![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ficwizeTitle: Things that Go Bump in the Night
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wizefics
Crossover: Supernatural/X-Men, written as part of the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sncross_bigbang
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of their respective owners.
Type: Slash casefile, pre-series for Supernatural
Word Count: ~33,000
Characters: Dean Winchester and Remy LeBeau
Warnings: NC17 for sexual content, language and violence
Spoilers: None, if you're familiar with Supernatural. Random bits of Remy LeBeau's past and his powers. This story is not really set in any particular X story line.
Artist:la_conquistador
Link to Art: Amazing artwork and icons!
Summary: Thirty-five minutes. That's all Dean needed for this job. As long as everything went according to plan, of course.
But this is New Orleans, and nothing ever goes to plan. When Dean is interrupted mid-job by a stranger who strongly resembles a demon, the Plan is blown to hell and back. Dean eventually must join forces with the mysterious Remy LeBeau to try and undo the damage that they have done. Of course, Remy makes no secret about the fact that he has a secondary motivation that causes him to race around New Orleans to try and capture a vengeful spirit.
Author’s Notes: I owe a lot of thanks for this story. First, this story was written forwindiain. I hope you enjoy it! Secondly, this story would never have made it this far if it weren't for the help and encouragement of catwomyn5 and pdantzler2. Lastly, I must give all thanks and praise to my wonderful beta readers escritoireazul and dramady. They have made this story much better than it was.
I must also thankla_conquistador, whose artwork provided me with the inspiration I needed to get over the last few hurdles.
For those who think this looks familiar, I started posting it some months back, then realized I had a much bigger story here. I've rewritten the entire fic, and suggest that you consider starting at the beginning. Thanks to those who encouraged me!
*********************
Ch. 5
*********************
By the time Remy drove the Impala back to the crappy hotel, Dean felt well enough to side-seat drive. "Dude, be careful of the water. Sometimes she pulls a bit to the left. And watch out for the curve! Don't go so fast!"
Remy ignored him with a mixture of grace and relief that he wasn't too terribly injured. When he finally pulled into the parking lot, he put the car in park and turned to catch Dean by the face with both hands. "Dean, shut up." Then he leaned forward and kissed him.
Dean wasn't sure if it was the order or the kiss, but he shut up and let Remy climb out of the car and come around to help him. His hands were strong but gentle, and Dean had to struggle for a moment to remember just how much damage those hands were capable of. An exploding bag of rock salt might sound cool, but the after effects were not, and they were currently buried in Dean's chest and arms. Thank God he'd been wearing the leather jacket, or it might have been much worse. Even so, there were little holes in the leather evidencing where some shards of salt had gotten through the outer defenses.
The ache in his chest pulsed and he stumbled in the gravel outside the hotel. Remy caught him by the arm and held him upright. Neither of them commented, but Dean was grateful when Remy held out his hand for the key.
Quickly, Remy opened the door and led Dean inside, one hand still holding Dean's arm in case he stumbled again. As soon as they were both inside, he shut the door and looked around curiously. Dean pulled away from Remy and sat down heavily on the bed.
"There's a medical kit in a bag in the back of the Impala."
Remy nodded and went to fetch the kit, while Dean shrugged out of his jacket. Grimacing, he pulled the tee-shirt over his head slowly, hissing where it stuck to several bloody cuts. He looked up when Remy came back through the door. "Please tell me there’s Tylenol in the bag."
Remy flipped on the bedside lamp as he passed it, adding its meager light to the dim bulb overhead. His expression was hard to read, but his mouth tightened slightly. "You're bleeding."
"Yeah." Dean didn't elaborate. Instead, he held out his hand for the medical kit and Remy passed it over. Digging inside, he came up with a pair of tweezers and an alcohol swab. "There's salt still lodged in some of the cuts." He looked down at his torso and sighed. There were upwards of a dozen cuts, but nothing serious. Just small enough to be painful and irritating.
The bruise on his left ribcage was going to be something else. Dean jumped in surprise when Remy reached out to touch it gently. The Cajun didn't speak, instead dropping to his knees on the side of the bed and prodding the injury with strong and sure fingers.
"Ouch, man." Dean winced, but Remy held him still.
"Not'ing broken. Jus' a bruise."
"Yeah, I know." Dean's breath hitched and Remy let him go.
"I'm sorry."
"For saving my life?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "That’s kind of an asshole thing to say."
Remy blinked in surprise, and then smiled wryly. "For making you bruise and bleed when I did it."
"Yeah, well," Dean reached for the tweezers on the bedspread. "You certainly did it with style. I can't believe we blew up Ducet's bedroom. That is probably not going to go over too well."
"Ducet is a rat."
"No argument from me." Dean prodded a cut on his chest, just below his left collar bone. "Shit! The salt is still in there."
"Here." Remy captured Dean's hands, stopping his random digging. "Remy'll do it."
"You don't have to…" Dean stopped when Remy shot him an irritated glance.
"You're just going to make it worse. Let me do it."
"Fine! Play nursemaid all you want." Dean let the other man take the tweezers and dropped his hands to his side.
Remy smirked. "Firs' dis, den a sponge bath."
"In your dreams, Cajun."
"Oui, it will be later tonight." Remy's remark was automatic and Dean was glad that he was looking at the bloody cut and not at his face. He was pretty sure that he was blushing and he didn’t want confirmation.
Dean breathed out irritably, tired of always feeling defensive when it came to sexual innuendo. "You're a cocky bastard, you know it?"
"Oui." Remy paused long enough to glance up and grin. Then he pulled out the small chunk of salt and set it on a square of bandage that was lying next to where Dean sat. "I've been told."
Dean smiled, despite his irritation and despite the stinging pain in his chest from the cut, which was bleeding once more. "Hey."
"Yeah?" Remy looked up from where he was prodding a second cut.
"Thanks." Dean shrugged. "I'm not much for chick flick moments, but… thanks."
Remy smiled, a real smile that carried none of his usual brash charm. "T'ink not'ing of it, mon ami. It was my pleasure." Then he dug the tweezers in and Dean cursed as he pulled free a second piece of salt.
"Fuck, man! That hurts!"
"Don' be such a bebé," Remy scolded, but his smile didn't fade completely and Dean shut up and let him go back to work. Every cut was examined for salt and five others had to have chunks of the stuff dug out. By the time it was over, Dean's skin was crawling. He reached for the alcohol swab with fingers that shook slightly.
Ripping it open, he swiped the first cut and closed his eyes when the sting hit him. Then he jerked his eyes open again when he felt a soft kiss press itself over the wound. Looking at Remy in surprise, Dean’s jaw dropped open. Remy looked up and met his gaze questioningly. He was giving Dean an out, guilt-free, pressure-free, no questions asked.
Dean closed his mouth and slowly moved to wipe the second cut with the swab. Remy's eyes flared and just as slowly, he leaned forward to press a kiss to the second cut, this one just over the bruise on Dean’s ribcage. Dean licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry. Remy reached out and took the swab. He stood slowly, and reached out with his free hand to gently push Dean back on the bed so that he was resting on his elbows, watching as Remy moved between his spread legs to wipe a third cut. The sting was followed by a puff of air, as Remy blew gently on the wound just under his left pectoral muscle and Dean swallowed, unable to tear his eyes away as Remy pressed his lips against the cut.
Remy looked up and smiled, eyes smoldering in a way that had nothing to do with their color. "Better?"
Dean nodded, and Remy bent back to his task with as much care as he'd earlier spent making sure that there wasn't salt imbedded in the skin. Two cuts under the right collarbone, one cut just under his right nipple, a zigzag of three cuts trailing down over his ribs, one cut just above his belly button, one just under his belly button, one that vanished under the waistline of his jeans near his left hip. Each cut was swabbed with alcohol, followed by a gust of whispered breath and a kiss.
When the last cut was tended, Dean was a mass of tension. Remy stood up and then slowly leaned down, catching his weight on his hands which he set on either side of Dean's, and very slowly closed the distance between them. Dean leaned forward slightly and when Remy kissed him, he was ready.
Stubble, velvet lips, heat. Dean drank it in, the tingling in his body intensifying as he deliberately opened his mouth and invited Remy inside. He didn't wait for the invitation to be revoked. Leaning forward, his legs bumping the inside of Dean's thighs, he caught Dean's bottom lip with his own. Sucking gently, he slanted his head so that his tongue could slide between Dean's lips, stroking Dean's tongue and eliciting a soft sound, too ragged to be a moan, too loud to be a gasp.
Lifting his hand, Remy brushed his thumb over Dean's jaw, his fingers knotting in Dean's hair. He deepened the kiss and pushed forward, driving Dean back into the mattress. Then he began to kiss his way down Dean's body once again. Dean fisted his left hand into the comforter, but he buried his right hand in Remy's hair. It felt so damn good, and for a moment, Dean forgot about his aches and pains.
Remy kissed down Dean's neck, pausing to swipe his tongue over the pulse beating rapidly at the base of his throat. Dean swallowed convulsively, and Remy growled low in his throat.
"More." Dean managed to choke out and Remy nodded, before moving to lick the hollow over Dean's collar bone. His tongue swirled out, silken heat, against Dean's skin and Dean brought his other hand to hold onto Remy's shoulder. Remy sat up slightly and grabbed both of Dean's hands in his own, then firmly pushed them down and into the mattress, leaving Dean's naked torso free to his mouth and gaze. Then he dropped his head and licked at Dean's left nipple.
Dean gasped, his whole body tensing at the sensation. Letting go of Dean's right hand, Remy reached over to flick the other nipple, making them both stand erect, before continuing to slowly tease his way down Dean's belly. Every kiss, every taste, made Dean ache for more and by the time Remy reached his jeans, he was a mass of need.
Remy didn't wait for him to reconsider; his fingers fumbled with the button on Dean's fly. It popped open and Remy leaned down to kiss the newly exposed V of flesh. Dean groaned and Remy carefully slid his hand down inside the denim, pausing long enough to slide under the cloth of Dean's underwear before carefully wrapping around Dean's erection.
"Don't stop," Dean ordered, his voice ragged, and Remy groaned.
"Don’ wanna stop," Remy replied, just as shakily.
"Good." Dean reached up to grab him by the shirt collar and hauled him down for another kiss. This time, Remy gasped. Dean's mouth gave him no pause, drinking down the noise and nipping at Remy's lip. When Remy opened his mouth, Dean plunged his tongue inside, exploring and stroking Remy's tongue in time with the slow movements of Remy's hand inside Dean's pants.
It took several minutes before the jingling tune of Dean's cell phone penetrated either of their fogged minds. When it finally did, Dean froze breaking off the kiss abruptly. "Let it go," Remy urged, but Dean was already rolling away from Remy forcing Remy to withdraw his hand.
"Shit," Dean's voice was thick with lust, but even that didn't hide the resigned tone and Remy wordlessly handed Dean the jacket that had fallen to the floor. Digging through the pocket frantically, Dean finally emerged with a cell phone. He opened it without hesitation.
"Yeah?"
"Dean! Where the hell are you?" Dean jerked the phone away from his ear. Somehow in his fumbling, he'd turned on the speaker.
"Dad…"
"This was a simple job, son! And instead of you calling to tell me that it's fine, I get nothing. What the hell is going on?"
“Things aren’t going like I thought they would. There was an accident… an incident.” Dean swallowed, making a face and closing his eyes at the explosion he knew he was about to set off. “I blew up Ducet’s house.”
There was utter silence on the other end of the phone and Dean bit his lip. "Dad, I can explain."
"You damn well better be able to explain." John's growl cut through the room and Remy winced. Dean dropped his head into his hand, and hunched over. There was a moment of silence before John spoke again.
"Are you hurt?"
"No, sir. Nothing serious."
"Good. You are to stay where you are until I get into town. Am I clear?"
"Dad, wait. I can handle this! It's a bit more complicated than I thought it would be, but…"
"I don't want to hear it, Dean. It's clear to me that you can't handle this alone. I'm coming down there. I'll leave tomorrow afternoon and be there by the next morning."
"Dad."
"Dean, that's an order! Is that clear?"
For a moment, Dean stared at the phone rebelliously, his jaw clenched. Then he breathed out. "Yes, sir."
"And Dean, so help me son, if I find out you screwed this up because you were messing around with some easy lay, I'll skin you alive."
Dean flushed, but he forced himself to answer. "Yes, sir."
"Good. I'll be there soon. Stay put!" The phone disconnected before Dean could say anything else in his defense. He didn't look up at Remy.
"I'm going to go shower."
"Dean, it wasn' your fault, what happened with Keskaya."
"No." Dean glared at him, embarrassment making him snap. "It was yours. But I'm the one who's going to catch hell for it." He stood up, leaving the cell phone on the bed like a stain. He stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door, leaving Remy to do as he saw fit.
Turning on the hot water, Dean stripped out of the rest of his clothes. He stepped inside the shower, careful not to care how long it had been since it was cleaned out, and let the water pound down on his head. The headache growing behind his eyes had nothing to do with the cauchemar, Ducet, or even Remy, who was probably as sexually frustrated as Dean was, and everything to do with the fact that sometimes he didn't think his father would ever trust him.
Concentrating on taking deep breaths, he forced himself to calm down. John was John and things with him weren’t easy. But, it was what it was and Dean would deal with it, just like he always had. One thing was certain, though. He wasn’t going to wait around for his father to come and clean up his mess.
Shaking his head in the spray, Dean pushed that aside. Right now, he had a more immediate problem. How on earth was he supposed to go back into the hotel room and face Remy, who had been in the process of making a very pleasant evening for both of them, when Dean had all but accused him of ruining Christmas?
Even more importantly, how was he supposed to go back out there with a raging hard-on that didn't seem to be going away despite the tongue lashing he'd just gotten from his father and the shower? There was no way he was going out there looking for sex now. He was almost ashamed to admit it, but it seemed that recently he'd turned into a cock-tease. He wouldn't blame Remy for punching him in the face and leaving, or just leaving while Dean was occupied.
Closing his eyes and turning so that the water pulsed on his neck, Dean was assaulted with the image Remy's face – eyes half lidded as he gently pressed kisses all over Dean's chest and stomach, mouth quirking up in a satisfied smile as his tongue trailed wetly over the curve of muscles under his skin. Groaning softly, Dean wrapped his hand around his dick. If only his father had waited to call another fifteen minutes – he could still feel the place where Remy has kissed him, just inches above his groin. Breath shaking, he wondered what it would have felt like if they hadn't been interrupted. To his surprise, he came almost from the thought alone, of Remy's mouth where Dean's hand now was. He leaned forward against the tile wall and let the tension drain away from him.
With it went the headache, and the urge to feel sorry for himself faded. John Winchester wasn't going to be in town for almost 36 hours. That was plenty of time for Dean to solve the situation, or else make it so much worse that it wouldn't matter what his Dad wanted to do to him.
With more resolve than he'd felt since he'd broken into Ducet's house, Dean finished his shower. He strained his ears, listening for the sounds of Remy in the room, but it was silent. He had probably left.
Regretfully, Dean wrapped a towel around his waist and climbed out of the tub. He wiped off the mirror and took enough time to shave and brush his teeth. Then, running a comb through his hair, he went back into the hotel room.
Remy was lounging on the bed, cell phone in hand. "You said the only way to capture a cauchemar is with a spirit jar, oui?"
"Oui, er, yeah." Dean was so relieved to see the other man still there that he stuttered.
"And dey're rare, dese jars?"
"Yeah." He grabbed his duffle bag and began to sort through it for clothes that weren't too grungy as he tried to come up with a way to apologize for earlier.
Remy shifted on the bed, clearly uneasy. "I know where to find one."
Dean gaped at him. “Where?”
“Remy know someone. She can help us.”
“Dude!” Dean felt a stir of hope. He grinned and was relieved to see Remy glance up and smile back. “You are awesome!”
"Better dan you can imagine," Remy replied and Dean fought unsuccessfully to keep the images from his shower fantasy dancing in his mind's eyes.
"We'll see about that. I have a vivid imagination."
"Really? You’ll have to share someday." Remy's expression turned wicked and Dean felt pretty certain that his entire face turned blood red.
"What are you waiting for?" Dean slapped at Remy's boot. "Let’s go. We’ve got places to go and rare artifacts to find. Ghosts to catch and bad guys to hunt down. It’s a full schedule.”
*********************
"Dis is not what I had in mind." Remy muttered under his breath, giving Dean a boost over the cemetery wall. "What are we doin’ here again?"
There was a muffled thud as Dean hit the ground on the other side of the wall. He turned and slapped the bricks lightly. "Just get over here and quit complaining already, you whiny bitch."
Rolling his eyes at the cursing that followed that order, Dean scoffed. "I know you can do it with some complicated vault thing." He reached down and grabbed his bag of tricks and set off for Keskaya's grave without waiting for Remy to get over the wall. Something had been bugging him since he'd found out that Ducet knew about spirit jars. Salting and burning wouldn’t have done a damn thing and Ducet knew that.
Remy caught up with him, moving almost silently in the dark and Dean shot him a considering glance and spoke his fears. "Ducet's not an idiot. He knows what a cauchemar is. He knows I can't kill it with a salt and burn, so why did he want me to try that? And why didn't he just do it himself?"
Remy shrugged. "He's crazy."
"That's the thing." Dean frowned, ducking under a few low hanging branches that dripped Spanish moss. "He's not. If he's buying up real estate, then he's greedy. If he's using Voodoo to run people off, he's a bastard. But that's not crazy."
"What about killing someone?" Remy challenged. "That's crazy."
"No," Dean sighed. "It's wrong and evil, but it's not crazy."
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Overhead, the moon glinted out between storm clouds that sporadically covered the sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance and Dean automatically counted the seconds after the next lightening flash. Quickening his pace, he reckoned that they had about ten minutes before the next storm hit and he wanted to be well out of the graveyard before that happened.
Finally, he reached Keskaya's grave. The stone vault was cracked, but it still held together. Dropping his bag, Dean went to the edge and manhandled the top, grunting when Remy came to his aid. Together, they shoved the lid of the sarcophagus to the side, making a scraping noise as the stone lid slid over the lip of the coffin. Inside, the casket glinted darkly.
As soon as it was clear, Dean hauled himself inside, ignoring Remy's slightly disgusted noise. Dead people weren't harmful or gross – if anything, Dean found them sad. Dry and brittle shells of the people they once were, their spirits either gone or wrecking havoc until they were banished.
"I t'ought you said you couldn't get rid of her by burning her bones," Remy hissed as Dean began to feel around the edge of the coffin.
"I can't." Dean grunted. "But why would Ducet think I could?" Turning he gestured at his bag. "Hand me the flashlight, will you?"
Remy went back to muttering that Ducet was crazy as he dug through the bag, but Dean had a different suspicion. Sliding his fingers along the edge of the casket, he suddenly jerked back and hissed. "Damn it!" He glanced down at his finger, seeing blood well up from a slice on his ring finger.
Wordlessly, Remy handed him the flashlight. His expression was tight, giving away his worry and Dean managed a weak smile. "It's nothing. I’m fine."
Remy raised an eyebrow in a silent challenge, but Dean ignored it, taking the flashlight and pointing the beam where he'd just cut himself. The jagged remnants of a glass jar glistened, the ragged edge dripping with his blood. Reaching down carefully, Dean pulled the shard out.
“What is it?” Remy whispered.
“I’d bet the Impala that it’s a piece of a spirit jar. When you hit me the other night, I fell off and dropped the coffin lid. It probably broke the jar open and that’s what let her out.”
“She was trapped in dere already?”
Dean remembered Ducet’s sweating presence at the coffee shop. He’d worn his shirtsleeves down despite the heat. “The bastard was hiding the fact that she’d already gone after him. It explains the stones at his bedside, too.”
Remy shook his head, but Dean ignored him. He angled the flashlight into the tomb, searching around the edges until he saw markings. “Remy, look at this.”
Remy crowded against him, not climbing into the tomb, but angling until he could see the symbols painted on the coffin. “What are dey?”
“I dunno.” Dean shook his head. Making a decision, he pulled out his cell phone and snapped a few pictures. “But I bet it’s nothing good. You said you saw Ducet take something?”
“Oui. De spirit jar, maybe?”
“Maybe.” Dean grunted, twisting to get a better shot of one of the marks. “But I’m guessing that was broken already.”
Remy sighed and climbed into tomb across from Dean, making him look up. “Dat mark,” Remy pointed. “I recognize dat one. It’s de symbol for protection, but it’s upside down.”
“Meaning it’s not a symbol of protection,” Dean concluded, stomach tightening. When he looked up, it was obvious he wasn't scared. He was furious. "I don’t know what he was doing, but I know that the bastard was setting me up somehow."
Once he had taken pictures of all the symbols, he reached out a tentative finger and scraped at one. Pulling his hand back, he looked at it with growing disgust. “Sick bastard.”
"What is it?" Remy straightened in alarm. "Dean? What's wrong?"
"It’s blood."
"What do you mean?" Remy copied Dean’s movements and climbed out of the vault.
"It's blood." Dean dug through his bag until he found a Holy Water vial. He moved back to the tomb and began to carefully wash the symbols away. "Keskaya's, I’m guessing."
Remy looked sickened. "What was it here for?"
Dean didn't answer as he finished washing away the symbols, careful to make sure that he didn’t bleed anywhere and mark the grave with his own blood. ”I don't know exactly."
“Guess.” Remy ordered flatly, making Dean glance up at him. The Cajun’s eyes were glittering with a mixture of fear and anger.
“Blood is special. It’s the key to a lot of dark magic. If I had burned Keskaya’s body while her spirit is a cauchemar, it wouldn’t have done anything. If her spirit had been inside the fire, I’m guessing it still wouldn’t have done much. But, painting these symbols around the coffin in her blood? I’m guessing that would have done something.”
Remy moved to help Dean put the lid back on the sarcophagus. “What do you think it would have done?”
“Remy, I don’t know.” Dean could feel tension radiating from his neck outward as he hefted the stone lid. "But, the only time we ever walked away from a case was when someone wanted my dad to do an exorcism using blood." He shrugged and stretched his neck slowly. "I asked him about it later and he told me that what we do – the rituals and the salt and burning -- simply frees a spirit and allows it to cross over. Blood changes things – it doesn't free a spirit, it destroys it."
"Destroys it?" Remy asked, shoving at the lid as it slid into place.
"It would be like condemning her to hell." Dean's temper was still boiling, but it cooled when he glanced at Remy who looked pale in the waning moonlight. "Dude, are you okay?"
"Ducet wants to send Keskaya to hell?" The mutant asked, eyes glittering malevolently.
"It would free him from the cauchemar." Dean shrugged.
"Why didn't he just do it himself?" Remy asked, suspicion suddenly halting his movements.
Dean took a deep breath. "Because it's black magic and it always has a cost. Whoever activates the spell pays for it. That bastard set me up."
Abruptly, Remy shoved the sarcophagus lid back into place. "He's not gonna get away wit dis."
"No," Dean promised mildly, his own anger and fear fading in the wake of Remy's. "He's not. In the meantime," He started back to the car. "Didn't you say you knew where we could find a spirit jar?"
"Oui." Remy ran ahead. "Hurry up."
"Now you're in a hurry," Dean muttered but he started jogging. The nagging fear of what might have happened had Remy not interrupted him two nights ago settled in his stomach where he knew it would wait. With a suppressed shudder, he reached the wall and climbed over it.
First, he would deal with Ducet and Keskaya. Then he'd worry about what almost happened. He landed on the other side of the wall and saw Remy smiling at him and holding out his hand.
“What?”
“Keys.”
“Hell no!” Dean shook his head. “You can drive only when I can’t. And right now, I’m fine.”
Remy moved so quickly that Dean barely had time to react. He found himself shoved up against the brick wall, Remy’s mouth on his and the Cajun’s tongue sliding over his own. Dean struggled to take a breath, his knees going weak. Remy broke the kiss with a chuckle. Stepping back, he jingled the keys in his hand and Dean slapped at his recently picked pocket in bemusement.
“Remy’s driving.”
Dean didn’t argue again.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7
Author:
wizefics Crossover: Supernatural/X-Men, written as part of the
sncross_bigbangDisclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of their respective owners.
Type: Slash casefile, pre-series for Supernatural
Word Count: ~33,000
Characters: Dean Winchester and Remy LeBeau
Warnings: NC17 for sexual content, language and violence
Spoilers: None, if you're familiar with Supernatural. Random bits of Remy LeBeau's past and his powers. This story is not really set in any particular X story line.
Artist:
la_conquistador Link to Art: Amazing artwork and icons!
Summary: Thirty-five minutes. That's all Dean needed for this job. As long as everything went according to plan, of course.
But this is New Orleans, and nothing ever goes to plan. When Dean is interrupted mid-job by a stranger who strongly resembles a demon, the Plan is blown to hell and back. Dean eventually must join forces with the mysterious Remy LeBeau to try and undo the damage that they have done. Of course, Remy makes no secret about the fact that he has a secondary motivation that causes him to race around New Orleans to try and capture a vengeful spirit.
Author’s Notes: I owe a lot of thanks for this story. First, this story was written for
windiain. I hope you enjoy it! Secondly, this story would never have made it this far if it weren't for the help and encouragement of catwomyn5 and pdantzler2. Lastly, I must give all thanks and praise to my wonderful beta readers escritoireazul and dramady. They have made this story much better than it was.I must also thank
la_conquistador, whose artwork provided me with the inspiration I needed to get over the last few hurdles. For those who think this looks familiar, I started posting it some months back, then realized I had a much bigger story here. I've rewritten the entire fic, and suggest that you consider starting at the beginning. Thanks to those who encouraged me!
*********************
Ch. 5
*********************
By the time Remy drove the Impala back to the crappy hotel, Dean felt well enough to side-seat drive. "Dude, be careful of the water. Sometimes she pulls a bit to the left. And watch out for the curve! Don't go so fast!"
Remy ignored him with a mixture of grace and relief that he wasn't too terribly injured. When he finally pulled into the parking lot, he put the car in park and turned to catch Dean by the face with both hands. "Dean, shut up." Then he leaned forward and kissed him.
Dean wasn't sure if it was the order or the kiss, but he shut up and let Remy climb out of the car and come around to help him. His hands were strong but gentle, and Dean had to struggle for a moment to remember just how much damage those hands were capable of. An exploding bag of rock salt might sound cool, but the after effects were not, and they were currently buried in Dean's chest and arms. Thank God he'd been wearing the leather jacket, or it might have been much worse. Even so, there were little holes in the leather evidencing where some shards of salt had gotten through the outer defenses.
The ache in his chest pulsed and he stumbled in the gravel outside the hotel. Remy caught him by the arm and held him upright. Neither of them commented, but Dean was grateful when Remy held out his hand for the key.
Quickly, Remy opened the door and led Dean inside, one hand still holding Dean's arm in case he stumbled again. As soon as they were both inside, he shut the door and looked around curiously. Dean pulled away from Remy and sat down heavily on the bed.
"There's a medical kit in a bag in the back of the Impala."
Remy nodded and went to fetch the kit, while Dean shrugged out of his jacket. Grimacing, he pulled the tee-shirt over his head slowly, hissing where it stuck to several bloody cuts. He looked up when Remy came back through the door. "Please tell me there’s Tylenol in the bag."
Remy flipped on the bedside lamp as he passed it, adding its meager light to the dim bulb overhead. His expression was hard to read, but his mouth tightened slightly. "You're bleeding."
"Yeah." Dean didn't elaborate. Instead, he held out his hand for the medical kit and Remy passed it over. Digging inside, he came up with a pair of tweezers and an alcohol swab. "There's salt still lodged in some of the cuts." He looked down at his torso and sighed. There were upwards of a dozen cuts, but nothing serious. Just small enough to be painful and irritating.
The bruise on his left ribcage was going to be something else. Dean jumped in surprise when Remy reached out to touch it gently. The Cajun didn't speak, instead dropping to his knees on the side of the bed and prodding the injury with strong and sure fingers.
"Ouch, man." Dean winced, but Remy held him still.
"Not'ing broken. Jus' a bruise."
"Yeah, I know." Dean's breath hitched and Remy let him go.
"I'm sorry."
"For saving my life?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "That’s kind of an asshole thing to say."
Remy blinked in surprise, and then smiled wryly. "For making you bruise and bleed when I did it."
"Yeah, well," Dean reached for the tweezers on the bedspread. "You certainly did it with style. I can't believe we blew up Ducet's bedroom. That is probably not going to go over too well."
"Ducet is a rat."
"No argument from me." Dean prodded a cut on his chest, just below his left collar bone. "Shit! The salt is still in there."
"Here." Remy captured Dean's hands, stopping his random digging. "Remy'll do it."
"You don't have to…" Dean stopped when Remy shot him an irritated glance.
"You're just going to make it worse. Let me do it."
"Fine! Play nursemaid all you want." Dean let the other man take the tweezers and dropped his hands to his side.
Remy smirked. "Firs' dis, den a sponge bath."
"In your dreams, Cajun."
"Oui, it will be later tonight." Remy's remark was automatic and Dean was glad that he was looking at the bloody cut and not at his face. He was pretty sure that he was blushing and he didn’t want confirmation.
Dean breathed out irritably, tired of always feeling defensive when it came to sexual innuendo. "You're a cocky bastard, you know it?"
"Oui." Remy paused long enough to glance up and grin. Then he pulled out the small chunk of salt and set it on a square of bandage that was lying next to where Dean sat. "I've been told."
Dean smiled, despite his irritation and despite the stinging pain in his chest from the cut, which was bleeding once more. "Hey."
"Yeah?" Remy looked up from where he was prodding a second cut.
"Thanks." Dean shrugged. "I'm not much for chick flick moments, but… thanks."
Remy smiled, a real smile that carried none of his usual brash charm. "T'ink not'ing of it, mon ami. It was my pleasure." Then he dug the tweezers in and Dean cursed as he pulled free a second piece of salt.
"Fuck, man! That hurts!"
"Don' be such a bebé," Remy scolded, but his smile didn't fade completely and Dean shut up and let him go back to work. Every cut was examined for salt and five others had to have chunks of the stuff dug out. By the time it was over, Dean's skin was crawling. He reached for the alcohol swab with fingers that shook slightly.
Ripping it open, he swiped the first cut and closed his eyes when the sting hit him. Then he jerked his eyes open again when he felt a soft kiss press itself over the wound. Looking at Remy in surprise, Dean’s jaw dropped open. Remy looked up and met his gaze questioningly. He was giving Dean an out, guilt-free, pressure-free, no questions asked.
Dean closed his mouth and slowly moved to wipe the second cut with the swab. Remy's eyes flared and just as slowly, he leaned forward to press a kiss to the second cut, this one just over the bruise on Dean’s ribcage. Dean licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry. Remy reached out and took the swab. He stood slowly, and reached out with his free hand to gently push Dean back on the bed so that he was resting on his elbows, watching as Remy moved between his spread legs to wipe a third cut. The sting was followed by a puff of air, as Remy blew gently on the wound just under his left pectoral muscle and Dean swallowed, unable to tear his eyes away as Remy pressed his lips against the cut.
Remy looked up and smiled, eyes smoldering in a way that had nothing to do with their color. "Better?"
Dean nodded, and Remy bent back to his task with as much care as he'd earlier spent making sure that there wasn't salt imbedded in the skin. Two cuts under the right collarbone, one cut just under his right nipple, a zigzag of three cuts trailing down over his ribs, one cut just above his belly button, one just under his belly button, one that vanished under the waistline of his jeans near his left hip. Each cut was swabbed with alcohol, followed by a gust of whispered breath and a kiss.
When the last cut was tended, Dean was a mass of tension. Remy stood up and then slowly leaned down, catching his weight on his hands which he set on either side of Dean's, and very slowly closed the distance between them. Dean leaned forward slightly and when Remy kissed him, he was ready.
Stubble, velvet lips, heat. Dean drank it in, the tingling in his body intensifying as he deliberately opened his mouth and invited Remy inside. He didn't wait for the invitation to be revoked. Leaning forward, his legs bumping the inside of Dean's thighs, he caught Dean's bottom lip with his own. Sucking gently, he slanted his head so that his tongue could slide between Dean's lips, stroking Dean's tongue and eliciting a soft sound, too ragged to be a moan, too loud to be a gasp.
Lifting his hand, Remy brushed his thumb over Dean's jaw, his fingers knotting in Dean's hair. He deepened the kiss and pushed forward, driving Dean back into the mattress. Then he began to kiss his way down Dean's body once again. Dean fisted his left hand into the comforter, but he buried his right hand in Remy's hair. It felt so damn good, and for a moment, Dean forgot about his aches and pains.
Remy kissed down Dean's neck, pausing to swipe his tongue over the pulse beating rapidly at the base of his throat. Dean swallowed convulsively, and Remy growled low in his throat.
"More." Dean managed to choke out and Remy nodded, before moving to lick the hollow over Dean's collar bone. His tongue swirled out, silken heat, against Dean's skin and Dean brought his other hand to hold onto Remy's shoulder. Remy sat up slightly and grabbed both of Dean's hands in his own, then firmly pushed them down and into the mattress, leaving Dean's naked torso free to his mouth and gaze. Then he dropped his head and licked at Dean's left nipple.
Dean gasped, his whole body tensing at the sensation. Letting go of Dean's right hand, Remy reached over to flick the other nipple, making them both stand erect, before continuing to slowly tease his way down Dean's belly. Every kiss, every taste, made Dean ache for more and by the time Remy reached his jeans, he was a mass of need.
Remy didn't wait for him to reconsider; his fingers fumbled with the button on Dean's fly. It popped open and Remy leaned down to kiss the newly exposed V of flesh. Dean groaned and Remy carefully slid his hand down inside the denim, pausing long enough to slide under the cloth of Dean's underwear before carefully wrapping around Dean's erection.
"Don't stop," Dean ordered, his voice ragged, and Remy groaned.
"Don’ wanna stop," Remy replied, just as shakily.
"Good." Dean reached up to grab him by the shirt collar and hauled him down for another kiss. This time, Remy gasped. Dean's mouth gave him no pause, drinking down the noise and nipping at Remy's lip. When Remy opened his mouth, Dean plunged his tongue inside, exploring and stroking Remy's tongue in time with the slow movements of Remy's hand inside Dean's pants.
It took several minutes before the jingling tune of Dean's cell phone penetrated either of their fogged minds. When it finally did, Dean froze breaking off the kiss abruptly. "Let it go," Remy urged, but Dean was already rolling away from Remy forcing Remy to withdraw his hand.
"Shit," Dean's voice was thick with lust, but even that didn't hide the resigned tone and Remy wordlessly handed Dean the jacket that had fallen to the floor. Digging through the pocket frantically, Dean finally emerged with a cell phone. He opened it without hesitation.
"Yeah?"
"Dean! Where the hell are you?" Dean jerked the phone away from his ear. Somehow in his fumbling, he'd turned on the speaker.
"Dad…"
"This was a simple job, son! And instead of you calling to tell me that it's fine, I get nothing. What the hell is going on?"
“Things aren’t going like I thought they would. There was an accident… an incident.” Dean swallowed, making a face and closing his eyes at the explosion he knew he was about to set off. “I blew up Ducet’s house.”
There was utter silence on the other end of the phone and Dean bit his lip. "Dad, I can explain."
"You damn well better be able to explain." John's growl cut through the room and Remy winced. Dean dropped his head into his hand, and hunched over. There was a moment of silence before John spoke again.
"Are you hurt?"
"No, sir. Nothing serious."
"Good. You are to stay where you are until I get into town. Am I clear?"
"Dad, wait. I can handle this! It's a bit more complicated than I thought it would be, but…"
"I don't want to hear it, Dean. It's clear to me that you can't handle this alone. I'm coming down there. I'll leave tomorrow afternoon and be there by the next morning."
"Dad."
"Dean, that's an order! Is that clear?"
For a moment, Dean stared at the phone rebelliously, his jaw clenched. Then he breathed out. "Yes, sir."
"And Dean, so help me son, if I find out you screwed this up because you were messing around with some easy lay, I'll skin you alive."
Dean flushed, but he forced himself to answer. "Yes, sir."
"Good. I'll be there soon. Stay put!" The phone disconnected before Dean could say anything else in his defense. He didn't look up at Remy.
"I'm going to go shower."
"Dean, it wasn' your fault, what happened with Keskaya."
"No." Dean glared at him, embarrassment making him snap. "It was yours. But I'm the one who's going to catch hell for it." He stood up, leaving the cell phone on the bed like a stain. He stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door, leaving Remy to do as he saw fit.
Turning on the hot water, Dean stripped out of the rest of his clothes. He stepped inside the shower, careful not to care how long it had been since it was cleaned out, and let the water pound down on his head. The headache growing behind his eyes had nothing to do with the cauchemar, Ducet, or even Remy, who was probably as sexually frustrated as Dean was, and everything to do with the fact that sometimes he didn't think his father would ever trust him.
Concentrating on taking deep breaths, he forced himself to calm down. John was John and things with him weren’t easy. But, it was what it was and Dean would deal with it, just like he always had. One thing was certain, though. He wasn’t going to wait around for his father to come and clean up his mess.
Shaking his head in the spray, Dean pushed that aside. Right now, he had a more immediate problem. How on earth was he supposed to go back into the hotel room and face Remy, who had been in the process of making a very pleasant evening for both of them, when Dean had all but accused him of ruining Christmas?
Even more importantly, how was he supposed to go back out there with a raging hard-on that didn't seem to be going away despite the tongue lashing he'd just gotten from his father and the shower? There was no way he was going out there looking for sex now. He was almost ashamed to admit it, but it seemed that recently he'd turned into a cock-tease. He wouldn't blame Remy for punching him in the face and leaving, or just leaving while Dean was occupied.
Closing his eyes and turning so that the water pulsed on his neck, Dean was assaulted with the image Remy's face – eyes half lidded as he gently pressed kisses all over Dean's chest and stomach, mouth quirking up in a satisfied smile as his tongue trailed wetly over the curve of muscles under his skin. Groaning softly, Dean wrapped his hand around his dick. If only his father had waited to call another fifteen minutes – he could still feel the place where Remy has kissed him, just inches above his groin. Breath shaking, he wondered what it would have felt like if they hadn't been interrupted. To his surprise, he came almost from the thought alone, of Remy's mouth where Dean's hand now was. He leaned forward against the tile wall and let the tension drain away from him.
With it went the headache, and the urge to feel sorry for himself faded. John Winchester wasn't going to be in town for almost 36 hours. That was plenty of time for Dean to solve the situation, or else make it so much worse that it wouldn't matter what his Dad wanted to do to him.
With more resolve than he'd felt since he'd broken into Ducet's house, Dean finished his shower. He strained his ears, listening for the sounds of Remy in the room, but it was silent. He had probably left.
Regretfully, Dean wrapped a towel around his waist and climbed out of the tub. He wiped off the mirror and took enough time to shave and brush his teeth. Then, running a comb through his hair, he went back into the hotel room.
Remy was lounging on the bed, cell phone in hand. "You said the only way to capture a cauchemar is with a spirit jar, oui?"
"Oui, er, yeah." Dean was so relieved to see the other man still there that he stuttered.
"And dey're rare, dese jars?"
"Yeah." He grabbed his duffle bag and began to sort through it for clothes that weren't too grungy as he tried to come up with a way to apologize for earlier.
Remy shifted on the bed, clearly uneasy. "I know where to find one."
Dean gaped at him. “Where?”
“Remy know someone. She can help us.”
“Dude!” Dean felt a stir of hope. He grinned and was relieved to see Remy glance up and smile back. “You are awesome!”
"Better dan you can imagine," Remy replied and Dean fought unsuccessfully to keep the images from his shower fantasy dancing in his mind's eyes.
"We'll see about that. I have a vivid imagination."
"Really? You’ll have to share someday." Remy's expression turned wicked and Dean felt pretty certain that his entire face turned blood red.
"What are you waiting for?" Dean slapped at Remy's boot. "Let’s go. We’ve got places to go and rare artifacts to find. Ghosts to catch and bad guys to hunt down. It’s a full schedule.”
"Dis is not what I had in mind." Remy muttered under his breath, giving Dean a boost over the cemetery wall. "What are we doin’ here again?"
There was a muffled thud as Dean hit the ground on the other side of the wall. He turned and slapped the bricks lightly. "Just get over here and quit complaining already, you whiny bitch."
Rolling his eyes at the cursing that followed that order, Dean scoffed. "I know you can do it with some complicated vault thing." He reached down and grabbed his bag of tricks and set off for Keskaya's grave without waiting for Remy to get over the wall. Something had been bugging him since he'd found out that Ducet knew about spirit jars. Salting and burning wouldn’t have done a damn thing and Ducet knew that.
Remy caught up with him, moving almost silently in the dark and Dean shot him a considering glance and spoke his fears. "Ducet's not an idiot. He knows what a cauchemar is. He knows I can't kill it with a salt and burn, so why did he want me to try that? And why didn't he just do it himself?"
Remy shrugged. "He's crazy."
"That's the thing." Dean frowned, ducking under a few low hanging branches that dripped Spanish moss. "He's not. If he's buying up real estate, then he's greedy. If he's using Voodoo to run people off, he's a bastard. But that's not crazy."
"What about killing someone?" Remy challenged. "That's crazy."
"No," Dean sighed. "It's wrong and evil, but it's not crazy."
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Overhead, the moon glinted out between storm clouds that sporadically covered the sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance and Dean automatically counted the seconds after the next lightening flash. Quickening his pace, he reckoned that they had about ten minutes before the next storm hit and he wanted to be well out of the graveyard before that happened.
Finally, he reached Keskaya's grave. The stone vault was cracked, but it still held together. Dropping his bag, Dean went to the edge and manhandled the top, grunting when Remy came to his aid. Together, they shoved the lid of the sarcophagus to the side, making a scraping noise as the stone lid slid over the lip of the coffin. Inside, the casket glinted darkly.
As soon as it was clear, Dean hauled himself inside, ignoring Remy's slightly disgusted noise. Dead people weren't harmful or gross – if anything, Dean found them sad. Dry and brittle shells of the people they once were, their spirits either gone or wrecking havoc until they were banished.
"I t'ought you said you couldn't get rid of her by burning her bones," Remy hissed as Dean began to feel around the edge of the coffin.
"I can't." Dean grunted. "But why would Ducet think I could?" Turning he gestured at his bag. "Hand me the flashlight, will you?"
Remy went back to muttering that Ducet was crazy as he dug through the bag, but Dean had a different suspicion. Sliding his fingers along the edge of the casket, he suddenly jerked back and hissed. "Damn it!" He glanced down at his finger, seeing blood well up from a slice on his ring finger.
Wordlessly, Remy handed him the flashlight. His expression was tight, giving away his worry and Dean managed a weak smile. "It's nothing. I’m fine."
Remy raised an eyebrow in a silent challenge, but Dean ignored it, taking the flashlight and pointing the beam where he'd just cut himself. The jagged remnants of a glass jar glistened, the ragged edge dripping with his blood. Reaching down carefully, Dean pulled the shard out.
“What is it?” Remy whispered.
“I’d bet the Impala that it’s a piece of a spirit jar. When you hit me the other night, I fell off and dropped the coffin lid. It probably broke the jar open and that’s what let her out.”
“She was trapped in dere already?”
Dean remembered Ducet’s sweating presence at the coffee shop. He’d worn his shirtsleeves down despite the heat. “The bastard was hiding the fact that she’d already gone after him. It explains the stones at his bedside, too.”
Remy shook his head, but Dean ignored him. He angled the flashlight into the tomb, searching around the edges until he saw markings. “Remy, look at this.”
Remy crowded against him, not climbing into the tomb, but angling until he could see the symbols painted on the coffin. “What are dey?”
“I dunno.” Dean shook his head. Making a decision, he pulled out his cell phone and snapped a few pictures. “But I bet it’s nothing good. You said you saw Ducet take something?”
“Oui. De spirit jar, maybe?”
“Maybe.” Dean grunted, twisting to get a better shot of one of the marks. “But I’m guessing that was broken already.”
Remy sighed and climbed into tomb across from Dean, making him look up. “Dat mark,” Remy pointed. “I recognize dat one. It’s de symbol for protection, but it’s upside down.”
“Meaning it’s not a symbol of protection,” Dean concluded, stomach tightening. When he looked up, it was obvious he wasn't scared. He was furious. "I don’t know what he was doing, but I know that the bastard was setting me up somehow."
Once he had taken pictures of all the symbols, he reached out a tentative finger and scraped at one. Pulling his hand back, he looked at it with growing disgust. “Sick bastard.”
"What is it?" Remy straightened in alarm. "Dean? What's wrong?"
"It’s blood."
"What do you mean?" Remy copied Dean’s movements and climbed out of the vault.
"It's blood." Dean dug through his bag until he found a Holy Water vial. He moved back to the tomb and began to carefully wash the symbols away. "Keskaya's, I’m guessing."
Remy looked sickened. "What was it here for?"
Dean didn't answer as he finished washing away the symbols, careful to make sure that he didn’t bleed anywhere and mark the grave with his own blood. ”I don't know exactly."
“Guess.” Remy ordered flatly, making Dean glance up at him. The Cajun’s eyes were glittering with a mixture of fear and anger.
“Blood is special. It’s the key to a lot of dark magic. If I had burned Keskaya’s body while her spirit is a cauchemar, it wouldn’t have done anything. If her spirit had been inside the fire, I’m guessing it still wouldn’t have done much. But, painting these symbols around the coffin in her blood? I’m guessing that would have done something.”
Remy moved to help Dean put the lid back on the sarcophagus. “What do you think it would have done?”
“Remy, I don’t know.” Dean could feel tension radiating from his neck outward as he hefted the stone lid. "But, the only time we ever walked away from a case was when someone wanted my dad to do an exorcism using blood." He shrugged and stretched his neck slowly. "I asked him about it later and he told me that what we do – the rituals and the salt and burning -- simply frees a spirit and allows it to cross over. Blood changes things – it doesn't free a spirit, it destroys it."
"Destroys it?" Remy asked, shoving at the lid as it slid into place.
"It would be like condemning her to hell." Dean's temper was still boiling, but it cooled when he glanced at Remy who looked pale in the waning moonlight. "Dude, are you okay?"
"Ducet wants to send Keskaya to hell?" The mutant asked, eyes glittering malevolently.
"It would free him from the cauchemar." Dean shrugged.
"Why didn't he just do it himself?" Remy asked, suspicion suddenly halting his movements.
Dean took a deep breath. "Because it's black magic and it always has a cost. Whoever activates the spell pays for it. That bastard set me up."
Abruptly, Remy shoved the sarcophagus lid back into place. "He's not gonna get away wit dis."
"No," Dean promised mildly, his own anger and fear fading in the wake of Remy's. "He's not. In the meantime," He started back to the car. "Didn't you say you knew where we could find a spirit jar?"
"Oui." Remy ran ahead. "Hurry up."
"Now you're in a hurry," Dean muttered but he started jogging. The nagging fear of what might have happened had Remy not interrupted him two nights ago settled in his stomach where he knew it would wait. With a suppressed shudder, he reached the wall and climbed over it.
First, he would deal with Ducet and Keskaya. Then he'd worry about what almost happened. He landed on the other side of the wall and saw Remy smiling at him and holding out his hand.
“What?”
“Keys.”
“Hell no!” Dean shook his head. “You can drive only when I can’t. And right now, I’m fine.”
Remy moved so quickly that Dean barely had time to react. He found himself shoved up against the brick wall, Remy’s mouth on his and the Cajun’s tongue sliding over his own. Dean struggled to take a breath, his knees going weak. Remy broke the kiss with a chuckle. Stepping back, he jingled the keys in his hand and Dean slapped at his recently picked pocket in bemusement.
“Remy’s driving.”
Dean didn’t argue again.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2009-05-13 04:23 pm (UTC)BUT, I'm a stalker and I nosied around your profile and literally went HOLY CRAP THAT'S KYO SOHMA, a Fruits Basket fan? I'm friend-stalking you right away :D
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Date: 2009-05-16 09:57 pm (UTC)You have made all the hair tearing I did while I was trying to get this story straight worth it. :)
Thank you very much!
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Date: 2009-05-16 11:00 pm (UTC)And ooooo hot and steamy moment, loved it ;D
I love your icon BTW :D
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Date: 2009-05-17 04:02 am (UTC)Remy was in the right place at the right time, at least as far as Dean's concerned.
Also, glad you liked the hot! :D
And I rather like your icon too. Yummy!