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beansideTitle: Saint of Me
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
beanside &nilchance
Rating: Adult-mentions of slash.
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: We don't own the Supernatural boys, I'm afraid. This is strictly for entertainment purposes, no money is made.
Summary: Prequel to Of Bastard Saints. A little more about Andrew and the Winchesters.
When Jim came back from St. Paul, bone-tired and worn thin and so deeply content it was almost troubling, it was to find a shadow waiting on his own front steps. Behind Levi, posture stiff with outrage, was Dean.
Smothering a groan, Jim got out of the car. “Come on, Andrew. Let’s go relieve the cavalry.”
“Huh?” Andrew stopped staring out at Levi with too-wide eyes, pausing to peer at Jim suspiciously. Which was about what he’d been doing since the doctor broke out the first syringe for a vaccination, staying carefully out of arms-reach in case Jim caught him for another round.
The hell Jim was. Much to no one’s surprise, Andrew was a biter. Hadn’t whined much, but he’d given Jim a lifetime’s worth of wounded looks.
“Nothing.” Jim popped his trunk, eyeing Levi and Dean. Was that a gun tucked in Dean’s waistband? Jesus, John. “Go play, all right?”
Andrew squinted at Levi, apparently weighing whether he wanted to walk around him to go inside. Slowly, he unbuckled his seatbelt and asked without looking away from Levi, “Can I hit the gun range yet?”
Jim knew better than to think that the question was random. Andrew didn’t feel safe. For good reason. If John hadn’t taught Jim the bare bones of warding the car and their motel room…
Three separate attacks in less than twenty-four hours. Through the whole process, handing over the falsified records, signing the adoption papers, getting Andrew up to date on vaccinations and check-ups, buying him a handful of general stuff that (according to John Winchester) a boy Andrew’s age might need, Jim had felt the pressure of something watching. Waiting.
“No.” Forestalling the noises that usually came after that, Jim said sternly, “I’ll let you know when.”
“Dean gets to,” Andrew muttered, but he climbed warily out of the car.
“Yeah, well.”
Andrew stared at Jim, shifting back and forth on his feet. Jim’s first lesson as a quasi-father: don’t bribe the boy with sugar and then stick him in a car for a few hours. When it became obvious Jim wasn’t going to elaborate, Andrew huffed out a breath and asked brightly, “Can I spar?”
“Maybe. If someone over 18 is watching. And no, that doesn’t count the TV or the crucifix.”
“Jesus is older than 18,” Andrew pointed out. There was a brief flash of a genuine smile, the one that actually touched his eyes and dispelled the usual impression: that he was a paranoid old war veteran in an 8 year old’s body.
“Yes. Much.” Despite himself, Jim smiled back. “Go ask Mr. Winchester, all right? Let him know we’re back.”
“Okay.” Andrew continued to stand there, eyeing Jim like he was going to go somewhere the second Andrew turned his back. “Um.”
Reaching into the trunk, Jim grabbed the duffel of Andrew’s stuff and tossed it in his direction. With more care, he picked up the manila folder of adoption papers. “Andrew, I’ll be here.”
For the first time since seeing Levi, Andrew exhaled. He bent, grabbing his duffel. “Okay. Uh. You know, all this stuff, the papers and everything, you didn’t have to- it was nice of you, but I can still-“
“Son,” Jim said gently, “go unpack your bags. You’re not going anywhere.”
The smile that got him was bright, genuine. It also got him a pair of skinny arms wrapped around his waist, holding tighter than he’d have imagined. “Thank you.” Andrew whispered, squeezing hard, then letting go and grabbing the duffel, heading towards the door at a jog. “You didn’t tell me the shots would hurt,” he accused Dean.
Jim let his smile fade as he looked at Levi. “He’s staying.”
“I gathered,” Levi rumbled. He looked after Dean, a long assessing look that did nothing for Jim’s nerves, then got to his feet.
“One question. Is this going to bite me in the ass one day?”
“I don’t know,” Levi said softly. “He’s…unique. There’s a lot of things he doesn’t remember. When he does, he’s going to have a hard time of it. But really, he’s just like any other child. He could do amazing things. Or terrible ones. It’s up to you. And him, of course.” The tall man turned, sliding sunglasses on in the dim light. “I’ll stop by now and then. See how he’s doing. God be with you, Father.”
With a shake of his head, Jim went inside, looking around the church proper. Everything looked in place, somewhat surprisingly, since he’d asked John and the boys to watch things for a couple days.
A week ago, the worst thing he’d done since Vietnam was put the priest’s collar on when a cop pulled him over for speeding. Now, he had fraudulent adoption papers, a son, and had allowed—hell, had asked a man to masquerade as a priest in his absence. He was definitely going to be saying some Hail Mary’s.
Sam’s squeal of laughter alerted him to where they were, and Jim changed course, comforted by John’s broad shoulders leaning against the doorframe.
“No,” Sam giggled. “Andrew spar with me.”
Dean laughed, a high, childish sound that made the corners of John’s eyes crinkle.
“Spar with you?” Andrew asked, voice rippling with laugher. “Like this?”
Sam squealed again, and Jim stepped up next to John, looking in to see Andrew tickling Sam, then dancing back into a ‘fighting pose’.
Still laughing, Sam launched himself at Andrew, chubby little arms grabbing at him. Andrew let Sam pull him down, grinning as Sam shouted with glee. Then, the three year old started tickling him, giggling wildly. Andrew squirmed, howling with laughter.
Jim swallowed hard, unexpected emotion welling up in his throat. How he’d gotten so attached in such a short time, he didn’t know. But it felt right somehow.
John patted him on the shoulder awkwardly. “Congratulations, Jim. It’s a boy.”
Jim smiled back. “Yeah. My boy.”
“Did you decide on a middle name?”
“James,” Jim said. “Nearly bawled like a baby right then.”
John nodded. “They’ll do that to you.” He smiled fondly at the boys. “Dean looks so much like Mary that it hurts some days. Has her smile.”
“What happened to her, if you don’t mind my asking?” Jim murmured.
“Demon. Nasty one. Been looking for a year- no. Damn.” John rubbed his eyes, looking tired. “Two and a half years now, since I started hunting.”
“Do you usually bring the boys?” Jim asked softly.
“Gonna give me hell for that?” John asked, giving him a sidelong glance. There was a tightness at his mouth that belied his easy tone.
Jim shook his head. “I’m sure you have your reasons, John. It doesn’t thrill me, but-”
“When I was in Vietnam, I used to get so pissed off,” John mused. “Couldn’t understand how they could put a gun into a child’s hands and send him out like that. And I wasn’t going to let them, but then one night I came in and passed out on the couch without locking anything up. When I woke up, Dean was slapping a magazine back into the gun he’d just finished cleaning. I tore a strip out of his hide for that one.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Came in two weeks later to find the babysitter dead on the floor. Thought my boys were goners. Found Dean standing in front of Sam’s crib, beat all to hell, trying to hold off one of those spider demons with a butter knife. I started training Dean the next day.” John said it matter-of-factly, but there was an edge of weary confession beneath it. The edge of a man who wasn’t used to having an adult around to listen. “Had to.”
Jim nodded. “A year ago, I’d have called child services on you, you know.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.” His eyes went to Jim’s face, a hunted look. “And now?”
“They’re in one piece. And you love them.” Smiling as John shrugged uncomfortably and looked away, Jim said, “I think that’s all anyone has the right to ask in this world.”
“Amen to that, Jim. Amen.”
*****
“Father Murphy?” The familiar, low rumble of a voice startled Jim out of his reverie, jerking his head up.
“Levi,” Jim murmured, voice even. “I’m afraid Andrew’s in bed already.”
“I figured. I wanted to talk with you.” Levi shifted uncomfortably.
“Go on. Have a seat,” Jim murmured.
“Thank you.” Levi moved awkwardly, perching on the chair with care. “He’s thirteen today.”
Jim nodded. “Yes.”
“The time is approaching when he’ll start to remember.”
“What exactly is he going to remember? The cryptic warnings are getting a little old, Levi. What is my son?”
Levi stared at him. “That’s a loaded question, Father. Be certain you want the answer before you ask it.”
“I know he’s not human. I know that there’s something else to him, something other. What is it?” Jim kept his voice low, a whipcrack of authority in it. He hadn’t had that sound to his voice six years ago. Fatherhood had changed him.
“Andrew is…unique. First among the Host, the Left hand child.”
The world slid from under Jim for a moment. “You mean-”
“Satan? Yes. And no.”
Jim swallowed hard. “Which is it?”
“Both. And neither.” At Jim’s frustrated noise, Levi cracked a maddening smile. “We were created before time existed, to serve something beyond our understanding. God, by all names and no name. Throughout time, we’ve answered to a thousand names, and a thousand more.”
“You’re talking about theology, universal truths in religions.”
“I’m talking an analogue. Religions give you the shadow of the truth, because the whole of it would break you.” Levi rubbed the neck of his neck. “He’s not really what you think He is. No more than I’m really a man sitting in your office, talking to you in your own language.”
“Okay. Just skip the philosophy. Andrew?”
“Has ever been Lord of Darkness, of the Underworld. Or of Hell, if that’s your interpretation.”
Jim felt his head beginning to throb. He got up, watching Levi tense, and went to his liquor cabinet. Pouring himself a generous portion of whiskey- the good stuff, a gift from John, because when the hell else would Jim need it if not now?-, Jim paused and poured Levi one as an afterthought. He slid the glass to Levi and nursed his own for a long, silent moment. “Are you like him?” he asked finally.
“No. Andrew is unique. He was first. ‘Now, the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, Let there be light.’” Levi clapped his hands, a sharp thunderclap of sound, then spread them palms-up. “And there was the Morningstar. God have mercy on us all.”
Jim stared.
“Andrew was made more like you, more human. But he felt too deeply, like a human, and it made his path hard, made him long for more. It wounded the Father, to watch his child suffer. So when He created the next ones, they were different, harder, colder. I was different.”
“You-“ Jim blinked. “You’re an angel.”
Levi grimaced. “Not as such. Fallen, now. Focus, Father. Your son is going to need you. He’s going to remember a lot of things, and I’ll be honest, not many of them are pleasant. He’s a decent man, deep down. A man I’ve been proud to serve. But he hasn’t been an honorable or happy man for a long time.”
“I don’t understand why he’s here,” Jim protested weakly. “I can’t-“
“Every seven hundred years, we all have to serve a lifetime on earth, as a human. Keeps us from getting too cold. Most of us come in as adults, but Andrew…he hasn’t been up for nearly two thousand years, so he had to come as a child. Without protection, without memory, without power. With no fucking idea what he is.”
Jim rocked slowly forward. “That’s a little sadistic.”
“When the child displeases the parent, there are repercussions. He thought it would be a good learning experience.” Levi’s eyes narrowed at him. “That wasn’t something you expected from your all-forgiving God, was it?”
Jim shook his head. “I’m familiar enough with the Old Testament, wrathful God. But that isn’t the God I signed on to serve.”
“There’s a certain balance to be maintained in everything. Between heaven and hell, between good and evil, and between kindness and cruelty. That’s His goal. Always has been. But that’s changed down here, and it’s gotten harder to balance the scales. Andrew hasn’t helped any, and he needed to learn the lesson. This was the only way.”
“But-“
“Father, we don’t have time for the theology debate. The one question I need answered is whether or not you can handle this.”
Jim considered. “I don’t know. He’s-” Jim thought of his son, thought of Dante and Marlowe, the Exorcist, the demons he and John had faced down. He couldn’t reconcile any of it. “He’s the Adversary.”
“He’s Andrew Murphy. Satan was a construct of the Church, and no more the truth than the flat world theory,” Levi said impatiently.
“I—I don’t know, Levi. This is a lot to swallow. I need a few days.”
“Fine. One week. I’ll be back.” With a puff of brimstone-scented smoke, Levi evaporated.
Jim laid his forehead on his desk.
Fuck. His son. Andrew was Lucifer. It’s not like Jim hadn’t had suspicions that Andrew wasn’t all human, had even considered that he was demonic, but this? Andrew was angelic. The Fallen, the War in Heaven. How much of it was truth? How much of it was a warning?
Jim rose. His feet carried him to the second bedroom, and even in a shellshocked daze, he paused to shake his head at the Queen poster on the door. Andrew was asleep, long eyelashes heavy on a face that was gradually lengthening into adulthood. His son. Lucifer.
Jim could smother him. End it. Probably should. If John, or any of the hunters he’d sheltered found out, they’d kill Andrew. Probably kill Jim, too. Smothering Andrew in his sleep would be infinitely kinder than what John Winchester would do if he found out the truth.
Closing his eyes, Jim remembered that first day, the wide blue eyes and too-thin face. The first smile he’d earned. The first migraine, of Andrew shaking on his lap and throwing up wretchedly. CAT scans, MRIs, researching with John and Joshua to see if any of the old texts had an answer the neurologists didn’t. Andrew’s first report card, proudly showing off a row of A’s.
Andrew lighting the candles in the church, so proud in his altar boy’s robe. The beaming smile when Jim had let him do a reading. His voice, clear and sure, ringing through the church like a bell.
Five years. A thousand moments of laughter and tears. Of love. Could Jim turn his back on that?
With a sigh, Jim brushed the ashen hair off his son’s forehead. Andrew mumbled in his sleep, rolling away into the wall.
Jim couldn’t do it. God help him, he couldn’t. It was Andrew, his boy. His son.
Any one who disagreed with his choice would have to go through him.
Authors:
beanside &nilchanceRating: Adult-mentions of slash.
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: We don't own the Supernatural boys, I'm afraid. This is strictly for entertainment purposes, no money is made.
Summary: Prequel to Of Bastard Saints. A little more about Andrew and the Winchesters.
When Jim came back from St. Paul, bone-tired and worn thin and so deeply content it was almost troubling, it was to find a shadow waiting on his own front steps. Behind Levi, posture stiff with outrage, was Dean.
Smothering a groan, Jim got out of the car. “Come on, Andrew. Let’s go relieve the cavalry.”
“Huh?” Andrew stopped staring out at Levi with too-wide eyes, pausing to peer at Jim suspiciously. Which was about what he’d been doing since the doctor broke out the first syringe for a vaccination, staying carefully out of arms-reach in case Jim caught him for another round.
The hell Jim was. Much to no one’s surprise, Andrew was a biter. Hadn’t whined much, but he’d given Jim a lifetime’s worth of wounded looks.
“Nothing.” Jim popped his trunk, eyeing Levi and Dean. Was that a gun tucked in Dean’s waistband? Jesus, John. “Go play, all right?”
Andrew squinted at Levi, apparently weighing whether he wanted to walk around him to go inside. Slowly, he unbuckled his seatbelt and asked without looking away from Levi, “Can I hit the gun range yet?”
Jim knew better than to think that the question was random. Andrew didn’t feel safe. For good reason. If John hadn’t taught Jim the bare bones of warding the car and their motel room…
Three separate attacks in less than twenty-four hours. Through the whole process, handing over the falsified records, signing the adoption papers, getting Andrew up to date on vaccinations and check-ups, buying him a handful of general stuff that (according to John Winchester) a boy Andrew’s age might need, Jim had felt the pressure of something watching. Waiting.
“No.” Forestalling the noises that usually came after that, Jim said sternly, “I’ll let you know when.”
“Dean gets to,” Andrew muttered, but he climbed warily out of the car.
“Yeah, well.”
Andrew stared at Jim, shifting back and forth on his feet. Jim’s first lesson as a quasi-father: don’t bribe the boy with sugar and then stick him in a car for a few hours. When it became obvious Jim wasn’t going to elaborate, Andrew huffed out a breath and asked brightly, “Can I spar?”
“Maybe. If someone over 18 is watching. And no, that doesn’t count the TV or the crucifix.”
“Jesus is older than 18,” Andrew pointed out. There was a brief flash of a genuine smile, the one that actually touched his eyes and dispelled the usual impression: that he was a paranoid old war veteran in an 8 year old’s body.
“Yes. Much.” Despite himself, Jim smiled back. “Go ask Mr. Winchester, all right? Let him know we’re back.”
“Okay.” Andrew continued to stand there, eyeing Jim like he was going to go somewhere the second Andrew turned his back. “Um.”
Reaching into the trunk, Jim grabbed the duffel of Andrew’s stuff and tossed it in his direction. With more care, he picked up the manila folder of adoption papers. “Andrew, I’ll be here.”
For the first time since seeing Levi, Andrew exhaled. He bent, grabbing his duffel. “Okay. Uh. You know, all this stuff, the papers and everything, you didn’t have to- it was nice of you, but I can still-“
“Son,” Jim said gently, “go unpack your bags. You’re not going anywhere.”
The smile that got him was bright, genuine. It also got him a pair of skinny arms wrapped around his waist, holding tighter than he’d have imagined. “Thank you.” Andrew whispered, squeezing hard, then letting go and grabbing the duffel, heading towards the door at a jog. “You didn’t tell me the shots would hurt,” he accused Dean.
Jim let his smile fade as he looked at Levi. “He’s staying.”
“I gathered,” Levi rumbled. He looked after Dean, a long assessing look that did nothing for Jim’s nerves, then got to his feet.
“One question. Is this going to bite me in the ass one day?”
“I don’t know,” Levi said softly. “He’s…unique. There’s a lot of things he doesn’t remember. When he does, he’s going to have a hard time of it. But really, he’s just like any other child. He could do amazing things. Or terrible ones. It’s up to you. And him, of course.” The tall man turned, sliding sunglasses on in the dim light. “I’ll stop by now and then. See how he’s doing. God be with you, Father.”
With a shake of his head, Jim went inside, looking around the church proper. Everything looked in place, somewhat surprisingly, since he’d asked John and the boys to watch things for a couple days.
A week ago, the worst thing he’d done since Vietnam was put the priest’s collar on when a cop pulled him over for speeding. Now, he had fraudulent adoption papers, a son, and had allowed—hell, had asked a man to masquerade as a priest in his absence. He was definitely going to be saying some Hail Mary’s.
Sam’s squeal of laughter alerted him to where they were, and Jim changed course, comforted by John’s broad shoulders leaning against the doorframe.
“No,” Sam giggled. “Andrew spar with me.”
Dean laughed, a high, childish sound that made the corners of John’s eyes crinkle.
“Spar with you?” Andrew asked, voice rippling with laugher. “Like this?”
Sam squealed again, and Jim stepped up next to John, looking in to see Andrew tickling Sam, then dancing back into a ‘fighting pose’.
Still laughing, Sam launched himself at Andrew, chubby little arms grabbing at him. Andrew let Sam pull him down, grinning as Sam shouted with glee. Then, the three year old started tickling him, giggling wildly. Andrew squirmed, howling with laughter.
Jim swallowed hard, unexpected emotion welling up in his throat. How he’d gotten so attached in such a short time, he didn’t know. But it felt right somehow.
John patted him on the shoulder awkwardly. “Congratulations, Jim. It’s a boy.”
Jim smiled back. “Yeah. My boy.”
“Did you decide on a middle name?”
“James,” Jim said. “Nearly bawled like a baby right then.”
John nodded. “They’ll do that to you.” He smiled fondly at the boys. “Dean looks so much like Mary that it hurts some days. Has her smile.”
“What happened to her, if you don’t mind my asking?” Jim murmured.
“Demon. Nasty one. Been looking for a year- no. Damn.” John rubbed his eyes, looking tired. “Two and a half years now, since I started hunting.”
“Do you usually bring the boys?” Jim asked softly.
“Gonna give me hell for that?” John asked, giving him a sidelong glance. There was a tightness at his mouth that belied his easy tone.
Jim shook his head. “I’m sure you have your reasons, John. It doesn’t thrill me, but-”
“When I was in Vietnam, I used to get so pissed off,” John mused. “Couldn’t understand how they could put a gun into a child’s hands and send him out like that. And I wasn’t going to let them, but then one night I came in and passed out on the couch without locking anything up. When I woke up, Dean was slapping a magazine back into the gun he’d just finished cleaning. I tore a strip out of his hide for that one.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Came in two weeks later to find the babysitter dead on the floor. Thought my boys were goners. Found Dean standing in front of Sam’s crib, beat all to hell, trying to hold off one of those spider demons with a butter knife. I started training Dean the next day.” John said it matter-of-factly, but there was an edge of weary confession beneath it. The edge of a man who wasn’t used to having an adult around to listen. “Had to.”
Jim nodded. “A year ago, I’d have called child services on you, you know.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.” His eyes went to Jim’s face, a hunted look. “And now?”
“They’re in one piece. And you love them.” Smiling as John shrugged uncomfortably and looked away, Jim said, “I think that’s all anyone has the right to ask in this world.”
“Amen to that, Jim. Amen.”
*****
“Father Murphy?” The familiar, low rumble of a voice startled Jim out of his reverie, jerking his head up.
“Levi,” Jim murmured, voice even. “I’m afraid Andrew’s in bed already.”
“I figured. I wanted to talk with you.” Levi shifted uncomfortably.
“Go on. Have a seat,” Jim murmured.
“Thank you.” Levi moved awkwardly, perching on the chair with care. “He’s thirteen today.”
Jim nodded. “Yes.”
“The time is approaching when he’ll start to remember.”
“What exactly is he going to remember? The cryptic warnings are getting a little old, Levi. What is my son?”
Levi stared at him. “That’s a loaded question, Father. Be certain you want the answer before you ask it.”
“I know he’s not human. I know that there’s something else to him, something other. What is it?” Jim kept his voice low, a whipcrack of authority in it. He hadn’t had that sound to his voice six years ago. Fatherhood had changed him.
“Andrew is…unique. First among the Host, the Left hand child.”
The world slid from under Jim for a moment. “You mean-”
“Satan? Yes. And no.”
Jim swallowed hard. “Which is it?”
“Both. And neither.” At Jim’s frustrated noise, Levi cracked a maddening smile. “We were created before time existed, to serve something beyond our understanding. God, by all names and no name. Throughout time, we’ve answered to a thousand names, and a thousand more.”
“You’re talking about theology, universal truths in religions.”
“I’m talking an analogue. Religions give you the shadow of the truth, because the whole of it would break you.” Levi rubbed the neck of his neck. “He’s not really what you think He is. No more than I’m really a man sitting in your office, talking to you in your own language.”
“Okay. Just skip the philosophy. Andrew?”
“Has ever been Lord of Darkness, of the Underworld. Or of Hell, if that’s your interpretation.”
Jim felt his head beginning to throb. He got up, watching Levi tense, and went to his liquor cabinet. Pouring himself a generous portion of whiskey- the good stuff, a gift from John, because when the hell else would Jim need it if not now?-, Jim paused and poured Levi one as an afterthought. He slid the glass to Levi and nursed his own for a long, silent moment. “Are you like him?” he asked finally.
“No. Andrew is unique. He was first. ‘Now, the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, Let there be light.’” Levi clapped his hands, a sharp thunderclap of sound, then spread them palms-up. “And there was the Morningstar. God have mercy on us all.”
Jim stared.
“Andrew was made more like you, more human. But he felt too deeply, like a human, and it made his path hard, made him long for more. It wounded the Father, to watch his child suffer. So when He created the next ones, they were different, harder, colder. I was different.”
“You-“ Jim blinked. “You’re an angel.”
Levi grimaced. “Not as such. Fallen, now. Focus, Father. Your son is going to need you. He’s going to remember a lot of things, and I’ll be honest, not many of them are pleasant. He’s a decent man, deep down. A man I’ve been proud to serve. But he hasn’t been an honorable or happy man for a long time.”
“I don’t understand why he’s here,” Jim protested weakly. “I can’t-“
“Every seven hundred years, we all have to serve a lifetime on earth, as a human. Keeps us from getting too cold. Most of us come in as adults, but Andrew…he hasn’t been up for nearly two thousand years, so he had to come as a child. Without protection, without memory, without power. With no fucking idea what he is.”
Jim rocked slowly forward. “That’s a little sadistic.”
“When the child displeases the parent, there are repercussions. He thought it would be a good learning experience.” Levi’s eyes narrowed at him. “That wasn’t something you expected from your all-forgiving God, was it?”
Jim shook his head. “I’m familiar enough with the Old Testament, wrathful God. But that isn’t the God I signed on to serve.”
“There’s a certain balance to be maintained in everything. Between heaven and hell, between good and evil, and between kindness and cruelty. That’s His goal. Always has been. But that’s changed down here, and it’s gotten harder to balance the scales. Andrew hasn’t helped any, and he needed to learn the lesson. This was the only way.”
“But-“
“Father, we don’t have time for the theology debate. The one question I need answered is whether or not you can handle this.”
Jim considered. “I don’t know. He’s-” Jim thought of his son, thought of Dante and Marlowe, the Exorcist, the demons he and John had faced down. He couldn’t reconcile any of it. “He’s the Adversary.”
“He’s Andrew Murphy. Satan was a construct of the Church, and no more the truth than the flat world theory,” Levi said impatiently.
“I—I don’t know, Levi. This is a lot to swallow. I need a few days.”
“Fine. One week. I’ll be back.” With a puff of brimstone-scented smoke, Levi evaporated.
Jim laid his forehead on his desk.
Fuck. His son. Andrew was Lucifer. It’s not like Jim hadn’t had suspicions that Andrew wasn’t all human, had even considered that he was demonic, but this? Andrew was angelic. The Fallen, the War in Heaven. How much of it was truth? How much of it was a warning?
Jim rose. His feet carried him to the second bedroom, and even in a shellshocked daze, he paused to shake his head at the Queen poster on the door. Andrew was asleep, long eyelashes heavy on a face that was gradually lengthening into adulthood. His son. Lucifer.
Jim could smother him. End it. Probably should. If John, or any of the hunters he’d sheltered found out, they’d kill Andrew. Probably kill Jim, too. Smothering Andrew in his sleep would be infinitely kinder than what John Winchester would do if he found out the truth.
Closing his eyes, Jim remembered that first day, the wide blue eyes and too-thin face. The first smile he’d earned. The first migraine, of Andrew shaking on his lap and throwing up wretchedly. CAT scans, MRIs, researching with John and Joshua to see if any of the old texts had an answer the neurologists didn’t. Andrew’s first report card, proudly showing off a row of A’s.
Andrew lighting the candles in the church, so proud in his altar boy’s robe. The beaming smile when Jim had let him do a reading. His voice, clear and sure, ringing through the church like a bell.
Five years. A thousand moments of laughter and tears. Of love. Could Jim turn his back on that?
With a sigh, Jim brushed the ashen hair off his son’s forehead. Andrew mumbled in his sleep, rolling away into the wall.
Jim couldn’t do it. God help him, he couldn’t. It was Andrew, his boy. His son.
Any one who disagreed with his choice would have to go through him.
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no subject
Date: 2006-07-20 06:24 pm (UTC)Is it bad that when you put it like that, I feel sorry for him and want to pat his head and pinch his cheeks and go, "there, there, it'll be alright. A few million Hail Mary's and you'll be right as rain"?
The theology geekery shows, and it is nothing but good. *pets Jim* Truly one of the good ones, that guy.