Forefathers Part 6
Part of the http://zannes.livejournal.com/5304.html John/Illyria 'verse
Rating: PG Overall (language and nudity)
Genre: Gen - Supernatural/Angel crossover
Characters: John and Illyria...cameos by Sam and Dean
Summary: John and Illyria meet up in Hell, Lucifer wants Illyria gone because she's annoying him so he hooks her up with John and sends them back to the mortal plane. Hilarity ensues. It's like a buddy cop movie gone bad.
Author's Notes: I owe my soul to my betas lyonie17 and hakirby. They made this readable. Kripke owns the Winchesters and Whedon owns Illyria. Even though there's no sex in this story, feel free to imagine it (I did). John and Illyria have become my secret OTP. They just fit each other. This story is complete, but will be posted in several parts so you don't petrify in front of the computer trying to read it in one sitting. It's the longest thing I've written! The lovely icon belongs to phantomas.
Part 6...
At the sound of a sharp rap at the door, Illyria shifted, her wet hair curling in damp tendrils around her face. As she opened the door, John wandered out of the bathroom, a threadbare towel draped loosely around his hips. “Illyria, if that’s the pizza delivery man with extra sausage, I’m really gonna have to limit your porn viewing. It wasn’t funny the first time…or the fourth,” John said with an exasperated laugh, shaking his head at the memory.
Fred cocked her head at the two young men standing in the open door, smiling charmingly up at them. “Do you bring us pizza?”
Sam’s eyes widened and Dean’s face turned a faint pink, his breath coming in short bursts from his nose, before both erupted into wild laughter, falling weakly against the doorframe to remain upright. John looked up in horror, Fred just smiling blankly at the two hysterical men.
Dean calmed down, a few giggling hiccups escaping as he said, “So this is our new mommy? I think I like her!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The four of them sat scattered around the room, John and Fred side-by-side on the edge of the bed, Dean standing by the window, focusing on everything rather than his father, and Sam scrunched up in a chair, almost hidden in the corner of the room.
“We burned you, Dad,” Dean said softly to the window. “We scattered your ashes and yet…,” he glanced up, his wounded eyes boring into his father, “…here you are.”
John opened his mouth to speak, having no idea what might come out when Fred interrupted with a girlish giggle. “It’s the craziest story!” she began, her Texan twang swathing the words in honey. “My Daddy was a Hunter, like yours, except he hunted ‘shifters.” She rested her hand on John’s knee when she felt him tense beside her, squeezing until he quieted with a muffled grunt of pain.
“Excuse me,” Sam interjected, “but who are you?”
“Winifred Winchester,” she smiled, her brown eyes lighting up. “But you can call me Fred.”
“Who’s Illyria then?” Dean asked, his eyes narrowing.
“It’s your Daddy’s pet name for me, isn’t it doodlebug?” Fred replied, turning to John with an almost malicious grin. John groaned silently, barely able to keep his eyes from rolling.
Sam snorted, hiding a laugh behind a cough as Fred continued, “So my Daddy was huntin’ some ‘shifters and they snuck into the hospital and…,” she leaned forward, eyes wide, clutching John’s hand as if it were a lifeline, “those ‘shifters kidnapped your Daddy and left one in his place!” She sat back, looking affronted, her cheeks flushed with outrage. “My Daddy killed that ‘shifter and ran off after the others, but he didn’t know about your Daddy, yet.”
Fred stopped, sniffling artfully as a tear made its way down her cheek, her brown eyes shining with misery. “They killed my Daddy, but not until he and John managed to kill ‘em all off. I was waitin’ in the car because Daddy wouldn’t let me hunt with him this time, when John stumbled out all covered in blood, lookin’ so handsome and courageous. And do you know what?” she asked breathlessly, her innocent eyes wide.
“What?” Sam asked curiously, leaning forward to hear more.
“Your Daddy had amnesia!” Fred clutched her hand to her chest, looking as if it were the end of the world.
Dean snorted with doubt, shifting his stance.
“It’s true!” Fred insisted. “He stayed with me for months and months and neither of us knew who he was.” She sighed dreamily, “It was so romantic!” Fred scooted forward, still grasping John’s hand. “And then…one day, he comes up to me and says, ‘Fred, my heart and soul, I love you. Will you be mine?’” She wrinkled her nose and swatted at John’s knee, her eyes gleaming at him with undisguised mirth.
“Of course I said no because, really, he was like a homeless man with no prospects, but he was persistent. So we got married and went on the road hunting when just a few days ago…BAM!” she smacked her palm, making all three of the men jump in their seats. “He recalled his name and that he had two boys of his own, but that was it.” She sat back with a sigh, leaning against John’s side as if attached at the hip.
Sam cleared his throat politely, his eyes peeking through his bangs. “That was…uh…quite a story, Miss…um, Fred. I think my brother and I need to have a private word.” He stood up, towering over everyone as he strolled over to his brother, turning their backs on both John and Fred while still keeping a cautious eye open.
John leaned towards Fred and whispered in her ear, “I have never heard such a load of crap in my entire life.”
Fred turned to him, her mouth brushing his temple. “Spike always said to make a lie believable, go all out because the crazier it is, the harder it is to prove wrong, especially in the world we live in.” She paused, before adding, “He watched a lot of daytime television.”
Sam and Dean turned towards them, their faces taut. Fred smiled happily, John was playing a game of Anywhere But Here and cursing his inability to disappear, when Dean stalked to the center of the room and said with deadly sincerity, “This is bullshit, Dad…or are you even our real father?” Dean slashed his hand through the air as if cutting off that line of questioning. “You know what? Just fuckin’ forget it. You left us when we needed you most. You left me alone with…,” his gaze flicked over to Sam standing in stunned silence near the window. “It was too much. It’s still just too fuckin’ much. Just forget it.” Dean turned his back on his father, gesturing to Sam, “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
A firm hand fell on his shoulder, pinning him in place and spinning him around roughly. Dean’s mouth fell open when he saw frail little Fred standing before him, her hand clutching his jacket tightly in her fist. His gaze went from her white-knuckled hand to her eyes and he gulped nervously, a trick of the light making her brown eyes reflect a strange blue sheen.
“He left to save you,” she stated coldly, an entirely different inflection from the sweetness of the Fred who had just spun that tall tale of amnesia and body-switching. She darted her gaze to Sam who loomed up behind his brother, daring him to get any closer. “Your father served you well - warriors raised in blood.” Sam’s eyes met her darkening brown ones and he paled at a flash of memory - the cold blue eyes burning from the dream woman’s icy visage.
Fred bared her teeth, pushing Dean back towards the door. “It’s something you children never understand - if you want to win a war, you must serve no master but your ambition.” She slammed Dean against the frame as she yanked the door open, Dean still too stunned to do much of anything. “Now leave until I no longer wish to kill you,” she stated as she pushed him outside. Sam followed quietly, holding his hands up, palms out, to show his harmlessness.
Dean’s anger flooded back once the cool night air hit him and he turned, shouting, “You can’t talk to me like that!”
Fred commented over her shoulder to a deflated John still sitting so stiffly on the bed, his moss-dark eyes shining in the light as he ducked his head and dropped it into his hands, his son’s words hitting too deeply to deny, “Your son bleats like a gelded goat on his way to the slaughterhouse.”
“Hell, yeah!” Dean shouted, trying to look tough after being tossed out of the room by a woman. “Wait, wha-?” The door to room 5 slammed shut in his face.
Sam snickered, still a bit in shock. “Dude, she just said you had no balls.” He grinned over at his still fuming brother. “I think I like her, too.” He pulled Dean away with a yank on his sleeve. “We’ll go back when everyone has calmed down, you included.”
“Sam!” his brother whined plaintively. “You know that story was bullshit, right?”
“Yeah?” Sam replied. “Bullshit or not, it’s a start. We’ve got a name to look up now…Illyria.”
Inside, Illyria stood beside John, absently petting his hair as he tried to collect himself. She gazed down at John’s sagging features, noting his struggle. “Your sons are visually pleasing, John.”
His gaze wandered aimlessly over the room, his eyes still unfocused. “They take after Mary.”
Illyria cocked her head and stated brusquely, “I wish to see them naked and mating. Can you order them to do so?” She tugged on his hair, leaning her hip against his shoulder in subconscious support.
John blinked in surprise before erupting into a loud laugh. “I’m not sure they’d listen to me, Illyria.” He sighed in defeat, “Not anymore.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Holy shit, Dean. Take a look at this,” Sam said, his breath catching in his throat.
“What is it, Sammy?” Dean replied, clicking the remote repeatedly, with a bored expression set firmly in place.
“I couldn’t find anything on-line about Illyria, just some vague references about a king, so I e-mailed Bobby and…,” Sam paused, eyes still scanning the screen.
Dean ambled over, leaning his hand on the table to read aloud over Sam’s shoulder, “I had to look in the old texts for this. Hasn’t been heard of since the dawn of time. Illyria was the name of a Demon-God that once ruled the earth before humans became dominant. Illyria was beloved and feared as no other Old One, belonging to the race of original demons. Illyria was corporeal, boys, no possessions needed. What the fuck are you two getting into?”
Dean glanced at his brother with a look of disbelief. “You’re telling me that a porn watchin’ Demon-God is married to our Dad?”
“I think you’re missing the point,” Sam said firmly. “A living Demon-God is in the room next door…with our supposedly dead father.”
Dean nodded, his eyes tightening almost imperceptibly. “So our decision’s been made. We’ll just have to kill them both.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As they packed for the night’s hunt, John remained silent, ignoring Illyria’s usual barbs to sucker him into conversation. She left him to his reflection, standing at rest near the curtained window, keeping a dispassionate watch on the world outside.
She felt more than heard him glide up behind her, the tightness in her chest easing at his proximity. Standing companionably next to her, John lightly brushed his arm against hers, absorbing her strength to bolster his own. Keeping his eyes on the looming blackness of the Impala hulking outside the window, John admitted softly, “They’re right to hate me.” He clenched his hands in his pockets, still bracing himself against her. “They deserved a better life than the one I gave them.” He silenced her with a look when he felt her body shift to speak. “It’s too bad I had to die to realize it.”
Illyria kept her cool gaze on the car, unclear on the rules of human confessionals. The last time anyone had spoken to her like this, they had all wound up dead in a rain-soaked alley, left as carrion for the ravening hordes of demons returning home as the dust of the half-breeds clung to her wet skin. “I see nothing wrong with what was done,” she finally said. “Except that they are rude for mortal spawn.”
John chuckled, “The Winchesters prefer to call it headstrong. It’s a family trait.” He sobered, the faint light from the streetlamp carving deep creases in his face as he studied the sleek lines of the car outside. John shook his head, unable to forgive the last twenty-four years.
“You did what you could,” Illyria stated stoically. “They are strong and they still have all of their limbs. That has value.”
“I sometimes forget who I’m talking to,” John admitted with feigned gruffness. He stilled, holding his breath for a moment before exhaling heavily, as if a weight were being lifted from his soul. “I want you to know,” he said, staring out into the shadows of the parking lot, “that you’ve reminded me what it was like to be…content. No worries about my boys, about the Demon…. I knew my sons were relatively safe - at least for a while.”
John looked down at his feet, studying the carpet stains around the windows. “Safe as they could be with the life I left them.” He cocked his head in her direction, not seeking absolution and knowing she wouldn’t care to give it should it occur to her. Turning to sweep up their bagged hunting equipment in one hand, John ordered, “Suit up, Illyria. We’ve got work to do.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Where do you think they went?” Sam asked after the door to room 5 swung open silently in the darkness.
“Shopping for place settings?” Dean shrugged. “Where are we gonna put the trap? Under the bed or on the ceiling?”
“It’s a popcorn ceiling, Dean. Do you have any idea how hard it would be to draw on that and retain the trap’s integrity?” Sam replied, his eyes aimed at the offending material.
“OK, so the bed it is. Help me move it.” Sam and Dean took their places on each side, tugging the cheap bedframe away from the wall. “You know, Sam, if we put it on the wall behind the headboard, she’s stuck the second she steps into the middle of the room - more coverage.”
“You’re a genius,” Sam smiled, kneeling in front of the wall to start sketching. “If it works on her kind.”
“Yeah, I know - I got the beauty and brains in this family. It’s a curse,” Dean replied distractedly, peeking out the window at the parking lot. Dean pulled at the collar of his shirt, cursing under his breath, “Damn, it’s hot in here. They’ve got the thermostat all the way up.”
“You wonder why?” Sam asked over his shoulder, arching his eyebrow at the obvious answer.
“Hurry up, Sam,” Dean continued with a quick frown, purposefully ignoring his brother’s last statement. “We still have that Cusith to hunt.”
Sliding gracefully to his feet, Sam replied, “Done,” a distressing finality to his tone. With a peek over at the solemn figure of his brother, Sam asked, “What about Dad?”
“Doesn’t really matter,” Dean shrugged, feigning indifference. “If he’s possessed, the trap’ll get him. If not, then he’s chosen to work for them. He’s sealed his own fate.” With a few awkward shoves, the bed was back in place and the room was once again empty.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Author's Note2: Portions of dialogue from Angel have been used in this section.