Helter Skelter
May. 30th, 2013 12:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dime_lioraTitle: Helter Skelter
Pairing: John/Azazel
Type: Other-enemy
Rating: R
Medium: Fic
Word Count: 2,287
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any related character. I do own a fedora. It is quite snazzy.
Summary: Azazel may enjoy playing with John Winchester more than he ever expected.
Warnings: Canon character death, expletives, mentions of sex.
Link: Helter Skelter
Notes: Fill for the Dean/Dick square on the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spnpairingbingo.
Azazel would like to say that everything was a part of the plan. That from beginning to end he knew how everything was going to play out and that it all went just as he imagined. Then again he’s always been a fan of chaos, and that means that letting things go off track is ok as long as the ultimate goal is never deferred.
So maybe he wasn’t expecting John Winchester to walk through the door of the bar he was in. Maybe he wasn’t expecting to find the man sitting across from the rugged trucker vessel he was in drowning his sorrows and muttering in response to Azazel’s questions. He wasn’t expecting it but he can work with it. It’s been three months since Azazel dripped his blood into John Winchester’s baby and subsequently burned his wife on the ceiling.
Too bad really, because Mary Winchester was a spitfire and Azazel kind of appreciated that in her. Kind of liked the way she didn’t back down or flinch from him when she made her little deal. All she had to do was behave, but that just wasn’t in the cards. Not that it was a surprise that she didn’t stay out of the nursery and let him have his way. In fact he’d picked her for that very reason, because he needed Sam to be raised tough. This was the best way to do that.
Sometimes Azazel wondered if maybe the plan was a little faulty. Sure, John was going to teach his boy to be hard and to survive, but a little tweak in John’s natural wiring as a soldier would have had him doing that anyway. What would the ramifications be of making himself Sam’s ultimate enemy? The kid would grow up having never known the softness of a mother’s touch, and that would make him harder. At the same time he wouldn’t have any memories of Mary, and thusly his drive to avenge to her would only be a lesson not an imperative. That didn’t change the fact that it would complicate the ultimate appeal of coming over to Azazel’s side.
It was a challenge, and normally demons took the easy way out. Azazel on the other hand liked the challenge. Enjoyed the idea of breaking Sam down piece by piece until the boy practically begged to be on his side. Of offering him the world in the palm of his hands after years of struggling just to survive in it under John’s paranoid iron fist.
So it was with a glad heart and a smile that Azazel burned Mary Winchester on the ceiling, and it was without a second glance that he took off and let John start his pointless quest to find the thing that killed his wife. Tonight though, Azazel was here watching a different father who wasn’t doing so well as John in the aftermath of his wife’s death. He was pretty sure this kid was going up for adoption, and since he needed to keep track of all of his children even if Sam was his ultimate favorite then he needed to watch where this one was going.
Except there was John Winchester, and here was Azazel, and this was too wonderful to ignore. Somehow John had gravitated to his section of the bar top. Now they were drinking whiskey beside each other, and John was lamenting the state of a world that would leave a man like him to care for two little boys.
“She was so good. You didn’t know her but she was so good. How can I raise ‘em right? I can’t even figure out what to do with myself.”
Well that wouldn’t do. He’d assumed by now John would have run into someone in the hunter community who would have tipped his hand. Preferably someone leftover from Mary’s family that knew the right way to go about it and would have started John on the path of vengeance. Instead the sad sack was leaving his kids in some motel room while he poured out his troubles to a complete stranger.
“What happened to your wife?” Azazel peered at John’s reflection instead of directly at him. Watched the way his face worked around his grief. This man had so much potential, so much power and ambition when Azazel first met him. That was what had attracted Mary after all. Now he looked like all the other drunks here, and that just wouldn’t do.
Kismet. This was kismet, the universe telling Azazel that he’d chosen wisely and it would now reward him.
“She-uh-it was a house fire. Sudden. She was in the nursery and there-“ John’s voice trailed off as tears came, and he rubbed hopelessly at his eyes before draining his glass and signaling the bartender for more.
“Nursery you say? Did the baby get out ok?”
John nodded and then looked upwards. “Yeah. The baby and our other son got out fine, but Mary was at the center of it.”
Azazel felt his vessel’s eyes narrow as he leaned in a little. “The center of it? Was it chemical? Like something she spilled, or maybe a cigarette?”
“Mary didn’t smoke especially not around the kids.” For a second John looked angry and disgusted. Then that all washed away under the weight of his grief. “No it was-ah hell there’s no point in saying. Everybody thinks I’m crazy, and here I am drinking and talking to a stranger.”
“I may be a stranger, but I seen some powerful odd things in my time. I also know the best person to confess to is someone you ain’t gonna see again.” Maybe he was playing up the hokey thing a bit too much. Then again John was far into his cups and didn’t seem to notice that too much. Instead watery brown eyes landed on him hopefully.
“She was on the ceiling. When I went in she was on the ceiling and she was bleeding. I thought I-maybe that I saw something in there with her, but I’m not sure. Point is it-I-“ John drank the new whiskey but didn’t signal for another. Azazel saw him prepare to say the next part, and it was all kind of fascinating really. He’d been there, seen the whole sordid thing, but to hear about from this perspective was kind of new. Kind of exciting. Did that make him a voyeur? “I think it was her blood that started the fire. That fueled it. Whatever it was it started with her and spread out. It was-so-so awful.”
John broke down in the manliest way he possibly could. Small tears, no loud sobs, and a discreet signal to the bartender for another drink. Azazel covered the glass when the man came and shook his head. Inspiration had struck.
“It sounds awful. It also don’t sound too natural.” John looked up sharply, the annoyance from his drink being denied subsumed by his suddenly hopeful look. Puppy dog eyes on a man that gruff were just wrong.
“It wasn’t.” John leaned in. “That’s what I’ve been telling everybody.”
“Maybe you been telling the wrong people friend. Maybe it’s time you try the right ones.” Azazel dug through his vessel’s pockets before pulling out a pen and some paper. He scribbled a familiar old name. One that had never risen high enough to qualify as an official problem, but was well connected in the circles he needed John working in.
“The right ones? Who would be the right ones?” John glanced at the paper Azazel was holding out before he took it and put it in his pocket.
“That’s the name of a lady that knows about weird. Figures out the kind of weird men like you and me ain’t s’posed to understand.” With that Azazel pulled his wallet out and dropped a hunk of cash on the bar. As much as he would like to stay and soak in some more of John’s pain his mark was moving. He also didn’t want to overplay his hand. “She’s real good at that. In the meantime you need to go home to your boys. They’re gonna need you now more than ever.”
John nodded, touched his pocket, and then looked back up. “Thanks man. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
---
A little over three years later John was on the right path. Dean was already aware of what was going on and being properly raised, and when Sam was old enough John would no doubt bring him into the fight as well. The man was obsessed, and obsession was a good look on him. This time when John came in the bar Azazel was ready for him, and the pretty blonde vessel he inhabited was just right.
Azazel attached himself to John’s side while he hustled pool, and eventually the man had just enough to drink to see a little bit of Mary in the body the demon inhabited. He’d chosen it for that reason after all. They ended up in the backseat of the Impala. The same place Dean had been conceived. Azazel knew just enough of Mary’s responses to lace them into the sex, and it worked just right.
John’s pleasure was tainted by guilt and sadness. It made for a potent mixture, and one Azazel enjoyed more than he thought he would. When it was over they sat side by side looking out at the woods around them and talking softly as they passed the flask John had.
“You have a wedding ring. I need to worry about a jealous wife?” It took everything not to smile. Sure the moans had been subtle, but this was so much better. The direct hit. The flash of misery and longing.
“I was. She died.” John took a long pull and fixed his skewed jacket. “A few years back.”
“Oh you poor thing. Illness?” Azazel reached out and stroked John’s cheek. Watched the way the muscles twitched as he tried to get away without moving or being obvious.
“No. Murder. Someth-someone murdered her.” John twisted the cap back on to the flask. Azazel was running out of time to enjoy this.
“That’s terrible. Do you have any kids?” He’d only gotten glimpses, visuals from a distance, and the stories that came down the grapevine. He wanted more. He wanted nourishment from the source.
John’s hands settled on the lapels of his leather jacket, eyes going hazy as he looked to the left at the little ashtray built into the door. “Yeah. Two kids. Sons.”
“Tell me about them?” Azazel buttoned up his blouse and smoothed the line of his skirt.
“I-“ There was a moment where he honestly thought that John was going to shut off, and then pride and love flooded his face. It wasn’t the mix of emotions Azazel wanted. “They’re good kids. Dean, the oldest, watches out for his brother while I’m working. He’s a little soldier about it too. When other kids would be whining for toys or TV all he wants is to know how to better himself. How to know the best ways to take care of his family. Sam, my youngest, is so smart. I know all parents say that, but this is objective. He’s only four and he’s already talking, walking, and reading. Dean and I- well mostly Dean- try to keep up with him but he always has questions. Wants to know what a word means or how to spell something. Can sing the whole alphabet backwards and forwards.”
John took a shaky breath and then opened the back door before stepping out and transferring to the driver’s seat. Azazel followed his example and took the passenger side. “They sound like wonderful kids.” And John sounded like he was constructing his happiness around this idea of them being a normal family. That just wouldn’t do, but there was no good way to work that in. The cover story John had given him this time prohibited him playing it right. Instead he simply smiled at John’s smile and let the man take him back to the bar. He’d get John next time.
---
Every year Azazel planted himself into John’s path and wore just the right meat suit to get what he wanted. Sometimes it was a pretty woman that John would spill his stories about Mary and his boys to. Sometimes it was a hunter and John would talk about his frustration and pain as his dreams of vengeance were denied.
Sam was brought up just the way Azazel wanted; the perfect mixture of soldier qualities and extreme daddy issues. When the time came to reap his harvest Sam would be a ball of angst and need. He would need to make his pitch paternalistic, and he could play on all the insecurities John had spent all these years fostering in him by withholding his approval in the interest of toughening Sam up.
More importantly Azazel had found these were his favorite times. Checking in on the other kids never gave him this much joy, because none of the other parents were as emotionally damaged as John. When the time came and John made his deal Azazel was honestly a little sad.
The pleasure he’d take in John’s suffering downstairs would never be this honest. Torture was all well and good, but the pain that came from it was synthetic in a way Azazel couldn’t really express. This, John’s turmoil, his depression, his fear that the boys were being hurt even as he pushed them harder and hard, this was real. This was natural and organic.
Of course that didn’t stop him from taking part is Alastair’s work once John ended up in their domain.
Pairing: John/Azazel
Type: Other-enemy
Rating: R
Medium: Fic
Word Count: 2,287
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any related character. I do own a fedora. It is quite snazzy.
Summary: Azazel may enjoy playing with John Winchester more than he ever expected.
Warnings: Canon character death, expletives, mentions of sex.
Link: Helter Skelter
Notes: Fill for the Dean/Dick square on the
spnpairingbingo.Azazel would like to say that everything was a part of the plan. That from beginning to end he knew how everything was going to play out and that it all went just as he imagined. Then again he’s always been a fan of chaos, and that means that letting things go off track is ok as long as the ultimate goal is never deferred.
So maybe he wasn’t expecting John Winchester to walk through the door of the bar he was in. Maybe he wasn’t expecting to find the man sitting across from the rugged trucker vessel he was in drowning his sorrows and muttering in response to Azazel’s questions. He wasn’t expecting it but he can work with it. It’s been three months since Azazel dripped his blood into John Winchester’s baby and subsequently burned his wife on the ceiling.
Too bad really, because Mary Winchester was a spitfire and Azazel kind of appreciated that in her. Kind of liked the way she didn’t back down or flinch from him when she made her little deal. All she had to do was behave, but that just wasn’t in the cards. Not that it was a surprise that she didn’t stay out of the nursery and let him have his way. In fact he’d picked her for that very reason, because he needed Sam to be raised tough. This was the best way to do that.
Sometimes Azazel wondered if maybe the plan was a little faulty. Sure, John was going to teach his boy to be hard and to survive, but a little tweak in John’s natural wiring as a soldier would have had him doing that anyway. What would the ramifications be of making himself Sam’s ultimate enemy? The kid would grow up having never known the softness of a mother’s touch, and that would make him harder. At the same time he wouldn’t have any memories of Mary, and thusly his drive to avenge to her would only be a lesson not an imperative. That didn’t change the fact that it would complicate the ultimate appeal of coming over to Azazel’s side.
It was a challenge, and normally demons took the easy way out. Azazel on the other hand liked the challenge. Enjoyed the idea of breaking Sam down piece by piece until the boy practically begged to be on his side. Of offering him the world in the palm of his hands after years of struggling just to survive in it under John’s paranoid iron fist.
So it was with a glad heart and a smile that Azazel burned Mary Winchester on the ceiling, and it was without a second glance that he took off and let John start his pointless quest to find the thing that killed his wife. Tonight though, Azazel was here watching a different father who wasn’t doing so well as John in the aftermath of his wife’s death. He was pretty sure this kid was going up for adoption, and since he needed to keep track of all of his children even if Sam was his ultimate favorite then he needed to watch where this one was going.
Except there was John Winchester, and here was Azazel, and this was too wonderful to ignore. Somehow John had gravitated to his section of the bar top. Now they were drinking whiskey beside each other, and John was lamenting the state of a world that would leave a man like him to care for two little boys.
“She was so good. You didn’t know her but she was so good. How can I raise ‘em right? I can’t even figure out what to do with myself.”
Well that wouldn’t do. He’d assumed by now John would have run into someone in the hunter community who would have tipped his hand. Preferably someone leftover from Mary’s family that knew the right way to go about it and would have started John on the path of vengeance. Instead the sad sack was leaving his kids in some motel room while he poured out his troubles to a complete stranger.
“What happened to your wife?” Azazel peered at John’s reflection instead of directly at him. Watched the way his face worked around his grief. This man had so much potential, so much power and ambition when Azazel first met him. That was what had attracted Mary after all. Now he looked like all the other drunks here, and that just wouldn’t do.
Kismet. This was kismet, the universe telling Azazel that he’d chosen wisely and it would now reward him.
“She-uh-it was a house fire. Sudden. She was in the nursery and there-“ John’s voice trailed off as tears came, and he rubbed hopelessly at his eyes before draining his glass and signaling the bartender for more.
“Nursery you say? Did the baby get out ok?”
John nodded and then looked upwards. “Yeah. The baby and our other son got out fine, but Mary was at the center of it.”
Azazel felt his vessel’s eyes narrow as he leaned in a little. “The center of it? Was it chemical? Like something she spilled, or maybe a cigarette?”
“Mary didn’t smoke especially not around the kids.” For a second John looked angry and disgusted. Then that all washed away under the weight of his grief. “No it was-ah hell there’s no point in saying. Everybody thinks I’m crazy, and here I am drinking and talking to a stranger.”
“I may be a stranger, but I seen some powerful odd things in my time. I also know the best person to confess to is someone you ain’t gonna see again.” Maybe he was playing up the hokey thing a bit too much. Then again John was far into his cups and didn’t seem to notice that too much. Instead watery brown eyes landed on him hopefully.
“She was on the ceiling. When I went in she was on the ceiling and she was bleeding. I thought I-maybe that I saw something in there with her, but I’m not sure. Point is it-I-“ John drank the new whiskey but didn’t signal for another. Azazel saw him prepare to say the next part, and it was all kind of fascinating really. He’d been there, seen the whole sordid thing, but to hear about from this perspective was kind of new. Kind of exciting. Did that make him a voyeur? “I think it was her blood that started the fire. That fueled it. Whatever it was it started with her and spread out. It was-so-so awful.”
John broke down in the manliest way he possibly could. Small tears, no loud sobs, and a discreet signal to the bartender for another drink. Azazel covered the glass when the man came and shook his head. Inspiration had struck.
“It sounds awful. It also don’t sound too natural.” John looked up sharply, the annoyance from his drink being denied subsumed by his suddenly hopeful look. Puppy dog eyes on a man that gruff were just wrong.
“It wasn’t.” John leaned in. “That’s what I’ve been telling everybody.”
“Maybe you been telling the wrong people friend. Maybe it’s time you try the right ones.” Azazel dug through his vessel’s pockets before pulling out a pen and some paper. He scribbled a familiar old name. One that had never risen high enough to qualify as an official problem, but was well connected in the circles he needed John working in.
“The right ones? Who would be the right ones?” John glanced at the paper Azazel was holding out before he took it and put it in his pocket.
“That’s the name of a lady that knows about weird. Figures out the kind of weird men like you and me ain’t s’posed to understand.” With that Azazel pulled his wallet out and dropped a hunk of cash on the bar. As much as he would like to stay and soak in some more of John’s pain his mark was moving. He also didn’t want to overplay his hand. “She’s real good at that. In the meantime you need to go home to your boys. They’re gonna need you now more than ever.”
John nodded, touched his pocket, and then looked back up. “Thanks man. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
---
A little over three years later John was on the right path. Dean was already aware of what was going on and being properly raised, and when Sam was old enough John would no doubt bring him into the fight as well. The man was obsessed, and obsession was a good look on him. This time when John came in the bar Azazel was ready for him, and the pretty blonde vessel he inhabited was just right.
Azazel attached himself to John’s side while he hustled pool, and eventually the man had just enough to drink to see a little bit of Mary in the body the demon inhabited. He’d chosen it for that reason after all. They ended up in the backseat of the Impala. The same place Dean had been conceived. Azazel knew just enough of Mary’s responses to lace them into the sex, and it worked just right.
John’s pleasure was tainted by guilt and sadness. It made for a potent mixture, and one Azazel enjoyed more than he thought he would. When it was over they sat side by side looking out at the woods around them and talking softly as they passed the flask John had.
“You have a wedding ring. I need to worry about a jealous wife?” It took everything not to smile. Sure the moans had been subtle, but this was so much better. The direct hit. The flash of misery and longing.
“I was. She died.” John took a long pull and fixed his skewed jacket. “A few years back.”
“Oh you poor thing. Illness?” Azazel reached out and stroked John’s cheek. Watched the way the muscles twitched as he tried to get away without moving or being obvious.
“No. Murder. Someth-someone murdered her.” John twisted the cap back on to the flask. Azazel was running out of time to enjoy this.
“That’s terrible. Do you have any kids?” He’d only gotten glimpses, visuals from a distance, and the stories that came down the grapevine. He wanted more. He wanted nourishment from the source.
John’s hands settled on the lapels of his leather jacket, eyes going hazy as he looked to the left at the little ashtray built into the door. “Yeah. Two kids. Sons.”
“Tell me about them?” Azazel buttoned up his blouse and smoothed the line of his skirt.
“I-“ There was a moment where he honestly thought that John was going to shut off, and then pride and love flooded his face. It wasn’t the mix of emotions Azazel wanted. “They’re good kids. Dean, the oldest, watches out for his brother while I’m working. He’s a little soldier about it too. When other kids would be whining for toys or TV all he wants is to know how to better himself. How to know the best ways to take care of his family. Sam, my youngest, is so smart. I know all parents say that, but this is objective. He’s only four and he’s already talking, walking, and reading. Dean and I- well mostly Dean- try to keep up with him but he always has questions. Wants to know what a word means or how to spell something. Can sing the whole alphabet backwards and forwards.”
John took a shaky breath and then opened the back door before stepping out and transferring to the driver’s seat. Azazel followed his example and took the passenger side. “They sound like wonderful kids.” And John sounded like he was constructing his happiness around this idea of them being a normal family. That just wouldn’t do, but there was no good way to work that in. The cover story John had given him this time prohibited him playing it right. Instead he simply smiled at John’s smile and let the man take him back to the bar. He’d get John next time.
---
Every year Azazel planted himself into John’s path and wore just the right meat suit to get what he wanted. Sometimes it was a pretty woman that John would spill his stories about Mary and his boys to. Sometimes it was a hunter and John would talk about his frustration and pain as his dreams of vengeance were denied.
Sam was brought up just the way Azazel wanted; the perfect mixture of soldier qualities and extreme daddy issues. When the time came to reap his harvest Sam would be a ball of angst and need. He would need to make his pitch paternalistic, and he could play on all the insecurities John had spent all these years fostering in him by withholding his approval in the interest of toughening Sam up.
More importantly Azazel had found these were his favorite times. Checking in on the other kids never gave him this much joy, because none of the other parents were as emotionally damaged as John. When the time came and John made his deal Azazel was honestly a little sad.
The pleasure he’d take in John’s suffering downstairs would never be this honest. Torture was all well and good, but the pain that came from it was synthetic in a way Azazel couldn’t really express. This, John’s turmoil, his depression, his fear that the boys were being hurt even as he pushed them harder and hard, this was real. This was natural and organic.
Of course that didn’t stop him from taking part is Alastair’s work once John ended up in their domain.
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no subject
Date: 2013-06-02 07:42 pm (UTC)Brilliant work as always :)
xx
no subject
Date: 2013-06-04 02:36 am (UTC)John vexes me because sometimes I like him and sometimes I don't, but I always struggle with whichever one I'm feeling. I think he's one of the most powerful characters, certainly one of the most pervasive influences, and yet his appearances are so rare. It was a good thing for me to finally work with him.
Thanks for reading and reviewing!