(no subject)
Title: Soothes the Soul
Rating: PG
Words: 1150
Notes: AU. Crossover with His Dark Materials. Info on the concept of daemons can be found here. Standford-era.
Summary: Dean stops at Pastor Jim's after a hunt.
He’s waiting for them both outside as the Impala pulls up into the grassy drive.
Dean frowns a little and can’t help berating himself again for coming. So stupid. He could have just as easily slept it off in the motel room that he’d already paid for, but.
“Get out already,” Ileana pants, and Dean grunts as he opens the door and scoots out.
But Pastor Jim’s place was close by, and he just. He just wanted to stop, just for a minute.
“Dean,” Pastor Jim says, coming forward to hold the door open, his owl daemon Anlise flapping on his shoulder.
“How’d you know I was comin’?” Dean asks, curious but also willing to put off the inevitable for a little longer.
“She heard that monster of yours,” Jim says, tilting his head towards the Impala. He doesn’t say a word about the blood crusting Dean’s forehead or how close he’s holding his arm to his body, just motions for them to follow.
“Seems I remember you bein’ a little bigger last I saw you,” Pastor Jim says, but he’s not talking to Dean. Ileana chuffs out her nose.
“Yes, well,” she says, and Dean remembers from before, when she sometimes used to make herself into something that would just barely fit into the house.
“Wolf, if I’m not mistaken?” He pulls out the first aid box. Dean sits on the couch, his eyes suddenly heavy as he leans back into the cushions.
“Saarloos wolfhound, if you want to be technical,” he says. She limps up to put her nose under Dean’s fingers and then jumps up on the couch, lying her head on his thigh. Pastor Jim pulls the coffee table close and sits across from him with the box on the table. Dean hates the look that he gives him, wants to stare him straight and hard in the eye and tell him so, but he can’t.
“Just sling my damn arm already, okay? All I wanna do is sleep a few hours before I have to hit the road again,” he snaps out, and Ileana shifts slightly on the couch next to him.
“I won’t ask questions, Dean,” Pastor Jim says gently, popping the lid. Anlise scuttles down and grabs a roll of gauze in her beak, sets it in Jim’s hand. “It’s not my place to do so. But I trust that you’d tell me if something needed telling.”
“We’re fine-” Dean starts, but Ileana’s whimper cuts him off.
“We were careless-” she says.
“Ileana shut up-” he hisses, and she flattens her ears but keeps on.
“We jumped out in front. He was just a kid and the spirit was so bloody and so full of hate and almost bashed the boy’s head in and we couldn’t just….” Couldn’t just. Dean remembers the sharp trill of fear they felt when temperature of the room suddenly dipped, nearly freezing the sweat to his skin. “We didn’t think,” Ileana murmured miserably. “Just acted.”
By the end he’s leaning forward with his face in one hand, the other still held tight to his body. He wants to disappear, and he just. He just shouldn’t have come.
Pastor Jim gives a slight nod to Ileana but she curls herself in tight, her spine pressing hard against Dean’s leg.
“Your arm broken, you think? Can you move your wrist?” he says.
Dean peaks out from between his fingers and stares at him for a moment. Then, slowly, his arm comes forward and he grimaces. “No, just, ah, hyperextended it, I think. Went back on my hand and bent my elbow a little funny.”
Pastor Jim makes a face in sympathy. “What you really need is a brace, then, but even if we find one for you in town I don’t think even my say so would make you wear it.” Dean gives a lop-sided grin.
“Are you callin’ me rebellious?” Pastor Jim’s lips quirk a little as he pulls a sling out from the bottom of the box.
“You said it, not me.”
Dean can barely move his arm, hissing in pain with every jostle, so it takes a little longer for it to be wrapped and properly set in a sling. Pastor Jim then starts on the bloody bump near his hairline, washing it out with holy water and hydrogen peroxide and turning Dean’s head towards the light, noting with relief that it’s not bad enough to need stitches. Anlise hops down from her perch on Pastor Jim’s shoulder and onto the couch, preening Ileana’s fur while Ileana licks half-heartedly at her leg.
“There’s some chicken casserole in the fridge if you’re hungry,” Pastor Jim stands, the first aid box finally all packed away. “And you know where the bedroom is.” Dean looks up at him with such a sudden ache in his heart he can barely speak.
“Thanks. Thank you. But I just,” he clears his throat, “I just need a good night’s rest and I’ll be out of your hair.”
Pastor Jim smiles down at him and Dean swears he sees a kind of sadness in the old man’s eyes. “Tell that to me again tomorrow morning when your head is pounding away.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, groaning a little as the throb in his temple escalates at just the thought.
Both he and Ileana shuffle slowly up the stairs to the bathroom where Dean pops some pills and washes the grit out of his eyes and the physical reminders of the day off his face. He feels bone tired, knows Ileana feels the same as she sways where she sits, waiting for Dean to finish.
It’s only a matter of peeling his boots and socks off his feet and the jacket off his back and then he’s under the covers, Ileana a ball of fur next to him, snuffling quietly as she settles. Dean brings the comforter to his chin, breathing in the slight mustiness, the faint scent of detergent, and something so uniquely Pastor Jim’s from deep within his memory that he desperately wants to shove it away and cling to it all at once.
“You think they’re doing all right?” Ileana’s voice is small within the darkness. He reaches for her, needing her close, his fingers lost within her coarse fur, gripping her tight.
“Of course they are,” he whispers back hoarsely. “Sam… Sammy’s a smart kid. He’s done just fine so far by himself. He’s too stubborn to be anything but all right.”
“Yeah,” Ileana says tiredly, and Dean doesn’t even have to hear the doubt and fear in her voice to know it’s there.
He’s almost asleep, floating on the fringes of a dream when he hears Ileana.
“Guess it wouldn’t hurt to check and see if there’s anything weird going on further west, right?”
He smiles, gently scratching her head as she yawns.
(A little info on the Saarloos Wolfhound.)
Rating: PG
Words: 1150
Notes: AU. Crossover with His Dark Materials. Info on the concept of daemons can be found here. Standford-era.
Summary: Dean stops at Pastor Jim's after a hunt.
He’s waiting for them both outside as the Impala pulls up into the grassy drive.
Dean frowns a little and can’t help berating himself again for coming. So stupid. He could have just as easily slept it off in the motel room that he’d already paid for, but.
“Get out already,” Ileana pants, and Dean grunts as he opens the door and scoots out.
But Pastor Jim’s place was close by, and he just. He just wanted to stop, just for a minute.
“Dean,” Pastor Jim says, coming forward to hold the door open, his owl daemon Anlise flapping on his shoulder.
“How’d you know I was comin’?” Dean asks, curious but also willing to put off the inevitable for a little longer.
“She heard that monster of yours,” Jim says, tilting his head towards the Impala. He doesn’t say a word about the blood crusting Dean’s forehead or how close he’s holding his arm to his body, just motions for them to follow.
“Seems I remember you bein’ a little bigger last I saw you,” Pastor Jim says, but he’s not talking to Dean. Ileana chuffs out her nose.
“Yes, well,” she says, and Dean remembers from before, when she sometimes used to make herself into something that would just barely fit into the house.
“Wolf, if I’m not mistaken?” He pulls out the first aid box. Dean sits on the couch, his eyes suddenly heavy as he leans back into the cushions.
“Saarloos wolfhound, if you want to be technical,” he says. She limps up to put her nose under Dean’s fingers and then jumps up on the couch, lying her head on his thigh. Pastor Jim pulls the coffee table close and sits across from him with the box on the table. Dean hates the look that he gives him, wants to stare him straight and hard in the eye and tell him so, but he can’t.
“Just sling my damn arm already, okay? All I wanna do is sleep a few hours before I have to hit the road again,” he snaps out, and Ileana shifts slightly on the couch next to him.
“I won’t ask questions, Dean,” Pastor Jim says gently, popping the lid. Anlise scuttles down and grabs a roll of gauze in her beak, sets it in Jim’s hand. “It’s not my place to do so. But I trust that you’d tell me if something needed telling.”
“We’re fine-” Dean starts, but Ileana’s whimper cuts him off.
“We were careless-” she says.
“Ileana shut up-” he hisses, and she flattens her ears but keeps on.
“We jumped out in front. He was just a kid and the spirit was so bloody and so full of hate and almost bashed the boy’s head in and we couldn’t just….” Couldn’t just. Dean remembers the sharp trill of fear they felt when temperature of the room suddenly dipped, nearly freezing the sweat to his skin. “We didn’t think,” Ileana murmured miserably. “Just acted.”
By the end he’s leaning forward with his face in one hand, the other still held tight to his body. He wants to disappear, and he just. He just shouldn’t have come.
Pastor Jim gives a slight nod to Ileana but she curls herself in tight, her spine pressing hard against Dean’s leg.
“Your arm broken, you think? Can you move your wrist?” he says.
Dean peaks out from between his fingers and stares at him for a moment. Then, slowly, his arm comes forward and he grimaces. “No, just, ah, hyperextended it, I think. Went back on my hand and bent my elbow a little funny.”
Pastor Jim makes a face in sympathy. “What you really need is a brace, then, but even if we find one for you in town I don’t think even my say so would make you wear it.” Dean gives a lop-sided grin.
“Are you callin’ me rebellious?” Pastor Jim’s lips quirk a little as he pulls a sling out from the bottom of the box.
“You said it, not me.”
Dean can barely move his arm, hissing in pain with every jostle, so it takes a little longer for it to be wrapped and properly set in a sling. Pastor Jim then starts on the bloody bump near his hairline, washing it out with holy water and hydrogen peroxide and turning Dean’s head towards the light, noting with relief that it’s not bad enough to need stitches. Anlise hops down from her perch on Pastor Jim’s shoulder and onto the couch, preening Ileana’s fur while Ileana licks half-heartedly at her leg.
“There’s some chicken casserole in the fridge if you’re hungry,” Pastor Jim stands, the first aid box finally all packed away. “And you know where the bedroom is.” Dean looks up at him with such a sudden ache in his heart he can barely speak.
“Thanks. Thank you. But I just,” he clears his throat, “I just need a good night’s rest and I’ll be out of your hair.”
Pastor Jim smiles down at him and Dean swears he sees a kind of sadness in the old man’s eyes. “Tell that to me again tomorrow morning when your head is pounding away.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, groaning a little as the throb in his temple escalates at just the thought.
Both he and Ileana shuffle slowly up the stairs to the bathroom where Dean pops some pills and washes the grit out of his eyes and the physical reminders of the day off his face. He feels bone tired, knows Ileana feels the same as she sways where she sits, waiting for Dean to finish.
It’s only a matter of peeling his boots and socks off his feet and the jacket off his back and then he’s under the covers, Ileana a ball of fur next to him, snuffling quietly as she settles. Dean brings the comforter to his chin, breathing in the slight mustiness, the faint scent of detergent, and something so uniquely Pastor Jim’s from deep within his memory that he desperately wants to shove it away and cling to it all at once.
“You think they’re doing all right?” Ileana’s voice is small within the darkness. He reaches for her, needing her close, his fingers lost within her coarse fur, gripping her tight.
“Of course they are,” he whispers back hoarsely. “Sam… Sammy’s a smart kid. He’s done just fine so far by himself. He’s too stubborn to be anything but all right.”
“Yeah,” Ileana says tiredly, and Dean doesn’t even have to hear the doubt and fear in her voice to know it’s there.
He’s almost asleep, floating on the fringes of a dream when he hears Ileana.
“Guess it wouldn’t hurt to check and see if there’s anything weird going on further west, right?”
He smiles, gently scratching her head as she yawns.
(A little info on the Saarloos Wolfhound.)