Indifferent
A Boondock Saints/Supernatural crossover
Pairings: light fluff/slash Dean/Asexual!Connor, light fluff and slash Sam/Open!Asexual!Murphy, Asexual!Twins in a queerplatonic life partnership fluff.
Warnings: MacManus/Winchester mouth, talk of sex, blood, drinking, smoking, the usual stuff.
Chapter One(?)/The Meeting
A convenience store seems a bit cliché for a run-in location, but that is where our story begins; in an old 7-11 located on a lone stretch of highway just off Route 21. Miles from any city or town either way, the Winchesters did not expect anyone else to be in the store, especially not at the hour that they stopped in, but, sure enough, two men were also inside, far in the back by the alcoholic drinks. Dean and Sam didn't pay much attention to them; both were far too tired, and interested only in getting as much caffeine and food into their systems as possible. Likewise, the two men paid little attention to the brothers, if they even noticed them at all. Smokes, alcohol, and food if they could afford it was all they were there for, and then it was back to walking.
Both pairs of brothers made it to the register at the same time. Sam, being gentleman-like, allowed the other two to go first. The man with the bed hair and his partner mumbled a thanks in German before taking their place in front of the line. As their items were being rung up, another car pulled into the small parking lot-if it could even be called that-out front, the floor-to-ceiling windows revealing two policemen exiting the vehicle. "Shit," Dean heard the man with the messier-and-shorter-hair curse beneath his breath as he nudged his companion in the ribs, who replied equally as quiet in a different language.
The two policemen entered the 7-11 looking particularly famished. At the friends' reactions, Sam flicked his head toward them once he'd gotten Dean's attention, disguising it as a hair flip. Dean nodded; he knew what he had to do. Carefully, he bent forward and whispered, "You two in some kinda trouble, buddy?"
The elder male merely flicked his cold blue eyes at him in response. Dean nodded softly once and motioned with his thumb over his shoulder when he'd turned back to his brother. Sam tightened his jaw and shuffled off to distract the officers so the men could get away.
Just as this was happening, a fax came in through the fax machine by the out-of-date computer. The clerk apologized and took hold of the paper as it came in, frowning slightly. Dean saw the younger man's expression change when he saw what was on the paper. Frightened, the cashier lifted his head and was about to say something when the one to his left headbutted him sharply, knocking him out. Before he hit the ground, both men caught him and slumped him over the counter. Dean took their bags and shoved them at them, hissing, "Go, now. I'll take care of him."
"T'anksya, mister." The elder thanked him, his Irish accent thick.
"Aye, t'anks." The younger nodded before he was pulled out the door into the early morning.
Dean quickly set about getting rid of the mug shots, not really looking at it, just folding it and slipping it into his back pocket. He then cried out and beckoned for help in mock concern.
After the policemen had called for an ambulance, Sam and Dean slipped out before they could ask for statements and/or their names, taking their bags of stolen food with. They hadn't gotten far in the Impala when their headlights caught two men in their beams, walking slowly with their black coats bundled close about them to block out the cold air. Sam asked, "Hey, aren't they the two guys from the 7-11?"
Dean squinted, and then nodded. "Yeah, yaknow, you're right." After a few minutes, he pulled over beside them.
"Wait, Dean-"
"Shh."
Sam shushed.
Rolling down the window, Dean asked the two-who had stopped when he had pulled over-if they needed a lift. Completely in sync, they looked at each other, somehow managed to communicate through eyelash flutters and facial twitches, before looking back at Dean and nodding. Pretending to be unphased, the hunter flicked his head toward the back of the Impala with a smile. "Hop in."
"So where you headed?" Sam asked them after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.
"Where're you headed?" The younger questioned.
"Idaho." Dean replied.
"Dere, t'en." Older Irishman said in answer to Sam's question.
More silence. Dean broke it by asking, "So what're your guys' names?"
"Connor and Murphy MacManus. I'm Connor and 'es Murph." Connor told him, with Murphy nodding politely.
Sam choked on his coffee, whispering "Jesus Christ," under his breath and sending "Holy crap" eyes in Dean's direction, who made a confused face. "You alright there, Sam?"
"Ahem, yeah, I'm good. Just... wrong pipe."
"Mm. So, brothers, huh? Us, too." Dean returned his attention to Connor, sticking a hand back to shake. "Dean. And he's Sam."
Connor and Murphy shook his hand. "Nice ta meet ya,"
"Likewise."
"And t'anks fer helpin' us back dere."
"Aye; dat was a risky thing ya did."
"Ah, it was nothin'. Glad to help fellow drifters out, ain't that right, Sammy?"
When Sam didn't reply, Dean hit him sharply. "Ow! Uhm, yeah,"
Dean smiled into the rear view mirror at Connor, who looked up from his brother and let slip a small smile in return.
When the caffeine no longer began to keep them awake, they pulled off to the side of the road to sleep. They couldn't see anything for miles, which had, unfortunately, ruled out a motel. The MacManus' didn't mind; "Beats sleepin' in da bushes," Connor shrugged, which Murphy agreed to.
The sleeping arrangement was two in the front seats, two spooning in the back. Connor and Murphy took the back, having done such a position many times in the past. Sam was confused as to why they weren't even the slightest embarassed or nervous to sleep so close together, and brought it up to Dean as they brushed their teeth outside of the Impala. "Don't you think it's kinda weird that they don't mind sleeping in the back, all pressed up against each other like that?" He motioned toward the backseat.
Dean frowned. "Why do you care?"
"I dunno, it's just... they're so, close."
"Of course they are, they're brothers."
"Yeah, but..." Sam made a face that said "you know".
Dean didn't get it at first, but when he did he gagged on his toothpaste. "Aww, Sammy, that's gross."
"Come on, Dean! Think about it: the way they look at each other, how they're always so in sync and seem to communicate with their eyes-"
"Do you ever stop and think that maybe they're just twins?" Dean butted in, spitting out his toothpaste. Sam's mouth opened and closed like a fish. Dean, sensing an epic bitchface coming on, rolled his eyes and turned toward the driver's seat of the Impala. "Come on, Sherlock. Bedtime."
Sam did indeed pull a bitchface as he, too, climbed back into the warmth of the car.
Everyone but Dean fell asleep quickly. Even though two hours or so had passed since they'd all settled in, he couldn't seem to shut his brain off. Too much of it was on Connor, the (seemingly) elder MacManus brother. MacManus. The mug shots. Dean rolled onto his side and pulled the paper from his back pocket, rolling back onto his back as he tried to unfold it without making too much noise. He succeeded, and with the light from his mobile phone managed to read what was on it. Weirdly, it said that they had been arrested, but their mugshots were hand-drawn instead of camera shots like they normally were. When he got down to the charges, he muttered, "Holy shit."
Serial murder and vigilantism were the only two charges, and since they weren't in jail Dean guessed escaping from prison was another. The date on the paper said that they'd escaped in 2009-the same year they were incarcerated-from The Hoag in Boston. He remembered hearing about that place; maximum security, round-the-clock guard, the best for the worst. How the hell did they manage to escape? Dean suddenly felt strange... it felt almost like admiration. Fumbling, he went to Google on his phone and looked up "the MacManus brothers". He didn't expect what he got.
They had a cult following.
But that wasn't what he was looking for. He scrolled until he found news articles and video clips. Many of the titles and articles called them the "Saints of Boondock", or other variations. As he read and watched and went farther back in time (to 1999), that feeling of admiration grew and grew until he found himself rooting for the twins. They hadn't killed because they thought it was fun; they'd simply been doing what they thought was right, what the police wouldn't and couldn't. In fact, they'd wiped out the mafia problem in Boston completely. Twice. But there was something else; the way the brothers had killed the gangsters, with their arms crossed over their chests and pennies in their eyes. Dean knew enough mythology to know what that meant. And yet, for some reason, he didn't mind it, that they had been "supposedly" killing for God. Any dead bad guy was a good bad guy in this hunter's book, and the murderer worthy of a round or two.
A hand touched Dean's shoulder, causing him to jump slightly. "Oi, sorry, Deany. Didn't meanta scare ya," Connor's low Irish tones whispered into Dean's ear. The eldest Winchester turned about to face him, ignoring the tingling in the area the sandy brown-haired Celtic had spoken into.
"It's fine. I was just, surfin' the Web."
"I saw what you were lookin' at, Dean. It's 'lright."
Dean winced, but when he heard no contempt or hurt in the words, he relaxed with an embarrassed chuckle. "You're quite the celebrity."
Connor shrugged, the moon and mobile screen light lighting his muscled shoulders with pale blue. Only then did Dean notice he had no shirt and felt heat rise to his cheeks, which he could not ignore. "Uhm, aren'tya cold?" He asked.
"Not really. Me bruthuh s'quite 't heater." Connor answered with a smile.
Dean looked over his shoulder to the backseat, to find Murphy lying there with also no shirt and a jacket laid over him, sleeping peacefully. "'Ey,"
Dean's attention was snapped back to Connor at the sound of his quiet voice. "Why don't we move this conversation outside, eh? I really needa fuckin' smoke."
"Uh, s-sure." Dean swore under his breath at his voice not remaining steady, and quickly exited the Impala as quietly as he could before Connor had time to question it.
Connor soon joined Dean on the back of Baby, pack of Marlboro Reds in hand. He offered Dean one-who refused-before sticking one between his lips and lighting it. For some reason, Dean found the movements extremely mesmerising, especially the action of the Irishman flicking open his lighter and lighting his cigarette, the flame just bright enough to light his face and some of his hair, casting mysterious shadows. It also caught the flecks of deep and light blue in his eyes, warming them and making them not seem as cold as they'd been at first.
It took a moment for Dean to realise that those pretty eyes were watching him.
Flustered, Dean blushed wildly and lowered his face so quickly that his neck popped. He heard Connor laugh lightly and the metallic snap of his lighter being closed. "'S alright, Deany. Not t'e first time I caught someone giving me t'at look."
"What look?" Dean muttered, cheeks still red.
Another laugh, this time brighter. It made something twist in Dean's gut, and he swore again.
"New to it, ey? Crushin' on men?"
Dean whipped his head in Connor's direction, embarrassment tenfold but defenses twice as much. "Excuse me?!"
"I t'ought as much."
"Woah, woah, whatever you're trying to imply here, it ain't what it seems. I'm not-"
"-gay?"
"No! I'm not!"
"So bi, den. It's alright, Dean. I dun mind."
Blushing and frustrated, Dean simply huffed and crossed his arms, pouting so much like a child that Connor couldn't help but laugh once more.
After a minute of smoke-filled silence, Connor questioned, "What's et like?"
"What's what like?" Dean asked in return, still upset.
"Sex?"
This caused Dean to snap out of his childish ways and look to him, expression one of shock. "Come again?"
"Yuh heard me da first time,"
"You-" Dean readjusted himself so that he was facing the Irishman more fully. "You've never had sex?"
Connor simply shook his head, blowing out a stream of smoke through his nose, countenance completely blank, no embarrassment of any kind. Dean was dumbstruck. "How old are you?"
"Da fuck's that got to do wit anyt'ing?"
"No, I mean-never? At all? Not even a little?"
Head shake. "Never really was interested."
"In sex?"
"Is t'at really hardta believe?"
Dean stared, and then made a scrutinising expression. "You ever, uh..." He whistled and made the hand motion for jacking off.
"Nope." More smoke out through his nose.
"Jesus, man, how are you alive?" Dean ran a hand through his hair with a harsh exhale.
"Jesus, liquor, smokes, and me brudder."
At the mention of Murphy, Dean chuckled. "Y'know, Sammy thought you two were gay."
"We toldya we were siblin's."
"That's not what I meant."
Connor turned and almost choked on his lungful of tobacco smoke. "Are yu fuckin' with me?"
Dean laughed. "Nope! He was really convinced, too! But I told 'im you guys were probably just twins, not queer incestual lovers or whatever the fuck,"
Now this time Connor laughed. "Aye, we are twins."
"I knew it." Dean laid back on the trunk, left hand on his forehead. "Who's the eldest?"
Connor joined him, flicking his mostly filter cigarette to the gravel and stepping on it before doing so. "Dunno. Ma never told us."
"You don't know? And it's been what, thirty-somethin' years?"
"Good guess, mate," Connor lit another smoke.
This time, Dean noticed the tattoo inked across his hand. "Latin," he blurted. "Veritas?"
"Justice," Connor smiled.
"I know," Dean huffed.
Connor put his lighter away and turned his face to the sky. "So many stars out t'night. Et's like you can see t' 'ole universe."
But Dean wasn't focusing on the universe; he was watching Connor again, looking over the other tattoos he was now becoming aware of: the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus on his neck, the Celtic cross on his forearm, the name "Murphy" on the right side of his chest, and something on his back that he couldn't see enough of to know what exactly it was.
And then there was everything else. His cropped hair that stood up almost like Dean's own; his softly tanned complexion, with pinkish cheeks and cute-oh God did he just think 'cute'?-lips; stubble and peach fuzz and a little mustache and goatee; leanly muscled body (Dean still denied a crush) that boasted power despite its appearance; and then there were his eyes. Powder blue with deeper and lighter blue flecks that swirled and hid only to pop out in the most heartbeat-skipping way... Dean found himself smiling a little and sighing just the smallest bit. With the stars reflected in his eyes, Dean thought Connor was easily the most breathtaking sight he'd ever seen.
Realisation hit Dean in the face like a slap from an upset hooker; he was... attracted to this man, at least somewhat, in some way. His eyes widened and he suddenly felt awkward and nervous. His insides twisted and churned, his cheeks burning furiously and heartbeat speeding up. Quickly, he turned his face toward the stars and tightened his jaw.
He prayed to God that Connor had seen none of that.
Dean awoke later that morning to find that both he and Connor had fallen asleep on the trunk of the car. He also woke to find that not only had they slept there, but they were practically cuddling, with Connor's arms wrapped around him and Dean's coat over them both. His eyes widened considerably, at both the fact that they were in this position and the fact that he really fucking liked it.
A minute passed where he did nothing but stare in shock. This minute allowed for Connor to wake up, as well, arms tightening around Dean and pulling him closer to his bare chest. Dean's face brightened to the point of cherry pie red. Subconsciously, he enjoyed the way the Irishman smelled. Blue eyes fluttered open and smiled down at Dean. "Mornin', Deany."
"Uhh, m-morning...?" Dean stammered in reply. God they were so freaking close. The hunter wanted to squirm away, but his body stayed put. Connor smiled brightly before sitting up, taking Dean and his coat with him. "Fucking 'ell, it's cold. Yuh don mind if I borrow yer coat fer a bit, doya, Dean-O?" He requested even though he was already putting it on.
"Uhh, no." Dean muttered, squashing the thoughts that said he looked really fucking cute in his green jacket, even if it was too small.
Hopping off the back of the Impala, Connor stretched his arms above his head, cracks and pops resounding from his back, shoulders, and arms. After that, he took out a smoke and lit it before making his way to the backseat of the Chevy, Dean watching frustrated all the while.
When he got back into Baby, Sam was already awake and looking up at Dean expectantly. Dean frowned. "What?"
"Can I talk to you for a second privately." Sam said between his teeth. It was not a suggestion. Frowning deeper, Dean grabbed his toothbrush and a change of clothes (it was actually just a shirt) before joining Sam a little ways away from the car. "What-"
"When I got up this morning, I found YOU and our serial killer buddy over there CONNOR cuddling like a teenage couple on the back of the Impala!" Sam jabbed his finger in his brother's chest, expression one of anger.
Dean sucked air in through his teeth. "Shit, you saw that? Damn..."
"Are you not going to ask what I mean by 'serial killer buddy'?"
"No, 'cuz I already know. I looked 'em up last night." Dean gave Sam the flyer.
Sam smacked it out of his hands. "I already fucking know! I read the news article on it when they first escaped!"
"Oh, well then why are you telling me?"
"ARE YOU-" Sam closed his eyes and took deep breaths. After a second or two, he opened them and stated, "We can't help them anymore."
Dean felt his heart shatter. "What? Why?"
Seeing the expression on his face-utter fucking despair-Sam's countenance took on a quizzical look. "Why do you care so much?"
Now it was Dean whose mouth opened and closed like a fish. "Ah, I uh, well, eheh..." He smiled his famous "I have no good answer" smile, cheeks turning red and his head lowering with a shrug. Sam scrutinised him judgingly, unsure of why his tough-guy brother was now acting like a nervous teenager.
"Dean?"
"I wanna keep helping them. At least until Idaho, alright? We only got a day's drive left, less if we leave now."
Dean's tone had changed; it was sad, small... heartbroken, even. Sam didn't like it at all. "Dean?" He asked, softer this time.
"Don't do it, Sammy. Don't ask me what's wrong."
Sam closed his mouth.
"Aye, Dean! Can I borrow ye fer a second?" Connor's voice called. Dean mumbled a "Thanks, Sammy" before he turned and made his way to Connor, who was asking about borrowing something. Sam combed his fingers through his hair, exhaling exasperatedly while he walked back to the car.
END OF CHAPTER ONE.