Supernatual fic
A short little Supernatural fic.
Title: Rainy Days and Mondays
Rating: Everyone
Disclaimer: Sadly the Winchester boys do not belong to me. Neither does Jim Murphy, though that's a little less sad.
Summary: John Winchester and Jim Murphy's first meeting. Jim's POV.
Author's Note: Thanks to persicpax and eloise_bright for taking the time to look it over. Anything you like, credit to them. Anything you have an issue with, I'm to blame. Enjoy.
The rain had been coming down so long and so hard, Jim Murphy was starting to wonder if maybe it was too late to start on an ark. That had never been one of his favorite Bible stories. Oh, he'd liked it well enough as a child. What child doesn't love animals? But as he'd gotten older, he'd started to wonder about a god who would destroy his creation simply because it didn't please him. Or maybe it was because he couldn't believe a god who would do that at all would do it only once. Far as Jim was concerned, wiping this particular slate clean wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.
His mother just smiled at him when he told her about going into the seminary. Jim had had to learn at an early age to trust his instincts and his mother, and being a pastor was where his instincts had told him to go. It wasn't that he wasn't a Hunter; family business was hard to get away from, especially if you didn't want to. But it always bothered him that there wasn't anyone to look after the Hunters. Men and women who did that needed a sanctuary and Jim would be damned if he didn't provide it.
Headlights cut through the stained glass windows, catching Jim by surprise. There were no evening services on Mondays and even his most devout parishioners would call before heading out in this weather.
He could hear the rumble of a well maintained engine even over the sound of the rain. Smiling, he headed for the front doors of the church. He wanted to see the car that could make itself heard above this racket.
Before he could though, the door swung open and a tall, rather imposing looking man stepped through. He was drenched in just the time it took to walk from the car to the church. Jim was working on convincing the building committee they needed to build a port cochere, but they were more interested in a new educational building. Granted the educational building would have multiple uses, but keeping dry made it easier to pay attention to the sermon.
"Evening, friend. What can I do for you?" Since he walked into the church under his own speed, Jim was sure he wasn't a demon.
"I...." The man looked exhausted, haunted. Jim was used to that look. It was just difficult to know what had caused him to look like that. Real demons and personal ones were almost impossible to tell apart until you heard the story.
"Take your time, friend. There's no hurry."
"I'm not your friend."
"You walked in my door for a reason. You need something I'd wager. You wouldn't be out in this weather otherwise. Now, you might not be my friend, but I'm yours whether you like it or not."
The man smiled, a grudging respect shining through hazel eyes. "Fair enough. I need help. Missouri Moseley said you might be able to provide it. If you're Jim Murphy that is."
"I am. And you are?"
"Winchester. John Winchester."
“Well, come on back to my office, John, and we’ll get you something to dry off with and some coffee.”
The man shuffled back a step or two, hesitant, wary. As though driving from Lawrence, Kansas to meet him on Missouri’s word still wasn’t enough for trust. Or at least a chance on trusting. He’d come here of his own accord. What was making him hold back now? Dear God in Heaven, Jim was torn between pissed and heartbroken.
“The coffee’s not that bad, I promise. Might even have some homemade coffee cake in the refrigerator.”
“I’d like to stay out here, if it’s all the same to you.”
“I guess it’ll have to be,” said Jim, noticing and cursing the defensiveness that has crept into his voice.
John Winchester raised an eyebrow at that, a sheepish half smile on his face. As though he really did understand that he was the one asking for help - or something he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted, but couldn’t stop himself - and really had no right to impose conditions, yet did so anyway. He opened his mouth as though about to explain, but Jim cut him off.
“Don’t mind me. The weather gets to you after awhile. If you’d like, I can bring you a cup of coffee with a towel. In fact, I have to insist upon the towel. Mrs. O’Farrell has an eagle eye for disturbances in the carpeting.”
He stepped back onto the welcome mat, looked like he wanted to back out the door all together. Jim could see the resolve settle into place.
“Coffee’d be nice. Black?”
“Is there another way?” Jim smiled, reassuringly, even though he knew the man would still be there when he got back. “I’ll try to be quick about it.”
Despite his reassurance of speed, Jim made the time to call Missouri while he was getting several towels together. There was no answer, so he left a message, mostly just stressing how much a warning about potential drop-ins would be welcome, knowing it would do no good. Missouri, for all her psychic ability, was a firm believer in thinking on your feet. At least if forewarning couldn’t provide a practical use anyway.
So, Missouri didn’t think this man was someone who was a threat. That was in the plus column for him. While personal demons might play a part, the fact that Missouri sent him told Jim that the other kind played a part as well. Not in the plus column by any stretch of the imagination, but it gave Jim something to work with.
Heading back into the sanctuary, Jim thought he heard voices. He slowed as he got closer, wanting to know what was waiting for him.
The man was hunkered down, talking to a small boy, about six years old. The boy held a bundle of moving rags like his life depended on keeping them safe. Jim took another step into the sanctuary, quietly though he thinks he could probably clog dance in and they wouldn’t notice him.
“Deano, what did I tell you about staying in the car?”
“That I should and that you’d be right back, but Sammy started crying and I did everything I could, I changed him and fed him and sang to him and I would’ve walked him, but it’s raining and I just wanted to get the keys so I could turn the radio on, but I didn’t want to leave Sammy even though it only takes a minute to get from the car to here and I wasn’t sure how much longer you’d be and it seemed like forever already and and... and Sammy was getting worried about you.”
The tiny voice had barely paused for a breath. Jim had moved so he had a clearer view of them. The bundle of rags had a head and arms and legs that were kicking without any real intention of harm. The little boy didn’t have a good grip on the bundle that Jim guessed was Sammy, but there was no danger of the child falling either.
“Sammy was worried, huh?” The rough, gravelly voice was gentle, amused. “Well, we can’t have that, now can we? Why don’t you give him here and we’ll see what we can do.”
The boy handed over the bundle - Sammy - obediently, though reluctantly. The man made sure he was holding the baby securely before standing up. He adjusted Sammy and dropped his left hand down to the boy’s head, smiling down at him.
Instinct told Jim he was witnessing something precious and rare, more so than the scene itself implied. Fragility and strength were brothers in arms and time would only increase the battles, not lessen them. He’d give anything to tell the man to take his boys and run, as far and as fast as he could, but he knew it was a lost cause. Oh, he’d make the attempt, but that man wouldn’t listen any better than a brick wall. It was the one thing Hunters had in common and the real reason he hadn’t made it his life’s work - they just didn’t listen.
“I’ve got some canned soup and a hot plate in the office. And I think there are some toy cars from the children’s Sunday School class. Sounds like you got a pretty nice one out there.” This last was said to the little boy who was desperately trying to become one with his father’s leg.
“Dean, the preacher’s talking to you.”
Dean just shook his head without ever lifting it from his father’s leg. John looked back at Jim, a sheepish smile and a shrug for his troubles. The baby had turned his head to look at the new voice that had appeared out of nowhere. Intelligence, curiosity and the wariness Jim had noted earlier in John shone in those eyes.
Not for the first time did Jim wonder if putting a sign reading, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” over his office door would be as bad as it sounded. There was no guidance to be had here, no counsel that would make things better. There could only be hunting and training and fighting and death.
Lightening crashed outside, giving the impression of being both incredibly close and terribly far away in the same instant. Both boys burrowed closer to their father and even he looked ready to jump out of his skin at the sound.
“I’m sure you have other plans, but I have a spare room in the parsonage and a fully stocked pantry. The benefits of being unmarried clergy.” Jim could see he wasn’t making any headway. “Look, if Missouri sent you, what we need to talk about won’t take five minutes and you can head on out again. We both know that whatever’s happened to your family needs more than prayers and platitudes. And if you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do, you’ve got a lot to learn if you want to come home to your boys safely. Now what’s it going to be, Mr. Winchester?”
He’d pushed, maybe a littler harder than necessary, but this John Winchester needed to know who he was dealing with as well. He saw the boys relax long before their father did. Dean pulled away just a little, just enough to look up at his father and nod.
“You sure, Deano?”
“Yes, sir.”
The father asking permission from the son. Would wonders never cease?
“All right, Pastor Murphy. I accept your offer.”
Jim stepped aside to let the small Winchester family pass him to get to the office and from there the parsonage.
“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer Pastor Jim. Makes me feel less ancient.”
Title: Rainy Days and Mondays
Rating: Everyone
Disclaimer: Sadly the Winchester boys do not belong to me. Neither does Jim Murphy, though that's a little less sad.
Summary: John Winchester and Jim Murphy's first meeting. Jim's POV.
Author's Note: Thanks to persicpax and eloise_bright for taking the time to look it over. Anything you like, credit to them. Anything you have an issue with, I'm to blame. Enjoy.
The rain had been coming down so long and so hard, Jim Murphy was starting to wonder if maybe it was too late to start on an ark. That had never been one of his favorite Bible stories. Oh, he'd liked it well enough as a child. What child doesn't love animals? But as he'd gotten older, he'd started to wonder about a god who would destroy his creation simply because it didn't please him. Or maybe it was because he couldn't believe a god who would do that at all would do it only once. Far as Jim was concerned, wiping this particular slate clean wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.
His mother just smiled at him when he told her about going into the seminary. Jim had had to learn at an early age to trust his instincts and his mother, and being a pastor was where his instincts had told him to go. It wasn't that he wasn't a Hunter; family business was hard to get away from, especially if you didn't want to. But it always bothered him that there wasn't anyone to look after the Hunters. Men and women who did that needed a sanctuary and Jim would be damned if he didn't provide it.
Headlights cut through the stained glass windows, catching Jim by surprise. There were no evening services on Mondays and even his most devout parishioners would call before heading out in this weather.
He could hear the rumble of a well maintained engine even over the sound of the rain. Smiling, he headed for the front doors of the church. He wanted to see the car that could make itself heard above this racket.
Before he could though, the door swung open and a tall, rather imposing looking man stepped through. He was drenched in just the time it took to walk from the car to the church. Jim was working on convincing the building committee they needed to build a port cochere, but they were more interested in a new educational building. Granted the educational building would have multiple uses, but keeping dry made it easier to pay attention to the sermon.
"Evening, friend. What can I do for you?" Since he walked into the church under his own speed, Jim was sure he wasn't a demon.
"I...." The man looked exhausted, haunted. Jim was used to that look. It was just difficult to know what had caused him to look like that. Real demons and personal ones were almost impossible to tell apart until you heard the story.
"Take your time, friend. There's no hurry."
"I'm not your friend."
"You walked in my door for a reason. You need something I'd wager. You wouldn't be out in this weather otherwise. Now, you might not be my friend, but I'm yours whether you like it or not."
The man smiled, a grudging respect shining through hazel eyes. "Fair enough. I need help. Missouri Moseley said you might be able to provide it. If you're Jim Murphy that is."
"I am. And you are?"
"Winchester. John Winchester."
“Well, come on back to my office, John, and we’ll get you something to dry off with and some coffee.”
The man shuffled back a step or two, hesitant, wary. As though driving from Lawrence, Kansas to meet him on Missouri’s word still wasn’t enough for trust. Or at least a chance on trusting. He’d come here of his own accord. What was making him hold back now? Dear God in Heaven, Jim was torn between pissed and heartbroken.
“The coffee’s not that bad, I promise. Might even have some homemade coffee cake in the refrigerator.”
“I’d like to stay out here, if it’s all the same to you.”
“I guess it’ll have to be,” said Jim, noticing and cursing the defensiveness that has crept into his voice.
John Winchester raised an eyebrow at that, a sheepish half smile on his face. As though he really did understand that he was the one asking for help - or something he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted, but couldn’t stop himself - and really had no right to impose conditions, yet did so anyway. He opened his mouth as though about to explain, but Jim cut him off.
“Don’t mind me. The weather gets to you after awhile. If you’d like, I can bring you a cup of coffee with a towel. In fact, I have to insist upon the towel. Mrs. O’Farrell has an eagle eye for disturbances in the carpeting.”
He stepped back onto the welcome mat, looked like he wanted to back out the door all together. Jim could see the resolve settle into place.
“Coffee’d be nice. Black?”
“Is there another way?” Jim smiled, reassuringly, even though he knew the man would still be there when he got back. “I’ll try to be quick about it.”
Despite his reassurance of speed, Jim made the time to call Missouri while he was getting several towels together. There was no answer, so he left a message, mostly just stressing how much a warning about potential drop-ins would be welcome, knowing it would do no good. Missouri, for all her psychic ability, was a firm believer in thinking on your feet. At least if forewarning couldn’t provide a practical use anyway.
So, Missouri didn’t think this man was someone who was a threat. That was in the plus column for him. While personal demons might play a part, the fact that Missouri sent him told Jim that the other kind played a part as well. Not in the plus column by any stretch of the imagination, but it gave Jim something to work with.
Heading back into the sanctuary, Jim thought he heard voices. He slowed as he got closer, wanting to know what was waiting for him.
The man was hunkered down, talking to a small boy, about six years old. The boy held a bundle of moving rags like his life depended on keeping them safe. Jim took another step into the sanctuary, quietly though he thinks he could probably clog dance in and they wouldn’t notice him.
“Deano, what did I tell you about staying in the car?”
“That I should and that you’d be right back, but Sammy started crying and I did everything I could, I changed him and fed him and sang to him and I would’ve walked him, but it’s raining and I just wanted to get the keys so I could turn the radio on, but I didn’t want to leave Sammy even though it only takes a minute to get from the car to here and I wasn’t sure how much longer you’d be and it seemed like forever already and and... and Sammy was getting worried about you.”
The tiny voice had barely paused for a breath. Jim had moved so he had a clearer view of them. The bundle of rags had a head and arms and legs that were kicking without any real intention of harm. The little boy didn’t have a good grip on the bundle that Jim guessed was Sammy, but there was no danger of the child falling either.
“Sammy was worried, huh?” The rough, gravelly voice was gentle, amused. “Well, we can’t have that, now can we? Why don’t you give him here and we’ll see what we can do.”
The boy handed over the bundle - Sammy - obediently, though reluctantly. The man made sure he was holding the baby securely before standing up. He adjusted Sammy and dropped his left hand down to the boy’s head, smiling down at him.
Instinct told Jim he was witnessing something precious and rare, more so than the scene itself implied. Fragility and strength were brothers in arms and time would only increase the battles, not lessen them. He’d give anything to tell the man to take his boys and run, as far and as fast as he could, but he knew it was a lost cause. Oh, he’d make the attempt, but that man wouldn’t listen any better than a brick wall. It was the one thing Hunters had in common and the real reason he hadn’t made it his life’s work - they just didn’t listen.
“I’ve got some canned soup and a hot plate in the office. And I think there are some toy cars from the children’s Sunday School class. Sounds like you got a pretty nice one out there.” This last was said to the little boy who was desperately trying to become one with his father’s leg.
“Dean, the preacher’s talking to you.”
Dean just shook his head without ever lifting it from his father’s leg. John looked back at Jim, a sheepish smile and a shrug for his troubles. The baby had turned his head to look at the new voice that had appeared out of nowhere. Intelligence, curiosity and the wariness Jim had noted earlier in John shone in those eyes.
Not for the first time did Jim wonder if putting a sign reading, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” over his office door would be as bad as it sounded. There was no guidance to be had here, no counsel that would make things better. There could only be hunting and training and fighting and death.
Lightening crashed outside, giving the impression of being both incredibly close and terribly far away in the same instant. Both boys burrowed closer to their father and even he looked ready to jump out of his skin at the sound.
“I’m sure you have other plans, but I have a spare room in the parsonage and a fully stocked pantry. The benefits of being unmarried clergy.” Jim could see he wasn’t making any headway. “Look, if Missouri sent you, what we need to talk about won’t take five minutes and you can head on out again. We both know that whatever’s happened to your family needs more than prayers and platitudes. And if you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do, you’ve got a lot to learn if you want to come home to your boys safely. Now what’s it going to be, Mr. Winchester?”
He’d pushed, maybe a littler harder than necessary, but this John Winchester needed to know who he was dealing with as well. He saw the boys relax long before their father did. Dean pulled away just a little, just enough to look up at his father and nod.
“You sure, Deano?”
“Yes, sir.”
The father asking permission from the son. Would wonders never cease?
“All right, Pastor Murphy. I accept your offer.”
Jim stepped aside to let the small Winchester family pass him to get to the office and from there the parsonage.
“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer Pastor Jim. Makes me feel less ancient.”