nilchance | FIC: Of Bastard Saints, 36/36

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.

Okay, before we let you get to the fic, we wanted to say a few words. This has been a hell of ride for us, and we'd like to offer our sincere thanks to everyone who has made it so much fun. The response has been thoroughly overwhelming, between all the feedback and the recs.

We're especially thrilled with the response to our John, since we know he's not exactly the most popular person in fandom. *grin* So, for so many of you to let us know that you enjoyed him really means a lot.

So, from the bottom of our cold, black hearts, thank you! We'll see you soon with the sequel.

nilchance and

beanside

****
Dean closed the door behind him carefully, quietly, feeling like a bastard.

He'd left a note on the counter for Dad and Sam. He'd been careful to take the cell phone Dad bought for him last week. He had the feeling Dad had been expecting this.

Still, he was sneaking out before dawn like a fucking criminal. It didn't sit easy. But better that than some bullshit tearful goodbye, having to wish Sam luck at school or look at Dad and tell him that sorry, but Dean just couldn't sit still for anybody. The road called, and Dean couldn't ignore it anymore.

Yeah. Nice way of saying that Dean was running like hell.

Shifting his duffel bag's strap higher on his shoulder, Dean walked towards the Impala. He slid his hand over the arch of her window, patting her absently as he opened the driver's side door. He'd missed that sound.

Dean went to climb in, tossing his bag over into the passenger seat. It hit him in the chest a moment later. Startled, Dean caught it and stared at Sam, slid low in the passenger seat.

With a yawn, Sam rubbed at his face and muttered, "Jerk."

"Sam," Dean said, his voice low, "no. Get your ass back inside."

Sam arched an eyebrow. "Dude, you should've told me that before I put all my stuff in the trunk. Too late now."

"Not funny," Dean snapped. "Get out."

Sam gave him an aggravating, bland look and put his feet up on the dash. "Where are we going?"

"Don't give me the stubborn face. I taught you that look." Dean shook his head. "Sammy, I'm not going to the fucking grocery store here. I'm leaving. I'm going back to hunt."

"Yeah," Sam said, "duh. I need to know what coast, Dean. Otherwise I can't exactly pinpoint 'the land of not here' on the atlas."

Dean's head hurt. A lot. Taking a deep breath, he stared through the windshield. Not looking at Sam, he said, "Okay. I'm sorry I was leaving without saying anything. I left a note." When Sam didn't move, Dean gritted, "Go read the damn note."

"I don't want to," Sam said obstinately. "And I don't need to. You're right here."

Gripping the steering wheel hard, Dean told it, keeping his voice carefully level, "It's over. You don't have to do this anymore. Go live your life. Just... out."

"Dean," Sam murmured. "I'm not leaving."

Dean looked at him. "I'm not saying it again."

"Yeah, like I'm that lucky."

"Sam," Dean said savagely. "Out, or I'm going to kick your skinny ass."

Sam's mouth quirked. Then he twisted in his seat, leaning over into the back to rummage in his bag.

Watching, feeling horribly helpless, Dean told Sam's back, "If this is about what I said back there... y'know. The camping. I didn't mean half of that shit. I want you to have your life-"

With a little 'aha!' noise, Sam slid back down into his seat. There was an envelope in his hands, which he pushed at Dean. "Read it."

Dean stared at him.

"Read it, jackass." Looking perversely pleased with himself, Sam laid his head back against the window. "There aren't even any big words."

Flipping him off mostly out of habit, Dean pulled the letter out of its envelope. He skimmed the first few lines, and then his brain caught 'Sam Winchester' and 'formal withdrawal', and he couldn't think to read. He looked at the words, frozen to his seat for a few long moments.

"I'm not leaving," Sam repeated softly.

Dean raised his head, staring at Sam through narrowed eyes. His throat was tight as he said, "You stupid fucking bastard."

Quirking an eyebrow, Sam said, "They didn't offer Con Job 101, Dean. You want to stop swearing at me?"

"No!" Dean tossed the letter at him, angrily. Then he shoved his duffel bag at Sam, and got a satisfying grunt as it hit Sam in the stomach. "You had a chance, you dumb- you could've-"

"I could've been bored shitless," Sam said dryly. "I could be half alive. I could live a 24 hour con job where there aren't demons out there, and where I'm up nights afraid for you-"

Dean shook his head. "I'm fucking fine, Sam, Jesus Christ-"

"Afraid for Dad. Hell, afraid for me and for whatever person I would've ended up marrying. Belial's not the end of it, Dean, and we both know it." Sam held Dean's eyes, not flinching. "There are other children out there like me. Like Meg. They're going to be very, very pissed that we killed their daddy. Tell me I'm wrong."

"All the more reason not to be around me." Dean tapped his hands on the wheel, restlessly. "I'm the one they'll want to hit. I'm the one who bound him."

"Stop," Sam said fiercely. "Stop the goddamn martyr bullshit, dude. If it's after you, it's after all of us. I'm not losing you twice."

Dean slanted Sam a look. Sam stared back at him, jaw set so tight he was shaking a little, his fists clenched in his lap and his eyes doing that too-bright thing.

"This really fucked you up," Dean said finally, quietly. "You're not okay."

"You're goddamn right it fucked me up. Jesus, Dean, I thought you were-" Sam looked around, grabbing for the leather cord around his neck and fumbling absently with it. "I thought you were gone. There was just this... gap in my life, this empty space, and... yeah. I'm still a little screwed up, okay?"

Dean sighed, looking down at his hands. Then he gripped the wheel, tight enough to see his knuckles through the skin. "Okay."

Sam raised his head, eyes shadowed. "Okay?" he asked, quietly.

"Yeah. Okay. I'm not going anywhere you can't follow, all right?" Dean flexed his fingers. "You don't have to do this."

"I want to," Sam said firmly. Then he cracked a grin. "Besides, I'm losing my mind in there. So. Goddamn. Bored."

"Yeah. Poor Dad. Oh well, soon Missouri'll be home to nag him to death." Dean pried his hands off the wheel, reached out and picked up the cord off Sam's throat. He studied the screw twined with cord, then looked at Sam, who wouldn't meet his eyes. "Dude. If you didn't use this to pick up chicks, I'm going to be so disappointed."

"What?" Sam asked, his nose wrinkling. "Yeah, women love hardware."

With an exaggerated sigh, Dean held up the cord and said, "Hey baby, want a screw?" As he held the cord up, something slid down under Sam's shirt. Dean grabbed it. "Dude! You kept my radio knob?"

Sam gave him a sheepish shrug. "Want your toe tag? It's in my wallet."

"Hey, I bit that wallet! Ugh." Dean wiped his mouth, then his tongue, on Dad's jacket. "Bleh. I got dead drug dealer in my mouth."

"And I have teeth-marks in my wallet," Sam said sourly. "Don't bitch or you're buying me a new one."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean slid the key in the ignition, hesitated for a second. "Sam? Last chance to-"

With an irritated noise, Sam reached out and grabbed Dean's hand, turning the key. The Impala purred to life, and Sam took his hand back. He tossed the duffel bag into the backseat and pulled his seatbelt on. "So. Dad suggested we hit this little town in Colorado," Sam said, rummaging for the atlas. "Leftover zombies.

Dean glanced at the house. Through the kitchen window, he could see a shadow. Dad, waiting to see them pull away safely. With a sigh, Dean snatch the radio knob off Sam's cord and pressed it into place. "Did everyone know I was leaving today but me?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Sam said cheerfully. Having flipped to the right page in the atlas, he reached out and opened the glove compartment. A small mountain of tapes tumbled out at Sam's feet.

"Thought those were dead," Dean said.

"Um. They kind of were. I made new ones. Had a lot of time to kill in the hospital."

While he still thought Dean was dead. Dean rubbed at the ache in his chest. "Uh-huh."

"Don't make a thing out of it," Sam muttered, but he was smiling as he shoved in the tape. "You pulling out or what?"

"Sounds like my prom date," Dean said. He grinned at the disgusted noise Sam made, and at the opening riff to Highway to Hell on the tape player. Putting the car in gear, he let her ease onto the road. Once she was there, he remembered the power under her hood, the smooth ride, and patted her wheel fondly. "We've got one stop to make before we go."

"Whatever," Sam said with a shrug. "We've got time."

Dean flashed him a grin, driving a little faster than was strictly necessary through the deserted streets. Dawn was breaking as they whipped into the parking lot outside the church where their hunt for the demon had ended. Sam turned to give Dean a curious look, but had his question answered as they rolled to a stop in front of the church steps.

Andrew was there in the priest garb and collar, gently ushering in a bevy of blue-haired women through the church doors. One of them had hold of his elbow and was talking his ear off, judging from Andrew's slightly pained look.

With a grin, Dean threw the brake on and eased out of the car. "C'mon, Sammy. Let's get some holy water."

"Yeah," Sam drawled. "Riiiight. Dude, so not blind."

Dean paused halfway up the steps, wincing at the sudden flare of memory that accompanied Sam's knowing little brother smirk. Sudden, graphic memory. It was one thing to know intellectually that he and Andrew had... been together. Known each other biblically. Whatever it was when you screwed a priest, Episcopalian or not. It was another to have it pop in his brain in vibrant technicolor, and wow, Andrew was flexible. And kinky. And loud.

Shaking it off, Dean opened his mouth to say hello. What came out was, "Hi, pumpkin."

Andrew turned sharply, staring at Dean. Then he laughed low in his throat, a promising sound. "Be with you in a minute." Going back to the old woman, he murmured something and patted her gently, helping her up the last step and into the church. He watched for a minute, making sure she got in all right, before spinning around to grin delightedly at Dean. "You would remember that first, you asshole. You look good."

"I'm pretty. You can say it." When Andrew made a rude noise, Dean punched him gently in the arm. "I need holy water. And a blessing, if you've got a second. The car, the weapons in the trunk and Sammy."

"And Dean," Sam said with a sigh, even as Andrew was saying sternly, "And you."

"Whatever," Dean said with a shrug, sliding his hands in his pockets. "Can't hurt."

"Dean, if anybody in this world could use a damn blessing..." Andrew dug in his jacket pocket, coming up with a little bottle of holy water. "Pop the trunk."

Dean tossed Sam the keys, let him pop the trunk. Andrew considered the arsenal inside with a muttered "niiiice", slapping Sam's shoulder absently. Then he cleared his throat, coughed into his fist and intoned, "Oh lord, bless this holy hand grenade..." As Sam snickered, Andrew glanced up at them both and winked. "Just fucking with you."

The car and the trunk got the quick Catholic-lite treatment, a bit of Latin and some holy water, Andrew making vague signs of the cross. Then he thumped the hood and turned to Sam. "C'mere. For you... any preference on pantheon? Because I've got 31 flavors."

"You're in a weird mood," Sam said, smiling.

"I got two hours of sleep. I'm punchy." Andrew shook his head, searching another jacket pocket. "You all are hard on my sleeping patterns. You're lucky I didn't show up naked again."

"Again?" Dean asked. "Well, that explains the senior citizen estrogen brigade."

Andrew ignored him, pulling out a pendant from his shirt pocket. It seemed to be one of about twenty. He rubbed the lint off, then twined the cord around his fingers and looked at Sam. "Come down here or get me a ladder."

Rolling his eyes, Sam leaned down. "What are you hitting me with?"

"Sumerian. Protection ward from one of the old gods." Andrew licked his thumb and pressed it to the pendant, and then the pendant to the center of Sam's forehead. "Hold still. This might sting."

Sam had a second to raise his eyebrows, a silent 'you could've mentioned that'. Then Andrew was speaking, low and quiet and fast, the words blurring into sounds that were lost under the hum of a truck passing on the highway. With a feeling like being snapped by a rubber band, right in the forehead, something rolled over Sam. He blinked away the afterimages as Andrew pulled the pendant away, leaning in to press a light kiss to the center of Sam's forehead.

Andrew murmured, too low for Dean to hear, "Don't let him con you. He needs you."

"I know," Sam said quietly.

"All right." Andrew thumped his shoulder, draped the pendant around Sam's neck and drew back. "You did good. Now go get some holy water. If you see my lousy mutt, take him for a walk around the side of the church."

Read: get out of our hair. Got it. With a smile, Sam rubbed his forehead. "Did that leave a giant kick me sign on my forehead?"

"Not that you can see," Andrew said dryly.

"That's comforting." Catching the bottle as Dean tossed it to him, Sam saluted Andrew with it. Then he looked at Dean. "I'm keeping the keys."

"I figured. Paranoid little bitch, aren't you?" Dean grinned as Sam flipped him off, turning to stride towards the church. "Hey, keep the old ladies occupied while you're in there! More action than you've gotten in months."

As the door closed, Andrew said from dangerously close to Dean, "He's a good kid."

Dean turned to look at him. He could feel the warmth of Andrew's breath on his throat. He swallowed, then smiled his best aggravating, cocky smile. "He does all right. So what do I get, Pig Latin?"

"Mm. No, I was thinking of an old Hebrew blessing," Andrew murmured.

"Hate Hebrew. Never could make sense of it. Can't you use Latin?" Dean asked.

"Nope. I'm set on the Hebrew." Andrew leaned in, touching Dean's cheek lightly. There was an intimacy in the touch that drew Dean's spine tight, and he was grateful when Andrew's eyes fluttered closed.

Andrew chanted, his voice rolling into an odd, harsh cadence. Dean felt the power, pressing down on him, over him like a warm touch. It tightened for a moment, almost choking, then released, laying over his skin with liquid heat.

Andrew leaned up, his lips brushing Dean's gently.

Memories swirled through Dean's head as Andrew's hand curled around his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. He remembered those hands touching, comforting, stroking slow over his skin. Dean relaxed, purring into the contact.

Surprised, Andrew teased his tongue along Dean's lips, testing.

Power and pleasure shivered through Dean, branding him, sinking into his skin. His hands slid down to Andrew's hips, pulling him closer, letting him deepen the kiss as Dean shuddered at the press of Andrew's lithe body against his.

After a long minute, Andrew pulled back, resting his forehead against Dean's. "Jesus. I really have to do Mass."

Dean blinked at him, lips curling in a vague smile. "Hell of a blessing, Andrew."

"I try." Andrew carefully stepped back, hand lingering on Dean's cheek. He stroked Dean's mouth with his thumb and shivered visibly. "Don't suppose you'd like to stay until after I finish?"

The memory of the last few weeks pushed through his lust fogged brain. Dean remembered the rough heat of other hands on him, scalding fresh burns on his hips, pinning him down. Dean felt his body tense, pulling back a little.

So much for nice, uncomplicated sex. Dammit.

With a sigh, Dean shook his head. "Have zombies in Colorado to deal with," he murmured. "We'll be back soon, though. Month, month and a half. Can I stop by then?"

"You'd better," Andrew smirked. He glanced up as Sam came down the stairs, Andrew's dog in his arms. "Thanks, Sam. Did he do anything?"

"Nah, he was too busy getting fussed over by the ladies," Sam murmured, looking at Dean's slightly befuddled smile and swollen lips. "You about ready?"

"Yeah. You can drive," Dean said, walking carefully to the car.

"Does that mean I get to pick the music?" Sam asked, turning over the engine.

"Don't push it, Sammy." Dean turned up AC/DC as they pulled out onto the highway.

EPILOGUE

Andrew watched as the Impala slid out of sight, then looked down at Darcy, who was sniffing around on the grass. "C'mon, baby. Daddy's got to say mass so we can go the hell back to bed."

A shrill tone made Darcy cock her head, and Andrew slid his phone from his pocket and flipped it open. "Father Murphy."

"They've left the city limits. Should we move on them?" a harsh voice asked, the sound like huge stones grinding together beneath the earth.

Andrew rolled his eyes. "Who's left the city limits?"

A pause. "The Winchester boys," it said slowly. "Sir, maybe you should consider a vacation."

"Their names?" Andrew asked pointedly.

"Sam and Dean?" the voice asked, sounding like nothing more than a child called to task by their teacher.

"Their full names?"

"Uh. I don't-"

"Samuel Gabe, as in Gabriel, and Dean Michael. Or did you miss the flaming sword in the cemetery, you idiot?"

"Yes, sir." At least he had the sense to sound sheepish. "Should we move on them?"

Andrew rubbed the bridge of his nose. "No. Let me make this clear. If they attack, by all means, defend yourself. Do it head on, no bullshit. No tractor trailers, no backstabbing, no dream-walking. But otherwise, leave them alone. Actually, just stay the fuck out of their way. Anyone who touches any of them without just cause will answer to me. And I decide what constitutes just cause. Do you understand?" he asked, voice hard. "They belong to me. I have final word."

"Yes sir." The other man sounded grudging. "May I say something?"

"No. Particularly if it's about objectivity. Now fuck off, and don't call me until it's something important." With a sigh, Andrew snapped his cell phone shut. Then he looked to the sky, shaking his head. "You gave me all the idiots. And you could've warned me that your wrath has freckles."

There was no answer. There usually wasn't.

With a last look down the road, he-- who was called many names: Arawn, Hades, Shiva, Set, Loki and more recently Lucifer, the Adversary, Lord of Lies, the patron saint of the left-hand son, the Prince of Darkness-- went in to say morning Mass.
****
The End.

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