![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phantismaFandom: Leverage/SPN Crossover (To Salt the Flame verse- Part One, Part Two, Part One of A Web of Lies)
Title: A Web of Lies
Charcater: John Winchester, mentions of Eliot Spencer, Dean Winchester, Mary Winchester
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 798
Summary: In a world where John Winchester lost everything, he tried hard to build something new, something good by entering the priesthood...but the darkness that found him in a nursery, that took his wife and second son isn't done with him yet, and just as he teeters on the brink of falling headfirst into an abyss, someone kicks the stones out from under his feet.
A/Ns & Warnings: This world is all the fault of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
havenward. John Winchester is a priest, Eliot Spencer is a young retrieval specialist who gets mixed up with John. Dean is the wayward bad boy son. Written for my second card for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
angst_bingo.
The church is quiet. Empty. Cold. He shivers as he kneels and crosses himself. It has been a long, long time since he's felt so alone in a sacred space.
It weighs on him, heavier than any physical burden, the things he's seen and done since coming here to this city…even just in the last 24 hours. The image of Eliot passes through his mind and John closes his eyes, savoring the guilt that wells with the image, the pleasure of his name, his smell, his touch…the anguish of knowing that everything between them is wrong, and it's all his fault.
If that were all of it, if all he had done was engage in drunken sex with a boy young enough to be his son, he might find forgiveness easy, might let himself believe that redemption is as easy as prayer and a willing heart. He is, after all, only mortal, only a man that has the same needs and desires as others.
He can blame no one for the breaking of his vows but himself.
He kneels, crosses himself again and looks up at the altar. His vows have always been sacred to him. Always. Until Eliot Spencer walked into his life.
Suddenly, nothing seemed quite as real as it did before, not even his faith.
He bows his head and mouths the words in Latin that once brought him comfort. He’s a long way from friends he would trust to take his confession, so this is left him his only therapy, to bare his soul before God and seek forgiveness for his sins, for his doubt.
But the words fall hollow from his lips and his heart can not seem to reach out past the burning ache inside him.
He closes his eyes, letting the sight of his son fill his mind. Dean, no longer the child John left behind…no longer the innocent little boy begging his daddy not to leave him, his skin marked by a life John couldn’t fathom.
At the time it had seemed the only right thing, to give his son a chance at living a normal life, to save him from the darkness that was already so much a part of John. He let himself be convinced by those who saved him, let them seduce him into leaving his boy alone in the world.
And the darkness had found Dean anyway. He had put together pieces of Dean’s story, knew about the foster homes and the orphanage, the arrests for prostitution and selling stolen goods. He had failed to save anyone, including himself.
Tears burn in the corners of his eyes and he tries again, pulling the rosary from his pocket. They are warm and familiar, like an old friend, trusted to take him through the ritual that will absolve him.
“Father John?”
He blinks and looks up at the young priest who had taken him in nearly a week before. “Father Joseph, is everything okay?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing. You seem troubled.”
John eases off his knees and back onto the pew behind him. “I am. And prayer does not seem to be helping.”
“Perhaps this will ease your heart?” He holds out a small box. John’s name is neatly written on a plain brown label. “This came while you were out. I found it on the front steps.”
John takes it hesitantly. No one knows where he is, well, no one but Dean and he knows better than to think that Dean would send him anything. “Thank you.”
“I should leave you to your prayers then. Will I see you for dinner?”
John offers him a small smile. “I will try.”
The younger man lays a hand on his shoulder. “I’m here…if you want someone to talk to.”
“Thank you.”
John waits while his footsteps recede into the far corner of the sanctuary before he lets his eyes fall to the package. He doesn't recognize the handwriting, and after the last twenty-four hours he doesn't trust it to be anything he actually wants.
His hands tremble as he lifts it and tears the paper on one side. The box is plain, brown, no bigger than a coffee mug and light enough to be empty. It opens easily and his hands fumble a bit as he reaches in, coming back with a folded piece of paper and a torn bit of cloth.
The box falls to the floor as the paper opens and a face looks up from the center of it. John looks down at the scrap of cloth…dark brown with old, dried blood. He stands, shoving the cloth into a pocket as runs from the church, not sure where he's going, only knowing he can't stay here.
Not now.
Mary is alive.
Title: A Web of Lies
Charcater: John Winchester, mentions of Eliot Spencer, Dean Winchester, Mary Winchester
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 798
Summary: In a world where John Winchester lost everything, he tried hard to build something new, something good by entering the priesthood...but the darkness that found him in a nursery, that took his wife and second son isn't done with him yet, and just as he teeters on the brink of falling headfirst into an abyss, someone kicks the stones out from under his feet.
A/Ns & Warnings: This world is all the fault of
havenward. John Winchester is a priest, Eliot Spencer is a young retrieval specialist who gets mixed up with John. Dean is the wayward bad boy son. Written for my second card for angst_bingo.The church is quiet. Empty. Cold. He shivers as he kneels and crosses himself. It has been a long, long time since he's felt so alone in a sacred space.
It weighs on him, heavier than any physical burden, the things he's seen and done since coming here to this city…even just in the last 24 hours. The image of Eliot passes through his mind and John closes his eyes, savoring the guilt that wells with the image, the pleasure of his name, his smell, his touch…the anguish of knowing that everything between them is wrong, and it's all his fault.
If that were all of it, if all he had done was engage in drunken sex with a boy young enough to be his son, he might find forgiveness easy, might let himself believe that redemption is as easy as prayer and a willing heart. He is, after all, only mortal, only a man that has the same needs and desires as others.
He can blame no one for the breaking of his vows but himself.
He kneels, crosses himself again and looks up at the altar. His vows have always been sacred to him. Always. Until Eliot Spencer walked into his life.
Suddenly, nothing seemed quite as real as it did before, not even his faith.
He bows his head and mouths the words in Latin that once brought him comfort. He’s a long way from friends he would trust to take his confession, so this is left him his only therapy, to bare his soul before God and seek forgiveness for his sins, for his doubt.
But the words fall hollow from his lips and his heart can not seem to reach out past the burning ache inside him.
He closes his eyes, letting the sight of his son fill his mind. Dean, no longer the child John left behind…no longer the innocent little boy begging his daddy not to leave him, his skin marked by a life John couldn’t fathom.
At the time it had seemed the only right thing, to give his son a chance at living a normal life, to save him from the darkness that was already so much a part of John. He let himself be convinced by those who saved him, let them seduce him into leaving his boy alone in the world.
And the darkness had found Dean anyway. He had put together pieces of Dean’s story, knew about the foster homes and the orphanage, the arrests for prostitution and selling stolen goods. He had failed to save anyone, including himself.
Tears burn in the corners of his eyes and he tries again, pulling the rosary from his pocket. They are warm and familiar, like an old friend, trusted to take him through the ritual that will absolve him.
“Father John?”
He blinks and looks up at the young priest who had taken him in nearly a week before. “Father Joseph, is everything okay?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing. You seem troubled.”
John eases off his knees and back onto the pew behind him. “I am. And prayer does not seem to be helping.”
“Perhaps this will ease your heart?” He holds out a small box. John’s name is neatly written on a plain brown label. “This came while you were out. I found it on the front steps.”
John takes it hesitantly. No one knows where he is, well, no one but Dean and he knows better than to think that Dean would send him anything. “Thank you.”
“I should leave you to your prayers then. Will I see you for dinner?”
John offers him a small smile. “I will try.”
The younger man lays a hand on his shoulder. “I’m here…if you want someone to talk to.”
“Thank you.”
John waits while his footsteps recede into the far corner of the sanctuary before he lets his eyes fall to the package. He doesn't recognize the handwriting, and after the last twenty-four hours he doesn't trust it to be anything he actually wants.
His hands tremble as he lifts it and tears the paper on one side. The box is plain, brown, no bigger than a coffee mug and light enough to be empty. It opens easily and his hands fumble a bit as he reaches in, coming back with a folded piece of paper and a torn bit of cloth.
The box falls to the floor as the paper opens and a face looks up from the center of it. John looks down at the scrap of cloth…dark brown with old, dried blood. He stands, shoving the cloth into a pocket as runs from the church, not sure where he's going, only knowing he can't stay here.
Not now.
Mary is alive.
