A/N; I would ask anyone who missed it, to go back and read the warning on the story notes, it is not my intention to catch anyone unawares.
This story is set post Hell House but Pre Dead Man's Blood and is just something I wanted to take out for a ride. I love the 'fallen' hunters in series one and find the Winchesters young life a tantalizing, half told story. How did they become who they are? Especially Dean - how much must he have seen at way too young an age to be so far removed from himself? Anyway, that is what is rattling round in my head - have a vague direction where I am heading but no map, so the journey will be a surprise for me also... please keep checking Chapter notes, just in case. Thanks.
Fearsome LoyaltyCHAPTER ONE;
Entreat me not to leave you, Or to turn back from following after you. – Ruth v: 1 l: 16
Sunlight always suited churches, especially those with stained glass like Boxborough Memorial Church, Massachusetts. The way the light slotted through the window crevices highlighting faded tapestry cushions, scattered randomly on the rich, well worn, wooden pews; was a majestic piece of natural beauty. Golden beams wandered waywardly in straight lines, with just enough magic to hold the spell that allowed your thoughts to wander without subjecting them to the full harsh light of day. The smell of polish and flowers was intoxicating to most; with a few exceptions. Jim Murphy knew that he was given to poetic flights of fancy, but the young man on the alter step before him, appeared to require more than verbal bolstering to ease his nerves. The Pastor tried hard to conceal the out of place devilish grin that seeped across his face. Sunlight, on the man before him, only served to make the perspiration stand out on his face and upper lip. The 'incense' of polish and flowers only seemed to irritate his sinuses; as his nose was permanently scrunched up, in a distasteful grimace.
A less well informed clergyman may have assumed that the occasional feverant whisper that emanated from the young man at the alter, was perhaps a rehearsal of his vows, or a special prayer. Jim knew better. The whispers were more like angry, steam venting curses. He was under no illusion that a few were headed his way, however the majority were directed down the aisle, at the slow procession of a six foot two inch man with dark hair that fell into his eyes every time he tried to offer the four foot nine blond, on his arm an encouraging smile. The most striking thing about the couple was not that one was built like a Redwood whilst the other favored a shrub; it was the tortuously slow pace they moved at due to the thick leg cast the woman wore. She tried to keep smiling at her companion as she used him as a Zimmer frame. For his part he obliged as best he could, especially when her none too dainty cast came down heavily on his foot a few times. The tall man kept switching his gaze between the struggling bride to be, and the agitated man at the alter, to whom he offered a tight "Be patient… play nice" look.
Jim watched as the short cropped, blond haired man, swiveled back round towards him, and his jade green eyes grew suspicious when they caught a partial smirk the Pastor was too slow to cover. The impatient man's well chiseled features drew into a fierce frown, that signaled he was about two heartbeats away from storming down the isle, hoisting the bride like a mainsail and floating her the rest of the way to the alter across his shoulders. At this point Murphy did relent a little – he made eye contact with the young man before him and stepped nearer to him in a confidential manner.
"Easy Dean, it's nearly over, and Meredith is doing the best she can."
Dean cut a look at the Pastor that made him fully aware of Dean's opinions of Meredith's best efforts, but he stayed put. Jim couldn't help smiling fondly at the young man he had helped to raise.
He added an obliging "Thank you son – God knows this couple is going to need all the help they can get!"
Dean snorted and whispered loudly; "Yeah Jim speaking of the couple in question – isn't the groom supposed to be getting all this premarital exercise? When you said you needed help with a ceremony, we thought…"
Jim kept his eyes trained on the bride, like a lighthouse beacon to a flailing ship and whilst barely moving his lips, he addressed Dean softly.
"Davis is a doctor and is currently across town handling a difficult delivery. Besides, what did you think I meant by ceremony? Consecrating silver rounds, decommissioning a black alter or maybe an exorcism? Come on Dean, Pastor first, hunter second remember?!"
Dean made a scoffing noise that slightly breached the minimum sound barrier and forced the stand-in groom to turn around and throw the hobbling bride a lopsided cheery smile, before turning his disbelieving gaze back to Murphy.
"Jim, your life is more complicated than Batman's … and why the heck would you not pick Sammy for the glowing groom; this is way more his scene? The only premarital exercising I do is…"
"House of God Dean!!" The Pastor's warning hiss was like that of a rattlesnake about to strike.
Although he favored the older man with the "told you so" look and his patented smart-alecky grin, Dean said no more on the subject. He even remembered all the correct responses and managed to maintain a civil – albeit forced, Stepford, demeanor throughout the proceedings.
Watching his brother's back from the relative safety of the front pew sidelines, Sam could indulge all the broad grins he wanted. When Jim had asked him if he would stand in for the groom, he had realized two things. Firstly the "Ceremony" was not of the Supernatural kind and secondly, Dean had simply not paid enough for the itching powder in the shorts stunt, he had pulled back in the Hell House at Richardson, Texas. Sam swallowed a small lump that rose unbidden to his throat. There were other reasons he had no intention of playacting the groom at this or any other point in the near future. The many and varied barbs that Jessica's death had marked him with, still shocked him as he stumbled across them from time to time. He cleared his throat. Well at least he could breathe her perfume in now without wanting to run away and find the nearest airless vacuum and lock himself in it! Good thing too, as Meredith and Jessica shared more than the same shade of hair color. The rest of the affair went off without a hitch; Sam was certain this was to Dean's great relief.
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New England was frigid this time of year, and Dean shivered involuntarily in the fresh air. Sam glanced at him casually.
"You can't come down with something on your Wedding night dude – its bad luck or something."
Dean's mouth pulled at the corner and he offered his brother a withering look.
"Thanks for the advice … Dad - I can call you Dad, right Dad… seeing as you have now officially given me permission to violate your daughter?"
"Boys" Jim rumbled, as they walked from the church to the lodging at the rear, where he had agreed to put the brothers up.
"Sorry Jim" Sam replied immediately.
He had always admired Murphy's religious courage in the face of all he knew, and his brother held the same level of estimate for the clergyman – who along with Caleb's family and Bobby had practically raised them.
"You know Dean has trouble recognizing the difference between appropriate and inappropriate behavior."
"I do not!" Dean cried indignantly. "Jim accepts me for who I am; Mary Whitehouse. Besides I feel the need to cleanse myself after that little scene. I think I will meditate and seek the spirit with firewater."
Sam rolled his eyes hoping Jim's tolerance for Dean's blasphemous humor was as hardy as ever.
"That's the Holy Spirit, genius, not Jose the spirit… it doesn't come in a shot glass and it's represented by fire and not alcohol!"
Jim threw a backward glance at the boys.
"Sam – seminary school remains an option you know?"
Though he made the younger Winchester smile at his half intended quip, it was the older brother Jim needed a closer look at. Dean had not gone to church since he was ten, and had always taken the biblical verses with a chunk of rock salt even before that. Jim recalled a conversation with the elder boy, where, to Dean's world weary eyes, God was a disappointment – back when he acknowledged God- the boy couldn't understand how a being so powerful could allow such awful things to walk the earth amongst the children he loved; Dean had been six. The clergyman had always mourned the passing of Dean's childhood at the age of four, and admired how he fought so hard from a tender age to ensure his younger brother never shared his fate.
Dean caught the Pastor's gaze on him and blushed slightly.
"So thank you for letting us crash with you, we are kind of getting low on funds." Looking to Sam significantly he added in a too neutral tone "Something I'll have to remedy before long."
Jim reached the small pristine house at the rear end of the church and opened the door.
"If you are seeking out the local bar Dean, please try to remember I have to work for a while in this community. Try not to clean too many people out; it's not good for my business if I'm sponsoring the biggest shark in town."
Dean quirked a smile but looked unconsciously over his shoulder at the whitewashed world of Boxborough Massachusetts.
"That is assuming that this fine upstanding community allows gambling or bars Padre? I swear something about these white picket fences gives me the creeps!"
Sam shook his head knowingly as they headed for the living room.
"Oh that's right, while in Oasis Plains, Oklahoma, Dean had the epiphany that something about manicured lawns makes him want to blow his brains out!"
Dean obliged his brother's sarcastic quote with a discreet middle finger salute.
"Dean, New England architecture is famed for its grace and form…"
Sam turned off from the direction his thoughts were taking, not wanting to fuel the wicked grin on the older Winchester's face. Again the physic link to 555-Pain –in –my Ass, kicked in and Sam could practically hear Dean's sarcastic; "Pass on the doilies Francis!", or something equally teasing involving a girls name!
"You prefer Motel structures then Dean?" Jim asked passing out the warm drinks.
Shrugging Dean replied "You know what to expect with those places – but all this sanitized, picture perfect stuff… What are they trying to whitewash? Nothing is that pure."
Jim regarded the young man with unreadable eyes. "Intentions sometimes can be son…"
The Pastor didn't elaborate as he bent down to feed the fire in the humble fireplace.
Dean threw Sam a "What the hell" look. Sam's curiosity was also piqued, but he knew Jim would not be drawn on information he did not wish to give. Years of confessional training had made the man more of a steel trap than Dean.
The fire was beginning to grow into a healthy blaze; the welcome heat drew a yawn from Dean.
"Why don't you boys get some rest" the Pastor suggested "you must be tired and I hardly gave you a chance to set your bags down before commandeering you both."
His smile was warm and affectionate, and Sam put aside his guard – this was Pastor Jim, surrogate Father to them both. It had been so long since Sam had spent any real time with the man, that he was surprised by the wave of nostalgia that hit him.
"Do you think you will have sometime to run through some of those old Latin texts of yours later?" Sam nodded towards Dean. "I am sure the Hustler here will be perfectly safe flying solo. There are no biker bars here right?"
Jim barked out a laugh "Not in this town… though they were debating putting in a section at the Boxborough Museum and historical society – you know for posterity sake."
Dean shook his head in feigned defeat. "Bookworms, your all alike… no soul!"
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The room they shared was comfortable, warm and clean, it outstripped many of the motels and dives they had called shelter over the years. The beds were crisp and inviting and both brothers drifted off within seconds of first contact with the marshmallow soft pillows. Sam's dreams took him down a familiar bittersweet path, overgrown with longed for desires that could never be, and harsh realities he wished that never were. Dean on the other hand had stepped down memory lane, or at least some adjoining back ally – he knew he was himself, but the oddly familiar landscape and characters in his dream mocked him with their borrowed feel.
The grassy area was hidden from general view behind the baseball dug-out. Dean was as unperturbed by the isolated spot, so far from help, as he was unfazed by their creative fourteen year old taunts. Although he couldn't help quirking a smile when one of the bullies training wheelies – the left one – deployed his arsenal of insults to effect, calling Dean a;
"Snotty little prussey."
The leader did his best to ignore the damage to his credibility, the other boys lisp had unintentionally caused, when he fixed his cold eyes on Dean.
"I don't know your fucking brother short-ass, but if you don't get the hell out of here – yesterday … you 'ain't leavin' on your own two legs!"
Dean's face let nothing slip. Deadpan worked best when you were trying to avoid becoming dead meat. It wasn't that Dean doubted that he could take the three of them, he was well aware of his talents. It was more a case of how much was just enough to send a convincing message, but not enough to call unwanted attention to the Winchester boys. Dean was not overrating his abilities. He had been training since he was six, five, if you counted the mental controls and visual techniques his Father had 'played' with him. By the ripe old age of ten, he was used to taking on opponents who far outweighed him; he had only had his ass handed back to him three times this year. Most recently by a drunken biker in one of the dive bars his Father had felt the need to wallow in. It wouldn't happen again – Dean was a fast study. He knew now that when trying to drag your blind drunk Dad out of a fight, insulting one of his opponents long dead Momma, wasn't the smartest tactic. Especially when said opponent had already been expressing his displeasure a moment ago with his size eleven pool que!
No, Dean was not concerned about winning here. He was worried about winning a little too well. He glanced at the dark haired girl who looked like she had just left the planet and was currently orbiting the moon. He had no time to ponder what the boys had done to cause her checked out state, because, he realized he had passed the red flag warning Mitchell had so generously given him. Right now the other two were trying to spread out and cover the younger boy from all sides… presumably to give the more even bruising pattern.
Dean shook his head. "Mitchell, before I lay you and your boyfriends out for nap-time, I want you to remember something."
The largest of the boys grinned arrogantly. "What's that freak? Your blood type?"
"No fuck-wit … his name is Sam, and if you ever screw with him …" Dean gestured at the girl "…or anyone else again, I will end you."
The two chuckle heads at his four and eight, made the predictable, post pubescent 'Whoa' noises, but Mitchell, who was the only one looking directly at the cold light in Dean's green eyes, swallowed slightly.
He drew up enough spit to grate "Fuck him up!"
Dean cocked his signature half wolf grin, as he took first defensive position, but made no other move. Naturally the fearless leader sent in his lisping second lieutenant first, with a nod.
"Gutsy Mitchell" Dean observed dryly as he sized up the lanky blond.
The other boy swung clumsily even as the kid to his left charged in, sucker punch at the ready. Dean deflected the half assed swing while grabbing the guy's jacket and running him head first into his friends charge. There was a loud grunt and Dean took the opportunity to extend his leg and let the air out of the second boy's stomach. The kid went down hard as the younger boy shifted his stance and swept Blondie's legs from under him, sending him crashing down on top of his buddy.
"You little prick" Mitchell yelled outraged.
To Dean's surprise the thick shouldered youth charged him head on. He braced himself and took the hit to the chest, as Mitchell tried to drive him into the ground. Using his elbow as his feet left the floor; he made contact with Mitchell's jaw. Landing hard, but with a continuous roll that moved him out of the meat-head's grasp, Dean began to reign blows in on Mitchell, whilst keeping a weary eye on the other two; in case the stupid was strong in them!
"Stop!" a commanding male voice carried to them.
Dean disengaged quickly, accepting the split lip and solid impact to his side that went with not drawing too much attention to the ten year old who had just taken out two far older students.
"I said stop it now Mitchell!"
Mr. Mckinvoy strode angrily towards the group, just as Dorothy arrived back from her trip to Oz and blinked at the scene in front of her. Mckinvoy took in the brunette's frightened features.
"Run along Ruth, there is no need for you to witness any more of this unpleasantness; I will send for you if I require your perspective."
There was a flash and a jumble of images.
Open door….spilling light… muffled cries… bloodied fists and then Dean's own face came into sharp focus. He was pale and there was a pretty impressive shiner making its appearance felt on his left socket.
"Run Ruthie…" he gasped "… RUN!" His breathing hitched "For wherever you go, I will go… And wherever you lodge, I will lodge."
He could hear heartfelt sobbing and something was spoken but was snatched away by his dreams selective state. As was the girls face.
"I will not leave you. I promise" His voice was steadier than the hands he laid on her shoulders.
Dean woke with a gasp, his eyes snapping back so fast he was sure he must have touched a live wire. Every nerve ending was jumping and he had to fight for control of his breathing and racing heart. The light went on, on the other side of the room.
"Dean" Sam asked groggily "you ok?"
Dean blew out his last calming breath – no way Sam was going to learn from his lips that he'd watched Yoga stress relief, daytime T.V, even before Sam had outlined its uses on a flight possessed by a Phantom Traveler in Pittsburgh some months back.
(Jesus their lives were strange!) "Just a weird dream Sam, go back to sleep" he replied automatically.
"You had a nightmare?" Sam pushed.
"No Wendy-lady, my 'weird' is not the same as your wacky nightmares… so I don't need a story or a thimble… thanks!"
"Fine" Sam grated, and might as well have added the "asshole", he was so obviously thinking.
Dean felt a little guilty. He had overreacted only because the dream might as well have been manufactured by Disney, for all the memory it triggered.
(Was it real? Had it happened? Who the hell was Ruthie and why was he quoting Shakespeare or whatever Ye Olde gibberish was, at her?!)
He swiped a hand over his face as he rose, making for the bathroom.
Sam's head came up from the pillow, as his gaze followed his brother's broad back out of the room. Although Dean kept trying to sell that 'clear conscience, sleep like the dead' line to him – Sam was not buying. Dean kept his fears to himself, barely acknowledging he had them. Anytime he was so distracted he didn't even have a cover story for Sam, Sam was going to start paying more attention. Weather or not Peter Pan wanted him and his shadow scrutinized or not!
End Notes:
Dean's 'Shakespearean' quote is actually from the Book of Ruth - verse 1.... all will become clear... or less murky at any rate???!!! LoL.
So hopefully some of you are still out there and willing to share what you thought? Thanks for reading.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.