linda92595 (linda92595) wrote,

Satuday's Child Pt 5 Supernatural John/Dean FRAO

Saturday’s Child Pt 5

Author: Linda Atkinson

Pairing: John/Dean

Warnings:  Violence, M/M sex, future fic.




The town was small, just another in a long, seemingly unending, parade of towns and cities. The car was ancient by modern standards. A 1967 Chevy Impala, the black paint and chrome bumpers glimmering in the late afternoon sun pulled up in front of the hotel. In the front seat sat two middle-aged men, one fair the other slightly darker. The fair-haired man parked the car, they got out. From the back seat a young woman no more than twenty-five spilled out. She stretched her long legs and her back cracked audibly. One of the men turned to her frowning and she grinned up at him. “Don’t look so glum, Dad.”


“Mary, you’ll cripple yourself someday doing that.” Dean sighed putting an arm up the young woman settled under it. He looked at their reflection in the mirror. His expression softened as he looked at his daughter, his only child. She had John’s coloring, warm brown eyes that turned whiskey amber in soft light, and thick brown curls. She was tall and lanky like Sam, but her personality was all his.


A third figure pressed in behind them. “You two going to look at yourselves all day?”  John grunted. Mary put her arm around his waist, and reached up to kiss his cheek.


Leaning in she whispered. “It’s easy to look at yourself when as good looking as me and Dad, Mama.”


John rolled his eyes. “Mary, don’t call me mama in public. Only when we’re alone you know that.”  The girl ducked from under Dean’s arm, and John slid in beside the other man. He looked a little sadly at the image. Dean’s honey colored hair was shot through with silver, and his cheeks covered with a dusting of red-gold stubble also shot with gray. Dean looked older than him now. And that troubled John. Although Dean hadn’t called John ‘Dad’ since Mary’s birth it made John sad to see his son aging so. They had found out, about fifteen years ago that John was stalled in time. Sam had researched it, and because of the combination of spells the demon had cast on him John was aging at a vastly reduced rate. He would outlive all of his family. Dean didn’t know it but John had some pills stashed away. When Dean, Sam and Mary were gone it he would take care of it.  He never mentioned it to them though.


Dean turned to his daughter. “Let’s get checked into the hotel, then you can go bring us back something to eat. I saw a Mexican place back there that looked promising, just no beans for your mother. I have to sleep in the same bed tonight.”  John glared at him.


“You don’t have to sleep with me; you can always bunk with Mary.”


“Oh no you don’t, you’re not shoving him off on me. He hogs all the blankets and snores.”  Mary snapped, hands settling on her hips. She shot John a frosty look.


“Welcome to my world.” John said smiling. “And Mary take your time getting dinner. Your dad and I need to do a little research…”


Rolling her eyes she snatched the money out of his hand. “For god’s sake why don’t you just say you want to fuck and for me to make myself scarce?”


Dean shot John a look over their daughter’s head. Grinning he pushed her jacket into her hands. “Take this; it looks like its getting cold out there. And Mary, your mom and I want to fuck so make yourself scarce.”


Flushing John shot Dean a disapproving look, but he sighed. There was no lying to their daughter—literally.  Mary was not entirely human, she was a Nike—a human incarnation of a goddess of truth. No one could lie to her. They had found that out early in her life.


June 4th 2009…


John and Dean sat in the living room floor, the parts to a tiny bicycle spread out in front of them. Mary, dress in pink pajamas settled on the floor staring at the two men. John barked his knuckles on the socket and dropped the wrench with a curse. Mary laughed and Dean shot him a look. “Don’t talk like that in front of her, John.”


Mary had cocked her head at Dean then frowned. “Don’t yell at mama, Daddy.”

John stiffened. They had not discussed how John was related to Mary yet, not wanting to confuse her. They had always referred to John by his name, hoping that she would too.  Somehow, even as a tiny baby, Mary had instinctively known that John had given birth to her, and had always called him mama. It had gotten them some stares and a few crude remarks, but John’s hard-ass glare had taken care of that in short order.



John sighed; the sheets were cold against his bare back. Dean was blanketing him so the cold air only touched his skin where Dean’s warmth was missing. Orgasm washed over him in a soft, gentle wave and John relaxed letting his legs fall from around Dean’s waist.  Grunting Dean pulled back, looking down at John, he slid his hand between them grasping John’s cock, but John gently shook his head. “I’m good, go ahead and come.”


They were sitting around the table when Mary knocked on the door half an hour later. She tossed her jacket on the bed, noting the rumbled sheets and then picked it up. “You guys are sleeping there, because that’s just gross.”


They ate huddled over John’s journal, a new brown leather book to supplement the others he had written over the years. Dean had a map of the town with different locations marked in red pen sitting on the table beside his food. Every now and then he would consult with the book John had spread out and mark another spot on the paper.


A few minutes later Dean’s cell phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket, and grinned. “We were waiting for you to call. So how’d the ritual go?”


In the house in Lawrence, Kansas, Sam hiked the phone closer to one ear while tying to juggle two books in the other hand.  He skimmed the walls of the garage in a streamlined wheelchair. He gave up and dropped one of the books. Leaning back he surveyed his work on the floor of the garage. The entire cement floor was painted scarlet red. In the center, carefully drawn in black coal, was a huge sigil. The four compass points were marked with circles and in each circle was a large black candle. Beneath the compass point for South was a small stand bearing a large round crystal. It was Sam’s scrying stone.  The past twenty-five years of hunting demons had brought many changes to Sam’s life--most notably the werewolf who had crippled him.


For years after Mary had been born John had stayed in Lawrence. He and Bobby with the help of both Dean and Sam had trained Mary for her role as a hunter. She was bright and eager sharing Dean’s love of the hunt. John had been less of a drill sergeant with her than he had been with the boys, and he had grudgingly admitted that motherhood had mellowed him. Sam had winced when John drunkenly admitted one evening that it was difficult to be a hard-ass with someone he had breastfed.


Sam’s control over his visions had improved to the point that he was still an active member of the hunt even though he was no longer physically capable of traveling with Dean and John. He could summon his visions now, and used them to guide the others through the hunts. Now Sam sat staring into the crystal until and image appeared. He had tried earlier and gotten an image he really didn’t want stuck in his mind’s eye. Although over the years he had grown to accept Dean and John’s relationship, and he dearly loved the little girl that his father had given birth to, it still freaked him out a little when he honed in on their location only to catch John and Dean in “the act.” He thought they probably did it on purpose. He wouldn’t put it past Dean anyway.


Sam focused his attention on the crystal, and slowly an image appeared. He could clearly see the table the others were gathered around. Dean centered the map so that it was square in his image. The red dots stood in sharp relief to the yellowing paper. Sam took a deep breath and eased into the scene. Soon it was as if he was sitting at the table as well. He could almost feel John’s shoulder brushing his from the next chair. He could feel Mary’s breath tickling his ear as she leaned over the map. “Back up a little squirt.” He said with a smile. She obligingly moved away from the empty chair.


“How’s that Uncle Sammy?”


His grin grew wider. “Good.” Suddenly the map jumped out at him, one of the red dots growing, spreading like blood soaking a sheet. The stain crept toward Sam, blood pooling over his fingers. He winced gritting his teeth until his jaw ached. The blood dripped from his fingertips, and Sam forced his attention to the map, letting his hand slide through the sticky pool and come to rest on a simple line drawing of a building. With a gasp Sam jerked his head back, and the blood evaporated from his hands, the map pristine and innocent laying unmoved on the table. Sam glanced down his fingers rested on the tiny drawing of a building at the intersection of two streets.  Jackson Street and Surrey Drive.” He hissed.


Dean turned the map toward himself, checking the location. There at the far end of town was an industrial park, at the corners of Jackson and Surrey. He grinned at the empty chair as if his brother was actually sitting in it, not two thousand miles away. “Yep, industrial park, probably warehouses. John get the phone book lets see what’s there.”


John retrieved the phonebook from the writing table beside the door, and slapped it on the table. He flipped through the pages and made a harsh sound when a full page ad appeared.  “Diablo Shipping…” he read through the copy on the page “We work like the devil so you don’t have to. Nobody ever said they were subtle.”


Mary turned the book and ripped out the page, “Hey, its kind of cute. Good copy at least.” She grinned at her parents. John sighed. “Well, I can appreciate the humor, if you had a sense of humor, Mom, you would too.”


John bristled. “I have a great sense of humor… A ghoul, a vampire and a banshee walk into a bar…”


Covering her ears with her hands Mary shrieked, “Dad please stop him, before it get’s too far.”



Grinning Dean patted John on the ass. John smiled at his daughter smugly. She huffed out a breath. “Don’t encourage him, Dad.”


Rolling her eyes as if she was the most put upon person in the world Mary rose retrieving her bag from the floor. “Great, you know we’re going to have to listen to him all night now, don’t you?”


Rising John pushed the chair in. “Let’s get prepped.”


Dean pulled the weapons bag over. He took out his .45, checked the clip and tucked a couple of spare clips into his jacket. He took three flasks of holy water out and handed one each to John and Mary. Pulling her jacket on she poured some of the holy water into a cup, and then slid the quiver of crossbow bolts out of the bag. Carefully she dipped the tip of each bolt into the holy water holding them out while John chanted a blessing over them in Latin.  When they had dried she placed the bolts in the quiver and poured the rest of the holy water back into the flask tucking it into her pocket.


John loaded his Glock, putting a clip full of silver bullets in it. Pulling a hunting knife with a serrated steel blade out he quickly tucked it into his hiking boot.  He handed a second knife over to Dean who checked the leather sheath and tucked the knife into the waistband of his jeans.


They waited until the sun was down to go out to the Impala. Mary’s crossbow was in the floor behind the driver’s seat.  Dean slid behind the wheel, and John settled in beside him. It was a short drive down Main Street, and then onto Jackson. They drove about ten miles out into the outskirts of town.


The landscape was bare, silent with huge amorphous shapes of buildings dotting the side streets. Diablo Shipping was the last building down Surrey Drive, a huge tilt-up cement structure with a corrugated steel roof.  Dean could see three loading ramps with corrugated steel doors on the side of the building facing the parking lot, and was sure that there would be three identical ramps on the opposite side as well.


There were offices at the front of the building, large glass windows and a double door fastened with a chain and padlock. No lights were showing from behind the drawn blinds, but that didn’t mean that no one was in the building. In fact, John was certain that someone would be waiting.


Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot, no reason to hide. Once they hit the door all hell would break loose and better to have the car close in case they needed to make a quick get-away.  Propping the trunk open with a sawed-off shot gun, Dean picked up bolt cutters and handed them to John. After a pause Dean pulled the shot gun out and grabbed a box of shells, they were packed with rock salt but still effective for most of the undead.


They slipped across the black expanse of the parking lot, to the shadow covered doorway.  With Dean and Mary standing guard John slipped the bolt cutters into the chain and snapped the links. The chain fell to the ground with a hollow clanking sound. Dean leaned back and kicked the door. The bolt rattled and he frowned glancing at John. John shrugged as if to say there was no need for quiet whatever was in there was probably already aware they were coming.


One more kick sent the door banging off the wall. John took point. Holding the Glock aloft he swept the interior of the hall. There were two doors leading into offices, one on either side both possible hiding places. He studied the doorjambs, both doors opened into the room, not out into the hallway. They had caught a break at least half way, it would be almost impossible for anyone in the room to open the doors quickly enough to spring out at them; their movements would be hampered by having to clear the door first.  Of course, it also meant that they couldn’t wedge the doors closed to keep them from being opened at all.


Dean stopped pouring a line of rock salt across the floor beneath the first door, and then tossed the canister to John who salted the second door. That took the offices out of play, at least if the inhabitants were demons. The hall was silent, but at the far end Dean was sure he heard shuffling, as if someone was waiting just beyond the third door in the hall, leading out into the warehouse itself. 


The hall was dark, and even though their vision had adjusted, the warehouse would probably be darker still. Mary took up her position to the rear crossbow at the ready. John slipped behind Dean and he kicked the door open. John pushed Mary to the left wall shielding her with his body, Dean ducked to the right. A single gunshot whined passed them, digging into the wall just beside John and Mary’s position. Their opponents appeared to be unhampered by the darkness themselves. John grunted, that meant they were dealing with demons-which could see perfectly well in darkness.


John reached into his pocket and pulled out a Hellfire cube. The small block was made of wax coated in tar and rolled in sulphur. The cube would burn even if doused in water, and it created a white-hot light that was as bright as daylight. Wiping the sulphur off the gasoline soaked wick John hustled a book of matches out of the same pocket and lit the cube. The wick caught with a hiss. He threw the cube into the room and ducked back. In a minute the sulphur and tar caught and the room erupted in bright light. A muted shriek issued from inside, and Dean charged the door.


The demon huddled beside the door jerked upright as they came into the room. Mary shot it with the crossbow, the bolt hitting the demon in the chest and traveling halfway out the demon's back. The figure burst into flames. Dean kicked it back; the demon hit the wall and collapsed writhing on the floor.


A second figure appeared at the side wall. John wasn’t sure it was demon in its true form or a possessed human, and didn’t care. He drew a bead on the man’s chest, and fired one shot. The bullet hit mid-abdomen and the man fell, blood fanning out around his prone body.


Movement on one of the ramps caught Dean’s eye, but he was too far away to hit the figure with the .45. He debated, briefly, dropping the handgun in favor of the shotgun, but abandoned the idea. This demon would not fall to mere rock salt. 


With a movement of one hand, the warehouse sprang into full light, the warm glow of the overhead bulbs filling every corner. The man smiled, he was warm and welcoming. He was tall and slender his lean-jawed face framed in a neatly trimmed beard. His blue eyes were warm, glowing with a gentle light.


Dropping his gun Dean pulled the journal out and chanted a binding spell. The man looked annoyed but not particularly put out. He smiled.


 “That was not strictly necessary you know, my body guards are dead so I’m pretty much at your mercy.”


Grinning he blinked slowly at Dean. The words died in his throat, and Dean stilled frozen in place. Mary dropped back, but suddenly John moved forward, closer to the demon. He raised the Glock.


A voice tickled in John’s mind. He shook his head. From somewhere far away he could hear someone calling him…calling his name. Suddenly the warehouse faded and John was face to face with a specter. Tall and willowy she was garbed in a white nightgown, her blonde hair flowing around her shoulders.


“John,” she whispered. Trembling he raised a hand, and Mary smiled. “Did you have a dream? I didn’t want to wake you, but I knew that I shouldn’t let you sleep on the couch. You always get a crick in your neck.”


John stumbled forward, the nursery was softly lit by the lamp in the corner. The warm rich oak of the furniture mellowed by the yellow lamplight. In the crib just under Mary’s hand was a bundle, blanket swathed and rounded. “I just wanted to check on Sammy.”


“Oh, Mary.” John sighed. He stood struck absolutely still. The demon smiled


Mary glanced at her mother; somehow she didn’t think that John was talking to her.

“Mama,” she hissed urgently. John’s body jerked. He turned slightly, a puzzled expression on his face.


A voice carried to John. He turned away from the crib. A girl was calling for her mother. But he and Mary didn’t have a little girl. He knew the voice wasn’t Dean. Even at four his son sounded undeniably male.


Mary moved away from the crib. “John, what’s the matter? Don’t worry; it’s all going to be okay.  It can all be okay. All you have to do is say yes. Don’t you want it to all be okay, honey? Just say the word and it all goes back to the way it was. Don’t you understand, John—no fear, no pain, no broken heart. It all goes away—everything goes away.”


John frowned, “Everything, but what about Dean. We have…we have.”


Suddenly she was right in front of him, her body warm, smelling of the rose scented lotion she always wore. “I know what you have with Dean. How could you do that to our son, John? It’s wrong.  Did you do that when he was still a little boy? Did you touch him even then?”


 John flinched. “No, Mary. I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t do that. You know that.”


She sneered, “How can I know? You were sure willing to spread your legs for him when he grew up, John. Don’t you want all that guilt gone? It can be, just say so and it all goes away.”


Frowning John took a step away. “All, but what about, Mary. She’s mine, too. Ours- Dean and mine.”  He turned away and Mary screamed fingers twisting into his shirt sleeve. Suddenly the warm yellow lamplight became the red glow of fire. Mary’s face crumbled, yellowed then turned to a blackened lump. John staggered. The corpse raised a twisted claw, reaching for his face. “Is this what you want, John. You’d give me up for him? After what he did to you?”


The burning nursery dissolved into the bare, empty room of a cabin. John found himself on the floor, half-naked with Dean grunting over him. Pain ripped through him. “Is this what you want, John?” Dean snarled.


“No, make it stop.” John shoved against his son, and found himself suspended in time. Hovering over his prone body lying on the floor.  Another voice called to him. “Mama, please…I need your help.”


John found himself standing in a classroom, the kindergarten class at Rosewood Elementary School. A charming older woman dressed in jeans and a sweater was smiling at him. He felt awkward sitting in the tiny undersized chair while Mrs. Walker told him about Mary’s incident. She said it just that way –incident.  John nodded patiently and turned watching his baby girl playing in the sandbox. Mrs. Walker caught his attention. “Mr. Winchester you must impress upon Mary that one does not throw woodchips at another student. John assured her he would do so.


Glancing out at the playground again he asked, “Which kid did she throw them at?”


With a sigh Mrs. Walker pointed out a chubby little boy seated on the end of the slide. He stared defiantly at the other kids who were trying to slide down, tucking his fat little arms under his armpits. John frowned. “The little shit deserved it,” He thought, but to Mrs. Walker he simply said. “I’ll talk to her about it as soon as she gets home.”


A rush of warmth suffused John, and he drew a deep shuddering breath. The classroom dissolved and he was standing in the warehouse, Dean by his side and Mary at his back. Suddenly he realized that he was blocking Mary’s shot. He dropped to his knees. “Mary, I’m sorry.” He said and he wasn’t sure who he was talking to. “Shoot him, Mary. Shoot the bastard now.”


The crossbow bolt hit the demon full in the chest. He reared back screaming in pain. His face wavered, twisting into a hate filled mask. His body erupted in flames, knocking John to the floor. Released from the demon’s hold Dean dropped the book, snatched his gun up and opened fire. He emptied half the clip into the sagging body. Then he darted forward seizing John by the arm.


Dean wrapped his arm around John’s waist, and Mary grabbed him from the other side. They staggered out of the warehouse. The Impala pulled out of the parking lot, and Dean drove back to the hotel.


Later that night John lay wrapped in Dean’s arms.  He could hear the soft rustle of Mary’s breath as she slept. It took him back to the nights they lay together in with the baby sleeping in the cradle beside the bed. Dean had been subdued since they had killed the demon. John felt a distance between them for the first time in years. “What did he offer you?” Dean whispered in the darkness. John signed.


“What he thought I wanted.”




“More than just her, my whole life to do over. But if it all went away then our Mary went with it. And that was all he wanted, to destroy the only person in the world who could kill him.” With a shrug John turned looking up at Dean. “He didn’t understand I wouldn’t sacrifice one of my kids for the others, and not for an empty promise. He couldn’t do it you know. Demon’s lie.”


Shuffling around John rose up. He peered at Dean. “What did he offer you?”


Dean sighed pulling John down again, resting his head against Dean’s shoulder.




“Nothing?” John asked.


Dean smiled dropping a kiss on John’s forehead. “There was nothing he could offer me. I have everything I want right here.”


The End

















Tags: fiction het, fiction other, fiction slash

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