Title: Paint it Black, 1/9
Pairing: John/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2655
Disclaimer: If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*

Summary: Dean's been keeping secrets. His family's not sure how to deal with that.

A/N: This is a brand new verse that I've been working on for a while. Hope you enjoy! Warning! This chapter has not been beta'd. I make an inordinate amount of mistakes when unsupervised so let me know if I did anything really stupid. LOL...

Chapter One

Seven years ago

It was usually Dean's job to check the first aid kit, something John insisted was done before every hunt. Despite some recent teenage angst, the kid was good at it and the kit always met John's approval whenever they needed to use it or during his infrequent spot checks. Everything was clean and packed in the neat, precise way he wanted. So on a normal day, John didn't even touch the thing and even his spot checks had eventually fallen by the way side. But today, Caleb had shown up with cracked ribs and a dislocated shoulder. John reset the shoulder and grabbed the first aid kit to give him some painkillers. But when he opened the large bottle of OxyContin, he found it half empty. He paused and stared inside, trying to figure out where the rest of the pills were. He'd just gotten the damn thing a month ago and no one had been injured in the interim.

"Somethin' wrong, Sarge?"

John put away his concern over the pills and tried to refocus on Caleb.

"Uh, no," John said and he shook a few out into his hand and gave them to the younger man. "Take one every twelve hours. Do not chew 'em."

"What happens if I chew 'em?"

"You get high, do some stupid shit and wake up in even more pain. Probably in an alley with a lampshade over your head and your dick missin'."

"Ah. No chewing then," he said as he took the water bottle John offered him and washed down the pill, slightly amused by his former CO's hyperbole. He did seem to get the point, though.

"You sure you don't have a concussion?"

"Yeah. What? You don't think the cracked ribs and busted shoulder are enough?"

John snorted softly. "Just relax. Try to get some shut eye 'til your partner comes back. Best thing for an injury."

Caleb insisted on leaving a few hours later when his current hunting partner returned from his errands. John wasn't sure that was a very good idea, but he needed to figure out what the hell was going on with the drug supply without an audience. Besides, the guy Caleb had partnered with was driving so he should be able to get some rest on the road. The boys wouldn't be home for another hour or two, so John erased all traces of Caleb's visit. He didn't want to tip his hand in any way.

Even thought it was hard to wrap his mind around, John had to at least logically accept that one or both of the boys was probably behind the disappearance of the Oxy. Selling just one pill would earn some nice pocket money. It was either Dean or it was both of them. Dean would have noticed by now if Sammy was skimming the pills and put a stop to it. Unless it had been since their last hunt. Or Dean simply hadn't checked how full the bottle was beforehand. But the latter was so unlike Dean that he dismissed it out of hand.

However it was happening – if it was happening – one was easier to deal with than two. And Dean, as a general rule, had been the easier of the two since around the time Sammy turned twelve.

So, instead of dropping Sammy off at school the next morning John took him to Blue Earth. Kid bitched a blue streak the entire way. John had never seen a fourteen year old put up such a fuss about being allowed to skip out on a Friday at school, but his Sam was one of a kind. Thank God. He made it back from Jim's just in time to intercept Dean on his way to pick Sam up.

"Sam's hanging with friends this weekend, kiddo."

Dean narrowed his eyes at John as he settled into the front seat. "You let him go?"

"Yeah. They're trustworthy. You know me… checked 'em out front to back. So it's just you and me."

"Great."

"Don't sound so happy." He was met with sullen silence as his oldest slumped in the seat and stared out the window. "You used to love gettin' some one on one time with the old man."

More silence. John sighed. He hated it when Dean got like this. Reminded him of the way the boy had been the year after Mary died. A silent Dean usually meant a withdrawn Dean. That was never, never a good thing.

Dean didn't go for the first aid kit until Saturday night about an hour after John had gone to bed. He was lying in the dark staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep for the second night in a row, when he heard the unmistakable sound of the metal box being pulled from the top of the medicine cabinet. Even as his heart was breaking to realize that he'd been right and his boy was stealing their drugs, he was still more than a little impressed with his patience and skill. He hadn't actually heard Dean moving, even in the silence of the house and the sound of the kit being moved wouldn't have been enough to wake him. If John hadn't been paying attention the boy would have gotten away with it. It made him wonder what else Dean had gotten away with because he didn't think he needed to pay attention.

He crept out of his room and stood in the hall outside the bathroom. Dean went stock still, but didn't look at him.

"Dad."

"Son."

"How'd you know?" The boy finished refilling the bottle, all attempts at stealth abandoned, and put it back in the kit. John had been expecting him to take more out, but it made sense that Dean would put back what he'd taken. He wouldn't want John to find out. If Caleb had never come, John wouldn't have found out at all. A cold chill ran up his spine at the realization.

"Suspected," John said vaguely. Dean didn't need to know how close he'd come to getting away with the whole damn thing. "Didn't know for sure. Hoped like hell I was wrong."

"What happens now?" Dean put the kit away but still wouldn't turn to face John.

"I don't know. You broke my trust and that's a serious issue. Son, if you needed cash, all you had to do was come to me. We coulda worked somethin' out."

"Cash?"

"Sellin' drugs is a damn dangerous thing to do. And unlike all the illegal things we do to get by, there ain't no way to justify it."

"You think I'm sellin'?"

John's train of thought came to a screeching halt. He didn't want it to make sense, but it did. The irritableness, the mood swings, the short temper, the introversion. The days when he didn't even recognize his own son. Suddenly he felt like the biggest damn fool in the world because now… now it was as obvious as if it had been written in blinking neon lights. And still part of him couldn't believe it. "You've been… you've been using them?" Even to his own ears, John sounded as lost as he felt.

"Fuck," Dean hissed, rubbing at his forehead. "I need to be high for this."

Before John could register what he was doing, Dean dug a pill out of his pocket, popped it in his mouth and started to chew. John moved forward, purely on instinct because his brain was refusing to function, and grabbed Dean by the arm.

"Dean!" He shook the boy hard enough to rattle his teeth. "Spit that out right the fuck now!"

Instead of obeying, the boy swallowed, staring at John with equal parts fear and defiance. John felt like he was in some nightmare version of his life. How the hell had he let things come to this? He knew he wasn't the greatest father in the world, but damn it he thought he was doing better than this. At least with his oldest.

"Dean… what…"

He watched helplessly as the drugs hit the boy's system. He wavered on his feet and John, still acting solely on instinct, pulled him against his chest to keep him steady, one hand cupping the back of the boy's head. Dean was nearly his height now, only about an inch shy, and his breath was hot and moist against John's neck. He tried to ignore the shivering it sent down his spine.

"'M sorry, Dad," the boy slurred out, his voice sounding heavy like he'd just awakened from a deep sleep. "'M sorry 'm broken. Don't know how I got like this."

"Dean. You can't… you can't keep doing this."

"Smell so good, Daddy. Why the hell you always gotta smell so goddamned good?"

Dean was clinging to him now, pressed against him in a way that was suddenly uncomfortably intimate, and something dark and forbidden was stirring in his gut. Something he thought he'd put an end to long ago. John's panic turned into full on horror and he manhandled Dean into the shower stall, only the strength of his grip keeping the startled boy on his feet, and turned on the cold water full blast.

Dean flailed and sputtered. "Sonovabitch! The fuck! Dad!"

Once the boy's flailing turned to shivering, John pulled him out. He already felt guilty. He sighed, mentally preparing himself for the task of getting his boy warm and dry.

"Take off your clothes, Dean."

Dean, who was already looking at him with an expression full of hurt and betrayal, went wide eyed and blushed. "What? No."

"You'll catch cold."

The kid gave him a scowl that might have given anyone else a moment's pause. But he'd gotten it from the man he was currently trying to use it on. "Yeah. 'Cause some asshole gave me an ice cold shower. Don't act like you care now."

"Dean!"

"No!"

"Look… you wouldn't have liked where that was goin', okay?" John stopped and took a deep breath. Maybe he was the one who should have taken the cold shower in retrospect. "If it helps, I do feel like an asshole. But what's done is done."

Dean snorted. "Apology not accepted."

"Fair enough. Clothes off, now Dean." Dean didn't answer, just folded his arms, looking for all the world like a stubborn two year old. John was an inch away from melting into a helpless pile of parental goo, seeing him like this. Remembering the child he used to be. "It's nothin' I haven't seen before, son," John finally said in a softer tone.

"Don't remind me."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? "I need to get you dry and warm. Now, Dean!"

Finally, reluctantly, Dean undressed and left his clothes in a sodden pile. John dried him off briskly with the last clean towel, trying to warm him up. He ignored the fact that the boy was half hard. Or tried to. Tried to ignore the way the sight of it made his pants feel tighter and his mouth water. Tried to ignore the sudden desire to know what the boy tasted like. Dean was blushing furiously and he suspected the poor kid was mortified over his body having a mind of its own.

"It's alright, kiddo. Hard ons happen. Hell, a gentle breeze is enough to set you off at your age. Sexual peak and all."

Dean didn't respond other than to pull away and stumble down the hall to his room. John followed him, watched him from the doorway as he pulled on sweats and a pair of thick white socks. The boy had a perfect ass. Was there any part of him that wasn't beautiful? John pushed that from his mind. This was a serious situation… he need to stop being a damn perv and be his boy's father.

"You gotta stop takin' the drugs, son."

Fear and desperation flickered through the kid's face before he put on a mask of defiance. "'M eighteen. I can do what I want."

John laughed. Mostly because eighteen was so fucking young. If the kid only knew. "Yeah, but you can't do whatever you want here."

"What're you sayin'?"

"My house, my rules. You don't wanna live by my rules, you can't live in my house."

Dean set his jaw. It was an expression that John was much more used to seeing Sammy wear. But through all that defiance, he could see that the boy was actually terrified. "Fine."

He stood up, wavered on his feet a second before regaining his balance, and stalked to the closet. Angrily, he pulled out his duffle and started throwing things into it. John felt a thrill of panic in his gut. "What the hell do you think you're doin'?"

"You said I had to leave."

"That's not what I said."

"You said I either had to follow your stupid rules or leave."

"Well… fuck what I said… you don't get to leave."

"So I can keep taking 'em?"

"Hell no! Stop packing, Dean."

Dean didn't stop stuffing things haphazardly into his bag. John took two long strides into the room and grabbed him by the arms. Dean tried to flinch away but John wouldn't let him go.

"Did you hear me boy? I'm not gonna lose you."

"But… I can't." Dean bit his lip and tried to blink away tears. The boy looked miserable.

"You can't what?"

"I can't do it," he said in a small, hopeless voice that felt like a knife in John's heart. "I don't think I can stop."

"You have to. We'll do it together. We can do anything together, right?" There was no answer. He could still feel Dean trembling under his hands and cursed himself all over again for the cold shower stunt. He pulled the boy against him and rubbed his back, trying to warm him up, nuzzling the side of his face gently. "It's late and you're cold and definitely still fucked up. Sleep, okay? If you still wanna leave, you can do it tomorrow."

"You'd let me?"

"No," John answered honestly as he gently maneuvered the boy to his bed.

"You just said…" The boy's voice trailed off with a frustrated sigh.

"Sleep, son." He pushed his son into bed and covered him, tucking him in like he used to when Dean was small. "Just sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN

Two weeks ago…

Dean looked like hell when Sam opened to door at the insistent knocking. The shock of seeing his bother bruised and scratched like that was even greater than seeing him there at all.

"You got a first aid kit, Sammy?" Dean asked without preamble, limping his way inside the small apartment.

"Uh, yeah." Sam was slightly hurt by his brother's abruptness. But the man was hurt, that was obvious enough. "Are you… where's Dad?"

"Maine, last I heard."

"What? Did you leave him?"

"No… just… separate hunts. Not that I'm not just dyin' to catch up," he said in a tone that said he wasn't, "but can we have this meet and greet after I get cleaned up and catch a few z's?"

"Oh, yeah. It's right in the bathroom. I'll help you."

"No!" He said too fast, looking panicked. He blinked and seemed to realize that he'd over reacted. "I mean… I can handle it. Just… I need some clean clothes."

"Sure. What happened to your bag?"

"It's… I had to leave it behind. Dad'll probably pick it up."

"Yeah I got some clothes you can use."

Dean seemed to really look at him for the first time and blinked. "Damn, Sammy. Did you get taller?"

Sam shrugged and looked down. He thought he would feel better about being taller than his big brother now. But really, it just felt wrong somehow. Dean was supposed to be bigger. "A couple of inches."

Dean just snorted and shook his head, muttering "fucking sasquatch" under his breath as he limped into the bathroom.