Author: Linda Atkinson
Rating: FRAO graphic daddy incest, strong language.
Warnings: AU goes through some events in “Devil's Trap” and “In my Time of Dying”, but John does not die. Gender Swap (John); slash (Rape) John/Demon Dean; Slash and Het John/Dean; M-Preg (John pregnant.)
Author’s Note: I know that it is popular in fandom to make John a bad guy, but I don’t see him as either a child abuser or a drunken bastard just harden maybe even callous, bitter and obsessive. I like John therefore this is a more John-centric fic, although not John friendly. He takes a beating. So if you are of the John is a bastard frame of mind you might want to pass on this one.
This is part one of a longer series, no cliffhangers each part could stand alone as a story. A little knowledge of the background would make each part easier to understand.
Feedback: Please to firstname.lastname@example.org
Betas: None right now, any volunteers?
Tuesday's child is full of grace;
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go;
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for its living;
But the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.
The cabin was cold and empty. Dean kicked the door open, lifting the flashlight and flicking the beam around the room. There was no sign of anyone in the room; a thick layer of dust lay over the sparse and broken furnishings. John fumbled the Colt out of his pocket. It hit the table with a hollow clatter, and both Dean and John turned toward the entryway. The door rattled in the frame and John ducked scrambling for the gun, but the door blew in before he could reach it.
A cold wind whipped through the room stirring dust and knocking over the table, the Colt clattered to the floor. Dean jumped forward and the whirlwind slammed him back. He staggered then straightened out turning toward Sam. The younger man suddenly found himself slammed against the wall. He winced in pain and the air was driven from his body. John jumped toward the body of his older son, but a quick movement from Dean sent the elder Winchester spinning toward the wall. John levitated a few feet off the floor, his chest and shoulders penned against its rough surface, feet dangling mid-air.
John cried out as the hazel eyes staring at him flashed to gold.
The demon slammed his fist into John's stomach, and the older man tried to pull his legs up gasping but he was fixed hard against the wall. With a grin Dean flashed Sam a look over his shoulder. Sam was struggling futilely against the invisible bonds holding him penned against the wall. Dean grinned at him. “Don’t worry, Sammy-boy. When I’m done with Daddy I’ll be along to finish with you.”
Dean lurched back as John jerked against the force holding him down. But his shoulders never left the wall. "You gotta do better than that, old man."
Dean shoved his father back against the wall, and then kicked him in the leg. John drew his legs up as much as he could, wincing in pain, and the demon kicked John again. Suddenly the force holding him place was released; John hit the floor and rolled over onto this back. His face twisting in pain John kicked Dean in the knee. Dean's body swayed, but the demon snarled. And John missed his chance for a second kick.
"What's the matter Daddy? Don't you get off on slapping the little boys around anymore?"
John staggered to his feet. He flinched, he had rarely spanked the boys, but there had been one or two days when he had been too absorbed in grief that he had taken it out on Dean. Grimly John grasped at Dean's wrist maneuvering him into a wrestling hold, trying to immobilize the possessed younger man until he could make the demon release his hold on Sam.
The demon was far stronger than any human and John found himself flying through the air, landing in a heap across the room. Dean dropped onto John's back and his long, slim fingers reached between his father's legs, grasping and twisting John's testicles. John screamed as a blinding white pain shot up his spine. He bucked trying to throw Dean off, but the younger man leaned down, licking the side of John's neck.
"Uhmm, that's sweet, Daddy."
The pain crept up from John's groin to his belly, and he retched barely keeping his stomach under control. The demon rolled them over leaning down over John's face, his lips barely an inch from the older man's mouth. "How about some sugar for your baby boy, Daddy?"
John pushed upward, and mange to dislodge the demon, who howled in laughter. Only the fact that Dean had never called him Daddy, even as a child kept John from losing his grip on reality. This was not his son hurting him. It was not his son who seemed hell bent on doing more than just hurt him. John managed to lever his legs up and kick Dean's body mid-chest. The demon was flung off, and John rolled onto his hands and knees trying to flee. The demon caught John by the leg, and then hauled itself bodily upward, fingers curling into John's belt. The leather snapped and the belt slipped free, and the fingers continued clawing at John until his jeans were down to his ankles. John kept clawing at the rough plank floor even though his fingers were slippery with blood. The splinters scraped his knees raw, but John crawled towards the door praying to be able to reach the Colt.
John kicked out again, but the demon grabbed both of John's legs slamming his back against the floor. The air rushed out of John's lungs leaving him gasping for breath. Dean's face loomed over him, and John winced. The demon grinned,.
"I've got a big surprise for you, Daddy."
With a growl the demon dragged John's shorts down, fingers clutching at John's groin. The pain was unbearable and John screamed again. The white hot fire raced up his legs, melting his spine and John writhed in agony. The rough planking raked at the bare skin of his back and buttocks and still John tried to wriggle away. Sam could not see his brother doing this. Dean's hand flashed between John's legs again and the older man tried to brace himself for the mind-numbing pain of having his balls crushed. But Dean's slender fingers slid over sweat soaked skin and past the public bone, sinking into John's body. John gasped; he shouldn't feel any internal pressure there. Desperately John tried to move back, the invasion was dry, painful and completely unfamiliar.
From the gleeful grin on Dean's faced John was sure that his terror and confusion showed plainly. "Surprise!" the demon snarled. "I guess that makes you Mommy now."
John gagged as Dean pulled his fingers free and unsnapped the fly on his jeans.
"Oh god no!" he cried out as Dean rose up, his dick incredibly red and swollen-- dripping fluid. "Please no don't…"
John's voice broke as his son's penis rammed into him. He couldn't help screaming then. John tried to throw the demon off as Dean thrust into him, but he was helpless and his struggles only seemed to amuse the demon. Finally Dean came with a hoarse cry.
The sound of Sam’s body hitting the floor caused Dean to whirl around. His eyes wet with unshed tears he stumbled away from their father’s prone body. Sam leaped to his feet snagging the Colt from the floor where it had fallen. Dean’s body arched back, bent as the demon lifted him into the air. He managed to turn to Sam begging, “Shoot it Sammy, shoot it now!”
The sound of the gun shot cut through the still air drowning out John's quiet sobbing and Dean's indrawn breath. The blast caught Dean squarely in the leg and he cried out dropping back onto the hard body beneath him. The demon fled Dean's body in a dark cloud.
Sam bolted for the door again in time to see an owl swooping down out of the night sky. He raised the gun again, but the big bird turned on him. As the talons raked at his face Sam dropped the gun, throwing an arm up to protect his eyes. The owl circled around once again then lit into the sky disappearing above the trees.
Dean became aware of several things at once. First the languor of a recent orgasm and the dull ache of over-stressed muscles. The second was of heat radiating from the hard body lying beneath him. He had a vague memory of what had happened when the demon possessed him, and that the memories would return probably full force later that night. Dean was tempted to just lay still with his eyes closed, but he was aware of the labored breathing and tension in that warm body. And that impressed in him the need to move.
Taking a deep breath Dean opened his eyes and flinched in surprise. John tried vainly to stem the tears that slid down his face so that Dean would not have to see his father crying. Somehow John's effort to comfort his son left Dean cold. He leapt to his feet, and John reached out to Dean.
"Its okay, son."
"Oh my god, what did I do to you?" Dean crumpled to the floor. Taking a deep breath he watched as John struggled to his feet and staggered toward the wall and a large mirror hanging above the fireplace.
"It wasn't your fault. Dean, you didn't do this. It was the demon." John said quietly. Dean rose straightening his clothes, he couldn’t miss the scent of sweat and semen clinging to his flesh, couldn’t avoid the blood caked on his own body or that of his father.
"I raped you.” He said hollowly his eyes dropping the floor.
Slowly he looked at the older man, at first he couldn’t quite comprehend what he was seeing. But as his eyes took in the battered, bruised body his expression changed to one of shocked denial. John flinched, and he felt his face grow warm from shame and anger.
"I'm guessing that there is something different about me."
Sam slammed the door open, eyes shifting between his brother and his father. His eyes widened. "Holy shit."
"Language, Sam." John said harshly making his way unsteadily toward the far wall. Before he could reach the mirror hanging there Dean intercepted him trying to hold John back without touching him. John shoved Dean away slightly, without much force, and turned to his younger son.
"What about the demon?"
Sam shook his head.
"Gone, it went into an owl and flew off. I couldn't follow it. Dad you need to be in the hospital."
John shook his head. "No, no hospital. I'm, not bleeding all that much. It looks worse than it is. I think it's from--- I'll heal." He turned back toward the mirror and continued his shaky progress to the wall.
"Dad, maybe you should sit down. I mean you don't need to see… not right now."
John shrugged him off. "I have to see. I have to know if I can still hunt."
Dean frowned jerking the older man around, and cringed at the hint of fear that he glimpsed before John shut it down. "I need to see." John said simply.
Dean released his grip on his father's arm. John stumbled over to the mirror and paused transfixed.
Above the shoulders John looked pretty much the same, face a little softer, rounder cheeks, but still worn and haggard and bearded. He was naked from the waist down and an odd blend of male and female. He still had his penis, but beneath that were his balls would have been was nothing, a thin trickle of blood was still coursing down his thigh and John reached for the paper towels that Sam had brought in from the car. He swiped at his legs trying to clean himself up enough to get his boxers and jeans back on.
John carefully avoided looking at the ripped tee-shirt and the faint hint of more rounded breasts beneath. "What the hell did he do to me?"
Sam shook his head. "I don't know, Dad. It's like he made you half and half between a man and woman."
Nodding John finished cleaning up and began shrugging into his clothes. He pulled his jacket over the torn shirt. Dean was hanging at the back of the room propped against one wall, trying not to look at his father, but still stay close enough in case trouble showed up. He clutched at his leg.
Sam quickly gathered the Colt, dropping in John's hand as the older man finished dressing. John shrugged into his jacket and tossed over his shoulder. "Sam, go see to your brother. He's going to need help walking. We need to get to a hotel so we can get him patched up."
The three men shoved their way out of the door, and headed to the Impala. John fumbled the rear passenger side door open, and slumped into the seat. He dropped the Colt on the seat beside Sam with a ‘just in case’ look. Sam clawed the rear driver's side door open and shoved Dean inside. Dean started to fight him, but Sam slammed the door shut. "I'm driving." he hissed. Dean settled back against the seat.
Sam turned the engine over and pulled the car onto the road. "Don't worry, we'll get Dean fixed. There's an on-ramp to the freeway just a mile back this way. I'm going to hit the freeway over to Chelsea, it's just five miles."
John nodded groaning. He wrapped his arms around his chest as if he might fall to pieces any minute. Sam glanced back at his father in the rear view mirror. John looked as beat as Sam could ever remember. Dean was lying on his side, facing away from the older man as if he had no right to even look their father in face. He winced as Sam's glance flicked from John to Dean.
"Look, it'll be okay. We still have the Colt, and we have one bullet left. We'll just start over…"
The world turned, screaming, as a black shadow fell across the Impala. The car slewed around as a Semi hit it mid cabin. The tires squealed and Sam vainly hauled the steering wheel around trying to bring the car straight in the road again. For a few seconds it seemed as if the car would respond but the truck's momentum carried it forward and the Impala rode the nose of the cab across the lanes and into the grass and dirt field just beyond the bend of the road.
Sam watched in horror as his father's body was lifted from the seat and slammed into the top. John's arm hit the roof and snapped with an audible sound. Sam retched. Dean rolled, his head coming in contact with the seat then he collided with John.
Sam was flung backwards first, his neck wrenched, then his entire body flipped forward. He managed to fall sideways instead of being rammed against the steering wheel which would have crushed his ribcage, and probably killed him.
The car swung around in one last feeble arc and came to rest on the down slope of the hill. The engine churned futilely for a few minutes more before dying. Sam rolled himself upright the pain in his neck making him sick to his stomach. His fingers fell on the Colt and he pulled it into his lap weakly. Suddenly a shadow fell across the window and Sam winced.
The truck driver slammed his fist into the car's window sending shards of glass spilling around Sam's body. He winced throwing up a hand to keep the glass out of his eyes. With snarl the driver managed to wrench one ham-fisted hand into the door handle and rip the door off the frame. He leaned in reaching for Sam. The young man levered the Colt up and squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit the trucker dead-center in the chest, and the man's body levitated above the car. A screaming sound rent the early morning air, and the trucker’s body was flung across the field. The blast from the demon force streaming out of the trucker's body flung Sam back onto the seat and he collapsed unconscious to the strains of music blasting from the now still Semi truck.
Sam came awake to the sounds of sirens and to flashing blue lights. He was laying on a stretcher, neck in a stiff white brace. Sam struggled to rise as one of the paramedics forced him back onto the board. "Sir, you have to be still."
Sam pushed her hands away. "My father and my brother--how are they? I need to know if they're okay. "
The paramedic pulled a strap across Sam's chest, securing him to the backboard and the stretcher. "You have to be still…" she repeated.
Thrashing violently Sam jerked at the restraints. "I have to know if they're alive."
The stretcher was shoved into the back of an ambulance and they roared off toward the hospital. The white walls of the building were all that Sam could see as the ambulance pulled into the parking lot. The two other vehicles carrying John and Dean were already parked and Sam could see them unloading the stretchers bearing his father and brother. Dean seemed to be moving a little, but John was still. A creeping sense of dread enveloped Sam and he turned his head and vomited on the ground. The paramedics didn't make a sound. Quickly the woman pulled a cloth out and wiped Sam's mouth and face. He felt miserable and afraid. She smiled at him, a little sadly, and Sam felt that creeping sensation crawling along his spine.
It took four hours of testing before the doctors deemed Sam fit to be released. He shuffled around the waiting room, looking lost and forlorn enough that the nurses felt sorry for him and forced some valium and soda on him. He sat stiffly, still in a little pain despite the drugs, watching as the doctors came and went from the examination areas to the right and left of the hall which held his father and brother, respectively. He could see Dean swathed in blankets with an IV hanging beside the bed and a heart monitor beeping a steady green light behind him. That made Sam feel a little better but the curtains were drawn around John's bed and two doctors stood outside the room talking in hushed tones for longer than Sam was strictly comfortable with.
Finally, Dean snuffled and turned his head wincing in pain. Sam's heart leapt and he was on his feet and into the room before his brother could move a second time. Dean looked up at him groggily and blinked. "So Sammy, what's up?"
Sam smiled gently, and patted Dean's arm. He looked over his shoulder and dropped his voice. "The demon possessed a truck drive. He plowed into the Impala with his big rig, freaking totaled it."
Dean winced. "Ah Jeezus Sammy, please tell me--not my baby. Why did it have to be the car?" Suddenly Dean paused. Sam looked pale and drawn and it wasn't the Impala he was worried about. With a slightly panicked expression Dean tried to sit up. "Dad? Where's Dad?"
Sam pressed him back against the bed. "He's in the room across the hall. But they won't let me see him, and they won't tell me anything." Sam watched as yet another white coated figure walked into the room across the hall disappearing behind the drawn curtains.
Two nurses were working diligently to bathe the patient. His bloody clothing had been deposited in a large plastic bag, and one of the nurses was pulling a white gown over the still figure's arms. She straightened the gown smoothing it over his stomach and pulling it down to cover him. The doctor motioned her to stop glancing down at the still blood stained thighs. "Drop the foot of the table and put up the stirrups."
The nurse looked questioningly at him. "Doctor?"
"You can't have failed to notice the odd physiology of the patient. I need to perform a vaginal exam. I want a rape kit done as well. I've already contacted the police and they're sending a CSI over to collect the specimens, as well as the victim’s clothing for testing."
The doctor settled on a stool at the foot of the exam table. He quickly and efficiently performed the necessary exams. When a woman in a beige suit entered the room he started to protest until she flashed her id and badge at him. She looked grimly down at the silent form on the table. She took the neatly packaged kit from the nurse and the plastic bag of the victim's clothing. "Was…he?" she stumbled on the word and the doctor shrugged. "Was the victim raped?"
At the doctor's nod she tucked the bags under an arm. "I'll need to question him. Was there anyone with him? We need some kind of statement."
"His sons are here. They were all brought in together; a trucker t-boned their car on the freeway. The truck driver came in DOA."
The CSI nodded making notes in a pad. "Did he die from injuries sustained in the accident?"
"Nope, shot once in the chest, close range."
"I'd better talk to the sons then."
Sam watched as the tall, slender woman in a neat beige suit walked out of his Dad's room and into the hall. He rose tapping Dean on the leg. Dean looked at her and read ‘cop.’ Sam nodded his agreement with Dean’s unspoken assessment of the woman’s status. “You got a story that'll cover it all?" Dean asked quietly.
Sam nodded. "I've been working on it since we got here."
Wincing Dean tugged on his younger brother's arm. "It would be nice if I knew it, too."
"You were unconscious; you don't remember anything. I'll fill you in later. Just play possum until I get back to you."
Sam rose to his feet and tossed the paper cup he had been drinking from in the trashcan beside the door. He met the woman halfway across the hall. She smiled, "Are you Sam Cahill?" she asked hesitantly. Sam nodded, wondering what ID his dad had on him when the car crashed. Cahill he could remember and it was nice that Dad had used their real first names.
"I'm Judy Steward, from the Crime lab. I need to ask you some things about the accident, and you're father's condition."
The way she said condition made Sam edgy, but he nodded. "Sure."
"You do know that your father was…" She hesitated, taking in his strained visage.
"Raped." Sam provided, and she looked grateful. "Yeah, that's why the trucker was following us."
Sam launched into the story he had constructed and rehearsed mentally for the past three hours. "We were driving to Chelsea, to see family—my dad's aunt died."
He tried to look suitably shaken, and it really didn't take much effort.
"We had just gotten off the freeway looking for someplace to eat, when we realized we couldn't find the on-ramp again. My dad told my brother to pull over so he could get a good signal on his cell phone, but he couldn’t so he wandered around behind this abandoned cabin. I guess the trucker was sleeping in the cabin and saw my dad. Dad was gone for quite a while, and my brother wanted to get on the road again so we went looking for him. When we went inside the cabin we saw the trucker had Dad down and he was …uhm…" Sam looked away trying for sad and pathetic. The woman squeezed his arm and he drew a deep shuddering breath. "The trucker was raping Dad. My brother and I pulled him off."
"I've been told that your brother was shot…"
"Yeah, the truck driver had a gun. He shot Dean in the leg, but I managed to wrestle the gun away from him. We ran back to the car. My dad and Dean got in the back and I took off. I guess the trucker followed us. I didn't even see it coming when the truck plowed into us."
"How did the truck driver get shot?'" Judy asked. Sam looked over at her. This was the part of the story he had to be careful on.
"After the truck hit us, we were all out for a little while. When I came too the driver was at the door, he pulled the door open and it was so loose it fell off. He grabbed me. I guess I panicked because I shot him in the chest." Sam looked at the middle-aged Sheriff's Deputy standing beside the door. Flinching he waited until the woman stepped away. The deputy moved closer. "Am I going to jail?" Sam asked quietly.
"I don't think so, son. You did what you had to do to protect your family. After what that bastard did to your Daddy you had every right to fear for your life." The deputy patted Sam gently on the shoulder.
Sam nodded, looking away to hide the smile on his face. "And the Oscar goes to Sam Winchester…" he thought snidely. That covered everything, Dean being shot, the trucker being shot and Dad getting … hurt. He’d fill Dean in on the details later. “When can I see my dad?”
The woman smiled. “I think that they’re finished with him for now. I’ll ask the doctor if you can go in.”
Sam stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed. John laid still his chest moving just slightly with every shallow breath. His eyes were closed, and aside from the bruises, cuts and scrapes he looked fine. He didn’t hear the doctor come in behind him. In fact, he cringed and pulled away when the doctor’s hand fell on his shoulder.
The doctor actually cringed back from Sam when the younger man whirled. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Uh, yeah, so what’s wrong with my father?”
“Well, that’s the problem. We don’t exactly know why he isn’t awake. He doesn’t have any head injuries, no brain trauma. He has the broken arm, it wasn’t even a compound fracture, and of course—well I’m sure this will sound odd, but he has vaginal trauma caused by the rape. But other than that he’s fine. No chest injuries, no fever--nothing to explain the coma.”
The doctor looked at Sam. “It could be psychosomatic because of the sexual assault, but he’s certainly very fit for a man his age, healthy enough that he should be awake.”
Sam nodded frowning. He glanced at the door across the hall; he could just make out the bottom of Dean’s body, and catch snatches of conversation as Dean flirted with the nurse. The doctor’s gaze followed Sam’s. “Your brother is doing well enough. I think that he could be released tomorrow. He’s already asking to be let out, as he puts it.”
Thanking the doctor Sam ducked into the hall barely avoided colliding with the pretty, blonde nurse and sidled up to Dean’s bed. Dean shrugged at him grinning. “So what’s up with Dad? Did they let you see him?”
“It’s weird. He should be awake according to the doctor. There’s not that much wrong with him--considering, but he’s in a coma.”
Dean sat up wincing. “It’s not weird, the demon followed us here. It’s got Dad somewhere. We need to find it.”
“How can we be sure, Dean? Maybe he’s just hurt worse than they think.”
“No, I’m telling you Sammy, this thing has dad. It took his soul…”
Sam shook his head. “It didn’t take his soul. His body is still alive. If it took his soul he’d be dead.”
Dean frowned holding up a hand to stall any further protests from his younger brother. “Then it just took part of his soul, maybe his consciousness or something. But it’s keeping him from waking up.”
“Why, Dean? Why would it do that?”
“Maybe it needs a bargaining chip—something to trade for what it wants.” Dean tapped his fingers on the bedside table. Sam paced around to the other side of the bed staring down at Dean’s upturned face.
“A bargaining chip for what? We don’t have anything it would want.”
Smiling grimly Dean jerked his head at the closet and the Colt still hidden in the inner lining of Sam’s jacket. “The Colt is still in your jacket in the inside pocket. Maybe the demon wants the Colt.”
“Why, it’s useless. All the bullets are gone.”
“I don’t know. Just because all the bullets we had are gone doesn’t mean that there might not be more out there somewhere. Or maybe somebody can make more; find a spell to make new ones-- even better ones. The gun is still dangerous to any undead thing, any demon. That’s got to make it important enough to trade for.”
Sam sighed, shaking his head. “It might want something else, maybe Dad or us. Did you ever think of that?”
“I don’t think so. It has Dad at least the important part of him—his mind. If it just wanted us it would have taken his soul like you said, just killed him. It’s waiting around for something else. Hey, Sam you look whipped why don’t you go get something to eat? They already fed and watered us.”
“You make it sound like a zoo.” Sam stared hard at Dean. He kept getting that edgy, crawling feeling along his spine. “Are you going to be okay?”
He knew Dean was up to something, but hooked up to the IV and heart monitor it would be hard for him to do anything.
Dean sighed. “Yeah as good as I can be, I guess?” He waited until Sam was gone, then leaned over. It took only a few minutes to clamp the IV line and unhook the tubing from the cannula embedded in his wrist. He’s seen Dad and Bobby do it a number of times. He rose from the bed and quickly pressed the pause button on the monitor as he had seen the nurse do earlier when she had moved it. The machine subsided into silence and Dean pulled the white leads off his chest laying them on the bed for later. Quickly Dean shuffled to the closet; he pulled on his jeans and tee shirt, then his brown leather jacket. He patted his jacket pocket smiling when his fingers fell on the tiny bulge hidden there, and pulled Sam’s jacket out of the closet as well, grateful that his brother hadn’t taken it. He fished the Colt out of the inner pocket and walked out the door.
Dean ducked into his father’s room and collected the black bag his dad habitually carried filled with oils, crystals and herbs for incantations. He checked the pockets of his dad’s jacket and retrieved a small black case filled with chalk.
He got lost once looking for a quiet place. The chapel was too full to do what he intended to do but he managed to liberate several candles in their little red glass holders, and the morgue was just too gross. But on his way back to the hall Dean passed a door marked Boiler Room and decided that would fit the bill. He ducked into the dim, foul smelling room and headed as far back into the shadows as possible.
His stiff back, and dislocated shoulder slowed him, the sling hampering his movements, but Dean managed to drop the bag, and toss the chalk case onto the cold, cement floor. The rough surface of the cement took the chalk well and sigil was perfectly drawn. It took Dean a few minutes to grind the herbs he needed for the spell, and mix them with oil. When he was done he filled his father’s small pewter bowl with the syrupy green paste.
Carefully Dean lit the candles, one at each compass point. He placed the pewter bowl on the fifth circle on the sigil then fumbled in his pockets for matches. Before he lit the candles Dean took the Colt out of his pocket and groped through the opposite pocket. He triumphantly held a small object aloft, the dim light of the candles glinting on the silver topped bullet. He silently slipped the bullet into the chamber and snapped it closed.
Smiling Dean stuck a match. He dropped it into the green paste and the dish erupted in sickly green light. As the paste burned down the flickering phosphorescent glow lit the darkest corners of the room. Dean slapped his father’s journal down onto the cement floor and flipped through the pages. He settled on the page containing the summoning spell he wanted. His voice rose and fell on the phrases of Latin he was so used to hearing John chant. “Nox noctis quod Rutilus Luna. Audio ut Veneficus rune. Oriens tunc Meridianus, Occasus North. Audite adveho Ego dico thee continuo!”
The candles guttered and went out, as a cold wind swept through the room. The pages of John’s journal flipped over then the book snapped shut with a slapping sound. Dean struggled to his feet the Colt clutched in his hand. He turned, his eyes sweeping the deepening shadows for a sign of the demon he sought to summon.
Suddenly a hand fell on his shoulder and Dean whirled coming face to face with a short middle-aged man with sandy brown hair. The man smiled and Dean at first thought that he was a hospital employee come to chase Dean out of a restricted area. Then the man’s blue-green eyes glowed pale amber and Dean jerked back.
“You called me here, sonny. It’s your dime you might as well get your money’s worth.” The demon smiled motioning with a small crystal container he held cradled in one hand. The demon grinned the container rattling in his hand and Dean’s eyes jerked to it. Inside the intricately carved glass vessel was a small yellow light, too small to be a candle. Dean was certain it was the spark of intelligence, the piece of soul or some bit of consciousness that was John Winchester.
Dean raised the Colt and the demon smiled. “If you shoot me, how will you get Daddy here back where he belongs?” He flipped the glass container in his hand. “What happens to Daddy if I drop this thing? Maybe he’s free, his spirit goes home, and maybe he dies. Do you know for sure?”
“I’ll take my chances. My Dad wouldn’t hesitate. He’d kill you in a New York minute.” But Dean’s hand trembled with the effort of holding the gun aloft. The demon cocked his head. “He’s been looking for you since you killed my mother.”
“Me --kill your mother, hold on a minute, boy. You’re condemning an innocent man.” The man’s bluff good-natured face swam before Dean’s eyes. “I’m just a soldier of the apocalypse. The one you want is so far above me you couldn’t even stand in his presence.”
“And yet he sends some sniveling little ass-wipe like you to do his dirty work.”
Dean grinned and for once the demon seemed to fold in on himself. He cocked his head again, face grim. His fingertips fumbled the glass jar, it rocked on his palm and Dean held his breath.
“I’m not the one you’re looking for.” The demon said. “You and I, we’re just working for a higher power, drones carrying out orders. I have my Daddy and you have…oops… I guess I have your Daddy, too.” He grinned. “But I guess you’re here to strike a deal. I mean you look like a good solider coming to bargain for a prisoner release.”
“And maybe I just want to kill you.”
“Oh come on, you and I both know you’re willing to make a deal. You want Daddy back, really bad, too. Does little brother know how much you want Daddy…back?
What would he say if he knew the first time you felt the joy of solitary fulfillment was when you were twelve years old and Daddy thought you were asleep so he left he bathroom door opened in that seedy little motel? Does he know that you watched Daddy doing that little thing you thought nobody else in the world did but you?”
Dean cringed, felt his face grow hot from shame. Before he could stutter out a reply the demon continued. “In the cabin when you finally got to stick it in him, it was so good for me—was it good for you too?”
“Shut up you bastard.” Dean raised the gun. The demon reared back then licked his lips.
“I know that there are no more bullets. You brother killed the trucker with the last one.” But he paused when Dean smiled. “You told your brother that was the last bullet.”
With a shrug Dean pulled the trigger. The bullet ripped out of the gun and hit the demon in the chest. “I lied.”
The boiler room exploded in a whirlwind of blue light. The walls shuddered and the floor tilted beneath Dean’s feet. He hit the floor hard, and lay still, stunned, as the wind screamed and roared around him. The glass jar the demon had held tumbled to the ground fracturing into a thousand tiny shards. The light in the jar winked out. Dean lay staring at the twinkling glass and closed his eyes. He prayed that he had not just killed his father.
Sam was in the hallway walking back from the cafeteria when he heard a sound in John’s room. He screamed for the doctor when he saw his father’s body lying beside the bed. The IV line was ripped free and John was bleeding. Two nurses scrambled into the room. A third figure dressed in surgical scrubs shouldered Sam out of the way. He staggered back to the door, and then fell out into the hall. He heard a panting, wheezing voice behind and turned to find Dean standing the hall behind him. "Dean, what are you doing out of bed?"
"Not now Sammy. Oh god, what did I do again." Dean shuddered and Sam grasped his arm, half holding his bother up. They watched in silence as the doctor and two nurses hauled John's limp body off the floor. One of the nurses hurriedly bandaged the bleeding vein in his left arm. The doctor ripped the front of the hospital gown open, replacing the leads on John's chest. He watched the monitor read flat. Quickly the second nurse, produce the defibulator and turned on the charging unit. The doctor barked an order for meds and the nurse produced a syringe stabbing it directly into John's chest.
"Clear..." the doctor called roughly. The paddles hit John's chest and his body convulsed. The nurse shook her head. The doctor rubbed the paddles together and checked the meter. When the indicator swung to the voltage he wanted he pressed the pads to John's chest again. Suddenly the green line on the monitor jumped, it staggered a bit then settled into a regular rhythm.
Angrily the doctor turned on the nurses. "How did this patient get out of bed? I thought you said he was comatose. He should have been restrained. Did he have some sort of seizure?"
The nurse looked at each other, then at the bed when John coughed. A deep rumbling moan issued from his chest, and he opened his eyes. "Dean, Sammy” he whispered. One of the nurses burst into tears. She smiled pointing at the door. John turned his head as much as he was able. "Boys?"
In a flash Dean and Sam were beside the bed, one by each arm. They grasped their father's hands. Dean closed his eyes and exhaled as if he had been holding his breath for a very long time.
Dean unloaded the last of the bags from the grocery store out of the rented car. He looked at the gleaming red sedan with disgust. The remains of the Impala were safely tucked away at Bobby Singer’s junkyard and Dean fully intended to get over there as soon as he had Dad settled in the newly rented two bedroom apartment. It wasn't fashionable, but it was a damn sight better then they had had in years. He shook his head.
Sam had gone ballistic on the hospital administrators. It seemed that John had been left unattended against doctor's orders and for quite a while. Fishing every malpractice case he had ever read in the law library at Stanford out of his memory the admin staff had flinched when Sam started uttering phrases like "standard of care in the community" and "due diligence." Even Dean had been impressed. So had the hospital attorneys and they backed that up with a cashier's check.
So the Winchesters, actually the name on the lease was Cahill, moved into a furnished two-bedroom condo, in a mediocre neighbor in Chelsea, Kansas. The place was close to Bobby, and in a spiritual dead-zone. John had still spent two hours blessing it and drawing sigils over all the doors and windows anyway.
Sam shuffled in with a bag slung over one wrist; both he and John were sporting matching casts. Sam sighed. "Freakin zombies, of all things…" he uttered once again.
John had prowled the living room like a caged tiger, and finally settled on making all the beds--one room with twin beds for the boys and one room with a double for him. Sam could hear John puffing and wheezing as he tried to wrestle the sheets into place. Suddenly John's rough voice shouted, "Son of bitch…"
He and Dean looked at each other and crept toward the room. John was cradling his arm against this chest his face wet with sweat, and clouded with anger. "That freakin' hurts."
"You took your sling off," Dean offered. John snarled at him.
"I can't move my arm with it on."
Sam smiled. "Dad, that's kind of the idea." Dean shot him a look, and shook his head squeezing his brother’s good wrist. John glared and growled.
"Will one of you go turn on the air conditioning? It's hot in this place."
"Yes, sir." Dean said quietly. Sam cleared his throat. John glanced at him raising an eyebrow. He tugged the blankets up on the bed and stepped back to review his handiwork. It was lopsided but he didn't give a damn.
"Dad, I'm going to make some lunch. What do you want?"
"I don't care Sammy. You fix it, I'll eat it; you know I'm not particular."
John settled down on the bed and sighed. "Well hell." he said and got up tugging at the blankets again.
Sam hustled around the kitchen. Finally, he yelled down the hall. "Come and get it."
Dean and John appeared, and John slumped into a chair at the table. He lifted the sandwich Sam had placed on a plate and looked at it critically. "Dean are you sure this mayonnaise hasn't gone over?"
"I just bought it Dad, its fine." Dean drew a deep breath. John munched on the food for a minute then shivered. He turned to the door.
"Will one of you boys shut that air conditioner off? It's freakin' freezing in here." John snapped. Dean just gaped at his father.
"Dude, you just asked us…"
"First of all, I'm not a dude, and I said it's too cold in here. You understand?"
"Yes sir, I'll go." Sam said. He tapped Dean on the shoulder and his brother abandoned his chair. When Dean strolled into the living room Sam was at the thermostat. He was facing the wall, shoulders shaking. At first, Dean thought Sam was crying, but when he spun his brother around he could see Sam was shaking with silent laughter.
Dean snorted trying not to smile himself. "Dude, Dad is going nutcase on us. I don't think that's funny."
Shaking his head Sam coughed then hiccupped a little. "He's not going nutcase. He's been like this three weeks; actually I mean it's been three weeks since the cabin. Since the demon did his number on Dad. Jess used to get like this just before…well you know, her time of the month."
Dean blinked, he had to admit that he was not the brightest crayon in box, but this was incomprehensible. "Ewww, Dude! We have seen some weird-assed crap since Mom died, but Dad with PMS is at the top of a whole new list."
Sam sighed. "Yeah and if he has PMS today, it's not going to too long before he has…you know…before." He faltered and his voiced died out. Dean's eyes widened. He coughed then grinned ear to ear.
"Holy shit, you mean Dad is getting a period?"
There was a shuffling sound in the hallway and both young men turned. John was standing in the door, his face blank. Sam punched Dean on the arm. "Way to go, you could be more subtle."
Quickly he moved across the room, and touched John's arm. "Dad?" he asked. John just stood staring at the wall. Sam shot Dean a dirty look. Sam touched John’s arm. "Dad, dad….Daddy?"
That one word drug John from the haze surrounding him as it had so many times in the past twenty-three years. He stared into the troubled eyes of his youngest child. Finally, he smiled grimly. Sam drew a ragged breath. "Its okay, Dad. We'll take care of it. I'll go to the drug store and get it fixed up, okay? I used to do it for Jess all the time."
"Drug store?" John repeated numbly. “Get what fixed?” Then he realized what Sammy was talking about. He cringed. John had always been eternally grateful that both of his children were male. Not once in the past twenty-three years had he ever uttered the words "menstrual period" or "tampons" now it looked as if he was going to be a lot more familiar with both than he ever wanted to be. All things considering that really didn't surprise him as much as it should have.
Dean coughed as a billow of black smoke spewed out of the Impala’s engine and enveloped him. Waving a hand in the air he wiped his sleeve over his runny nose and snorted. Bobby hauled himself out of the driver’s seat and walked over to look down at the engine shaking his head. “This is going to take some doing, getting this thing up and running again.”
“Thing? This is my baby you’re talking about.” Dean snapped. “We’re going to have to pull the carburetor.”
Bobby nodded. “The gas tank gave a little and the fuel lines too. I’ll bet there’s gas all in the oil and filter, and in the exhaust pipe. The way she’s smoking.”
Sighing Dean settled back against the hood, wiping his hands on a rag. “Well, the axles are okay, and the chassis is squared up okay. That was a hell of a job. The body work is easy when we get to it.”
“We should get John down here to work on it.” Bobby smiled. “How’s the old man doing anyway?”
Dean smiled. “Dad doesn’t do sit and wait very well. He’s working at a garage in town. As soon as the cast came off his arm he was out the door.”
“That sound’s about right.” Bobby grinned again. Dean slapped him on the shoulder.
“Besides I told him we were going to work on it. A little godfather/godson kind of bonding.” Bobby snorted and Dean laughed. Looking at his watch Dean tossed the rag onto the hood of the Impala. "I got to go, I'm cooking tonight. Dad's been a little distracted lately, and God knows I don't want him to try and get all domestic in the kitchen. I want to live a little while longer."
John paced the confines of the bedroom. He picked up a cup and almost dropped it; his hands were shaking so badly. Sam was gone, down at the library. He was working part time and had managed to work up the nerve to tell John that he was going on a date with a girl that worked there as well. He thought this down time was good for Sam, good for both the boys, but John was slowly going insane. He was restless, nervous. At first he thought that he might be getting a period again, but it wad only been two weeks and he was reasonable sure that it wasn't going to happen again that soon. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror on the dresser. His face was flushed, he felt irritable, and he was horny. He had even had a wet dream the night before, the first one he had had in twenty-two years. His jeans seemed to ride in the soft folds between his legs, and he felt a hot flash of rising pressure washing over him.
In the garage in town earlier one of the younger men working there had bent over John's shoulder, his groin resting against John's hip, and John had felt a flash of heat coiling into his belly and running down his thighs. He had been horrified when he realized he was "wet" down there.
Panting John grasped the dresser with both hands, bending over he groaned. His body jerked as the seam of his jeans rode up. Gasping John slipped his hand down and popped the button fly on his jeans. He pushed his pants down over his thighs; he tugged his boxers down, and stroked his cock. Moaning he pumped up and down a few times, but that wasn't what he wanted. He pushed his fingers down slipping the tip of his middle finger into himself, but he couldn't get it in deep enough. Frustrated he groaned; he shifted his stance and tried again. Nothing was working. He felt empty. With a grunt he dropped his head onto the dresser.
A soft noise behind caused John to start. He looked into the mirror and paled. Dean was standing in the bedroom door, looking somewhere between shocked, freaked out, and something else that John didn't want to try and define. "God, Dean. I'm sorry. It's just….I don't know what's wrong. I feel really strange. I don't know what to do. Nothing is helping."
"Its okay, Dad. You look like you might have a fever. I think that the demon gave you a gift that keeps on giving. This has got to do with what happened… It’s a curse; you know physical needs… along with the physical changes." Dean replied wincing at bringing up the memory of that night in the cabin, of the night he had raped John. He crossed the room, and lifted a hand to the older man's forehead. John flinched away from the touch but Dean pressed closer. Slowly he pressed his hand to the warm brow. John whimpered and leaned into the touch. "It's going to be all right, Dad. I can help you with this, if you'll trust me. After what I did, can you let me help you?"
"Of course, I trust you. You've been my back-up all your life."
"Then come on over to the bed." Dean helped John tug his jeans up, and they walked over to the bed. Dean climbed on and pulled John up with him. "Lay down."
John complied. Dean touched his father's forehead again. The heat radiating from John's body was frightening. But the warm, soft glow in his eyes was even more compelling. Dean leaned over unbuttoning the buttons on John's shirt. John shuffled back a little.
"Dean this is wrong." he whispered. But Dean fisted the front of John's shirt and pulled him closer. John swallowed, and Dean dipped his head down, letting his lips trail over John's collarbone. John hissed. "Dean, please don't. I can't stop so you have to…I don't want to take advantage of you. All those years you were growing up. I never thought about touching either of you boys like this. I never meant to make you think…If I did anything that made you feel this way. God, I'm sorry."
"I know Dad." Dean said softly stroking raking his fingers through John's hair. "You didn't do anything Dad. This is all me. You know Sam and I both love you. I just happen to love you in a different way than he does."
"Dean please, I can't." But John moaned as Dean's mouth moved along his chest, teeth grazing on the curve of his neck. John turned his head, and Dean's lips touched his mouth. With a sigh John opened, letting Dean in. Dean's fingers worked the shirt off John's shoulders and tossed it into the floor. He pulled away just long enough to strip his own tee shirt off. John's jeans were still unfastened and he shimmied out of them. Dean quickly undressed. His mouth fastened on John's again. Then he pushed the older man back. John's head fell on the pillow and he watched as Dean lipped his way down John's chest, pausing over one small, hard breast.
Embarrassed John mumbled. "There's not much there. Not like you're used to."
Dean grinned and sucked a pink nipple into his mouth. John swore softly, and Dean chuckled.
"Hey, anything more than a mouthful is wasted." Dean said and John snickered, burying his face in Dean's hair. He drew a deep breath, Dean smelled of motor oil, and smoke and something that sent a shiver down John's spine. John closed his eyes for a moment, until Dean moved away from his nipple and dipped his tongue into John's navel, tracing the whorl with wet licks. John's stomach jumped and he laughed.
Gently, Dean stroked up John's thigh, until his fingers slipped into the warm center of John's body. John's eyes popped open. Before he could protest Dean's mouth descended on the tip of John's cock and John groaned. "Holy shit!"
With his body pinned between the fingers inside him, and the warm mouth surrounding him John did the only thing he could. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and he came, fingers clenched in Dean's hair.
Smiling Dean pressed his hands against John knees, and John obediently spread his legs. Marveling at how compliant his father was being Dean slid his legs between John's thighs and leaned down. He sheathed himself in John in one long stroke. John grunted and clutched Dean's shoulders with trembling hands.
"Oh god, you're so tight." Dean groaned and John flushed deep crimson.
"You're the only one who's been in there." John stammered. He shifted sliding his hands over the smooth planes of Dean's back. Dean rose to his knees then began plowing into John as hard and fast as he could. With a groan John grasped the underside curve of the younger man's butt and pushed. Dean made a strangled sound, and thrust hard before emptying himself inside John. Sighing Dean dropped onto John's broad chest.
"Oh, man." Dean nuzzled the wiry hair beneath his cheek. "I'll get off you in a minute."
Suddenly both men heard a sound in the hallway outside the bedroom. John rose up as much as he could with Dean still lying on top of him, but all he could see was the door, not the hallway beyond. The door that Dean had neglected to close all the way.
Dean pushed himself up, and slipped out of bed. Quickly he grabbed his boxers and jeans struggling into the clothes as he scrambled across the room. John rolled off the bed; quickly he tugged on his jeans, and pulled open the drawer in the night table. He tossed Dean a leather sheath with a large hunting knife in it, then pulled out the Glock semi-automatic he habitually kept beside the bed. With his other hand he seized a bottle of holy water. Nodding he paced Dean just a few steps to the right and slightly behind.
Pulling the knife out of the sheath and tossing the leather scabbard aside Dean kicked the door open, slamming it against the wall knocking a hole in the plaster.
He leapt into the hallway brandishing the knife. Suddenly, Dean's shoulders slumped. Sam was sitting in the hall his knees bent, arms wrapped around his legs. His face was wet with tears.
"God, Sammy. I could have killed you. Dad and I thought you were gone."
"That's pretty evident, Dean. What the hell is going on? What the hell were you thinking or were you thinking at all?" Sam snarled. John appeared in the hall. He had buttoned his shirt and left the gun behind. Sam took one look at his father, and launched himself off the floor. He swung at John, slamming his fist into his father's cheek. John's head jerked back and he staggered. Before he could regain his balance Sam punched John in the face again, splitting his lip. John lost his balance completely and fell. Sam started to kick him, but Dean slammed into his younger brother's back, bringing him down. They fell in a heap beside their father. Denied the opportunity to strike out at John Sam resorted to verbal abuse. "You sick, disgusting bastard…"
Dean shouldered his way between the two, "Shut up, Sam. You don't know what the hell you're talking about. Did it ever occur to you that maybe I forced myself on Dad? That I was the one who took advantage of Dad being cursed. Hell, I practically raped him again."
"No! Dean that's not true. You did that for me, because of me…" John looked at Sam's disbelieving face. His younger son turned on John with a frown, but Dean collapsed on the floor beside Sam. He put his head in his hands groaning.
"Dad, you asked me to stop three times and I just kept going. I wanted it and not just because I wanted to help you. You want to know something Sammy, the demon made me rape Dad in the cabin because he knew. He read my mind and knew I wanted Dad a long time ago, and he did this because he knew what it would do to us. We're stronger together and this is damn good way for him to break us apart."
Sam looked at Dean reluctantly. "Dad could have said no…"
"I told you, he did say no. But he would have died Sam, if he hadn't let me help him out. He was burning up, some kind of fever. I think it would have consumed him."
John nodded, and Sam leaned back against the wall. "Burned up, like consumed by what passion, lust? It has to be some kind of a curse."
"Yeah, that's what we thought. Its like he had to have sex."
Sam looked like he wasn't buying it. He glared at Dean. "Couldn't he have just…you know?" Sam made a gesture in the air, curling his fingers loosely and jerking his hand up and down. John's face went livid red. Looking like he wanted to crawl under the floor John shrugged helplessly.
"I tried that." He heaved a deep sigh. "I've been trying that for a couple of days now. I can't…finish."
Dean snorted. "So you have trouble…flying solo, but come on, Dad, you went off like a rocket when I got my fingers up your…"
"God! Dean." Sam said. "I'm already traumatized enough for one day."
John put his hands over his face. His shoulders shook. Sam and Dean looked at each other in dismay. Sam jerked his head at Dean and the older man gently put his hand on their father's arm. He pulled John's hand away expecting tears, but John was laughing uncontrollably. Dean smiled, and Sam rolled his eyes.
"So how long before Dad get's hot and bothered again? Will it work every time or will it get worse. We need to do some research." Sam rose shakily, putting a hand down he tugged Dean to his feet. "What are we going to do first?"
Dean shrugged "You take care of the research, and I'll take care of fucking Dad. It'll be a huge sacrifice, but if I fuck him enough maybe it won't happen again."
Sam cringed, and John glared at the boys' backs as they disappeared down the hall. He gingerly touched the cut in his lip wincing at the pain. "Dean… Sam, don't I have say in all this?" He sighed struggling to his feet and looking around the empty hallway. "Well, ain't this a bitch."