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Wheatland, Wyoming – September 19th, 2001
Sam stood there, fingers clenching and unclenching uncontrollably where they were shoved into the front pockets of his too big jeans, shifting his weight from foot to foot of the thrift store Chuck Taylor’s, while glancing back and forth from the two other occupants in the room, while he waited for John to speak. The practitioner of the dusty shop that they had found themselves in was giving them that look, the one that Sam had seen on so many other faces all his short life. The one that said she knew that they were not happy with the choices that had been presented to them, but that they also knew that there were no other viable options to choose from. Sam watched as John swallowed hard a few times, saw his fingers clench on the edge of the counter, noted his whiskey-brown eyes burrowing into the slight red-headed woman in front of them. Her lilting accent did little to cover the amusement that she clearly felt in the light of their obvious discomfort.
“So, if we do this, the intended recipient of the spell is healed. A hundred percent. Right?” John’s voice pours forth, rich and deep, but a little rougher than Sam is used to hearing it, especially when John is trying his damndest to appear calm, hoping to maintain the illusive pretense of control.
“Och now! That is entirely dependent upon you. You get out what you put into it.” Her green eyes flick over to Sam, and Sam can clearly see a moment of the briefest hesitation, before it is quickly shoved down, back into the dank basement from whence it had crept out of. “If you are not honest, then your friend will not get better. But, if you both admit to everything, nothing on this earth will stop him from being completely healed.” Sam desperately wants to cling to the promise in those words, oh so very badly. But Sam knows what will be required of him to see this through, and with whom, and he just doesn’t know if he can do it. ‘Course you can, it’s for Dean. The thought passes through his mind quickly before he focuses on the conversation once more.
“And all that is required is total and complete honesty?” John asks again, his doubt so clear in his tone, acting as if he hadn’t already sought that assurance at least a dozen times in the past twenty minutes.
“Yes, and um, of course, some resolute willpower backed up by some firm appendages.” Sam sees John raise his hand, appearing as if he desperately wants to cut her off, but she continues anyway. “One of you has to find his, um, satisfaction, while in the other. And if you have been perfectly, brutally, and frankly honest? Then the spell’s recipient will be healed. Fully.” She turned her delicate frame around to pick up a bag, before casually tossing over her shoulder. “And since you both have to be able to speak to each other, your mouths will have to be available for that purpose.”
The flush that Sam felt creeping over every single inch of his skin owed very little to the thought of what he was certain he was soon going to be doing with John. Rather, it belonged to the feelings of a deep and all-consuming anger, that his first time wouldn’t get to be with the one that he truly wanted. But Sam pushed all of those feelings down, fully and completely, because this was for Dean. First and foremost. All other feelings, issues, and/or concerns had to be backburnered for the time being. That was the Winchester way after all.
John, for his part, had appeared to have somewhat recovered from his shock as the implications of what was going to be required of him were sinking in fully. But, of course, John being John Motherfucking Winchester, he had to impart one last threat, his soft words were tinged with a promise of bloody retribution as they filled the space. “If this doesn’t work…” Sam closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer to every single deity that he had ever read about in the many hours that he had spent researching every conceivable topic for both Dean and John, as it was literally all that he could do at that moment. John never listened to Sam when he was like this. Never, not once.
“Och now! Don’t go threatening me, you great big oaf. You do your part correctly and there will be no issues. That being said, I suspect that I shall never see either of you again after today, not want to face anyone who knows with a certainty what you did with each other.” Sam looks at the witch as if she had gone mad, but John is still just standing there, rigid but for the fingers that are now drumming out a steady rhythm on the countertop. Anger obvious, but not advancing, no longer threatening. Just sullen. Knowing that any other options were no longer available to them. That they were at the very last stop on this train to oblivion.
Sam watched as John pulled out a wad of cash from his inner coat pocket, paying for the small bag that contained the powder that they would need to add to a drink to ingest. But that wasn’t what held his attention, it was the sight of John’s hands. Sam had seen them a million times before, how could he not have? But the mere thought, that those hands would soon be on Sam’s body, as they never had been before. That those strong fingers would be kneading Sam's supple flesh, preparing him to receive something that had never been given to him, by anyone, ever. Because Sam wasn’t suffering from any delusions, he knew he would be the recipient in this arrangement, there was no way on this earth that John would let Sam do that to him. Not even if it meant that the thing that had murdered Mary would suddenly appear before them, bound and helpless. Well, maybe for that.
Sam could feel the painful bitterness welling up from deep inside. Knowing that this wretched memory would stay with him long past when this day was finally done. Knowing that what they were about to do could never be forgotten and replaced with the memory that Sam wanted to have. That even if his long dreamt of moment did finally happen, it would always live in the shadow of this rampaging nightmare. This ode to the sheer perversity that was their enduring nightmare of an existence. Day in and day out. With no hope that it would ever get any better.
Sam looked up to see John pocketing the bag, and heard his clipped name get spoken in the dark tone that meant John was at the end of his patience. Sam glanced back nervously one final time, saw the satisfied smirk on the witch’s face as he followed his father out of her shop. Knowing full well how Sam was going to be spending the next several hours. Because that was the worst part of it, they had to keep going until Dean recovered. If they stopped early, they would simply have to do it all over again. But that was where the truth portion of the spell came in, because the more honest they were with each other, the less of the other physical activities would be required of them. But for all Sam knew, their honesty might simply cut it from days to hours, instead of hours to minutes.
Sam slid his lanky body into the passenger seat of the Impala, watched as John turned the key in the ignition, and heard the engine roar to life. John pulled onto the road, and began to head back towards the motel, where Dean waited for them. Unaware. Locked in his mental prison. Sam could still remember the moment that the creatures poisoned claws had slashed bloody slices into Dean’s chest, watched as his big brother crumpled to the floor. Felt himself go mad with panic and fear, running in, machete slashing wildly. Feeling the blood spurt hot across his neck as one arm fell to the concrete floor of the abandoned factory. Heard John’s panicked yell for him to get down. Sam automatically covering Dean with his own body as the shotgun blasts began to reverberate throughout the empty space.
Sam raised his hazel eyes to look out of the Impala as it pulled to a stop. John turned off the engine, opened his door and climbed out. Sam stayed put, seeing the liquor store sign clearly, realizing that John was looking for a little liquid courage to help him get through their current predicament. Sam thought back to how they had dragged Dean back to the motel, put so many goddamned stitches into him that night. Sam can still see the look on John’s face as they worked on Dean. Aiming for stoic, but sometimes if Sam looked up when John wasn’t expecting it, there had been another emotion at play. Almost like fear. But that wasn’t something that their former Marine of a father would ever admit to feeling. It simply wasn’t in him.
John opened the door and climbed back into the Impala. Placing a case of beer, and a couple bottles of whiskey onto the seat between them. John paused for a moment, as he was staring straight ahead, hand frozen on the keys in the ignition, looking like he wanted to say something, but not sure whether he should. Sam watched his throat work, but then he continued in his previous efforts, and the Impala roared to life and soon they were on their way back to the motel.
“Dad, you know this…” Sam stopped as a large hand was suddenly on his knee, squeezing tight.
“Sam, just wait. Ok? Give me a minute.” Sam blinked a few times. That was the closest thing to a polite request that he had gotten from John in, well, ever. Orders were John’s preferred method of communication. Orders that had to be followed quickly, lest harsher methods were then employed to get the blind compliance that John was seeking.
Sam sat silently, watching the miles pass. But the trip was over much too soon, and then Sam was staring at the brightly painted motel room door through the windshield of the Impala. John is still sitting beside him, motionless, except for the tick in his jaw as he contemplates what to say next.
“I know this is going to be difficult, but we have to do this for Dean. So, whatever happens today, just know, I’m not trying to hurt you.” Sam’s head whips around to look at his father, but John is already opening the door, climbing out, bags of liquor in tow. Sam quickly follows, not wanting the motel room door to stay open any longer than necessary. As Sam’s eyes adjust to the low light, he can see Dean still unconscious on the far bed. Covers pulled up to his shoulders, his head turned slightly to the side, away from the other bed. Sam is grateful for that, even knowing that Dean wouldn’t be able to see, he takes comfort in the thought that Dean might remain blissfully ignorant of what is about to occur in this room.
“I’m gonna shower first. Then you can get yours.” The words drop into the stilted silence with the force of an atomic bomb. Sam flinches as he realizes that this is John trying to be considerate. That they should be clean before they start doing what will leave them so utterly filthy. John doesn’t wait for a response, just enters the bathroom and closes the door. Sam can hear the water turn on. Knows that a powerful body that he is about to become intimately acquainted with is getting prepared, water washing away all of the days sweat, dirt, and assorted muck. Knows that strong hands are taking the bar of soap and running it over all of his many parts. Faded scars, bulging muscles, all of those long limbs, that have endured every kind of pain, that have only known joy in incredibly fleeting increments, and yet for all that, can still be so goddamn stubborn.
Sam turns away from the room that contains the body that will soon claim his own, begins to take his clothes off, looks up to see himself in the mirror that hangs on the bathroom door. He had turned eighteen just a few months prior, he was supposed to leave for Stanford soon, and yet the body that was revealed was not that of a full-grown adult. At least not to his somewhat overly critical eyes. His latest growth spurt had left him almost as tall as Dean, but with none of the width, none of the defined muscle. He was wiry and lean, body stretched taut over his ever-growing skeleton. His mop of brown hair was a little lighter than normal, due to all the sun that he had gotten this summer. But it fell near to his eyes, brushed over his ears, and just barely touched his collar. Shaggy, as John would always call it, in that damned tone of his. Letting both Sam and Dean know that John disapproved, that Sam’s little act of rebellion had been duly noted and was heartily objected to.
Sam ignored the sting of that thought and continued his examination. His shoulders were getting wide now, so wide Dean kept complaining that Sam was stretching out his shirts when he wore them. But his chest, the thing that all the girls would want to be firm and bulging, pecs on prominent display; well, they must have run off and joined the circus at some point, because while they were defined to a point, it was mostly to note that a place for their eventual return existed. Sam looked at his flat stomach, more distinguished than his upper torso to be sure, but still, nothing special. His legs were lean, and even though Sam would run, and jump, and chase after things, the evidence of how he managed to do that was most definitely not being reflected in that mirror. Sam was still standing there in just his tight boxers when the bathroom door opened and John came out, only wearing his pair of saggy boxers and a t-shirt.
John barely glanced at Sam as he went into the kitchen area of the motel room, beginning to prepare the potion. Sam took that as his que and made his way into the bathroom. Quickly stripping, he stepped under the little remaining hot water, taking the soap and lathering up his hands, running them down between his ass cheeks, finding the puckered hole that was about to become very familiar with his father’s cock, washing it thoroughly, wiggling the tip of one finger inside, gasping at the sensation. Wondering how he was going to get through the next few hours without a trip to the ER at the end of it. It's not like he had ever looked on purpose, but John’s preferred boxers were the baggy kind with the front slit that remained closed only through the grace of that one rather flimsily attached button, and John was not known for quiet and restive sleep. Sam and Dean had both woken up to see their father’s morning wood peeking out, having escaped the confines of his loose underwear, the blankets down around his ankles offering no protection to their delicate eyes, that always skittered away as quickly as possible. Not wanting to linger on the exposed flesh.
So, Sam was unfortunately very well aware of what John had to work with. And now, feeling just the tip of his pinkie inside himself, he had to wonder how anything larger could possibly fit. Sam hoped John had some knowledge that simply hadn’t been explained to Sam yet. Because while Sam had seen some porn, it hadn’t been that kind. But Sam decided not to dwell on that, knowing there was no way around it now, so he quickly shampooed his hair and finished washing the rest of his lean body. The water was just turning this side of frigid when Sam finished up. He stepped out of the shower and toweled dry quickly. Sam glanced at the sink, saw that John’s toothbrush had been freshly used, and decided that he could return the favor. No need to be unnecessarily rude, after all. The next few hours were going to be painful enough without adding bad breath into the mix. Sam brushed his teeth with a vengeance, and once satisfied that they were clean as he could make them, short of visiting a dentist and getting a professional cleaning, he spit and then looked at himself in the mirror.
Sam knew what others saw when they looked at him, the shy and uncertain kid hiding behind his bangs, the nerdy and smart kid with the occasional really odd bandage placement, the freaky and troubled kid that should be avoided because of all the trouble that would follow along with him. But Sam had to wonder what John saw when he looked at his child. Did he note the mole by the side of his nose, so similar to the ones that John had under his scruff. Did he see the slight tilt of Sam’s eyes? That mom had told Dean reminded her of their grandfather, Samuel. Did John see Sam, or a collection of parts that reminded him of what he no longer had. Of all that had been taken away.
Sam pulled back at the depressing thought. Wondering if he was going to be able to stand that much truth being dropped on him. And how was he going to get the words out, to answer the questions that John would have. The witch had been so very clear, that the spell would only work if they were brutally honest with each other. Sam quickly swiped at his suddenly watery eyes and then opened the bathroom door, dressed just in his boxer briefs, pausing to hang his towel before he joined John in the kitchen.
John looked up from where he was leaning with one hip against the counter, blinked, and then handed Sam a glass that had something coarse swirling in it. He raised a matching glass to his own lips and then spoke the words, “Ad sananda vulnera animae veritas fluat.” Sam had heard the Latin words spoken by the witch, but he translated quickly in his head, “Let the truth flow to heal the wounds of the soul.” Sam drank down the concoction, noting how it really wasn’t all that terrible, just gritty really. He set his glass down and saw that John was looking at him with now darkened eyes, his gaze really boring into Sam, watched as John flushed, but then straightened up from his current position. Tidied the glasses up unnecessarily, obviously needing something to do for another moment more.
John moved towards Sam and then reached out a large hand to grasp Sam’s leaner hand within his own, Sam could feel himself being drawn closer, looking up to meet his father’s turbulent gaze. “I don’t know how to start this, but, please, try to forgive me after?” Sam can only nod, not even sure if this is part of the spell, or if John is simply stroking out. John turns slightly, pulling Sam along with his hand until they reach the unoccupied bed. Sam sees that the covers had already been pulled down, a bottle of lube had been placed on the nightstand. John stops, guiding Sam to stand directly in front of him, both standing so near the other.
Sam crosses his arms over his naked chest as he sees John’s eyes moving over him, sees them taking in every detail like he had never truly looked before. “What do you see, when you look in the mirror?” The husky words wash over Sam, make him blush for a moment before he can find any words so that he might respond to his father’s question.
“Um, just a skinny kid that nobody wants.” Sam can feel the warm, large hand on his shoulder clench tight. His soft hazel eyes rise up to meet the whiskey-brown orbs that more often than not are usually filled with a righteous anger. The muscle in John’s jaw is ticking away again.
“Really? Do you want to know what I see?” Sam realizes that he actually does, now that he knows that John has to tell the truth. So, he simply nods. “I see a good-lookin’ kid who isn’t done growing yet. Who will mature into his features. Who has amazing eyes, that everyone calls hazel, but that ain’t quite right. My mom always said her dad had these kaleidoscope eyes, always changing color with whatever emotion they were feeling. I think you got that from him, ‘cause when you’re angry the green comes out, when you’re happy the brown is there, and when you’re sad, it all fades and the gold and blue shine through. And that’s how I see you when you don’t think I’m lookin’. I never wanted you to be sad.” John’s voice had trailed off to a whisper, as his own brown eyes filled with tears. “I just wanted you both to grow up happy and healthy.” Sam can feel the tears pricking at his eyes. Wanting to escape, to crawl away and hide. But John isn’t done yet.
“I see a kid with such a bright future ahead of him. One where he can be anything that he sets his mind to. You’ve always been so damn smart. Smarter than I could ever hope to be. Dean has never been able to shut up about how proud he is that his baby brother is such a big, brained geek. And I know that this is not what you thought you would hear, but truly, I’ve wanted nothing more than for you to be able to go to the best colleges. To grow old, safe and sound, having never hunted another day in your life.” Sam sees John swallow hard before he goes on, “But I know, as smart as you are, that you know what will happen if you leave. You have to know.” Sam can no longer meet John’s distraught gaze. His eyes fall to the floor, see their bare feet so close to each other, Sam’s knobby knees wrapped in his golden skin, next to John’s battered knees wrapped in scars, dark, wiry hair, and his bronze skin. Sam knows that John’s body has seen war, both man-made and those born from monsters.
“I know you think I’ll die if you’re not there with me, but what if you’re wrong? What if I’ll be just fine. What if no harm befalls me?” Sam feels those big, strong hands cupping both sides of his face. Hears the strangled words escape through his father’s full lips.
“But what if it does?” Sam can hear the fear in his father’s strangled voice, the deep, dark hurt that seems to be making John small. And yet, the question hangs heavy in the room. Sam knows this is the heart of the argument that they have been having for years. But John has never truly expressed his reasons before, he has always resorted to the ‘I’m your father, you’ll do as I say’ argument. Which had never once come close to satisfying Sam’s need for an explanation of John’s behavior. But now, this is almost worse. Knowing that John truly did care, at least to a point.
“But what about Dean? The way you treat him?” Sam sees John’s eyes close, a shudder courses through his body. He seems to be struggling to find his words. “The truth Dad. You have to tell the truth.”
“I admit, I’ve made plenty of mistakes. And Dean is built different. I think, its…, I think…” John trails off, faltering completely. Sam wraps his hands around the wrists that are still so near his face and gives a gentle squeeze. Without looking up, John continues. “I think Dean is different because he remembers.”
Sam waits but John has stopped speaking. His jaw is clamped down again. So, Sam prompts, “Remembers what, John?” It takes a minute, Sam watching with more patience than he’s had in a long time as John seems to fight himself, tries to figure how to say what he so very clearly doesn’t want to.
“Dean remembers your mother.” John speaks on a ragged exhale and then sags a little as the words wash over Sam. But John’s eyes fly open, and he meets Sam’s gaze when he hears Sam’s sharp gasp. “I’m not blaming you for her not being here, I’m not. But you don’t know how it was. How we were. And then it just wasn’t anymore. And Dean does. And that’s why he doesn’t question some of these things, because he knows what we lost that night.” John pulls Sam in close then, strong arms wrapping around his narrow frame, large hands running up and down Sam’s slim back. It takes Sam a moment, but he wraps his arms around John, laying his head on his father’s shoulder. Feels his body get drawn flush against John’s. But John is still speaking, still killing little pieces of Sam’s soul without even meaning too.
“He went from two parents who were trying their best, to just, me. And I know I fucked it all up. I do. If I’m being honest, it’s a goddamn miracle I didn’t screw either of you boys up worse than I did. But I was just broken, and obsessed, and everything went wrong. And I know I hurt you. But then I could never figure out how to fix it. And why talk about it if I couldn’t fix it, because that would just make it worse. As if I hadn’t already fucked up enough things.” The last part is said softly, and Sam just lets himself be held. The number of times that John has given him a full body hug, well, Sam’s not honestly sure it’s ever happened before. So, Sam eases in against John, feels the hard plains of his body, so different from his own, and just lets his father do the one thing that he should have been doing his entire life. Offering comfort and solace to his child.
Sam pulls back after a minute, easing away from the body that still had so much to do to Sam, looking up into those sad brown eyes. Sam speaks, before he loses the courage to do so. “I know that I didn’t always make things easy for you. I know I’ve blamed you for a lot of things that probably weren’t your fault. But it just burns me up when you won’t listen. When you just push on ahead, make it a ‘your way or the highway’ situation. Dean always says that we should trust you, but sometimes I just know your not sure, and then instead of talking it through with us, you just push ahead, consequences be damned.” Sam pauses, inhales to get some air back into his lungs after that rush of verbal diarrhea just got spilled all over John, but he continues. “I was trying to tell you about the outlier research I found, but you were so sure, and now, well, now we’re here. Doing this.”
Sam can hear John’s teeth grinding together, can feel the tension creeping into the limbs that are still around Sam’s much smaller frame. Sam waits, as his father stands there with his eyes closed, contemplating his next move. “John, be honest. Just say it.” Sam sees John’s eyes pop open, and he swears they are swimming in tears.
“You’re right. Alright? You were right. I didn’t listen, and Dean got hurt, and now we have to do this. And Jesus motherfucking Christ on the cross, I can’t even hide from it. I can’t pretend that there wasn’t enough evidence, or that a better theory existed. I fucked up so badly that my oldest is hurt so much that I have to fuck my youngest just to save him. I just… I can’t… I don’t…” Sam pulls John close, easing his father’s head down to his narrow shoulder, and then John starts to sob. As they stand there, near the bed that will hold their writhing bodies, next to the other bed that holds Dean’s pale and broken form, in some anonymous and cheap motel room, in some nameless and faceless town, in the middle of the wreckage of their lives. Sam holds his tough as nails father and gives him the comfort that John had never been able to receive from his very own father. Not after Henry had abandoned the family late one night in 1958, when John was just four years old. Leaving a single mother to do her best to raise a broken child who could never understand why his father didn’t love him enough to stick around and be a part of his life. Wondered if he had done something that had driven his father away.
They stand there for a while, Sam’s not even sure for how long, but John’s hiccupped sobs trail off, his shallow breathing had faded to deep inhalation as he calmed himself. And then, when it seemed as if John was finally managing to pull himself back together, that was when John’s hands began to knead Sam’s back, began to press Sam closer to the hard body that was standing in front of him. A tremble runs through Sam as he feels chapped lips begin to lay soft kisses against the side of his neck. As one wickedly strong hand begins to dip lower, curving around the gentle swell of Sam’s youthful ass, cheeks so firm and high. Sam closes his eyes as his father’s hands begin to roam over his body, tentatively touching all of Sam’s exposed flesh, cautiously caressing the flesh that is still hidden underneath Sam’s boxer briefs. His hot mouth is moving over Sam’s long neck, leaving a burning trail, one that Sam with his incredibly limited experience can’t help but respond to.
Sam has had this in-depth talk with Dean a million times before, what to do when you have a half-naked girl in your arms conversation. Of course, that was immediately preceded by the how to make a girl want to be half-naked in your arms conversation. How Sam should be all polite, because girls like boys that say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, that hold doors open for them, and pull-out chairs for them, like a real nice fuckin’ gentleman, Dean had said. How Sam should be all shy, because girls like boys that aren’t full of themselves. How Sam should work on his puppy-dog eyes because girls would just eat that shit up. But in all of the multiple conversations that Sam had patiently suffered through, not a single one of them revolved around the fact that Sam would be the girl in any of those scenarios.
Or that the boy that was trying to attract the girl’s attention was his very own emotionally repressed, would rather eat an entire box of razor blades than have a real conversation with my children, and would drink himself into oblivion just so he could pass out to avoid any potentially meaningful moments, father.
Sam needed to take a deep breath, because at present his head was spinning something fierce. John, for his part, wasn’t being pushy or demanding, he was being soft and gentle, like he knew. Just knew that this woebegone child of his had never done any such thing, not even once in his ridiculously sad and patently pathetic existence. And of course, John would be correct. That Sam’s very first time was going to be at the rough and calloused hands of his very own ex-Marine father. Sam could feel one of those very hands sliding under the waistband of his boxer briefs at that very moment, feel that thick finger moving between his supple cheeks, drew in a sharp breath as it rubbed over his tightly furled hole. Sam knew what would need to come next, he just hoped that it wouldn’t hurt nearly as badly as he feared that it would. Sam shivered almost uncontrollably when John’s hands moved, gripping his biceps and helping Sam to lay back on the bed.
John hooked his fingers into the waistband of Sam’s underwear and Sam watched with huge hazel eyes as they were pulled off of his quivering form. Sam saw his father’s whiskey-brown eyes roam over his newly exposed body, saw the appraisal in John’s gaze as he worked his way from Sam’s feet all the way up to his shaggy mop of brown hair. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you’re not one handsome boy. You hear me?” The blush that swept over Sam as John’s husky words washed over him was complete and total, leaving no skin unaffected. “I want you to know that anyone who has the chance to be with you, is one lucky individual. Because you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.” Sam can only stare up into the brown eyes that are now a little darker, that seem to be fighting alternating urges.
Sam can understand it, he really can. John is looking at his child, and since he will be the one that has to get off, he needs to look at Sam like a lover. But at the same time, he knows the body that is all spread out before him is his own flesh and blood. Sam can imagine the mental gymnastics that are required to overlook that small fact and still manage to get the equipment to work. But then John reaches down, grabs the hem of his dark brown t-shirt and pulls it up and over his head. Sam’s seen his father’s bare chest plenty of times, but never not once in this context. John is well-built for a man his age, still nicely defined, his bronze skin covered in some small scars here and there, some tufts of dark hair that lead to the thin stripe that disappears into the white cotton boxers that are having some difficulty hiding the evidence of John’s arousal. Sam blinks hard, before he looks away. But then he feels a hand around his ankle, hears the soft ‘hey’ and he looks back to John, knowing that this is part of it. The spell that will save Dean.
Sam watches as John’s thick fingers hook into the waistband of his own underwear, then pushes them down his narrow hips, Sam knows that they must have gone all the way to the floor, as he sees John’s thighs flex as he steps out of them. But Sam’s attention has been caught by the rapidly swelling cock that hangs thick and heavy between those muscled thighs. Sam can’t stop himself, the words just falling out of his mouth. “That’s not gonna fit.” The soft chuckle draws Sam’s gaze up and he finds a rueful smile on his father’s face. As John runs a hand from the back of his neck and then over his mouth. Sam knows that his irritation at being laughed at must show on his face, as John suddenly turns somber, and then calls his name once more.
“Sam. I guess I wasn’t sure, but is this your first…?” Sam is quite certain he turns the brightest shade of red in the entire color spectrum, when he feels John’s strong hand around his ankle again, asking without words for his attention. “Well, I guess that’s good then, but, no not, but, um… I think you know what I mean. Ahh!” John clears his throat harshly before he continues. “I know, for a virgin this might look impossible, but trust me. With the proper preparation, not only will it fit, but I know enough to make it feel good.” Sam watches as John stops, closes his eyes, goes up in several shades of red himself, before he speaks again. “I had a life before I met your mother.” Sam can only nod. But his brain just can’t be controlled. And his mouth is currently suffering from a serious lack of obedience.
“Any port in the storm? Foxhole buddies?” John manages to flush even darker than he had previously, and Sam hears the strangled ‘yes’ escape him. Sam watches as John’s arm moves, his hand grabbing the bottle of lube, before John joins Sam on the bed, kneeling between Sam’s now spread legs. John looks at his child, considers for a moment, then reaches back behind Sam and adjusts the pillows under his head so that he is propped up enough so that he will be able to see everything that John is about to do to him. Sam can feel his father’s rough fingers trail over his flaccid cock, feels his cheeks heat.
“I’ll get you there. Don’t worry about that for now.” Sam watches as John flips the lid on the bottle of lube and then drizzles out a seemingly alarming quantity into the palm of his hand. John sets the bottle aside and then rubs his palms together, spreading and warming the lube at the same time. Sam sees one of John’s hands move down between his legs, and then he feels that calloused fingertip rubbing over his puckered entrance. Feels the slick digit moving so softly, just gently massaging, trying to coax the hidden bloom to open. Sam gasps as the tip of John’s middle finger breeches him, barely sliding into the first knuckle. “Breathe Sam, just breathe.” Sam hears the words, knows it is probably sound advice, and draws in a few deep and calming breaths. But then John begins to move his fingers again, and Sam is tensing up once more. “Talk to me, don’t focus on that.”
Sam looks up into his father’s eyes, all soft and warm, full of compassion. Can’t even begin to fathom where the question comes from that falls out of his mouth. “Why do you hate my hair so much?” Sam has to give John credit, he pauses for just a moment, before resuming the careful little motions with his fingers, before he answers.
“It’s not that I hate your hair, it’s that it’s such an obvious act of rebellion. That you only started to grow it that way to piss me off. That if I could have figured out how to be a better father, then you would have cut your hair just like Dean does his.” Sam can only stare, with his mouth hanging open ever so slightly, knowing that his father is telling the truth. “Was I right?” The follow-up question shocks Sam out of his daze, and he responds without thinking.
“Not at first, I think I was using it to hide behind, because I was always the new and strange kid, everywhere we went. And it helped me hide in plain sight. But after a while I realized that it was annoying you, and even when I wanted to cut it, I just thought of the look on your face, of how you’d grind your teeth together, and then I would keep it. And now, it’s just a part of me. I can’t even look in the mirror and try to envision myself with Dean’s hair. It’s just to weird.” Sam watched the expressions pass over John’s face while Sam confessed. Pain at knowing that Sam viewed himself as an outcast, sadness that Sam felt the need to hide away, then aggravation as his suspicions were confirmed, but then resignation as he came to his own realization.
“Yeah, you’re right. You wouldn’t be Sammy without that shaggy mop of glorious hair.” A rueful smile tugged at John’s mouth for a moment. “And Dean would probably slit the throat of anything that came near you wanting to cut off a single strand.” Sam had to smile at that. That was one of the few areas where Dean would go toe-to-toe with John on Sam’s behalf. Where he wouldn’t back down, no matter what. Come hell or high water, Sam’s hair was never to be touched. But even as they both knew Dean would defend Sam’s hair, that had never once stopped him from joking about cutting it all off in a moment of mild irritation with his brother.
Sam looked down between his legs, then wished that he hadn’t. John had so distracted him with the question, that Sam hadn’t realized that John had added another finger, and that now both of them were moving in and out of Sam fully, sinking in all the way, and it was at that moment that John rotated his hand just so and Sam felt something like liquid heat flow through all of his veins at once. Sam threw back his head as a gasping cry escaped him when John’s fingertip rubbed over some incredibly sensitive spot inside his body. “That would be your prostate. And that is what makes this so damn pleasurable for the catcher.” Sam could barely understand what John was saying. But every single weird comment over the course of his entire life was now beginning to make a little bit of sense.
Sam had never understood how it would work when it was just two men together. Not that he was opposed to it, because more than anything, that was what he wanted to do so very badly one day, when it was with the correct person, but he had never been able to figure out how the ‘catcher’ would feel any kind of pleasure. Sam had always assumed that you could only get off by being the one that did the fucking, not the one that got fucked. But then Sam couldn’t spare the energy to think about things like that anymore, John’s other hand was wrapped around Sam’s suddenly rock-hard cock, and John was jerking Sam off while he continued to press into Sam’s ass with three fingers now. The pleasure that was coursing through Sam’s innocent body was off the charts, so much better than when he used his own hand to get himself off in the shower when he prayed no one else was listening. Sam looked down just in time to see his orgasm erupt across his belly, thick white lines of come striping his stomach and chest. John released his cock and then ran his fingertips through some of the sticky release, gathering it up and then bringing it to his mouth. Sam whimpered as he watched John lick his fingers clean.
“Pro tip, if you’re ever lacking lube, you can always use come in a pinch.” Sam feels like this should really be a piece of information that his father had never felt the need to impart to him. And he is quite certain that his face expresses that sentiment, as John continues. “I’ve never been one to judge. Like I said, I had a life before I met your mother. I just figure, since we’re being truthful and all, I should divulge all these little details now. Because I really never want to have this discussion with you ever again. Not once we’re done here today.” Sam can only nod, because he also would like to never have to talk to John about sex ever again, even if he lives to be a hundred years old.
“So, did you even notice that I’m up to four fingers? Or that you’re as relaxed as a limp noodle?” Sam struggled to raise his head off of the pillow, so that he could glance down again, confirming that John was indeed sliding four rather large fingers deep into Sam’s fluttering channel. But then Sam looked just slightly up and noted that John’s erection had become even more pronounced than it had been previously. A look of concern must have passed over his face because John was speaking again, humor apparent in the gravelly tone. “Trust me, it’ll fit.” Sam can only nod and then John is reaching for the bottle of lube again, popping the cap and drizzling a line down his cock. He sets the bottle aside and then slicks himself up thoroughly before he withdraws his hand from Sam. “Well, it’s strongly recommended that you be on your stomach for your first time, but I think you’d be limber enough that we could make it work face-to-face. Plus, that way, we could still talk to each other. So that I can, make any necessary adjustments, if that needs to be accommodated.” John is just staring at Sam now, and Sam is so torn. He really wants to turn away, so that he might be able to hide his shame, but he is also concerned that they would have to do this again, even several more times, because they hid from one another.
“Well, since the entire point of this is to come clean, be truthful and honest, I think we should be face-to-face. So that we know, for sure…” Sam sees John nod as he trails off. Feels an odd flutter in his belly as John leans over Sam for a moment as he pushes Sam’s long, long legs up against his slim frame.
“Yeah, I think you’re right. But I’m gonna need you to talk to me, baby boy. Let me know if anything is wrong. Ok?” John is looking directly into Sam’s wide eyes as he speaks. His concern for his child’s well-being so readily apparent. Sam simply nods, watches as John shifts closer, places a pillow under Sam’s narrow hips and then grabs the base of his cock, so that he might more easily feed it into his son’s now gaping hole. Sam can feel the fat head at his entrance, hears John’s husky voice telling him to just breathe, and then Sam’s hands are scrambling over John’s back as the incredible pressure begins to fill him full to bursting as John eases in slowly, thick inch by think inch, sliding home, like Sam had been made just for him. Sam closes his eyes and buries his face in the side of his father’s neck once John’s heavy balls have drawn flush to Sam’s pert ass.
Sam can hear John speaking softly, holding himself perfectly still while Sam’s body adjusts to the first-time intrusion, but then Sam feels John’s chapped lips move against his own, and he simply lets it happen. Kissing his father, even with as awkward as that could be, especially since he is already being fucked by him, seriously, might as well. Sam can feel John’s velvety tongue seeking entry, so with a sigh, Sam parts his lips and allows his father to explore every single part of him. Sam feels a large hand slide around the back of his neck, and then helps to cup his jaw. Guiding him, so that John might be better able to explore Sam’s honeyed depths. Sam feels the velvet rough texture of John’s tongue, sliding by and gliding over his own. Sam gets so lost in the kiss that he almost doesn’t feel it when John starts to move. Almost.
Sam’s gasping cry is loud, and his fingers dig in deep around the bulging biceps that he now grasps within his own trembling fingers. “Easy, easy. I got you.” Sam hears the whispered reassurance, soft against his ear, and realizes that John really isn’t moving. Sam’s seen enough porn to know, that these thrusts are just the warm-up moves. Just enough to get Sam ready, so that when John does begin to pound into him, it won’t break him, or land him in the ER. So, Sam lets himself feel it, closes his eyes and relaxes, just lets John do all of the work. And John is, his hips are moving with a lot more vigor now, his mouth is working over the side of Sam’s neck, his hands are massaging and caressing every inch of skin that they can reach. So, Sam, being the quick study that he always was, begins to gingerly move his own hands. Softly running them up and down John’s back, trim fingernail gently scratching as he goes.
Sam hears John’s deep groan, feels his hands tighten where they are clutching Sam’s supple body. Sam draws his long legs up, shifting them, feels John sink in a little deeper, wraps them around John’s narrow waist, hooking his ankles at the small of his father’s back. John’s lips find his own then, and Sam is pulled under, until he is nothing more than a quivering mass of trembling flesh. Ready to do anything so that he can feel another moment of this pleasurable bliss. John shifts then, his hand moving in between them, long fingers wrapping around Sam’s slick cock. Sam cries out as John’s hand moves in time with John’s hips, as he pounds into his son’s yielding form. In just a few short strokes, Sam comes again, burying his face in John’s shoulder to muffle his cry, and then Sam feels it, the hot pulses shooting deep inside him, hears the gasping cry as John finds his release in his child’s willing body. Sam feels John’s hips still, wrapping his arms around his father’s broad back, a lean hand pressing against the back of John’s head, helping to ground him as the reality of what they have just done sets in.
John’s harsh breaths are being exhaled against the side of Sam’s long neck, and Sam can feel John tremble as he holds him close, knowing that the spell is loosening its grip upon them. Sam turns his head towards the opposite bed, towards where Dean lays so very deathly still. Sam can see that he looks a little less pale, but he is still motionless. Sam hears a muffled sound near his ear, so he turns to look at John, who seems like he is working up the courage to say the words again. Sam is looking deep into the whiskey-brown eyes that are so near his own, when he sees John’s lips move. “I guess we have to go again.” And then his mouth turns down in a frown. Sam just sighs. “I know, I know. But I was hoping.” Sam hears John’s reply, and all Sam can do is think back to what the witch had said, that it could take as many as ten times before the spell worked and freed Dean from the clutches of the creature’s poison.
Sam can feel John begin to move, to free himself from the tangle of Sam’s long limbs, so Sam helps him out. Pulling back, wincing only slightly as John’s now soft cock slips free of his no longer virgin hole. John rolls to the side of the bed and sits up, looking across the aisle to Dean, giving him a good once over, before he sighs and moves towards the kitchen, to prepare another batch of the brew. Sam rolls away, closing his eyes tight, not sure how he feels. Wanting this to be over, but still, torn. Knowing that there is still so much more to talk about with John. But that’s the problem. There’s one secret that Sam doesn’t want to reveal. And the more talking that they do, the more likely that John will stumble across what Sam is so desperate to hide.
The heavy hand that lands on his shoulder startles Sam, who looks up to meet his father’s whiskey-brown eyes. “Go get cleaned up. We’ll have to go again soon.” Sam just nods, watches as John moves back to the kitchen, bare ass just hanging out for all to see. But then what does it matter if Sam sees it now? He’s just had his father’s cock all the way up his ass, so what’s a little fairly firm ass cheeks between reluctant lovers? Sam gets up off of the bed and moves to the bathroom, wetting a cloth and wiping his own come off of his stomach and now soft cock. Feeling something dribbling down his inner thigh, looking and seeing John’s release leaking out of him. Sam takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm the thoughts that are tumbling through his mind. Unsure how many more times he will have to fuck his father in his efforts to save his brother. Sam leans on the sink, examining the face that is staring back at him. It still looks that same, except that there is an area of irritated skin on the side of his neck, probably from where John’s scruff rubbed against him. His lips are now a little swollen, probably from Sam accepting all of his father’s surprisingly tender kisses. Sam turns and looks at his back, not seeing any other marks, no other indication whatsoever that he had just lost his virginity. Sam closes his eyes as he rinses out the washcloth, knowing that he will need to use it several more times before this night is over.
Sam came out of the bathroom, still as naked as the day he was born, but hesitant about who might see, afraid of the comments that might ensue, and walked into the kitchen. John was standing there, still naked in that unabashed way that comes from the knowledge that your body has been found acceptable by others, holding out a glass for Sam to drink. John spoke the incantation once more and then they downed their drinks. Sam felt a jolt this time, sweeping over him as he set his glass on the table. He looked up to see that John was having the same reaction, much stronger than their first time. His voice is thicker when he speaks. “So, what didn’t you tell me?” Sam frowns at the obvious assumption, that this is somehow Sam’s fault. That the continuation of this nightmare lands solely at the feet of the teenager who would gladly sell his soul to be literally anywhere else in the world at this moment. The irritation bubbles up from deep within Sam, and before he knows it, his mouth is moving, spilling out words while not even giving a second thought to the potential consequences of his angry words.
“Really, John? That’s how you want to do this, John? Well, tell me then John, why the fuck did Bobby feel the goddamned need to chase you out of his fucking yard at the end of a motherfucking double-barreled shotgun? What in the ever-holy fuck had you managed to screw up that goddamned time?” Sam can see the look of rage pass over John’s features before his hand whips out and grabs Sam by the back of his neck, clenching tight as he pulls Sam close before John snarled at him.
“That self-righteous son-of-a-bitch thought I was being a shit father. Dropping my poor, pathetic kids off with a virtual stranger, so that I could go off and see about a hunt.” John grinned then, sharp and cold, “But it wasn’t a hunt. I had just needed some peace and fuckin’ quiet, away from the screaming kids that wouldn’t shut the fuck up for even one goddamn minute. With the million fucking questions, the endless whining, the unending demands for my time, never giving me even half a goddamned second before the next want was presented to me, as if it was the end of the fuckin’ world.” John’s bitter laughter fills the room then, “I. Just. Needed. Space. To. Take. A. Goddamned. Breath.” John ends his tirade, after having bitten off each word. Having pulled Sam so close now that his hot breath was washing over him with every exhalation, and then Sam can feel John’s suddenly rock-hard cock, digging into his belly. Knows that it’s not going to be like the first time. Soft and gentle. That shit is so done.
Sam finds himself pushed down and bent over the kitchen table, hard edge digging into his hip, feels his legs getting kicked apart by John’s bare feet, feels the head of John’s cock at his hole, feels the fear reaching up and wrapping a cold hand around his heart, hears himself whimper out a terrified, ‘Please, daddy, don’t hurt me’, and then it just… stops. Sam waits, barely breathing, not knowing what will come next, just hoping John doesn’t injure him too badly. Not even wanting to think about what excuse he would have to come up with to explain that away to Dean, who of course would fucking know that Sam was lying to him. He always did.
John’s hands have stilled, simply resting on Sam’s limp form, even as John’s harsh breathing fills the room, and then Sam is being pulled up, turned around and crushed against John. “I’m sorry, I’m so damn sorry, Sammy.” John is holding him tight, hands running over his back, and then Sam is picked up and carried to the bed, laid down on his stomach this time. Sam sees John grab the bottle of lube, feels it being poured around his still gaping hole, feels the rough fingers pushing it inside, pumping a few times to make sure Sam is still open, and then Sam can hear the wheeze as the bottle is squeezed once more, hears as the lube is spread over John’s cock, and then John’s large hands are on Sam’s narrow hips, moving him up onto his knees. Sam hears John, calmer now, telling him to breathe as John slides in, nowhere near as slow as the first time, but still, gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt. Sam closes his eyes and tries to calm himself, but then John grasps his hips and begins to move, thrusting into Sam as he begins to speak.
“I was so tired. Just so fucking exhausted. All I could think about was getting away for a few days. But I couldn’t leave the two of you alone, I needed someplace that was safe and I wouldn’t have to worry about you. And Bobby was just fucking perfect. And he loved you damn boys so much, and I told him it would just be a few days, but then I never called to check-in, and I ended up on a bender that left me three states over. Some waitress cleaned me out, so then I had to hustle to make the money to get back to you. And once I got there, Bobby was in my face about needed to see to my responsibilities, and I just couldn’t take that shit, not then. And I blew up, and we were both screaming at each other, and then I was hauling you boys out of there, and Bobby was threatening to kill me if I ever laid foot on his property again, and Jesus, fuck.” Sam listened to John’s tirade in silence, feeling his father’s hips slamming into him. Filling his ass so full, till he couldn’t take another inch of rock-hard cock up his ass, and the tears were slowly running down Sam’s face. Not that it hurt, it was just that John didn’t even seem to realize that Sam was there anymore. For all he knew it was just some two-bit whore that he had picked up for the night.
Sam felt John stiffen, and then he came hard, filling Sam to the brim with his hot release. But it was when John’s hand reached around and stroked Sam’s cock that he jerked so badly that it must have brought John out of it. The soft, “Sammy? Are you alright?”, was almost more than Sam could take in that moment. But Sam felt the answer rushing up and out of his mouth, before he could stop it.
“Yeah, just get me off, will ya?” With a loud snort, John spit in his hand and then gave Sam a few quick jerks, and then Sam was shooting his release all over the sheets, then sinking into the puddle of warm come as John collapsed over his back, driving him down into the bedding. They both lay there, breathing hard and heavy, waiting for sanity to return to them. Sam spoke first. “Must have been one hell of a waitress to have gotten away from you with all your money.” John’s groan was loud.
“She slipped something in my drink, it was almost two days before I woke up. She was long gone, and I had to get back to you boys.” Sam grunted to acknowledge John’s statement. And then he sank down into his thoughts. Sam wasn’t sure how much more of this his ass was going to be able to take. Even if John had eased up, it was still Sam’s first damn time, he couldn’t go like he was some sort of professional who had all kinds of valuable knowledge tucked away to sooth the ache that would soon be growing in Sam’s ass. Sam felt John move then, before he pulled away.
“You feel like pizza?” The question was so out of the blue that Sam rolled over and propped himself up on his elbow before he answered. “I mean yeah, sure. But…” Sam’s words trailed off as John turned back and looked down at him.
“Well, we’re probably gonna have to do this a few more times, and I ain’t been eighteen for a long goddamned time. I need a break, and some food. Go get cleaned up,” John paused as he turned and grabbed a tube of ointment from off the countertop, “and spread that around down there. You’ll thank me if we end up doing this the ten damn times.” Sam blushed profusely, not quite sure why he did. Was it because his father was giving him advice so that he could get fucked only God knew how many more times or was it that after having had his cock up his own son’s ass, John still couldn’t bring himself to say the words. But Sam didn’t feel like fighting, so he rolled out of the bed, grabbed the tube of ointment, and went into the bathroom.
The hot water felt good on Sam’s skin, washing away all of the evidence that he and John had engaged in any of the godforsaken activities that had just occupied their time for the last couple of hours. Sam gingerly examined his hole, noting that it was definitely puffy, but otherwise not painful. A little sore, but he had most certainly been hurt worse riding his damn bike when he was a kid. But Sam did cringe as he thought about the truth that he was stubbornly clinging on to. The one that would destroy everything. The one that would leave his life in such a state of turmoil, it would be a goddamned miracle if John didn’t toss him naked into the street.
But Sam would also like to limit the number of times that he ended up having to fuck his father, so with more courage than he was sure he actually had access to he made up his mind. He would say it. Just tell John. Because if it was the truth that would end this nightmare, allow Dean to wake up healthy and whole, then Sam would do it. Worst case scenario, he was leaving for Stanford in a little less than a week anyway, he would just leave a bit earlier than anticipated. But then he would lose any remaining time with Dean. But goddammit, he needed this to end. One way or the other.
Sam turned off the water and then toweled himself dry. He generously applied the ointment that John had given him, and it must have had some sort of pain relief agent in it, because Sam’s asshole was definitely tingling after having applied it. He put on the boxers and t-shirt that John had placed on the counter by the sink while Sam was in the shower. Sam hung up his towel and then opened the door, just as John was closing the motel room door, the pizza having arrived while Sam had gotten cleaned up. Sam looked around the room and saw that the bedding had been changed, that Dean was still as he was, but a lot less pale. Sam looked up as the pizza box hit the kitchen table. “Go ahead and eat. I’m gonna get cleaned up. Lay down when you’re done, take a nap.” John turned without another word, closing the bathroom door behind him.
Sam ate three slices, washing it all down with a can of Orange Crush. Sam smiled to himself, not believing that John would even remember a small detail like that. But he had, so Sam felt some small hope that this might not be a totally worthless endeavor. Sam saw that his toothbrush and toothpaste had been moved to the kitchen sink, so he quickly brushed his teeth and then headed to bed. Wondering at just how cold of a shower that John must be taking. The water had been running for twenty minutes already, and Sam had most definitely used almost all of the hot water during his turn in the bathroom. Just then the water turned off, so Sam went to the bed and slid under the covers. Wanting to keep things on an even keel for as long as possible until he was no longer in the position of needing to take John’s cock up his ass. Sam could hear the bathroom door open, hear the chair scrape against the tile floor, listened as John cracked open a beer, and then heard the intermittent chewing that was broken up by the downing of several swallows of beer at a time. Sam was just drifting off when he heard John begin to brush his teeth. Wondering when that had become such an obsession with him.
Sam woke to find a strong arm around his waist, and a hard cock pressed into the crack of his ass. Sam shifted and looked over his shoulder and saw John’s eyelids flutter open, staring at him with fuzzy brown eyes for a moment, before he rolled out of bed and went into the kitchen to prepare the brew. Sam sat up, did a quick check-in with his body, and then rolled out of bed and went into the bathroom, relieving himself quickly, before he washed his hands and went back out into the kitchen. John handed Sam a glass and at his look, shook his head. “Can’t piss with a hard-on.” Sam filed that knowledge away for later examination, and then heard John recite the invocation once more. Sam and John drank down the brew, and Sam went to his knees almost as soon as he had swallowed it all down. John was swaying unsteadily on his feet, but he helped Sam up and they made it to the bed together. It was a struggle to get out of their clothes, but they finally managed. John had the lube in his hand when Sam lay down on his back in front of John, spreading his lean legs wide.
Sam closed his eyes for a moment, as John’s lube covered fingers began to work him open once more. When he opened them, John was staring right at him, that damn look on his face that Sam had always found so fucking annoying, the ‘I know you’re keeping something from me’ look. Sam could only continue to take in the deep, calming breaths that were the only thing keeping the brewing panic attack at bay. Knowing that he was about to shatter his reality into a thousand million little pieces, with just a few words. Sam was so lost in his thoughts, that he failed to note that John had replaced his fingers with his cock, until John’s arms were sliding under Sam, pulling him up so that he was sitting astride John’s lap. Sam’s arms went around John’s broad chest, as John slid one hand up to hold the back of Sam’s head, and one hand down to wrap around a hip. “Something you want to say to me, Sam?” Sam could feel his entire world shatter at that moment. But he knew he had to say it. To save Dean.
“I love Dean.” The words fell out of Sam’s mouth and seemed to get lost in the space between them. Sam could see the perplexed look on John’s face, as he tried to work out why Sam would be so ashamed of saying he loved the brother that was his literal everything. But all John did was raise one dark eyebrow and proceeded to stare into Sam’s fearful hazel eyes as he continued to work Sam slowly up and down his cock. “John, I love Dean. As in, I want to do this with him.” John stilled for just a moment, as it all clicked into place, but then his arms tightened around his youngest and he began to thrust up and into the perfectly pliable pucker. John’s breathing was getting harsher with each thrust, when his eyes opened back up to see the tears that were streaming down Sam’s cheeks. The fear that was rolling off of him was like a living thing, moving to occupy every free inch of space around them. John’s words were soft, so soft that Sam almost missed them.
“I know, Sam. I’ve known for a long time.” Sam can’t help the sharp gasp that that declaration causes, and when John’s hand wraps around his cock, and moves with such expert precision, it is all Sam can do not to scream as his release is ripped out of him. John’s hips are stuttering, and then Sam feels yet another load of his father’s come shoot deep into his fluttering channel. John’s arms tighten around Sam and draw him near, as John’s chapped lips find Sam’s, velvet rough tongue licking inside, claiming him in every possible way. Sam doesn’t even try to resist, needing this moment of comfort, just wishing that it had been Dean instead of John. After a minute, John pulls back and then eases them down to the bed, his softened cock slipping free of his child’s body. Sam wants to curl up and die, in the worst way, but John won’t let him turn away.
“Sam, I meant what I said. I’ve known. But I also know you obviously didn’t do anything about it. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been so freaked out at the prospect of my cock up your ass. And I think that part of the reason you want to go to Stanford is to eliminate the temptation. Right?” Sam looks deep into the whiskey-brown eyes that have clearly seen so much more than Sam ever thought they were capable of seeing, and he just can’t believe it.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” The soft words can barely be heard in the near silence of the room. But Sam can see the rueful smile on John’s lips.
“Have you met me? I’m not a real big fan of the whole talking thing. Besides, it’s not like it would have changed anything, except maybe made it worse.” John’s heartfelt sigh washes over Sam as his broken sobs finally begin to fade away. He leans his forehead against his father’s, trying to draw some comfort in any way that he can.
“Are you going to tell him?” Sam watches John carefully while he debates with himself.
“No, it’s not my secret to tell.” John’s hand moves up to cup Sam’s jaw then, holding him so that he can’t possibly turn away. “You can’t run from something like this. It will eat you alive. I know what the world says, I know what the law says. And I also know what we just did together to save Dean, knowing full well what the world would say about that as well. So, it’s not like it would be my fondest wish to see you two together like that, but I also know that with the life we lead, we’re the only ones that we have.” Sam is certain he must look absolutely stunned. But then a thought crosses his mind.
“Did you really mean that, with the spell and all…” Sam can’t even finish asking, fearing that the answer might force them to start this all over again.
“Sam, I meant every word. My whole life, I’ve only ever wanted to see you happy. And this would make you so incredibly happy.” Sam can’t even begin to believe this turn of events. Can’t understand how it’s even possible. But before he can ponder it any further, they both turn as they hear the sharp inhalation come from Dean’s bed. They both turn to see Dean roll away from them, cough, and then lapse into soft snoring.
With a soft sigh, John straightens up and then pulls himself free of the tangle of Sam’s long limbs. “Go get cleaned up. We can deal with this tomorrow.” Sam stumbled into the bathroom in a daze and hurried through his shower. Barely even feeling the water as it washed away all of the proof of his many sins. When Sam was done, he toweled off, and got dressed quickly. Exiting the bathroom to find the room set to rights once more. John quickly slipped into the now empty bathroom. Sam went over to the beds, knowing he should crawl in with Dean, knowing that Dean would expect it since they were sharing a room with John. But as Sam stood there, staring down at the object of his heartfelt desires for so damn long, he knew he needed to have one last night with John. Being held secure in the powerful arms of the man who only wanted him to find his happiness and joy.
When John exited the bathroom and saw Sam standing there, he paused for a moment, before gently asking, “Sam? What’s wrong?” Sam could only shake his head before he held out his arms, asking to be held in the only way that he could. John reached up and ruffled his shaggy hair before he crawled into the bed and then motioned for Sam to join him. Sam felt the strong limbs surround him and couldn’t hold back his tears. They fell silently, but John still knew. Sam felt the soft kiss get pressed to the back of his neck, then the words, “If Dean asks, you slept with me because we weren’t sure if he would be ok sharing a bed. Ok?” All Sam could do was nod. Thankful that John was willing to help keep his secret, until Sam was ready to reveal it.
*****
February 7, 2019 – The Bunker
John hadn’t actually meant to explore the bunker, while Sam and Dean were out getting supplies so that Mary could make her world-famous Winchester Surprise. Mary had been busy getting the table set, when she had sent John to grab some supplies from one of the bunker storage rooms, but John had gotten turned around, and now he was opening every door he found, in a vain effort to please the woman he loved. As John opened one door, flicked on the light to see that it was a bedroom, and was going to leave again, something caught his eye. On the rim of the sink in the room was a cup that held two toothbrushes. Otherwise, the room only had a bed and a rather large linen closet. John opened the closet and found multiple sets of sheets, that if John had to bet, he would say that they would only fit this bed, this bed that was larger than any of the other beds that he had found as he had wandered from room to room.
John smiled to himself. Knowing that while others might be appalled, he could rest assured that his boys had found a way to be happy.
And in the end, that was all that really mattered, wasn’t it?
The End