nilchance | FIC: Of Bastard Saints, 34/36

Title: Of Bastard Saints
Authors:

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 three very long days. If this was what life would be like off the road, it wasn't very promising. Once John had caught up on sleep, he was strapped for something (anything) to do. He'd pace, but his leg hurt like hell. He spent most of the two days on Missouri's couch, half-watching daytime television, checking and rechecking the messages on his cell phone. The boys didn't call.

They were fine. Dean hadn't been wrong when he said that nothing would hit him. Lawrence was a paranormal dead zone. Even the obituaries were disgustingly... normal.

This was running John's nerves ragged.

By the middle of the third day, he was reduced to cleaning the kitchen. With two boys hanging around, and John's leg fucked up as hell, it was probably good that he get to it before Missouri showed up. Compared to the bathroom or the basement, it was mild, but John didn't want to try the stairs until he had to. At least he could stand on one leg to scrub the dried pasta off the stove.

It'd be nice if he could remember when they had pasta. Or figure out why Sam, who had actually had a steady girlfriend in the last decade, had missed all the social graces that were supposed to go with a woman's touch.

Or maybe John was a chauvinist bastard. He'd heard that.

The door opened as John was putting elbow grease into a particularly stubborn bit of odd orangeish goop. John looked up, and straightened sharply as he saw Sam standing there, covered in mud and bruises, swaying on his feet. He grabbed his prosthetic and shoved it on, crossing the kitchen in record time.

Sam gave him a crooked, rueful grin. Up close, John got a good, strong whiff of enough alcohol to down a draft-horse. At least it masked the sweat.

"Sammy, what the hell-"

"Hi, Dad," Sam said blearily. "Can I have a chair?"

"You probably ought to, yeah." Grabbing Sam by the scruff of his neck, John steered him firmly to a kitchen chair. There was a trail of cracked, dried mud left in Sam's wake. One more thing for John to sweep up. And when did he become Missouri's house-bitch? "Where's your brother?"

"In town. He had... stuff." Sam plunked down on the chair. "He's coming back."

"Is he less drunk than you are?"

"He didn't drink anything. Said I needed it more. He was right." Sam laid his head back, staring up at John. "I fucked up."

John absently tugged at a leaf plastered into Sam's hair by mud. "I take it you two had words."

"And fists. He started it." Sam wrinkled his nose. "Wow, that sounded more mature in my head."

"S'okay. I know the feeling." John considered Sam for a moment, then headed over to the coffee pot. Poured him a mug of strong black coffee, set it in front of him, and walked to the fridge to grab an ice pack. "He look any better than you do?"

"Yeah. He's a jerk."

"It's Dean," John said, like that was self-explanatory. Grabbing a bag of frozen vegetables, he went back to the kitchen table and pressed it to Sam's jaw.

"Ow," Sam muttered.

"How did you fuck up?" John asked, easing up the pressure a little.

"I... god, I don't even know where to start." Sam closed his eyes, looking suddenly more sober. "I put him on his ass. Pinned him there. He panicked, he-"

"Beat the hell out of you."

"He didn't know me." Sam made a face, turning his head away from the ice pack. He stared at the sodden sock dangling from his jacket pocket. "Then he got me ice. Had to be a three mile walk."

A hard knot in John's stomach uncoiled painfully all at once. He stared down at Sam, the dark circles under his eyes, and echoed, "He hit you, and then he got you ice."

"Said that," Sam muttered.

"Okay." John gently pressed his fingers against the lump on Sam's jaw, gauging to see if anything was cracked. "Lose any teeth?"

"No, sir." Sam squinted at John. "He was being careful. Right up until he freaked out. Dad, he was afraid of me-"

"Not of you."

"But-"

"Talked him down, didn't you?" John took his hand back. "You need to go shower."

"You saying I smell?" Sam asked, sniffing at himself.

"No, I'm saying you reek." John watched as Sam levered himself up, staggering towards the stairs, and sighed. He'd better make another pot of coffee. If Dean was in half Sam's shape, they'd need it.

John had finished the stove, and was leaning against the sink, attempting to scrape coagulated grease off a frying pan when the door opened again. He lifted his eyes tentatively, almost afraid of what he would see.

Dean smirked at him. "Housebitch."

John stared. Yes, that was definitely the same man who'd slunk out of this kitchen two days earlier, but you wouldn't know it. The stance, the smile, the oddly intense eyes- that was Dean. "You got the blue out," he said stupidly. "Your hair, I mean."

Dean shrugged, slipping his coat off. "Yeah. Stopped in town for a couple things, and figured I'd get it cut." He slipped past John, nudging him as he passed, and grabbing a mug off the drainboard.

John felt the smile curving his lips, knew he looked like an idiot, and didn't care. "If you're gonna shower, you might want to wait. Between the dishes and your brother, there can't be much hot water left."

Dean poured coffee and wandered over to the refrigerator, offering John his back as he rummaged in it. "Nah, I figured I'd work on the Impala for a while."

John wasn't stupid enough to think that beating the hell out of Sam had cured Dean, but it was a start. "Sounds like a plan. You need any help?"

"Probably after a while. Still can't get her to turn over. Might end up pulling the engine tomorrow if I can't get her going. I'll give you a yell," Dean offered, coming out of the fridge with a package of pepperoni. "How's Sammy?"

John glanced back. "Banged up, but he'll be fine. You wanna tell me what set you off?"

Dean shrugged. "Not particularly. He was being a douchebag."

"Ah. That's what you told me when you were seventeen and he caught you with Mary Jo Angelson," John said.

Dean blinked, the memory sliding into place. "Oh yeah." He grinned. "She was hot. Had a mou- Never mind." He looked at the floor as John snorted with laughter. "I'm going to go work on my baby. I'll yell when I need a hand."

John nodded. "I think I'm about done with the dishes for now," he said with distaste. "I'm going to sit, read the paper, and..."

"Be bored out of your mind?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. Pretty much."

"Have fun." With a faintly mocking salute, Dean walked out the door, coffee and pepperoni in hand.

"Was that-" Sam asked, weaving back into the kitchen, rubbing his hair with a towel.

"Dean. He's working on the car," John added.

"No, I mean, that was Dean." Sam rubbed his eyes blearily. "Possibly two of them."

John gave him a fond smile. "Go get some sleep, Sam."

"Yeah, I think I will," Sam muttered, giving the door a last faintly befuddled look.

John shook his head and went back to drinking his coffee. It was barely an hour later when Dean called his name. John slid the prosthetic on and headed outside.

Dean was laying on the floor of the drivers side of the Impala, head under the dashboard,

"What're you trying to do-" John began, then stopped, eyes landing on the new chrome controls on the dashboard of Dean's car. The hand controls.

His silence apparently lasted long enough that Dean looked out from under the dashboard. There was a smudge of dirt on his nose. "Don't make a thing out of it," Dean warned.

John grunted and leaned against the door, considering the controls. They looked top of the line, which figured. Dean wouldn't accept second-best when it came to the Impala. "You didn't have to do that to your baby."

"You didn't have to do that to your leg," Dean replied bluntly.

"Yeah, I did. You're my boy." John shrugged. "I'd do it again."

"Thanks, but fucked if I'm ever riding in the back again. I'll strap Sam to the hood if I have to." When John snorted, Dean flashed a staggering grin. "Besides, I might need a getaway driver."

"Might?" John drawled. "How many shotgun weddings have you barely missed, little man?"

Dean smirked, unrepentant, and slid back under the dashboard. His response was muffled. "If I was little, wouldn't have that fricking problem... Trying to push a wire through, but it's getting caught on the other side. You mind?"

John answered by going around to the hood of the Impala, patting her rearview mirror with absent affection. He leaned against her side as he felt under the hood, grimacing when he felt the sheer amount of gunk Bobby had left them to clean. Goddamn bodywork idiots didn't know how to treat a classic proper... even if Bobby had thrown in enough side-impact crash bars for the Impala to double as a tank.

He felt the wire brush against his fingers and caught it deftly, easing it through. The wire was new, casing slightly stiff. John slid it into place on his end. Asked, "That it?"

"Ha. No, it'll be a while. I can switch you, y'know. Your leg-"

"I'm all right."

A rustle as Dean shrugged, the faint plastic crackle of Dean digging through a new package of wires. "You schedule a PT appointment yet?"

"Did it yesterday. And a checkup." John smirked. "Turns out they happened to have all my paperwork already on file. Updated to the crash and everything."

"Imagine that."

"What'd you offer Chloe?"

"What didn't I?" The wire began to wiggle through. "She's a nice girl. Told me to harass you for her. And to take a yoga class. I told her I was already flexible and she hung up on me."

"Losing your touch?"

"Ha. Never gonna happen."

They were quiet for a moment, John fixing up the wire Dean had passed him, Dean getting the next one set up. It occurred to John that he should probably tell Dean not to bother with the tape player until they had the engine together, but he liked the companionable silence too much.

The sun hit its apex, started to slide across the sky as the time stretched on. John couldn't say it was bothering him particularly.

Finally, Dean slid the last wire through. John hooked it up and listened as Dean shimmied out, straightening as his back popped loudly.

"Ugh," Dean muttered. "Getting old."

"Watch it," John said mildly, and grinned as Dean gave his good leg a playful nudge with the toe of his boot. He slid the wire home, then laid his fingers over the knot of wiring. "Dean."

Dean made an absent affirming noise, half-lost under the sound of him wandering over to the toolbox and putting the wire-cutters away.

"Asking you a question. You don't have to answer, but I've got to ask." John stayed carefully where he was, staring at the engine block and its grime.

"I'll let you know."

"Mm." Funny. In his mind, this was clear-cut. He had to ask, even half-knowing the answer. He had to know if it'd been a lie the demon threw out to fuck them over, or if it was something they'd have to deal with eventually. But now that he'd started, he was stuck here, frozen up tight. Saying it out loud, having the word between them, made that nightmare real. John cleared his throat and said, gruffly, "The demon. When it was in your head. Did it rape-"

Dean hissed sharply, cutting John off.

There was a moment of awful silence. John waited, tensed to hear the slamming of the screen door as Dean bolted.

Finally, Dean said, his voice low and terrible, "No. But it came close."

And between the lines, in Dean's quiet, John had his answer: the twisted bastard had been wearing John's face.

God damn it, Mary. You could've warned me. You should've-

John took a steadying breath. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

"Now see, that's why I slugged Sam. Too talky," Dean muttered.

"California," John said, as though that explained everything. "Did you know they put fruit in their beer?"

"Sacrilege," Dean snorted.

"You seem a little better," John said. "Aside from the hair. Maybe you should smack Sam more often."

"Yeah." Dean paused for a long moment. "He pinned me down, and I kind of lost it. No kind of. I panicked. I don't think I've ever been that scared."

"I'm sorry. I should have warned him-"

"Nah," Dean cut in. "Anyway, I kicked him in the head."

"That's... why do you sound happy about it?" John paused. "Other than the obvious fun you've always gotten out of smacking him."

Dean laughed for a moment. Then the sound faded. "I was afraid I would use the power, just not think."

John laid his forehead against the hood of the Impala. Jesus. "In all the things I worry about-- and you know me, there's a lot... that? Never occurred to me. You wouldn't hurt Sam."

Dean was silent. John held his breath, waiting for the snide comment, or for Dean to walk away,

The hard impact of something on his stomach jerked the breath out of John's lungs. He sat up, catching the toolbox automatically before it could slide, and looked at Dean. Dean, who was standing so close their knees were touching.

"You going to help me pull the engine or not?" Dean asked, even as anything. Then he flashed a grin. "Because you can always go back in and mop Missouri's kitchen, house boy."

John knew this game. Push, and Dean would snark. Push harder, and he'd run like hell. "Yeah. How're we lifting it out?"

Dean grinned. "Got our own personal winch," he said, glancing at the house. "I'll go grab it." He made a face at the mess under the hood. "Would you start unhooking the engine in the meantime?"

John nodded and ducked his head back under the hood and started working on the bolts. Jesus, Bobby had made a mess of it. Would have been better if he'd just left the repair to them.

The door opened a few minutes later, and Dean came back out, one hand holding three beers. His other looped around Sam's shoulders. Sam was looking a lot more coherent after a few- hell, almost six?- hours of sleep, transparently relieved that Dean was letting Sam close enough to touch him. Even if Dean didn't smell too great just then. And god, John loved his boys just then, with a force to break a man's heart.

Dean pointed at the car, and Sam grinned. "Do I look like your bitch?"

Dean smirked, eyebrow raised. "C'mon, Sammy. Just a little 'Shining'?"

Sam sighed, grabbing the beer. "I've never tried lifting something out of something else. I might lift the whole damn car."

"Just give it a try?" Dean wheedled. "Is it all ready, Dad?"

John pulled one last hose. "Yeah. Go for it."

Sam glanced at it again, focusing on the grimy engine and lifted gently.

"Yes!" Dean exulted, seeing the engine slide up smoothly. "Now, set it on those saw horses. Gently, or so help me, I'll kick your ass again."

John winced, but Sam managed to set the engine down with minimal noise. John looked back down at the car, and bit off a low curse. "I see the problem," John muttered. "You'll be needing to get some parts before we can fix it, though. Carburetor's a bust, and the battery's cracked, and leaked on timing chain."

"Shit," Dean muttered. "That'll be it for today, then." He ran a grimy hand over his forehead and glanced down at his watch. "Let me grab a shower, and we can go grab something to eat, stop at the auto supply. We needed a radio knob anyway."

Out of Dean's sight, Sam's hand twitched guiltily towards the radio knob on a cord around his neck. Then he nodded and let his hand drop, poker-faced.

John nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

Dean grinned. "Can I drive? I always wanted to be a fireman." he asked, glancing at the bright red van.

John flipped him off. "Sure. Why not? Go ahead, shower. I'll throw a tarp over the engine and stash the tools."

"Thanks," Dean murmured, heading in the house.

Sam handed him a tarp, helped him tuck it around the Impala's monstrous engine. "He's not okay yet, is he?" Sam said quietly as they worked.

"No," John murmured. "But I think he's trying to heal, instead of picking at it. It's just going to take time."

Sam nodded. "We'll make it."

John rumpled his hair. "Yeah. I think right now the best thing we can do is try to follow his lead, be normal..." When Sam gave John a wry smile, flashing dimples, John added, "For us, anyway."

"Okay. I can do that," Sam said.

"Good. Since it's supposed to rain tomorrow, you get to clean the basement. Salt it, use holy water to wash the floor. See if we can get the brimstone smell out."

"What about Dean?" Sam asked, making a face.

"He's doing the upstairs bathroom," John said, with a certain sadistic glee.

"Ew."

"That's what he gets for calling me housebitch." John grinned.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Great I get to read this before going to bed. Love the interaction between them all, could really hear the voices coming through. Looking forward to the next.

Thanks! I'm glad you liked.

You two did something I didn't think was possible today as numb as everything is making me feel. You made me laugh. I look forward to a new part of this story every single day and you don't disappoint. I love the fact that this was just the guys hanging around with each other doing what they like to do best be a family.

I loved the bickering and the housebitch comment, and Dean commenting about going to work on his baby. I can totally see him having a name for the car. Personally I see her as a blackie, but that's because Dean's love for that car reminds me of my stepdad who sometimes I think loves his truck more than the rest of us.

*hug* I'm sorry you're having a rough time of it, sweetie. I hope things get better for you soon. And I'm glad if we can make you smile.

Thanks for the kind words!

Love, love, love. Especially --

He slipped past John, nudging him as he passed, and grabbing a mug off the drainboard.

Because it seems such a small thing, but in relation to this fic? Dean's healing. He's getting there. Also, really the John-Dean car-bonding session. I have such a weakness for it.

That would be "really like" the car scene. 'Cause new Bastard Saints chapter = incoherency.

*grin* Awww! Thanks! I'm glad you liked it!

i am so glad the deon is gone. they are happy and there is just a little bit of angst and thats awesome becasue I loooove angst.

I'm glad you liked it! Thank you!

"He's doing the upstairs bathroom," John said, with a certain sadistic glee.
"Ew."
"That's what he gets for calling me housebitch." John grinned.

Every new part makes me SO happy :D
*waves bye-bye to the blue hair...sniff*

*grin* I'm glad you like it! Thank you!

I've been really, really enjoying the last couple of chapters. I'm so glad you didn't stop with the demon's defeat, but are giving us this quieter, more reflective stretch of recovery, and emotional consequences, and all the Winchesters having to deal with the problem of switching from "all vengeance, all the time" to "okay, now what?" Loved the three of them working on the Impala together -- the perfect symbol of family healing for them.

Yeah, we kind of wanted to show the consequences, that things aren't automatically sunshine and daisies for them. Because those are some seriously screwed up men. *nod*

Thank you! I'm glad you liked!

*cackles* "He's doing the upstairs bathroom," John said, with a certain sadistic glee.

"Ew."

"That's what he gets for calling me housebitch." John grinned.

Any way, I loved the entire chapter!

*grin* John can be a bitch.

Thank you! I'm glad you liked it!

What a lovely section. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

And for you guys...I'll follow you into the big W. I can't imagine that you won't treat it right!

*grin* We'll do our best! Thank you for the really amazing compliment!

AWww....so very good. And I'm glad John thought to ask the question of Dean. He seems to be settling in better, knowing when to push, when he can push and when it's better to just let it go for a bit and come back at a different angle. WHee! I love this story.

John's always hard to find the right balance with, and I'm glad it worked for you. Thank you!

Housebitch...LOL!

Love the contrast between Sam and Dean last chapter and Dad and Dean this chapter. It's just so right.

And can I say I'm glad the blue hair is gone? Course Dean is hot either way. But still. That hair is too pretty to hide under electric blue coloring. *grin*

Yeah, he just needed to know that he could control himself, not hurt Sam or John. *grin* I'm glad you liked! Thanks!

*hugs all the boys*

Awwww! Thanks!

This made me laugh, and I could actually smile for Dean in this one. Loved all the interactions!

*grin* They needed a little break, we thought!

Thanks!

Good chapter.At least the demon didn't do the thing that John asked him if it happened.Yeah,that sentence made no sense.Update soon.

Made perfect sense to me. *grin* Thanks!

I'm also glad that you resisted ending the story with the Demon's defeat. This just makes it seem so much more "complete": in a lot of ways, their family's story is starting all over again.

Kudos also for bringing the brothers' conflict out into the open. Although canon glosses over it, you just know Sam's cutting Dean out of his life must have hurt to the core. At least now Sam is owning up to it and in that way, can try to avoid the same mistakes in the future. I just loved that despite their knock-down brawl, Dean got ice and Sam still worries about him. And I loved how Sam is still tentative and unsure about how things will be-to which Dean responds in typical practical Dean fashion (fixing cars and drinking beers together!) After the emotional upheavel of the previous chapter, this one was calming and hopeful. As always, great job!

We kind of wanted to show the aftermath, to show how fucked up the family really was, and see how they would heal. And yeah. Sam hurt Dean, and he's never really had to answer for that. Two years, and Dean had to damn near beg him to come along in the pilot. Then, suddenly, when Jess dies, Sam's all "yay hunting!" It had to piss Dean off, even if he never said anything. *nod*

I'm glad it worked for you! Thanks!

FIC: Of Bastard Saints, 34/36

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