your lives together." Mary looked down. "And your deaths. If one dies, you all will."

John's face paled. "Oh, god. Mary, that's not fair to them. I'm twenty years older than them. What if I have a stroke, or-"

She shook her head sadly. "They're hunters. The chances of you needing to worry about old age are pretty slim. Though, it certainly won't hurt you to lay off the junk food for their sake," she added, lips curling. "The universe isn't without its comforts. None of you will ever have to bury any of the others."

John nodded slowly, understanding. "Okay. I'm not telling the boys, though. They'd be too careful, end up getting themselves killed trying to protect me." He glanced at the altar, at the hourglass, and for the first time focused on the hammered silver chalice next to it.

"Good plan," Mary said, then noticed the sudden tightness of John's jaw. "What's wrong?"

"That chalice. I've seen drawings of it in- no. Not a chalice. A cauldron," he hissed. "Cauldron of Anwynn." His eyes shifted to Andrew, sitting next to Dean, touching him. "Oh, hell."

Mary's hand on his cheek stopped him. She forced his head around, made him meet her eyes. "The chalice was only ever a cup," she said. "It only got its power from whoever used it."

"He-"

"I can't tell you more than that, so don't push it, baby. But he will never harm you or the boys unless you attack him. Understand?"

"No. I-"

"John. He saved Dean's life. He's fond of both you and the boys. Leave it there." Mary smiled. "Actually, you should ask him to recite the Winchester version of the Our Father."

"Mary-"

"Let it be," she said sharply.

John knew an order when he heard one. "Yes, ma'am."

Mary turned towards him, pulling him into another hard hug. "I love you, John."

His lips curled in a sad smile. "Gotta go?"

"Yeah." Mary pulled his head down, kissing him hard. When she let him go, neither of them were breathing steadily. "I wish I could stay. But it's time."

"I love you," he whispered helplessly, fingers tracing the lines of her face, memorizing them. "So much."

She smiled, lips trembling, and touched his cheek. "I'll be seeing you. Just not too soon, okay?"

"I'll try."

Mary went over to Sam, sitting in the pew alone, head in his hands. Jess had one hand possessively on his shoulder. He looked up as Mary approached, and she leaned down, kissing his forehead. "I have to go now," Mary whispered. "Take care of your brother and your father."

Sam met her eyes and nodded. "I will."

Mary's smile widened at the confidence, the strength in those words. A lot like his daddy, she thought. "I know. I love you, Sam."

"Love you too."

Then she stood before Dean, her broken son. No- wounded. Never really broken.

His head came up, and he forced a smile, coming to his feet slowly. "Hey."

"Take care of yourself, sweetheart. If you need to, lean on your father or Sam." When Dean didn't reply, she grabbed his chin. "Dean. Promise me."

"I'll try," he said softly.

"I know." She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'm proud of you, honey. And I love you."

His answering smile was wobbly. "Love you, too."

Mary stepped back and walked to the altar, picking up the hourglass with her bare hands. When she raised her eyes to John, the slow rage in them was jarring. He didn't pull back; he had plenty of anger of his own. But not like that, not the blistering fury of a mother protecting her boys.

"He's going to love where he's headed," Mary said dryly. With a last smile for John, she turned, walking back towards the side doors. She paused at the heavy wooden door, holding out her hand, and smiled as Jess joined her and twined her fingers with Mary's.

The doors to the chapel opened without a touch, yawning wide into light. John blinked against it, knowing that he probably ought to turn his head, not willing to give up his last few seconds of seeing his wife again.

As the light silhouetted Mary and Jess, John could see in the space between them more black cloaks. Row after row of black against red. The women, their faces hungry and merciless. The children, a thousand tiny hands-

Mary stepped through, taking Jess with her. The doors slammed closed as if on a strong wind, but not before John heard the bastard demon scream.

Silence.

John closed his eyes for a moment, grief stabbing him like it was new. But now, at least it felt like a clean wound, the festering hatred gone. It was... odd. Sam came to his feet, falling in next to John, hand brushing his shoulder.

John slid an arm around his son, pulling him into a tight hug. Felt him shaking a little. Or maybe that was John. "You okay?"

"I think so," Sam said.

"Good. Tomorrow, I'm going to need you out of the house. It's past time your brother and I had a talk."

"Dad-" Sam started, then stopped himself. "Okay."

John smiled. "Thank you." He glanced at the front of the church, where Dean was standing, staring at nothing. "Dean. You want a ride back?"

After a long minute, Dean nodded, still looking at the ground.

John glanced back at Andrew. "Mary said I should ask you about the Winchester 'our father," he said brusquely.

Andrew blushed, rocking back on his heels a little. "That was just something Jim and I came up with one night a long time ago." He smiled. "After the clutch of fire Imps."

John winced. "Remember that one."

Dean staggered as the emotions tore loose, twenty seven years of John Winchester crashing into his brain. Jesus. Did he have any lukewarm emotions? No, they all seemed to be strong enough to bring him to his knees.

John winced, wanting to go to his boy as he clutched a pew for support. Instead, he looked at Andrew. Andrew who was more than he seemed. Andrew who would need to be watched. "Go on."

Dean shook his head, mouth twisting as he tried to sort out the myriad of emotions swirling in him. Great. Was he bipolar, too?

Andrew smiled, looking at the ground. "Oh, I don't know if I even remember-"

"I do," Dean said. He lifted his head slowly, a smirk on his lips. "Our father, who art John Winchester, badass be thy name. Thy gun be drawn, thy will be done, on earth as it is in hell. " John's crooked grin warmed him more than it ought to, an ache spreading its way through Dean, coloring his voice as he went on. "Give us this day our daily ammo, and forgive us our trespasses, as we fuck up those who trespass against us. Lead us not into destruction, but deliver us from evil."

"Amen," Sam muttered, grinning.

John shook his head, managing a grudging laugh as Andrew blushed scarlet. He reached out, gently whapping Sam in one arm. "Stop laughing, you little bastard."

"Little hell," Sam protested, "I'm taller than you."

"Yeah, yeah. It's just your boots."

"Oh, you suck," Sam sighed.

Another bright flare of pain narrowed Dean's vision, making him lean harder against the pew. He felt Andrew grab him, steady him, but any comfort was lost in the flow of memories assaulting him.

"You're the one who said I should stay gone!"

A few thousand arguments crashed into Dean's mind. Stepping between Sam and his father again, and again, and again. Catching Sam's fist more than once. Having to order his own father to stand down before the argument went physical. Trying to soothe them both without taking sides, and managing only to catch two different kinds of crap.

It faded, leaving Dean cold. Drained.

"Hey." There was another hand on his arm, cautious and gentle. Sam's voice made Dean raise his head, focusing slowly on his brother's worried face. A flicker of memory: Sam, doubled over from crippling headaches, pale and sick in the passenger seat, Dean half-carrying him to a bed. Then that was gone, too. Sam's smile had gone lopsided, knowing. "You look like you need to go home and crash, dude."

Giving Andrew a last pat on the shoulder, Dean shrugged Sam's hand off and straightened. He ignored the quiet flash of hurt on Sam's face, and didn't bother looking at their father. He didn't need that particular headache yet. "Y'know, I think I'm good to walk," he said flatly.

"It's not exactly safe-" John murmured as Dean walked past them, towards the double-doors.

"What the fuck is going to hit me?" Dean called back, not looking over his shoulder. "Just ask Andrew."

John's smile faded as Dean left, fighting the urge to go take care of this right now. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

Current Mood: accomplished

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

squee1123.livejournal.com

...so...he demon is gone?

because YEY. Also...the Dean-Mary moments are...I love them. Also the scene with Andrew's dog - HEE

From:

Especially when you make plans...

FIC: Of Bastard Saints, 31

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