Episode 0x01 - First Time Who: John Winchester, Dean Winchester When: Fall, 1997 What:On a hunt for a shapeshifter, John and Dean cross the line. Where: On The Road
Dean pulls the Impala into the nearest parking spot, scowling at the large van that had taken his normal spot. Grumbling to himself, he locks the doors and starts up the sidewalk, his keys swinging from his hand. He notes the cars as he goes by, habit instilled by years of trained paranoia, making sure none are strange or suspicious; it still takes him a moment to notice the large black truck parked right outside his door. His face lights up at the sight. He nearly bolts to the door, forcing himself to calm down only as he is unlocking it. "Dad?" he calls as he pushes the door open. John barely glances up from his notebook, sitting at the table in the tiny room that pretends to be a kitchen. His duffel is on the floor beside him, still packed, as he sifts through papers, cross referencing stories to track down his next case. "In here, Dean. Your brother at school?" Dean walks into the kitchen, a small smile on his face that he is attempting to hide. "Yes, sir." He checks John over quickly; he seems in good health, much to his relief. "Good. Sit." He points to the chair, circling something in the paper. "How's Sam?" he glances over, briefly, before turning back to his work. John flips a few pages in his notebook, checks something, shakes his head, and goes back to the paper. The reports don't quite fit with what he'd suspected, so he has to start again. Dean sits without hesitation, though he does lean forward a bit to see what his father is working on. "How'd it go?" he asks, eager for the story; he hates being stuck here and feeling useless, though he knows Sammy needs watched. "He's doing fine. Has a science presentation today. Doing it on dolphins." He only tells John this because he knows how proud Sammy was of it this morning, though he would much rather talk about the case than about his little brother's homework. That gets a small smile out of John, "Yeah? That's good." He leans back in his chair and rubs at his eyes with a sigh. "It went. I've got a lead on something new. Not sure what it is yet, but it's definitely not normal." He pushes the paper over to Dean, raising his eyebrows. "Any ideas?" Dean is disappointed that John does not want to talk about it, but he is not surprised; he rarely does. He jumps on the chanced to get involved, though, picking up the paper and studying it. He feels a little bit like he is taking a test as he reads, and he wonders if John really does not know what it is or if he just wants to see if Dean can figure it out. "Might be a skinwalker," he guessed, looking quickly up at John to see his reaction. John raises his eyebrows, looking faintly impressed. "That's what I thought, too. Something's off, though. Not everything matches up. What else." He's got an idea, but he wants to see if Dean can get to it, too. See if he's remembered what John's taught him. The look John gives him gives Dean confidence; he straightens up in his chair, his voice becoming stronger. "It could be a shapeshifter of a different kind- skinwalkers are just Native American, and other cultures have other shapeshifters." The 'right?' is unspoken, because he cannot show his father that bit of weakness; he has to be able to get it right on his own. "Same powers, but different habits?" He looks John in the eye, quietly praying in his mind that he is right. "Right." Dean's eagerness to be right always pleases John. The fact that his boy wants to learn, to make John proud, well that feels good. "What sort've habits might our shapeshifter have? Where do we find 'im?" He wants to give Dean a chance to get this one, show how much he knows and how to use what he knows to find out what he doesn't. Dean looks back at the paper, scanning over the words once again. "The mutilation seems pretty uniform. Might be something on the bodies to tell us more." He says 'us' hopefully, trying to insert himself deeper into the case. "How it does it or what it's after." After a few moments of consideration, John pushes back from the table and grabs his duffel. "Your brother got a place to stay for a few days? Some friend he can stay with?" He doesn't take Dean with him very often, since Sam needs looking after, but now and then he thinks it's a good idea. Boy needs real life experience, after all. Dean sits bolt upright, eyes widening a bit. "Yes, sir," he says before he can even think about it. Granted, it is not much of a lie; Sam always seems to have friends, much unlike Dean. He can find somewhere. Having to deal with Sam whine about staying with someone is so worth getting to go on a hunt. "Good. Tell him to go home with a friend, then come back here. We'll leave as soon as we can." He gathers the papers together and folds them small enough to fit in his notebook and takes his bag to his room to pack for himself and Dean. Dean is out the door as soon as John stops talking, half-running to his car. He nearly shakes with excitement as he heads towards the school, too old now to babble at the Impala and AC/DC like he used to, but still wound up just by the thought. Dean is out the door as soon as John stops talking, half-running to his car. He nearly shakes with excitement as he heads towards the school, too old now to babble at the Impala and AC/DC like he used to, but still wound up just by the thought. He hurried to the school and through the office like a windstorm, getting them to pull Sam out of class so he could talk to him. Sam hates getting pulled out of class. It always means Dad's leaving again, or they're /moving/ again, and it's just never good news. He sighs and schlumps to the office, raising his eyebrows at his big brother, shrugging his shoulders. "What's up?" Dean ran a hand through his hair, feeling a pang of guilt at the sight of Sam's slouched shoulders. His little brother needed him around, and here he was, darting out like dad. But he also knew that he had to go, and that Sam could come someday, too, and he had to be ready for that. "You got somewhere you can stay a while?" he asks, the excitement gone from his voice. At least they're not moving. He sighs and nods, hanging his head a little. "Yeah, I guess I do. How long will you be gone?" He hates when Dad goes on his trips, hates it worse when Dean goes too. It makes him feel like he's all alone in the world. Completely unprotected. "I don't know." He is always truthful with Sam, when he can be; he never begrudges John when he does not show up when he says he will, but it is the one way that he does not want to be like him. He has seen Sam's eyes when John does not show and he does not want to cause that look himself. "Hopefully it'll be quick. It's a shifter of some kind. I'll keep you updated." "You'll call?" he asks, biting at his lip. "I'll -- I don't know who I'm staying with." He takes a sheet of paper out of his bag and scribbles down a few numbers. "One of these places." He wants to ask Dean to call him every day, but he doesn't want to seem needy or clingy. He wants to be as grown up and cool as Dean is. "Yeah, of course I'll call." He takes the paper, looking it over. "I'll call the school before you get out, okay? Tell me who then." He puts the paper away, giving Sam a worried glance that he quickly covers up. "You be careful, okay? All the same stuff applies. If something happens, call Bobby right away, and then call me." "I'll be careful. You too." After a moment, he hugs Dean tightly. "I'll see you when you get back. Tell Dad -- " He bites his lip, stopping himself from saying what he wants to say, 'tell Dad I love him'. "Tell him hi for me." Dean hugs him back for a quick moment, allowing himself the comfort, before stepping back and ruffling his hair. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine." He gives him a warm smile. "Will do, kiddo." "I'll see you when you get back." Sam smiles back at Dean, even accepting the hair ruffle without complaint. "Bring me back something cool." "Promise," Dean said, grinning at him. "Now go back to your boring class and enjoy yourself, you freak." "Shut up," he grins back, punching lightly at Dean's shoulder before running back to class. Dean's laugh follows him. He puts his worry aside and returns to his car, letting the excitement build up again until he is near full to bursting when he reenters their apartment. "I'm back!" he calls. John tosses a dufflebag towards Dean, slinging the other over his shoulder. "Sammy okay? You tell him what was going on?" He doesn't like to leave Sam all alone but... Dean needs the training. Dean caught it easily, nodding as he copied John's motion. "Yeah, he'll be fine. He knows how to take care of himself for a while, and Bobby's only an hour and a half away, if need be, and he knows how to get a hold of us." It had been trained into both of them, the rules, passed from John to Dean to Sam, as instinctual as breathing. "Good. Let's go, then." He gives Dean the very briefest of smiles before heading out to load up the car. He'd taught his boys well. Dean gives the Impala a longing look; it always feels like he is cheating on her when he goes with his dad somewhere, climbing up in his big truck. He does it anyway, keeping his dufflebag with him; it is not that he does not trust John's skills at packing, but he knows he would be disappointed in him if he did not go through and inventory what tools he had at his disposal. "You'll get your baby back soon enough." Dean's affection for the car is amusing, but endearing. John slides into the driver's seat. "She'll be okay without you for a while." Dean is a bit embarrassed, looking away. He does not like to think that his dad thinks he is sentimental; he has to be tough, and being attached to something so strongly seems to have some sort of weakening stigma to it. He shrugs it off with a non-committal "Yeah." [Missing Log] "Do that. Make sure he's with someone, not by himself." He knows Dean could handle himself for a few days alone, but Sammy... well he doesn't want to think about that. He rubs at the back of his neck, marking something in his book before shutting it with a sigh. Dean walks over to the phone, worried about that himself. He picks up and dials the number of Sam's school, resisting the urge to let it ring once and hang up, like he has been taught to do when calling family. John stretches out on his back, kicking his shoes off and shifting to watch Dean on the phone. He worries about Sam, when they're away, but maybe he spoils him too much. Protects him too much. He has to grow up and learn about the business sometime, right? Just... not yet. Dean gets the office to forward him to Sam, pen and paper ready to write down the address and phone number of whoever he is staying with. If he lived a few years later with better access to the internet, he would run criminal checks on the folks, too, but he had to trust Sammy's instincts on this one. "Your brother okay?" he asks, opening his notebook again in case it might offer something new. Which it doesn't not yet. Maybe after he sleeps on it. Maybe Dean will give him some fresh ideas. "He's fine. Staying with a friend and his parents. Know about them, they're good people." He only knows about them because he listens to Sam, even when Sam thinks he is just being quiet to be polite, but he is secure in the knowledge, at least. He puts the information aside, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to relax them before flopping onto his bed. "Good. We'll call him again tomorrow. Check in on him." He sits on the edge of Dean's bed, tossing the notebook at his chest. "You want to take a look, see if you can see anything new." He smiles faintly, brushing his fingers through Dean's hair briefly. "Sounds good." Dean catches the book, opening it carefully to where John had marked it. He enjoys the feeling of John's fingers in his hair, and looks through the pages to find something that will make him deserve more of it. "Know if the victims said or did anything odd before they died?" he asks from behind the book. "Thought we could check into that, tomorrow. Ask around, see if anyone heard or saw anything weird. Think you could pull off college journalist again?" His fingers trail down over Dean's jaw before he pulls his hand away and moving back to his own bed. "Of course. I still have that ugly sweater-vest." He lifts his head, trying his luck with a further idea. "I was thinking, the wounds all seemed really similar- almost too similar to be animal made. Same places on the body, same lengths, that sort of thing. Maybe our shifter's taking human shape. Something that could establish patterns." "Makes a lot of good sense." John sits, facing Dean, watching him almost curiously. Waiting to see what he comes up with. "Someone the victims could trust..." he offers, then waits to see where Dean takes it. Dean looks back at the book to mask his nervousness. "A friend, family, or even just - the mail man, or somebody official looking. Kind you'd let into your house even though you didn't know his name." "Exactly." He smiles wider, pleased. "How could we track it? What signs would we look for?" Dean's learning well, and John's growing more proud of him every day. Dean stifles the 'um' that rises in his throat, looking through the book intently. "Says here that animals react badly towards them. And- that a lot of shapeshifters can be recognized by their inhuman eyes." "Okay, sure. We can see if anyone has pets that got spooked. Or some -- paranoid guy with a security camera, maybe. Could've caught the shift in the eyes." Dammit Dean -- one more clue. John will tell him if he can't get it on the next try, but he'll be disappointed. Dean knows he has not answered the question right by John's reaction; he has gotten good at reading his father's face and tone. He frowns, one of total concentration, looking at the book. "- they- they'd have to be taking /someone's/ place, I mean- even the mail man, they'd have to make sure he wasn't on route-" He bit his lip. "And if he's getting rid of them, he has to have somewhere to take them - look at missing persons, maybe?" He says the last bit almost meekly, having no clue if he is just shooting wind or is onto something. Well, that's disappointing. John knows Dean can't be right all the time, but still. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. "Skin, boy. They leave their skin behind." He stands and grabs his duffle, going into the bathroom to get ready for bed. "Get sleep, we've got an early morning and a long day tomorrow." Dean does not respond, expression closed. He is severely disappointed with himself, for not catching that, not remembering. He quietly puts the book aside and slips off his jeans, crawling under the covers, all the while thinking about how stupid he was to have forgotten that.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
When they get back to the hotel room, Dean nearly limps in with his duffle, ripped up shirt protected from view by his jacket, even though it is warm outside. He is sore and bruised, but he cannot help but feel elated; the evil son-of-a-bitch is -dead-, and he and John were the ones to do it. He looks at John out of the corner of his eye, excitement curbed a bit as he wonders how he did in his father's estimation. John drags himself in after, sitting carefully onto the bed with a sigh. He's pretty bad beat up, but he feels satisfied with the hunt. And with Dean. Dean did a damn good job. He rubs at his eyes for a moment before nodding Dean over. "Come 'ere, boy." Dean grins a little, easing down beside him and beginning to work his jacket off. He winces a bit as it scrapes wounds, but is careful, making sure not to get any blood on John's covers. "Here -- " John helps Dean off with his jacket, pulling off his own just as carefully. "Get the first aid kit, I'll patch you up." He frowns at the cuts he notices on Dean's back; the boy'll have an impressive collection of scars before he's twenty. Dean gets up, hiding a wince, and digs out their first aid kit, laying it on the bed while he goes and fills a few bottles with water. He returns with them and a few hotel towels that will never see the light of day again. "Here, let me get yours first," he says, proudly the dutiful son. He gives a soft laugh and tugs his shirt over his head with a slight wince of his own. "Sure." After a few quiet moments, he adds, "You fought hard today, boy. You did well." His performance today was enough to make for his mistake yesterday and John's faith in his son is fully restored. Dean grins at the praise, nearly forgetting his own injuries as he sits down beside John and begins to clean the many cuts, some of which will join the network of scars that run along his father's body. It does not bother him that his own skin might look like this, someday; he will wear it proudly, like his father does. "It was nothing," he mentions, feeling like he should say something. "No, it was good," he insists, inhaling sharply as Dean touches the towel to his skin. It isn't so much that it hurts, just the surprise of contact. "You make a good hunter. Better than I expected." He closes his eyes and lets himself relax a little under Dean's touch, startlingly gentle in comparison to the way he fights. He beams at the compliments, feeling on top of the world. John had never said something like that to him before. "I'm glad to hear it, sir," he says, his inner voice adding the 'I'm freaking /awesome/' to himself. He puts straps of medical tape over some of the larger wounds to keep them together, careful to not "Good. Don't want to stop at a hospital, and you haven't stitched up enough wounds yet." He turns, once Dean's done with him, and grabs a fresh towel, wetting it. "Shirt off. "I could practice, if you really want," Dean tells him, allowing himself a slight joke. He tugs his shirt off, remembering to go slow only after causing himself a bit of pain. He winces as he lets the shirt drop to the floor. Cleaning ladies aren't going to like that, in the morning. John presses the towel harder than necessary against a nasty looking cut. "Watch it, boy," he grumbles, setting about cleaning off and fixing up the cuts on Dean's back. After he's done, he pushes at Dean's shoulder to turn him, working on his chest, next. "You'll get better at fighting. Won't get so banged up, next time." Dean winces, shutting up quick. He should know better than act smart around John, but he cannot help his mouth, sometimes. He moves without protest, allowing John access to any part he needs. "That's comforting," he admits, forgetting his mouth problem already. "Kind of stings." John grips Dean's chin none too gently and tilts his head up to look him in the eye. "I could be worse." He pours peroxide onto the towel and presses it to one of the larger cuts to clean it out better. Which stings more, he's sure. "True," he responds in the tone of a wince, not daring to look away from his father's eyes. He bites the inside of his cheek at the pain, but refuses to make a sound. "You're okay," he murmurs, carefully bandaging up the cut. "And you're done." John leans back a little to get a good look at Dean, making sure he didn't miss anything important. "How're your legs?" "Thanks," he says, resisting the urge to rub the stinging cut. He sits back himself with a small shrug. "They're fine. A little scratched up, but nothing bad." True, part of his knee burns like fire from hitting the ground too hard, but it would burn worse if John put peroxide on it, so he is content not to mention it. "Lemme see, roll up your pants." He heads over to the sink to rinse off the towel while Dean does as he's told, then returns to the bed. His own legs have a few scrapes here and there, but nothing bad enough to warrant fussing over. Dean tries to hold back a sigh, rolling them up above the knee on both sides. He braces himself against the headboard, kicking off one shoe so he can set his foot on the bed. "Shouldn't lie to me about injuries, boy," John mutters, shooting a mild glare at Dean before cleaning off and bandaging his knee. Gently, he rolls Dean's jeans back down, his fingers briefly lingering on his legs. "How're you feeling?" "I didn't think it was that bad," he protests, unclenching his fists from the sheets. He relaxes a little, but will not let himself shift while John's touching his legs. "I'm feeling good. It was a - good hunt." He nearly said 'fun,' but clamped down on it on the last second. "You did real well, Dean." He uses Dean's name, for once, instead of 'boy', to show that he's pleased. John shifts on the bed so he's half leaning over Dean, one hand on either side of Dean's legs. He swallows hard and repeats, "Real well," brushing his lips against Dean's bare shoulder. Dean looks up when John says his name, surprised, and tenses when he leans over him, feeling suddenly trapped. His first thought is to wonder what he did wrong, until John repeats himself and touches his lips to him. An odd feeling runs through him, and he suddenly realizes how alone they are. "You know what happens when you screw up. But when you do well, behave yourself, I'll be good to you in return." His voice is low and catches on a word or two as he tries to steady his breathing. He'd thought about this, about what a fine young man Dean was growing into, a year, maybe two years ago if he lets himself really think about it. He wouldn't let himself take it that far before, but now that Dean's getting older and going out on trips with him, he tells himself it might be okay. He shifts a little, pressing a gentle kiss to Dean's jaw before pausing again, waiting to see what Dean would do. Dean is still, a little scared because this is just strange, for one, but he does not pull away; he looks more confused than anything, wondering exactly what kind of 'good' John means. His lips feel good against his jaw, he cannot help but notice that- much different than having a girl kiss there, but still pleasant. "Talk to me, boy. Tell me what you're feeling." If Dean doesn't like it, John won't push it. There are limits to what he'll do, even with Dean and his training. He shifts his weight to rest a hand on Dean's hip, pressing a light kiss to the corner of Dean's mouth. Dean's lips tighten across his face as he looks up at John; he does not want to be called boy, he wants to be called Dean again, like he did before. He nearly says it aloud, almost ready to demand it, but he closes his mouth again before he can do something so stupid. He does not know what to say after that, feeling the pressure of John's weight on his hip, holding him above him, holding him down. It is not like when he is being punished, though; he feels almost safe, like John's hesitation is proof that there is still some tenderness left for him. He lifts his face up against John's lips, unable to say anything coherent but willing to be kissed. That's it, that's the invitation he needs. He squeezes Dean's hip and kisses him softly at first, then more firmly as he grows more confident that Dean's not going to pull away. All he ever wants to do is keep his boys safe; the training he does with Dean helps keep them both safe. This is just -- incentive to keep Dean doing well. A little reward, now and then, for working so hard. His fingers press against the mattress and he exhales slowly, letting his eyes close as he relaxes further into the kiss. Dean does not let himself think, because when he starts thinking his mind begins to wonder if he should call him Dad or John or Sir- and that is just a bit too fucked up to wonder at. So he waits like he waits for orders, following through the motions and returning the kiss like he would if it were anyone else kissing him, except that this means so much more than any of the other times, in more ways than one. "Tell me what you want, Dean..." John murmurs into the kiss, tracing his fingers over the back of Dean's thigh. He hadn't thought much beyond this -- hadn't even really thought Dean would accept this. He knew his boy was obediant but he knew, too, that this was asking a lot. "Show me. Show me what you want." Don't ask me those kinds of things, Dad, he started to say, but all that came out was the tail end. "I'll say something stupid." He was not used to John asking his opinion about anything, aside from testing him on his hunting knowledge. He lifted his leg a little at John's touch, realizing as he did so that he was becoming quickly aroused. Embarassed, he tried to cover it by drawing his knee closer to his body. Right now, John's certain that the stupidest thing Dean could say would be 'yes'. John shifts again, pressing a hand against the top of Dean's thigh to straighten his leg out again, so John can lay against him better. "Say what you want. I want to know." He leans back, shifting to support him more even though he really wants to cover himself up. "I- I don't know." He winces as he says it, because he knows it is always the wrong answer, the coward's way out of a hard question, and that John will not like it one bit. "Relax..." he smiles, stroking his fingers through Dean's hair as he settles on top of him. He doesn't want to scare Dean off, or lose his trust. "Do you want this, Dean?" He wants to reward Dean for learning so well, but if he doesn't want it, it's not a reward. Just another punishment, and John's given plenty of those already. He is confused by John's gentleness, glancing up at him again. It is - nice, there's no other word for it, to be treated this way by him. Like he is not a drill sargent anymore, but - not a father, a friend. And there it was again- Dean. "Yeah," he admits, speaking to them both. "I like it." "Then kiss me." It's an order, firm and direct, but not as harsh as usual. He wants to see how Dean will take it, if he'll follow this order as eagerly as he does the others. If his desire to please extends to a situation like this. He hesitates, mainly because of the strangeness of the order; it is something he has to think about, not something that his body just starts to do before the order even registers in his head. He tilts his face side to side, trying to figure out the best way to do it, or perhaps just to get his courage up, before leaning forward and sealing their lips together. It does feel strange, to be kissing Dean -- his /son/ like this. But good, in a way that should disturb him more than it does. He leans into the kiss, parting his lips slightly, wanting to kiss Dean like he enjoys being kissed. And that desire -- to please Dean like that -- makes his stomach twist in shame, and the knowledge that even though he knows how wrong it is, he's not sure he wants to stop now that he's started. He never expected John to be the first to show weakness, but he takes advantage of it quickly, deepening the kiss hesitantly at first, with just a flick of tongue, and then pressing forward with his advance if he is not stopped. He grips John's arm to steady himself, wondering at the feel of hard muscles under his fingers instead of the softness he is used to. He murmurs Dean's name as the kiss deepens, his tongue brushing against Dean's briefly. He realizes that he's giving Dean too much control -- and losing too much control, too soon. So he slides a hand under to grip the back of Dean's thigh, pressing firmly against him and taking over the kiss, biting at Dean's lower lip more harshly than he'd intended in compensation for losing control, even for that brief moment. Dean whimpers slightly, both in surprise and pain, and backs off, letting John take over. He opens his mouth to John with the slightest tinge of apology, fingers squeezing his arm. Despite his confidence, John's not sure where exactly to takes this. So he pours his frustration and confusion into the kiss, devouring Dean's mouth as his fingers press into Dean's thigh hard enough to bruise. Dean tastes good, /feels/ good and John knows he has to stop it, but with every second he feels himself falling deeper into the kiss, deeper into Dean. Dean's wondering how far this is going to go; in the brief moments during the kiss that he can think, he knows he is hard and he is pretty sure John is too, not that he is going to dare check. He knows that this technically falls into the whole where-did-daddy-touch-you sort of thing, but he cannot help but feel that this is different; he wants this, and John wants it too, whatever 'it' ends up being, so it must be okay. He shifts under him, letting his arm slide up around his shoulders, unable to stop a moan. Jesus he can feel Dean against his thigh as he presses their hips together, and John moans, grinding against him. This should stop -- has to stop before he takes it too far. He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against Dean's shoulder, breathing hard. If Dean wants more, John won't stop him, but he doesn't want to push this further than Dean can handle. Even a good soldier has limits. Dean gasps for air, head falling back against the headboard. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to catch his breath. It seems too hot in the hotel room now, especially with John so close to him, breathing on his skin. He changes positions again, spreading his legs apart so that John can kneel with one knee between them. If that causes him to rub against his thigh again, he thinks that he is okay with that. After all, this is his reward, (right?), and it feels good. And if while shifting his own knee brushes between John's legs, it is not to prove to himself that he is not fucked up, only that John is at least as messed up as he is. He inhales sharply as Dean's leg brushes against him, his fingers digging briefly into the mattress. Their legs tangled together like this, their hips pressed so close, feels so damn good it's almost an ache. "You like this..." he breathes, tracing his fingers over Dean's side, then over onto his chest, shifting back to have enough room to explore Dean's skin. "Yeah. I do." A shiver runs through him at the touch of John's fingers. He squirms down a bit, helping to give him more room. The cuts on his back send little shots of pain through his body as he lies himself down on the bed, but he takes it with only the slightest of winces. He looks up at John, wetting his lips without thought. "Good..." His fingers travel downward, tracing along the line of Dean's hip until it disappears beneath the waist if his jeans, licking at his own lips. "What..." John clears his throat, trying to think of a way to phrase the question that didn't sound terrible and coming up with nothing. "How far have you gone?" he asks, dragging his lips over Dean's neck and onto his shoulder, not particularly wanting to see his reaction to the question. Dean feels his face heat. "I've had sex," he says, figuring that blunt is the best way to go. He stumbles over his next words, though, a little panicked. "Only- only with girls, though, I don't know- um-" He wonders briefly if John has ever done this before, with another guy. John laughs quietly against Dean's ear, "Calm down, I'm not gonna push this further than you want it to go." Already it's gone further than it should have, but it's too late to go back, now. "If you say stop, I will," he promises, pulling back to look Dean in the eye this time, calm and serious. Dean meets his gaze, and then nods, his absolute trust of the man above him in his eyes. He forces himself to calm down, like he is told, taking deep breaths that only occasionally catch. As much as he hates to admit it, he doesn't have a plan. Not for something like this. So he presses a kiss to Dean's forehead and starts to move away, slowly, to lay next to Dean on the bed. Dean puts a hand on John's shoulder, not forcing anything but just setting it there, looking confused. Everything with girls had been one frantic motion leading to another until they were both drenched and sweaty and worn out. This is going so slow that Dean is lost, unsure if it is going anywhere, or if this is it. Dad- he nearly questions, then nearly John, but he doesn't have the right to call him that, does he? "Sir?" The 'sir' catches him off guard and sends a shiver up his spine, forcing him to close his eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. "Not going anywhere," he half whispers, stretching out on his side and wrapping an arm around Dean's waist to pull him closer. "Just getting comfortable." He leans closer and kisses Dean's shoulder, then his neck, his hand splayed against the small of Dean's back, fingers pressing firmly against his warm skin. Dean nods, letting John pull him closer, rolling to his side. "Sorry," he murmurs, apologizing for his confusion and his hesitation. He lifts his chin up, displaying more neck to be kissed, trying to find comfortable positions for his arms. One ends up in the wedge of space between John's neck and the bed, and the other stays with his hand on his shoulder, arm braced against his. "Sorry? For what?" John takes the offered neck, trailing kisses along Dean's skin, licking lightly against the hollow of his throat. He shifts a little so Dean can get his arms around him, his hand wandering down over Dean's ass to grip his thigh. Dean makes a deep sound in his throat, closing his eyes. "Just- confusing," he mumbles, pushing his leg up at the touch, hooking it over John's thigh. John groans softly and scrapes his teeth over Dean's collarbone, grinding their hips together slowly, digging his fingers into the fabric of Dean's jeans. It had been years since he'd been close to another man like this, and his body was slowly remembering that it feels good. "Want me to stop?" Dean shakes his head, unable to get a proper sound out. He pressed back against John's hips, using the leverage from his leg to pull himself closer. He wished John was still wearing his shirt so he would have something easier to grip; it takes the use of his nails to keep his fingers from sliding across the skin of his back. The nails against his skin draw a soft hiss from him and he rocks his hips harder against Dean's. He slips a hand between them and undoes Dean's jeans, tugging them down bellow his hips, but no further. Not yet. He scrapes his nails over Dean's hipbones, sucking a faint mark into the skin under his collarbone, claiming him. Feeling the relief from the pressure of his jeans around his waist, Dean is hit by the desperate want that has been hovering under the surface since this began. He squirms against John, struggling to get one hand down to push his jeans down farther, trying to twist his head down for a kiss. John meets him halfway and captures his lips in a deep and hungry kiss. He pushes Dean's boxers down next, sliding his hands over Dean's bare ass, shivering and licking over Dean's lips. He's going to hell for wanting this, he's sure, but he's not sure either of them can stop at this point. Dean returns it, mindless of tongues or teeth, letting John undress him. He feels a tinge of embarassment at being naked and hard against him, but it is quickly overrun; he slides his hand down John's back, daring to let his fingers sneak under the waistline of his jeans. "Goddammit boy -- " he growls, for once, not in reprimand but in encouragement, urging Dean to touch wherever he wants. It hits him that it's his son who's naked and pressed against him, his son's fingers teasing over his back and driving him out of his head. He pushes the thought away and rolls Dean onto his back again, bracing one hand against the bed and hooking Dean's thigh over his hip with the other. The words cause adrenaline to spark and spread across his chest, even though the tone is encouraging him to continue, but it just spreads and feeds into his arousal. He lets himself be moved, and it feels right to have John above him, to be at his mercy. He hooks a finger through one of John's belt loops, his free hand running across his shoulderblades, smoothing over the scars. One more fierce kiss before he shifts back again, undoing and kicking away his own jeans and boxers. When he presses down against Dean again, he has to stop to just -- take everything in. The way Dean's lean, muscular body fits against his; the planes and curves of his chest and hips shifting and adjusting to mold himself completely against John. He runs a hand down along Dean's thigh, biting at his shoulder as his hips grind sharply against Dean's. Dean watches John undress, an odd feeling arising in his stomach when he realizes just how attractive he finds the sight; it is not anything that he is supposed to think about a father. The thoughts are torn out of his mind when John comes against him again, and suddenly he's pressing both knees to John's sides, nails biting back into his skin. He moans when he feels the teeth sink into his shoulder, closing his eyes tight in pleasure. He never thought Dean would be as eager as this, and that alone is as arousing as the touches and kisses are. John bites his way over Dean's neck, his jaw, and back this his lips, pulling him back into a devouring kiss. He tangles a hand in Dean's hair, tilting his head back to try and get a better angle for the kiss, dragging his nails over Dean's thigh. Dean whimpers without realizing it; he has never let one of the girls have so much control over their actions, and it is almost a relief, to not have to worry about doing anything, but just to let himself be moved and to respond accordingly, not to make the decisions. He rocks up against him, because it seems like the right thing to do, and it keeps him from losing himself further. John groans as Dean moves against him, sucking at his lower lip before biting gently. He tugs at Dean's hair, wrapping an arm around his waist to hold Dean firmly against him. It's insane and amazing, that they're this close, that they're naked and grinding against each other, kissing frantically like this. John can't quite wrap his head around it yet, and isn't sure if he wants to try, so he lets himself get lost in the sensations and ignore his thoughts for a while. Dean clings to him, shivers running the length of his body as it threatens to give out. He presses his face into John's neck once he gets a moment to breathe, trying to hold out just a little bit longer, he does not want to fail in this, to go too fast- but it is a battle he is already losing. It's not so much a failure as a surrender, really, and John doesn't mind that at all. He presses a kiss to Dean's hair and holds him tightly, breathing hard, his hand making finger shaped bruises on Dean's hip. He can feel himself start to come apart as well, gasping Dean's name and moaning against his neck. Dean groans into his neck - it would be a name or a title if he had any idea what to say. He is left panting, arms still wrapped tightly around him, not sure if he is being held or doing the holding at this point. He does not move, because moving might end the moment, and then he has to face his own mind. And John goes still, simply holding Dean to him, face buried against his neck. God help him, what has he done? The thought should never have even crossed his mind, much less been acted upon. He sighs, gently kissing Dean's neck, trying not to think about it. Trying not to think at all. Dean finally takes a deep breath, trying to collect himself. He relaxes his hold on John, sitting back a bit if he will allow it. He glances at his face, a quick glance that is trying to hide worry; he quickly returns his gaze to John's shoulder. After a few long moments of silence, John leans back to look at Dean. "You alright...?" he asks, stroking his fingers over Dean's cheek, watching him with concern. Wondering if he's pushed this too far. "'M fine." The embarassment is starting to catch up with him, making his cheeks burn. He cannot look John in the eye, instead focusing on anything else - well, anything else but down. He wants to ask questions, figure out what the hell this all means, but he keeps his trap shut for once in his life. "Go clean up," John sighs, moving away to grab his pants and pull them back on, sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands over his face. Maybe they don't have to talk about it. Forget it happened, not bring it up again. That might be easier than to try and explain it, reason it out. Dean is moving before he can really think about it, quickly disappearing into the bathroom. He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment, blankly noticing how flushed his face is; it is not until he realizes that he looks like Sammy, with the lost puppy dog face, that he looks away, ducking into the shower instead. John groans in frustration and stretches out on his back on the bed, arm flung over his eyes, trying to shut his brain down so he doesn't have to think. He should leave Dean home from now on. He needs to look after Sammy, and John doesn't need the temptation. Dean showers quickly, drying off with a soldier's efficiency, trying not to think about what his body had been up. He wraps the towel around his waist, hesitating for a moment at the door, before gearing up his courage to walk out. "Shower's open," he says hoarsely, just to have something to say. "Thanks." He heaves himself off the bed, feeling bone-deep exhausted. Dean damp from the shower and standing in his towel makes his stomach twist in guilt and want, and he carefully keeps his head down as he heads into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him. Dean puts on a clean pair of boxers, and, after a moment's debate, pulls on a t-shirt too. He tosses the towel aside and sit heavily on John's bed. He can still feel the warmth underneath his hands. He means to only sit there for a moment, to try and work things out in his mind, but he is too exhausted; he ends up leaning against John's pillows, and will pass out if not disturbed. John gets out of the shower, he notices Dean curled up in his bed, looking so soft and peaceful as he sleeps. He quietly changes and slips into bed next to Dean, curling around him almost protectively. He pulls the sheets up around them and closes his eyes, trying to relax and feel as peaceful as Dean looks. He dozes off soon enough, nuzzling gently against Dean's hair, arm draped over his waist. The first thing that Dean notices when he wakes up is that he is warm. He has cocooned himself against John's side in the night, face pressed into the heat of his shoulder. He lifts his head groggily, mind still dulled from sleep, trying to focus on who this large lump is in his bed. At least, he consoles himself, it is a comfortable lump. John has his arms wrapped around Dean, face buried in his hair, legs tangled together. He's comfortable and quietly happy, nuzzled against Dean like this. He slept better than he has in ages, for once not plagued by nightmares. Dean stops shifting as soon as he realizes it is John, ducking his head back down reflexively. He remembers last night all too suddenly, and frantically tries to push it out of his mind. A small part of his mind complains that it was supposed to be his reward, that he should not feel so funny about it, but he is too freaked to even deal with that at the moment. He should have slept in his own bed, but he couldn't quite bring himself to pull away from Dean. He reluctantly moves away, now, going to get fresh clothes from his duffel bag. "Going to get us breakfast, I'll be back." He figures Dean could use some time alone, and so could John. Dean jumps a little, not having realized that John was so awake. "'Kay," he manages, forcing himself to sit up. "- bacon?" he requests after a moment, before John can get out the door. It seems like pushing his luck to be asking any questions, but it is the most harmless one on his mind. John laughs softly, ducking his head as he shrugs into his jacket. "I'll bring you bacon." He debates going to kiss Dean before he leaves, and decides against it, heading out the door with one last glance at his son curled up in bed. Dean manages a slight smile, glad to hear John laugh. It is something he does not get to hear nearly often enough. "Thanks." He settles back for a while, watching the door, before finally getting himself moving and dressed.