To Salt the Flame, Part Two, Leverage/SPN, NC-17
Fandom: Leverage/Supernatural
Title: To Salt the Flame, Part Two ( Part One here)
Pairing/Characters: Eliot Spence/ Father John Winchester, Dean Winchester
Word Count: 6169
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Pre-Series for Leverage, AU pre-series for SPN. John Winchester lost everything, and surrendered all that was left into the church that saved him. He became a priest who served his God in the traditional ways, as well as a few less traditional ways. Eliot Spencer is a young man restless and on the move, trying to outrun his past and chasing a life of painful destruction toward his future. When the two collide one stormy night, it leaves a mark...on both of them. This follows several months after the first part. John is taking a vacation of sorts in search of part of his past, and manages to run into Eliot unexpectedly. When temptation and alcohol mix, virtue and vows are lost.
A/Ns & Warnings: Written for ziplockeddaze for her geneosity. This is priest!kink, people. Vows are broken and faith is wrestled with. Both our boys have dark pasts and when they come together, demons of the figurative kind may not be the only thing they have to deal with. I blame this on havenward...but then...what don't I blame on her?
He felt oddly naked without the collar. He'd worn it for so long it was a part of him, of who he was. It had been longer still since he'd last laid eyes on his only remaining connection to his past.
He had an address and a vague idea of how his life had played out since John had seen him last. The guilt for that hung heavily on him as he stood in the shadows outside the dirty, run down apartment building.
He pulled at the neck of his t-shirt and glanced up and down the block. It was a bad neighborhood. He didn't belong here. But then, neither did his son.
John looked up at the building, sweat building on his brow. He wasn't ready for this. He remembered a bar down the street. Maybe he'd be better armed to face the child he'd abandoned after a few drinks.
Maybe.
He turned on his heel and stalked away, fingering the rosary in his pocket, silently running through the words in his head, trying to find his center. He opened the door of the dive bar, the stench of stale beer and cleaning products wafting out at him.
He hadn't felt centered and calm in weeks. Since that kid had stumbled into his church, bleeding and hiding. Blue eyes sparkled at him in his dreams, a wicked smile that whispered to him of sins he hadn't committed since his youth.
Father John Winchester did not feel very much like a priest as he took his place at the bar and ordered up a double shot of bourbon. He dropped a worn bag on the floor at his feet and sighed heavily. In his dreams, Eliot came to him, that scarred skin enticing, the odd combination of confidence and vague shyness mixing with the evidence of pain to make John ache with desire.
He dropped a twenty on the bar as the bartender set down his glass.
Add to his impure thoughts about a boy young enough to be his son, the thoughts about his son, about the life he had and lost, about the evil he knew to exist in the world, and John barely slept. He prayed. He fasted. He drank.
Which, admittedly wasn't the best way of dealing with anything.
He sipped at the bourbon in his glass, welcoming the slow burn as it traveled down his throat. He'd taken a leave from his post at the church in Chicago on his friend's advice and taken a long, slow bus ride south to Dallas to find Dean.
The address was at least a year old, so John wasn't even sure it was still good. It had taken a lot to get it too. Favors called in from people he'd helped gave him a place to start. It took him almost five years to piece it together.
He closed his eyes and drank down the bourbon in his glass, tapping it on the bar for more. He should get a place to sleep before he got to drunk to function. He could probably impose on the hospitality at one of the local churches if he didn't show up smashed. He toyed with the glass.
Or he could just get a room at some cheap motel. He sipped at the drink and decided on a room at the motel he saw a few blocks away. It was run down, just like the rest of the neighborhood, probably more used to hookers and johns than priests, but the room should be cheap and he'd be close enough to try again when he was feeling a little more secure.
He snorted at the idea. He doubted he was ever going to feel secure enough to make walking up to the door any easier.
Eliot exhaled and pulled his hair back, tying it out of his way. The chances that this went south were pretty good, but he needed the payout, so he double-checked the object in his pocket and the street sign.
He was only a few blocks from his target. He didn't like dealing with middlemen and this one had a reputation for not liking to pay up sometimes. He was early though, not expected for another couple of days, so that could buy him a little favor with the guy. Besides, Michael had assured him that he wouldn't get burned…and maybe Eliot didn't trust much of anyone, but considering that Michael had been naked and in his bed at the time, he tended to believe him.
He nodded to himself, checked his surroundings, then headed toward the apartment building, only to jump back from a bar door as a burly bouncer pushed a man out onto the sidewalk.
A duffle bag followed, landing on the sidewalk next to the man's head. The man laughed, coughed and tried to get up as the door closed. He managed to get onto his knees, dropping something out of his pants pocket.
Eliot bent to pick it up, his fingers caressing the beads of a rather fine rosary as he straightened up. He frowned into the familiar face as the man righted himself, duffle bag in hand. The man rubbed at his eyes. "Shit. I'm drunker than I thought."
"Hey, you okay?" Eliot asked, holding out the rosary.
Dark eyes peeked from around fingers, then closed. "I'm seeing things."
"Father?" Eliot recognized him, despite the lack of collar and being thousands of miles out of place.
He dropped the hand, wobbling a little and squinting at Eliot. "Not seeing things?"
Eliot found himself smirking. "I think I'm real."
The priest poked at his shoulder and Eliot couldn't help but laugh. "But you're still really drunk."
"Kicked me out." He glared at the door.
"So I see." Eliot looked up the street toward his destination, then back at the priest. "You got someplace to stay?"
He mumbled something about getting a room somewhere, leaning in like he was going to tell Eliot a secret, but then he seemed distracted by something on Eliot's neck. His hand stole up to cover the scar there. "You smell good."
"Okay, that's it. Come on. Let's find you a place to sleep it off." Eliot felt like he owed the man something for the shelter he'd provided a few weeks back, when things could have gotten really ugly. He took the priest's bag and got them turned toward where he'd seen a cheap flea bag motel.
He slipped an arm around his waist as they neared the office, then leaned him against the counter as the manager appeared out of a back room. "I need a room."
"Hourly or for the whole night?"
Eliot frowned at him like he was crazy, forgetting for the moment that John wasn't wearing his collar. "For the night."
The man spit on the floor behind the counter and scratched at his stomach. "All right. I got one left on the ground floor." He chuckled. "It's our honeymoon special. Just got the magic fingers fixed. Forty Nine dollars."
John was fading fast, his eyes closed as he leaned into the counter. Eliot pulled out his wallet and dropped a fifty on the counter. The manager handed him a key. "Check out's at noon."
Eliot checked the room number on the key, then got an arm up under John's shoulders. "Come on Father, let's at least get in the room before you pass out on me." Eliot mumbled.
John muttered unintelligibly, but his feet moved when Eliot did and he sort of held himself up as they went to the room. Eliot got the door open and guided the priest into the room.
"There you go." Eliot helped him sit on the bed. The one bed. He rubbed his face. This was not how this night was supposed to go. Make the delivery, maybe hook up with Michael for an excellent blow job…maybe more…Eliot sighed and shook his head. The priest was leaning forward, sucking in air noisily. "If you're gonna hurl, the bathroom-"
He held up a hand and sat up slowly. "I'm okay."
Eliot chuckled. "You're drunk."
John nodded and exhaled. "That I am." He squinted up at Eliot. "What are you doing here?"
"Working." He pulled the small package out of his pocket and held it up. "I was on my way to deliver it when you fell out of the bar in front of me."
His eyes rolled a little and he huffed. "Shouldn't have been there." He lurched to his feet and cracked his neck. "Put that behind me a long time ago."
"What are you doing here?" Eliot asked.
Again a long huff sounded and John scratched at his head. "Here, in Dallas?" Eliot nodded and John shook his head. "I don't know."
Eliot sensed there was more too it, but John just shuffled toward the bathroom, so he let him have it and contemplated leaving him to his private mission, whatever it was. He was half way to the door when John emerged from the bathroom. "You leaving, just like that?"
Eliot turned. He shrugged. "I did my good deed. Got you into a safe place…well, safer than the streets."
John rubbed at his head and shuffled toward the bed. "You paid for the room, you shouldn't have to leave." He looked like he wanted to say more, but the words left him. "I don't even know what I'm saying." He sat heavily. "Shouldn't be here…can't…just…can't…" He trailed off and looked up at Eliot.
His eyes were bloodshot and the expression on his face was lost and confused. Eliot cursed at himself because the last thing he needed was to get involved in someone else's problems when he had enough of his own…but the man had been kind to him when he had no cause to be…and it had been a long time since Eliot had had kindness of that kind.
He sighed and turned back to John. "So what's with the collar?"
John's hand darted to his throat, as if he didn't remember he wasn't wearing it. "Sabbatical. My superiors thought it would be good for me to…get out and revisit my past."
"You got a past?" Somehow that amused Eliot.
"Ain't always been a priest, you know. Was married. Was a marine." He frowned and shook his head. "Been places. Seen a lot of shit." John rubbed a hand over his face. "Damn bourbon. My head is spinning."
"You should probably sleep." Eliot said, crossing over to him. He knelt beside the bed to untie John's shoes, figuring that if he tried, he'd end up on the floor. John's hand brushed over his head.
"Such a good boy."
Eliot snorted and looked up at him. He was struck by the pout in the priest's lips, wanting to lick over that lower lip, open them up, taste him. He shook his head. "Shit. If you knew what I was thinking, you wouldn't say that." Eliot mumbled, looking away.
John's hand tightened in his hair, knocking the tie-back loose. He turned Eliot's head. "You are." John insisted.
Eliot rose up on his knees, his hands on the priest's knees, guiding them open to make room between them. "Really, Father? Does a good boy think about taking advantage of a priest when he's drunk?"
He hovered with his lips just over John's, their breath mingling until their mouths brushed and John shuddered, his hand bringing Eliot closer. It was clumsy and awkward and Eliot pulled back, shaking his head. This was a bad idea.
"Maybe the priest is the one taking advantage." John whispered, his eyes searching out Eliot's. "Don't leave. Don't want to be alone."
"Father, I-" Eliot lifted his hands away and tried to stand.
"John. Winchester." He let go of Eliot and pulled his hands through his hair.
"I should go." Eliot managed to stand, only to have John's hands pull him back.
"Been thinking about you." John's hands held Eliot's hips and he rubbed his face over Eliot's stomach. "Can't stop thinking about you."
Stubble found its way under his t-shirt, igniting a fire in Eliot's skin. Eliot bit off the sound in his throat before it could come out a moan. He slid one hand into John's hair and tugged his face back. "John, man…I'm flattered…"
John blinked up at him, his face painted with naked desire. "Fuck." It wasn't like he was the one breaking any vows. He shook his head. Even for him though this was…wrong. "Dude, man…you're…you're a priest…and I'm…"
"Not." John replied, his hands moving to Eliot's zipper. His fingers played down the front of Eliot's cock and let Eliot know he was familiar with the territory. "I'm a man." John said, his voice rumbling over Eliot. "You're a man." His hand cupped Eliot's cock, which was admittedly rising to the occasion. "Just…two men…" John leaned forward and licked up the line of Eliot's zipper, his eyes lifting to meet Eliot's.
Eliot didn't stop him when his fingers unzipped him. "Tell me I was wrong." John whispered. "When you were there…at the church…I felt something, you wanted something."
He wanted to shake his head, deny it…offer the man a way out…but he found himself nodding. "You were gentle." Eliot managed. John's hand curled around his cock and Eliot gasped. A priest's hands shouldn't be able to do that. When his tongue flicked over the tip, Eliot nearly thrust his hips forward to sink himself into the heat of his mouth.
"I can be very gentle." John murmured, lavishing attention along Eliot's cock with his tongue. His hand slid up Eliot's chest, pushing his shirt up.
Eliot knew he should step back, walk away, but dear god in heaven the things John was doing to his dick. "Fuck…" He was likely already headed for hell, the things he'd done…but this? He yanked on his shirt, pulling it up and off. John's mouth closed around his cock, sucking and swallowing and Eliot couldn't keep himself from thrusting forward, taking the priest by surprise.
He pulled off and grinned, standing to push at Eliot's open jeans. Eliot shoved aside the voice in his head and the cascade of bad memories that came with it and reached for him, pulling at his shirt. John helped in as much as he managed to keep out of the way as Eliot went from throwing his shirt aside to attacking his pants.
When they were both naked Eliot stopped. "Say the word and I walk away."
John dragged him in, kissing him deeply before nipping his way up Eliot's jaw to his ear. "Absolvo." John whispered, his hand circling Eliot's cock and tugging.
Eliot nodded and climbed onto the bed. John followed. His cock was thick and full and it rubbed insistently against Eliot as they kissed. "I'm going to regret this in the morning."
John tasted like bourbon and fire as Eliot caught his lips with his own, and John's hands were soft, like they were handling something precious. Eliot closed his eyes and pushed away the fear that was building. Another time, another place, another pair of hands.
He nipped at John's ear. "Maybe I don't want gentle." Eliot growled and he could feel the shiver response in John. "Maybe I want you to show me what you need." He turned, one hand on the wall, the other reaching for John's cock and guiding it to him.
John steadied himself with one hand on Eliot's back, his other slid down over his ass, proving that in this too, he was not inexperienced. His finger pushed in and Eliot hissed. He tugged more on John's cock, wanting him to go faster. John grunted and worked a second finger in. "Not gonna hurt me." Eliot growled and John finally pulled his fingers out, making room for his cock.
Eliot moaned as John's cock pushed in past the first resistance, and John stopped, pulled back and came again, working Eliot open. Even without enough prep, it was gentler than Eliot was used to and he pushed back, looking for more.
They groaned out at once as John filled him and lay over him, breathing into his back as they adjusted, then he was pulling out and the burn as he pushed back in was everything Eliot was looking for. He dragged a hand down his own cock, pushing back into the thrust as John worked himself in and out, that one hand still on Eliot's back, his fingers playing along Eliot's spine.
He was murmuring words Eliot couldn't quite hear and he found himself straining, surprised to find he was whispering in Latin. His fingers traced in the growing sweat of Eliot's skin in time to the words, almost as if he were praying a rosary, his fingers climbing the line of Eliot's spine.
Eliot didn't think that should be something that pushed him that much closer to orgasm, but it did and he was coming into his hand as John's nimble fingers traced the sign of the cross at the top of Eliot's back and he pulled out suddenly.
He turned to look. John's eyes were closed, his mouth open, still lightly mouthing words as he came into his hand, his whole face turned upwards as if praying.
"Shit." Eliot climbed off the bed and went to get a washcloth. By the time he came back, John was sitting, his come filled hand on his knee, his face flushed, looking like he was going to pass out. Eliot wiped his hand and kissed him lightly. "Lay down, Father."
John let Eliot guide him down and cover him with the stiff motel sheets. As Eliot slid into bed beside him, John rolled toward him, nestling into him and whispering "Amen," in Eliot's ear.
"I'm going to the special hell."
Thunder crashes, rattles the windows. There's a scream and he's on his feet before he's awake. Ozone, lightening strike, fire, smoke. The night is chaos and there's blood on his tongue as he fights to find her. The nursery is alive with flames and he can't reach the crib. The heat eats at his skin, lick at his clothes. Eyes stare at him. Yellow eyes from a face inside the flames and he runs into the night.
The body in his arms twitched and jerked, a whimper escaping, followed by a yell of fear. "Emily!"
John held on instinctively, keeping Eliot from lurching out of the bed. They both lay in the vague light of not-quite-morning, breathing through the realizations that came with consciousness. "Oh my god." Eliot moaned, rolling away from John.
Neither of them had bothered with clothes after…well, after. John sat up, his back to the boy. "Don't…." He wasn't sure what he didn't want Eliot to do though. It was awkward. Or maybe the awkward part was that he didn't feel more awkward. "It's okay, Eliot."
"You're not the one who had sex with a drunk priest last night." Eliot countered. John could feel him leave the bed.
"No, I'm the one that convinced you to have sex with a drunk priest last night." John stood, looking around and spotting his bag. "You're not the first."
"That much was obvious." Eliot stopped, one leg in his jeans. "Wait. I thought priests were supposed to be celibate."
John paused, the bag in his hand. "Okay, well…you're the first since I took vows."
"Great."
John looked at him, his eyes on scars he hadn't seen before. Eliot's right thigh was thick with burn scars. As if he could feel John looking, Eliot shivered and turned away. Fair enough. It wasn't as if John had a right to know. He put his bag on the bed and pulled out clean clothes.
They dressed without speaking. John's head was starting to register the amount of bourbon he'd drank the night before, and the reason why. "I-it's been a long time since I've even been tempted." John said softly when it looked like Eliot was going to just walk out the door.
"Am I supposed to be flattered?" Eliot asked.
John shrugged. "Does it help if I tell you I was tempted before I was drunk?"
Eliot let go of the door and turned to face him. "Yeah?"
John nodded. "I may be a priest, Eliot…but I'm human."
"How long?"
John frowned. "How long what?"
"How long have you been a priest?"
He inhaled and counted. "Ten years. Before that I was married. Before that I was a marine at war. I knew a guy there…" He looked away and stood, shoving his feet into his shoes. "So, don't feel guilty. It's my problem, not yours."
"Only problem with that Padre, is I was here."
"I remember." He tried a smile and Eliot rolled his eyes. "Let me at least buy you breakfast."
"As long as you aren't going to make me go to confession or anything."
"Wouldn't dream of it." John grabbed his bag. "I have the feeling we'd be there all day."
"Funny, coming from a guy who just broke vows."
"I didn't say I wasn't going to confession." They dropped the key at the office and walked out to the road, looking around until John spotted a run down diner on the next corner.
They walked in silence. Once inside, John let Eliot pick a spot where he could see the street and they both ordered coffee. John rubbed at his neck, feeling the absence of the collar acutely. It would be a comfort, something to hide behind. "So…you have nightmares." John said quietly after they'd ordered.
Eliot stared into his coffee cup. "Live the way I do, you're bound to pick up some shadows."
John nodded. He could understand that. He had his own share of nightmares. But Eliot was young, he didn't want to think about how young, and the sounds he made in his sleep… "What makes someone like you cry out like that?" John mused, not realizing at first that he'd said it aloud.
Eliot looked uncomfortable. He fidgeted as the waitress came to put their plates on the table. "No offense, Father. But that's private. Okay?"
John looked up at the way he stressed the title and pulled back. He was right. John had no right asking those questions. He wasn't the boy's lover, his priest…he was just some guy who knew nothing about his life. "You're right. I'm sorry." He sipped at his coffee and smirked. "My mentor is always telling me that my curiosity is not fitting in a priest."
Eliot snorted as he cut into his eggs. "Ain't the only thing about you ain't exactly fitting."
"True enough." John turned his attention to his own breakfast. The kid wasn't wrong. It had never been the easiest fit for him. It wasn't his faith. He had found that after he lost Mary. He'd found his faith in the coldest, darkest hours of his life and it had given him the strength to continue. He had never questioned it, not even when he was sure he was going to die, knowing he was leaving his son behind.
No, faith wasn't his problem. At first it had been the quiet, the submission. While he was healing he could handle it, but the hours of prayer, the endless supplication when there was pain and suffering that was all too real…he'd found that hard. They let him hunt, but mostly as a release valve, something to let him blow off steam so that he could come back and focus. And then they'd given him the post in Chicago, in a troubled church in a troubled neighborhood and he seemed to finally start to fit in.
Eliot's fork clattered on his plate, snapping John back to the moment. Eliot was nearly done and John had barely touched his food. "So, you headed home after this?" Eliot asked.
John blinked and glanced out the window. "I haven't done what I came to do."
"Which you never did explain."
He took a deep breath. "I'm looking for someone."
Eliot raised an eyebrow and sat back. "This someone got a name?"
John nodded. "Dean. Winchester."
"Relative?"
John licked his lips and nodded. "Son."
"Okay, I did not expect that."
John focused on eating for a few minutes. "He'd be a little younger than you now. I haven't seen him since…well, let's just say it's been a long time." He wiped up the yolk from his eggs with a piece of toast and didn't look up at Eliot. In fact, it had been seven years since he'd seen the boy. Longer than that since they'd spoken.
"Where is he?"
John shrugged. "I have an address from his…from someone who knew him a year ago…but I don't know if he's still there. I tried to go yesterday, and ended up at the bar instead."
"And we both know how that turned out."
John took a deep breath. "Yeah, so…about that."
Eliot held up both hands. "Not a word from me to anyone. It's between you and your god, man."
John chewed and swallowed his toast, washing it down with the last of his coffee. "It can't-won't happen again. I was feeling weak and I was drunk. Not exactly my best moment."
"Honestly, Father, I don't expect I'll see you again. I'm going to deliver my package, get my money and I'm out of town. Got a job lined up in Houston after this."
"Good. Just keep yourself out of trouble."
"I could say the same to you."
John threw money on the table and stood. He held out a hand and after a slight hesitation, Eliot took it. "Take care." John wanted to pull him in to hug, but he knew better. It would just make him want more. More that he'd just said wouldn't happen. "I'm going to head up to the church. See if I can get find a priest." He needed to pray, to get his head on straight again before he tried to see Dean.
"They say confession is good for the soul." Eliot led the way to the door. "So…" He shook his head and headed out.
John watched him go. Guilt washed through him as soon as he felt fully alone. Guilt for what he'd done to Eliot, if not completely what he'd done with Eliot. Which was yet another reason to find a place to pray, to figure out what was going on inside him, to offer himself in quiet supplication to his Father to cleanse himself of his sin.
It was too damn early to go to Peski with the package. Hell, it was so early the hookers were still straggling home. Eliot should never have let the priest talk him into staying.
Not that they'd done a lot of talking. Eliot growled and stalked the streets, past the bar where he'd found John, up to Peski's apartment, past it and on toward…well, he didn't know. He felt a strange need to shower, or something. Which was stupid. He wasn't guilty of anything. He wasn't dirty, it wasn't his fault.
It wasn't like before. He growled at some homeless guy who was staring at him and kept walking. He was a grown man who had sex with another grown man because they'd both wanted it.
Still, he'd never actually felt like this after sex with anyone else. Certainly not when he and Michael did the many, many nasty things they'd done with each other. Eliot chuckled at the thought. They'd pushed the limits, the two of them. And they'd only known each other a little more than a year.
He stopped. What he needed was a good workout. There was a gym in the neighborhood, he remembered from his last trip through here. They'd be open in an hour or so. Eliot could get in some bag work, maybe some sparring.
It was a better idea than just stalking around the city furious with himself.
He paused outside the church, looking up at the building that had clearly seen better days. John put his bag on the steps and reached in to pull out his collar, slipping it in place and exhaling.
He took the stairs slowly, as if he were heading someplace he dreaded, rather than someplace he loved. He opened the door and slipped inside. Early morning mass was just finishing as he paused in the entrance. The priest intoned the benediction in perfect Latin for a handful of older women and a pew filled with nuns.
John signed himself with a sigh and stepped aside as the congregants began filing out. Several lined up at the confessional. His eyes sought out the familiar comforts of the church, crucifix and icons of their patron saints, the enclave of the Blessed Mother.
He dipped his fingers in the font of holy water and crossed himself again, murmuring softly words familiar enough to come unbidden. It was ritual that eased the edges of his emotions, helped him center enough to open himself up to the grace of God.
Half way up the aisle, he knelt and bowed his head, crossing himself yet again. It was formal, not often done anymore, but his intent was cleansing, forgiveness for sins committed willingly, and he was, in many ways, an old fashioned kind of man. He liked the formality of penance.
He slipped into a pew near the front, bowing his head and closing his eyes to block out any stray congregants. He breathed in deep. The air had the familiar taste of incense and candles.
He eased to his knees, slipping the rosary out of his pocket and fingering the beads until his fingers found the beginning. He exhaled slowly and crossed himself once more, the beads of the rosary trailing over his hand. "In nómine Pátris et Fílii et Spíritus Sáncti. Amen."
John let the familiar rhythm fold over him, whispering the words fervently into the wood of the pew in front of him. "Páter nóster, qui es in cáelis, sanctificétur nómen túum. Advéniat régnum túum. Fíat volúntas túa, sícut in cáelo et in térra. Pánem nóstrum quotidiánum da nóbis hódie, et dimítte nóbis débita nóstra, sícut et nos dimíttimus debitóribus nóstris. Et ne nos indúcas in tentatiónem: sed líbera nos a málo. Amen." His voice stumbled over the word temptation, and he went back to the beginning.
He inhaled deeply, already feeling the pull of the familiar litany, drawing him out of himself. "Áve María, grátia pléna, Dóminus técum; benedícta tu in muliéribus, et benedíctus frúctus véntris túi, Jésus. Sáncta María, Máter Déi, óra pro nóbis peccatóribus, nunc et in hóra mórtis nóstræ. Amen."
Slowly, the memory of Eliot's hands, and lips receded and in his place came the peace that was everything that kept John Winchester wearing the collar. He prayed his way around the rosary. Fervent, but not rushed.
His headache even faded as he knelt and prayed, as he offered himself up in supplication. He lost himself in the words, in the emotion that the words stirred in him, in the joy that filled him…until he felt the pew in front of him shift and became aware of eyes watching him.
Slowly, John opened his eyes to find a young priest sitting and watching, a small smile on his face. "Forgive me, I did not mean to interrupt so beautiful a supplication as yours." There was a vague Irish lilt to his voice. "I'm afraid I have not seen such devotion to the rosary as yours in some time."
John eased himself back onto the bench. "It is quite alright, Father, I was…done."
"I saw you come in." He gestured toward the doors. "Are you visiting?"
"In a manner of speaking. I am taking a leave of absence. I have some…personal issues to deal with. Family."
The younger priest nodded. "If you are done with your prayers for now, would you join me for lunch? I'm afraid I don't often have company since Father Millican passed away."
"Lunch?'' John frowned and looked at his watch. "Oh, my."
The other priest smiled. "You have been here quite a while, Father. If you would prefer I leave you to your prayers…"
John looked up. "No, I think…I would love to break bread with you Father."
"Joseph." He stood and held out his hand. "Father Joseph Benjamin."
"John Winchester." John shook his hand and stood himself. His stomach grumbled as Joseph led him out of the sanctuary and down a long hallway to his office. "I'm afraid our menu is limited, but Sister Ann does what she can."
Almost as if his words had summoned her, a nun appeared carrying a tray. "Father Benjamin exaggerates so he won't hurt my feelings, Father. I know my own limitations. You'll both be pleased to know that today's lunch was donated by Mr. Perelli's deli. All I did was put it on a tray."
Father Joseph cleared a corner of his desk for the tray and gestured to a seat as Sister Ann left the room. "Are you alone here?" John asked with a frown.
They both bowed their heads for a brief grace and when Joseph looked up he nodded. "Since Father Millican died six months ago. The diocese doesn't have anyone to spare and our church is…well, it isn't doing well. The neighborhood is dying."
They ate quietly for a moment. "I do hope I'm not intruding, Father, but you seemed troubled when you first came in. Is there anything I can do to help?"
John set his sandwich down. "I came in with the intention of finding my way again, Father. I've been…a little lost in the last few months."
"And what did you find in your hours of prayer?"
John inhaled and let it out slowly. "That maybe I'm not as lost as I once believed I was."
Joseph smiled and nodded. "When it is dark, we can not see where we are and thus we feel lost. When the sun rises, we may find ourselves exactly where we need to be."
John left his bag in the room Father Joseph had said was his for as long as he needed it and headed out into the bright afternoon. He had come to Dallas to find his son. He didn't let himself stop, didn't look around more than what he needed to. He knocked on the door and exhaled, stepping back.
A young woman with far too much black around her eyes opened the door, snapping gum at him. "This ain't Halloween."
John cleared his throat. "I’m looking for Dean Winchester?"
She frowned at him. "Nobody here by that name."
"Please, I was told he lived here."
"You were told wrong." She started to close the door.
From inside the apartment John heard a voice. "Andi, who is it?"
"Some priest, says he's looking for Dean somebody." She turned and looked behind her, then shrugged and moved away from the door.
John held his breath. He filled the doorway, arms crossed as he stared at John. "You got a lot of nerve, you know that?"
The man standing before him was clearly his son. He could see Mary in his eyes, in the shape of his mouth. But he was not the boy John last remembered seeing. His jeans slung low on his hips and his shirtless chest was marked with scars.
"Dean…I…"
"What? I don't have all day."
"You…" But now that it came down to it, John didn't know what to say. "I wanted to see you."
"And now you have. Anything else?"
John could feel tears burning in his eyes and glanced away, blinking. "I…um…I'm staying at Saint Lucia's. For a few days."
Dean uncrossed his arms and stepped forward a little. "Look, I don't know what little crisis of faith brought you here, but you walked out on me when I was seven. You don't get to just waltz back in and be a part of my life, okay?" His hand went to his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. "I'm doing fine. I got work to do. So here…" He pulled out a bunch of money from his wallet and balled it up, grabbing John's hand and shoving the money into it. "Go save some other orphan. I don't need you."
He slammed the door shut, leaving John standing there in the hallway, holding what had to be at least a thousand dollars. He couldn't blame the kid. He was right. John had left him, first to chase monsters and then to join the church.
It wasn't Dean's fault.
John put the money in his pocket and headed out of the building. He couldn't expect Dean to just accept him. He headed for the church. Maybe coming here was the right idea. The church clearly needed help, and if he stayed, he'd be closer to Dean. He could find a way to tell his son how sorry he was.
Title: To Salt the Flame, Part Two ( Part One here)
Pairing/Characters: Eliot Spence/ Father John Winchester, Dean Winchester
Word Count: 6169
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Pre-Series for Leverage, AU pre-series for SPN. John Winchester lost everything, and surrendered all that was left into the church that saved him. He became a priest who served his God in the traditional ways, as well as a few less traditional ways. Eliot Spencer is a young man restless and on the move, trying to outrun his past and chasing a life of painful destruction toward his future. When the two collide one stormy night, it leaves a mark...on both of them. This follows several months after the first part. John is taking a vacation of sorts in search of part of his past, and manages to run into Eliot unexpectedly. When temptation and alcohol mix, virtue and vows are lost.
A/Ns & Warnings: Written for ziplockeddaze for her geneosity. This is priest!kink, people. Vows are broken and faith is wrestled with. Both our boys have dark pasts and when they come together, demons of the figurative kind may not be the only thing they have to deal with. I blame this on havenward...but then...what don't I blame on her?
He felt oddly naked without the collar. He'd worn it for so long it was a part of him, of who he was. It had been longer still since he'd last laid eyes on his only remaining connection to his past.
He had an address and a vague idea of how his life had played out since John had seen him last. The guilt for that hung heavily on him as he stood in the shadows outside the dirty, run down apartment building.
He pulled at the neck of his t-shirt and glanced up and down the block. It was a bad neighborhood. He didn't belong here. But then, neither did his son.
John looked up at the building, sweat building on his brow. He wasn't ready for this. He remembered a bar down the street. Maybe he'd be better armed to face the child he'd abandoned after a few drinks.
Maybe.
He turned on his heel and stalked away, fingering the rosary in his pocket, silently running through the words in his head, trying to find his center. He opened the door of the dive bar, the stench of stale beer and cleaning products wafting out at him.
He hadn't felt centered and calm in weeks. Since that kid had stumbled into his church, bleeding and hiding. Blue eyes sparkled at him in his dreams, a wicked smile that whispered to him of sins he hadn't committed since his youth.
Father John Winchester did not feel very much like a priest as he took his place at the bar and ordered up a double shot of bourbon. He dropped a worn bag on the floor at his feet and sighed heavily. In his dreams, Eliot came to him, that scarred skin enticing, the odd combination of confidence and vague shyness mixing with the evidence of pain to make John ache with desire.
He dropped a twenty on the bar as the bartender set down his glass.
Add to his impure thoughts about a boy young enough to be his son, the thoughts about his son, about the life he had and lost, about the evil he knew to exist in the world, and John barely slept. He prayed. He fasted. He drank.
Which, admittedly wasn't the best way of dealing with anything.
He sipped at the bourbon in his glass, welcoming the slow burn as it traveled down his throat. He'd taken a leave from his post at the church in Chicago on his friend's advice and taken a long, slow bus ride south to Dallas to find Dean.
The address was at least a year old, so John wasn't even sure it was still good. It had taken a lot to get it too. Favors called in from people he'd helped gave him a place to start. It took him almost five years to piece it together.
He closed his eyes and drank down the bourbon in his glass, tapping it on the bar for more. He should get a place to sleep before he got to drunk to function. He could probably impose on the hospitality at one of the local churches if he didn't show up smashed. He toyed with the glass.
Or he could just get a room at some cheap motel. He sipped at the drink and decided on a room at the motel he saw a few blocks away. It was run down, just like the rest of the neighborhood, probably more used to hookers and johns than priests, but the room should be cheap and he'd be close enough to try again when he was feeling a little more secure.
He snorted at the idea. He doubted he was ever going to feel secure enough to make walking up to the door any easier.
Eliot exhaled and pulled his hair back, tying it out of his way. The chances that this went south were pretty good, but he needed the payout, so he double-checked the object in his pocket and the street sign.
He was only a few blocks from his target. He didn't like dealing with middlemen and this one had a reputation for not liking to pay up sometimes. He was early though, not expected for another couple of days, so that could buy him a little favor with the guy. Besides, Michael had assured him that he wouldn't get burned…and maybe Eliot didn't trust much of anyone, but considering that Michael had been naked and in his bed at the time, he tended to believe him.
He nodded to himself, checked his surroundings, then headed toward the apartment building, only to jump back from a bar door as a burly bouncer pushed a man out onto the sidewalk.
A duffle bag followed, landing on the sidewalk next to the man's head. The man laughed, coughed and tried to get up as the door closed. He managed to get onto his knees, dropping something out of his pants pocket.
Eliot bent to pick it up, his fingers caressing the beads of a rather fine rosary as he straightened up. He frowned into the familiar face as the man righted himself, duffle bag in hand. The man rubbed at his eyes. "Shit. I'm drunker than I thought."
"Hey, you okay?" Eliot asked, holding out the rosary.
Dark eyes peeked from around fingers, then closed. "I'm seeing things."
"Father?" Eliot recognized him, despite the lack of collar and being thousands of miles out of place.
He dropped the hand, wobbling a little and squinting at Eliot. "Not seeing things?"
Eliot found himself smirking. "I think I'm real."
The priest poked at his shoulder and Eliot couldn't help but laugh. "But you're still really drunk."
"Kicked me out." He glared at the door.
"So I see." Eliot looked up the street toward his destination, then back at the priest. "You got someplace to stay?"
He mumbled something about getting a room somewhere, leaning in like he was going to tell Eliot a secret, but then he seemed distracted by something on Eliot's neck. His hand stole up to cover the scar there. "You smell good."
"Okay, that's it. Come on. Let's find you a place to sleep it off." Eliot felt like he owed the man something for the shelter he'd provided a few weeks back, when things could have gotten really ugly. He took the priest's bag and got them turned toward where he'd seen a cheap flea bag motel.
He slipped an arm around his waist as they neared the office, then leaned him against the counter as the manager appeared out of a back room. "I need a room."
"Hourly or for the whole night?"
Eliot frowned at him like he was crazy, forgetting for the moment that John wasn't wearing his collar. "For the night."
The man spit on the floor behind the counter and scratched at his stomach. "All right. I got one left on the ground floor." He chuckled. "It's our honeymoon special. Just got the magic fingers fixed. Forty Nine dollars."
John was fading fast, his eyes closed as he leaned into the counter. Eliot pulled out his wallet and dropped a fifty on the counter. The manager handed him a key. "Check out's at noon."
Eliot checked the room number on the key, then got an arm up under John's shoulders. "Come on Father, let's at least get in the room before you pass out on me." Eliot mumbled.
John muttered unintelligibly, but his feet moved when Eliot did and he sort of held himself up as they went to the room. Eliot got the door open and guided the priest into the room.
"There you go." Eliot helped him sit on the bed. The one bed. He rubbed his face. This was not how this night was supposed to go. Make the delivery, maybe hook up with Michael for an excellent blow job…maybe more…Eliot sighed and shook his head. The priest was leaning forward, sucking in air noisily. "If you're gonna hurl, the bathroom-"
He held up a hand and sat up slowly. "I'm okay."
Eliot chuckled. "You're drunk."
John nodded and exhaled. "That I am." He squinted up at Eliot. "What are you doing here?"
"Working." He pulled the small package out of his pocket and held it up. "I was on my way to deliver it when you fell out of the bar in front of me."
His eyes rolled a little and he huffed. "Shouldn't have been there." He lurched to his feet and cracked his neck. "Put that behind me a long time ago."
"What are you doing here?" Eliot asked.
Again a long huff sounded and John scratched at his head. "Here, in Dallas?" Eliot nodded and John shook his head. "I don't know."
Eliot sensed there was more too it, but John just shuffled toward the bathroom, so he let him have it and contemplated leaving him to his private mission, whatever it was. He was half way to the door when John emerged from the bathroom. "You leaving, just like that?"
Eliot turned. He shrugged. "I did my good deed. Got you into a safe place…well, safer than the streets."
John rubbed at his head and shuffled toward the bed. "You paid for the room, you shouldn't have to leave." He looked like he wanted to say more, but the words left him. "I don't even know what I'm saying." He sat heavily. "Shouldn't be here…can't…just…can't…" He trailed off and looked up at Eliot.
His eyes were bloodshot and the expression on his face was lost and confused. Eliot cursed at himself because the last thing he needed was to get involved in someone else's problems when he had enough of his own…but the man had been kind to him when he had no cause to be…and it had been a long time since Eliot had had kindness of that kind.
He sighed and turned back to John. "So what's with the collar?"
John's hand darted to his throat, as if he didn't remember he wasn't wearing it. "Sabbatical. My superiors thought it would be good for me to…get out and revisit my past."
"You got a past?" Somehow that amused Eliot.
"Ain't always been a priest, you know. Was married. Was a marine." He frowned and shook his head. "Been places. Seen a lot of shit." John rubbed a hand over his face. "Damn bourbon. My head is spinning."
"You should probably sleep." Eliot said, crossing over to him. He knelt beside the bed to untie John's shoes, figuring that if he tried, he'd end up on the floor. John's hand brushed over his head.
"Such a good boy."
Eliot snorted and looked up at him. He was struck by the pout in the priest's lips, wanting to lick over that lower lip, open them up, taste him. He shook his head. "Shit. If you knew what I was thinking, you wouldn't say that." Eliot mumbled, looking away.
John's hand tightened in his hair, knocking the tie-back loose. He turned Eliot's head. "You are." John insisted.
Eliot rose up on his knees, his hands on the priest's knees, guiding them open to make room between them. "Really, Father? Does a good boy think about taking advantage of a priest when he's drunk?"
He hovered with his lips just over John's, their breath mingling until their mouths brushed and John shuddered, his hand bringing Eliot closer. It was clumsy and awkward and Eliot pulled back, shaking his head. This was a bad idea.
"Maybe the priest is the one taking advantage." John whispered, his eyes searching out Eliot's. "Don't leave. Don't want to be alone."
"Father, I-" Eliot lifted his hands away and tried to stand.
"John. Winchester." He let go of Eliot and pulled his hands through his hair.
"I should go." Eliot managed to stand, only to have John's hands pull him back.
"Been thinking about you." John's hands held Eliot's hips and he rubbed his face over Eliot's stomach. "Can't stop thinking about you."
Stubble found its way under his t-shirt, igniting a fire in Eliot's skin. Eliot bit off the sound in his throat before it could come out a moan. He slid one hand into John's hair and tugged his face back. "John, man…I'm flattered…"
John blinked up at him, his face painted with naked desire. "Fuck." It wasn't like he was the one breaking any vows. He shook his head. Even for him though this was…wrong. "Dude, man…you're…you're a priest…and I'm…"
"Not." John replied, his hands moving to Eliot's zipper. His fingers played down the front of Eliot's cock and let Eliot know he was familiar with the territory. "I'm a man." John said, his voice rumbling over Eliot. "You're a man." His hand cupped Eliot's cock, which was admittedly rising to the occasion. "Just…two men…" John leaned forward and licked up the line of Eliot's zipper, his eyes lifting to meet Eliot's.
Eliot didn't stop him when his fingers unzipped him. "Tell me I was wrong." John whispered. "When you were there…at the church…I felt something, you wanted something."
He wanted to shake his head, deny it…offer the man a way out…but he found himself nodding. "You were gentle." Eliot managed. John's hand curled around his cock and Eliot gasped. A priest's hands shouldn't be able to do that. When his tongue flicked over the tip, Eliot nearly thrust his hips forward to sink himself into the heat of his mouth.
"I can be very gentle." John murmured, lavishing attention along Eliot's cock with his tongue. His hand slid up Eliot's chest, pushing his shirt up.
Eliot knew he should step back, walk away, but dear god in heaven the things John was doing to his dick. "Fuck…" He was likely already headed for hell, the things he'd done…but this? He yanked on his shirt, pulling it up and off. John's mouth closed around his cock, sucking and swallowing and Eliot couldn't keep himself from thrusting forward, taking the priest by surprise.
He pulled off and grinned, standing to push at Eliot's open jeans. Eliot shoved aside the voice in his head and the cascade of bad memories that came with it and reached for him, pulling at his shirt. John helped in as much as he managed to keep out of the way as Eliot went from throwing his shirt aside to attacking his pants.
When they were both naked Eliot stopped. "Say the word and I walk away."
John dragged him in, kissing him deeply before nipping his way up Eliot's jaw to his ear. "Absolvo." John whispered, his hand circling Eliot's cock and tugging.
Eliot nodded and climbed onto the bed. John followed. His cock was thick and full and it rubbed insistently against Eliot as they kissed. "I'm going to regret this in the morning."
John tasted like bourbon and fire as Eliot caught his lips with his own, and John's hands were soft, like they were handling something precious. Eliot closed his eyes and pushed away the fear that was building. Another time, another place, another pair of hands.
He nipped at John's ear. "Maybe I don't want gentle." Eliot growled and he could feel the shiver response in John. "Maybe I want you to show me what you need." He turned, one hand on the wall, the other reaching for John's cock and guiding it to him.
John steadied himself with one hand on Eliot's back, his other slid down over his ass, proving that in this too, he was not inexperienced. His finger pushed in and Eliot hissed. He tugged more on John's cock, wanting him to go faster. John grunted and worked a second finger in. "Not gonna hurt me." Eliot growled and John finally pulled his fingers out, making room for his cock.
Eliot moaned as John's cock pushed in past the first resistance, and John stopped, pulled back and came again, working Eliot open. Even without enough prep, it was gentler than Eliot was used to and he pushed back, looking for more.
They groaned out at once as John filled him and lay over him, breathing into his back as they adjusted, then he was pulling out and the burn as he pushed back in was everything Eliot was looking for. He dragged a hand down his own cock, pushing back into the thrust as John worked himself in and out, that one hand still on Eliot's back, his fingers playing along Eliot's spine.
He was murmuring words Eliot couldn't quite hear and he found himself straining, surprised to find he was whispering in Latin. His fingers traced in the growing sweat of Eliot's skin in time to the words, almost as if he were praying a rosary, his fingers climbing the line of Eliot's spine.
Eliot didn't think that should be something that pushed him that much closer to orgasm, but it did and he was coming into his hand as John's nimble fingers traced the sign of the cross at the top of Eliot's back and he pulled out suddenly.
He turned to look. John's eyes were closed, his mouth open, still lightly mouthing words as he came into his hand, his whole face turned upwards as if praying.
"Shit." Eliot climbed off the bed and went to get a washcloth. By the time he came back, John was sitting, his come filled hand on his knee, his face flushed, looking like he was going to pass out. Eliot wiped his hand and kissed him lightly. "Lay down, Father."
John let Eliot guide him down and cover him with the stiff motel sheets. As Eliot slid into bed beside him, John rolled toward him, nestling into him and whispering "Amen," in Eliot's ear.
"I'm going to the special hell."
Thunder crashes, rattles the windows. There's a scream and he's on his feet before he's awake. Ozone, lightening strike, fire, smoke. The night is chaos and there's blood on his tongue as he fights to find her. The nursery is alive with flames and he can't reach the crib. The heat eats at his skin, lick at his clothes. Eyes stare at him. Yellow eyes from a face inside the flames and he runs into the night.
The body in his arms twitched and jerked, a whimper escaping, followed by a yell of fear. "Emily!"
John held on instinctively, keeping Eliot from lurching out of the bed. They both lay in the vague light of not-quite-morning, breathing through the realizations that came with consciousness. "Oh my god." Eliot moaned, rolling away from John.
Neither of them had bothered with clothes after…well, after. John sat up, his back to the boy. "Don't…." He wasn't sure what he didn't want Eliot to do though. It was awkward. Or maybe the awkward part was that he didn't feel more awkward. "It's okay, Eliot."
"You're not the one who had sex with a drunk priest last night." Eliot countered. John could feel him leave the bed.
"No, I'm the one that convinced you to have sex with a drunk priest last night." John stood, looking around and spotting his bag. "You're not the first."
"That much was obvious." Eliot stopped, one leg in his jeans. "Wait. I thought priests were supposed to be celibate."
John paused, the bag in his hand. "Okay, well…you're the first since I took vows."
"Great."
John looked at him, his eyes on scars he hadn't seen before. Eliot's right thigh was thick with burn scars. As if he could feel John looking, Eliot shivered and turned away. Fair enough. It wasn't as if John had a right to know. He put his bag on the bed and pulled out clean clothes.
They dressed without speaking. John's head was starting to register the amount of bourbon he'd drank the night before, and the reason why. "I-it's been a long time since I've even been tempted." John said softly when it looked like Eliot was going to just walk out the door.
"Am I supposed to be flattered?" Eliot asked.
John shrugged. "Does it help if I tell you I was tempted before I was drunk?"
Eliot let go of the door and turned to face him. "Yeah?"
John nodded. "I may be a priest, Eliot…but I'm human."
"How long?"
John frowned. "How long what?"
"How long have you been a priest?"
He inhaled and counted. "Ten years. Before that I was married. Before that I was a marine at war. I knew a guy there…" He looked away and stood, shoving his feet into his shoes. "So, don't feel guilty. It's my problem, not yours."
"Only problem with that Padre, is I was here."
"I remember." He tried a smile and Eliot rolled his eyes. "Let me at least buy you breakfast."
"As long as you aren't going to make me go to confession or anything."
"Wouldn't dream of it." John grabbed his bag. "I have the feeling we'd be there all day."
"Funny, coming from a guy who just broke vows."
"I didn't say I wasn't going to confession." They dropped the key at the office and walked out to the road, looking around until John spotted a run down diner on the next corner.
They walked in silence. Once inside, John let Eliot pick a spot where he could see the street and they both ordered coffee. John rubbed at his neck, feeling the absence of the collar acutely. It would be a comfort, something to hide behind. "So…you have nightmares." John said quietly after they'd ordered.
Eliot stared into his coffee cup. "Live the way I do, you're bound to pick up some shadows."
John nodded. He could understand that. He had his own share of nightmares. But Eliot was young, he didn't want to think about how young, and the sounds he made in his sleep… "What makes someone like you cry out like that?" John mused, not realizing at first that he'd said it aloud.
Eliot looked uncomfortable. He fidgeted as the waitress came to put their plates on the table. "No offense, Father. But that's private. Okay?"
John looked up at the way he stressed the title and pulled back. He was right. John had no right asking those questions. He wasn't the boy's lover, his priest…he was just some guy who knew nothing about his life. "You're right. I'm sorry." He sipped at his coffee and smirked. "My mentor is always telling me that my curiosity is not fitting in a priest."
Eliot snorted as he cut into his eggs. "Ain't the only thing about you ain't exactly fitting."
"True enough." John turned his attention to his own breakfast. The kid wasn't wrong. It had never been the easiest fit for him. It wasn't his faith. He had found that after he lost Mary. He'd found his faith in the coldest, darkest hours of his life and it had given him the strength to continue. He had never questioned it, not even when he was sure he was going to die, knowing he was leaving his son behind.
No, faith wasn't his problem. At first it had been the quiet, the submission. While he was healing he could handle it, but the hours of prayer, the endless supplication when there was pain and suffering that was all too real…he'd found that hard. They let him hunt, but mostly as a release valve, something to let him blow off steam so that he could come back and focus. And then they'd given him the post in Chicago, in a troubled church in a troubled neighborhood and he seemed to finally start to fit in.
Eliot's fork clattered on his plate, snapping John back to the moment. Eliot was nearly done and John had barely touched his food. "So, you headed home after this?" Eliot asked.
John blinked and glanced out the window. "I haven't done what I came to do."
"Which you never did explain."
He took a deep breath. "I'm looking for someone."
Eliot raised an eyebrow and sat back. "This someone got a name?"
John nodded. "Dean. Winchester."
"Relative?"
John licked his lips and nodded. "Son."
"Okay, I did not expect that."
John focused on eating for a few minutes. "He'd be a little younger than you now. I haven't seen him since…well, let's just say it's been a long time." He wiped up the yolk from his eggs with a piece of toast and didn't look up at Eliot. In fact, it had been seven years since he'd seen the boy. Longer than that since they'd spoken.
"Where is he?"
John shrugged. "I have an address from his…from someone who knew him a year ago…but I don't know if he's still there. I tried to go yesterday, and ended up at the bar instead."
"And we both know how that turned out."
John took a deep breath. "Yeah, so…about that."
Eliot held up both hands. "Not a word from me to anyone. It's between you and your god, man."
John chewed and swallowed his toast, washing it down with the last of his coffee. "It can't-won't happen again. I was feeling weak and I was drunk. Not exactly my best moment."
"Honestly, Father, I don't expect I'll see you again. I'm going to deliver my package, get my money and I'm out of town. Got a job lined up in Houston after this."
"Good. Just keep yourself out of trouble."
"I could say the same to you."
John threw money on the table and stood. He held out a hand and after a slight hesitation, Eliot took it. "Take care." John wanted to pull him in to hug, but he knew better. It would just make him want more. More that he'd just said wouldn't happen. "I'm going to head up to the church. See if I can get find a priest." He needed to pray, to get his head on straight again before he tried to see Dean.
"They say confession is good for the soul." Eliot led the way to the door. "So…" He shook his head and headed out.
John watched him go. Guilt washed through him as soon as he felt fully alone. Guilt for what he'd done to Eliot, if not completely what he'd done with Eliot. Which was yet another reason to find a place to pray, to figure out what was going on inside him, to offer himself in quiet supplication to his Father to cleanse himself of his sin.
It was too damn early to go to Peski with the package. Hell, it was so early the hookers were still straggling home. Eliot should never have let the priest talk him into staying.
Not that they'd done a lot of talking. Eliot growled and stalked the streets, past the bar where he'd found John, up to Peski's apartment, past it and on toward…well, he didn't know. He felt a strange need to shower, or something. Which was stupid. He wasn't guilty of anything. He wasn't dirty, it wasn't his fault.
It wasn't like before. He growled at some homeless guy who was staring at him and kept walking. He was a grown man who had sex with another grown man because they'd both wanted it.
Still, he'd never actually felt like this after sex with anyone else. Certainly not when he and Michael did the many, many nasty things they'd done with each other. Eliot chuckled at the thought. They'd pushed the limits, the two of them. And they'd only known each other a little more than a year.
He stopped. What he needed was a good workout. There was a gym in the neighborhood, he remembered from his last trip through here. They'd be open in an hour or so. Eliot could get in some bag work, maybe some sparring.
It was a better idea than just stalking around the city furious with himself.
He paused outside the church, looking up at the building that had clearly seen better days. John put his bag on the steps and reached in to pull out his collar, slipping it in place and exhaling.
He took the stairs slowly, as if he were heading someplace he dreaded, rather than someplace he loved. He opened the door and slipped inside. Early morning mass was just finishing as he paused in the entrance. The priest intoned the benediction in perfect Latin for a handful of older women and a pew filled with nuns.
John signed himself with a sigh and stepped aside as the congregants began filing out. Several lined up at the confessional. His eyes sought out the familiar comforts of the church, crucifix and icons of their patron saints, the enclave of the Blessed Mother.
He dipped his fingers in the font of holy water and crossed himself again, murmuring softly words familiar enough to come unbidden. It was ritual that eased the edges of his emotions, helped him center enough to open himself up to the grace of God.
Half way up the aisle, he knelt and bowed his head, crossing himself yet again. It was formal, not often done anymore, but his intent was cleansing, forgiveness for sins committed willingly, and he was, in many ways, an old fashioned kind of man. He liked the formality of penance.
He slipped into a pew near the front, bowing his head and closing his eyes to block out any stray congregants. He breathed in deep. The air had the familiar taste of incense and candles.
He eased to his knees, slipping the rosary out of his pocket and fingering the beads until his fingers found the beginning. He exhaled slowly and crossed himself once more, the beads of the rosary trailing over his hand. "In nómine Pátris et Fílii et Spíritus Sáncti. Amen."
John let the familiar rhythm fold over him, whispering the words fervently into the wood of the pew in front of him. "Páter nóster, qui es in cáelis, sanctificétur nómen túum. Advéniat régnum túum. Fíat volúntas túa, sícut in cáelo et in térra. Pánem nóstrum quotidiánum da nóbis hódie, et dimítte nóbis débita nóstra, sícut et nos dimíttimus debitóribus nóstris. Et ne nos indúcas in tentatiónem: sed líbera nos a málo. Amen." His voice stumbled over the word temptation, and he went back to the beginning.
He inhaled deeply, already feeling the pull of the familiar litany, drawing him out of himself. "Áve María, grátia pléna, Dóminus técum; benedícta tu in muliéribus, et benedíctus frúctus véntris túi, Jésus. Sáncta María, Máter Déi, óra pro nóbis peccatóribus, nunc et in hóra mórtis nóstræ. Amen."
Slowly, the memory of Eliot's hands, and lips receded and in his place came the peace that was everything that kept John Winchester wearing the collar. He prayed his way around the rosary. Fervent, but not rushed.
His headache even faded as he knelt and prayed, as he offered himself up in supplication. He lost himself in the words, in the emotion that the words stirred in him, in the joy that filled him…until he felt the pew in front of him shift and became aware of eyes watching him.
Slowly, John opened his eyes to find a young priest sitting and watching, a small smile on his face. "Forgive me, I did not mean to interrupt so beautiful a supplication as yours." There was a vague Irish lilt to his voice. "I'm afraid I have not seen such devotion to the rosary as yours in some time."
John eased himself back onto the bench. "It is quite alright, Father, I was…done."
"I saw you come in." He gestured toward the doors. "Are you visiting?"
"In a manner of speaking. I am taking a leave of absence. I have some…personal issues to deal with. Family."
The younger priest nodded. "If you are done with your prayers for now, would you join me for lunch? I'm afraid I don't often have company since Father Millican passed away."
"Lunch?'' John frowned and looked at his watch. "Oh, my."
The other priest smiled. "You have been here quite a while, Father. If you would prefer I leave you to your prayers…"
John looked up. "No, I think…I would love to break bread with you Father."
"Joseph." He stood and held out his hand. "Father Joseph Benjamin."
"John Winchester." John shook his hand and stood himself. His stomach grumbled as Joseph led him out of the sanctuary and down a long hallway to his office. "I'm afraid our menu is limited, but Sister Ann does what she can."
Almost as if his words had summoned her, a nun appeared carrying a tray. "Father Benjamin exaggerates so he won't hurt my feelings, Father. I know my own limitations. You'll both be pleased to know that today's lunch was donated by Mr. Perelli's deli. All I did was put it on a tray."
Father Joseph cleared a corner of his desk for the tray and gestured to a seat as Sister Ann left the room. "Are you alone here?" John asked with a frown.
They both bowed their heads for a brief grace and when Joseph looked up he nodded. "Since Father Millican died six months ago. The diocese doesn't have anyone to spare and our church is…well, it isn't doing well. The neighborhood is dying."
They ate quietly for a moment. "I do hope I'm not intruding, Father, but you seemed troubled when you first came in. Is there anything I can do to help?"
John set his sandwich down. "I came in with the intention of finding my way again, Father. I've been…a little lost in the last few months."
"And what did you find in your hours of prayer?"
John inhaled and let it out slowly. "That maybe I'm not as lost as I once believed I was."
Joseph smiled and nodded. "When it is dark, we can not see where we are and thus we feel lost. When the sun rises, we may find ourselves exactly where we need to be."
John left his bag in the room Father Joseph had said was his for as long as he needed it and headed out into the bright afternoon. He had come to Dallas to find his son. He didn't let himself stop, didn't look around more than what he needed to. He knocked on the door and exhaled, stepping back.
A young woman with far too much black around her eyes opened the door, snapping gum at him. "This ain't Halloween."
John cleared his throat. "I’m looking for Dean Winchester?"
She frowned at him. "Nobody here by that name."
"Please, I was told he lived here."
"You were told wrong." She started to close the door.
From inside the apartment John heard a voice. "Andi, who is it?"
"Some priest, says he's looking for Dean somebody." She turned and looked behind her, then shrugged and moved away from the door.
John held his breath. He filled the doorway, arms crossed as he stared at John. "You got a lot of nerve, you know that?"
The man standing before him was clearly his son. He could see Mary in his eyes, in the shape of his mouth. But he was not the boy John last remembered seeing. His jeans slung low on his hips and his shirtless chest was marked with scars.
"Dean…I…"
"What? I don't have all day."
"You…" But now that it came down to it, John didn't know what to say. "I wanted to see you."
"And now you have. Anything else?"
John could feel tears burning in his eyes and glanced away, blinking. "I…um…I'm staying at Saint Lucia's. For a few days."
Dean uncrossed his arms and stepped forward a little. "Look, I don't know what little crisis of faith brought you here, but you walked out on me when I was seven. You don't get to just waltz back in and be a part of my life, okay?" His hand went to his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. "I'm doing fine. I got work to do. So here…" He pulled out a bunch of money from his wallet and balled it up, grabbing John's hand and shoving the money into it. "Go save some other orphan. I don't need you."
He slammed the door shut, leaving John standing there in the hallway, holding what had to be at least a thousand dollars. He couldn't blame the kid. He was right. John had left him, first to chase monsters and then to join the church.
It wasn't Dean's fault.
John put the money in his pocket and headed out of the building. He couldn't expect Dean to just accept him. He headed for the church. Maybe coming here was the right idea. The church clearly needed help, and if he stayed, he'd be closer to Dean. He could find a way to tell his son how sorry he was.