Body and Soul Pt. 1
Author: Linda Atkinson
Fandom: Supernatural
Parings: John/Bill Harvelle, John/Demon (non-con not explicit), John/Dean
Rating: FRAO
Warnings: Major AU. John and Dean are not related so no incest. M/M sex, some violence
Summary: John is pursued by a Demon in his dreams who turns out to be a lot closer than
he suspects.
Many thanks to Sioux-Sioux for the beta on the story.
The windows were salted and so was the door. He had drawn a devil's trap on the vinyl tiles at the doorway, so John Winchester was reasonably sure that no demons were getting across the threshold tonight. He was tired, a bone-deep weariness that came from too long hours hunting and not enough time sleeping. The motel was cheap and it showed in the mattress, lumpy and sagging especially with Bill Harvelle's big body right in the middle of it. John grunted and poked Bill in the ribs. The big man grumbled under his breath and shifted allowing the smaller man in, and John Winchester was not a small man so that spoke of just how big Bill really was.
The room was chilly but John didn't mind, sleeping with Bill was like curling up around a blast furnace. Yep Bill got John hot and bothered in many different ways. Slipping out of his boxers John slid onto the reasonably crisp sheets that smelled a little too much like industrial strength bleach and pressed his back against Bill's back, wincing a little when the hair on the larger man crinkled against his smoother skin. Bill chuckled.
"You always do that John-boy."
"Do what?" John snapped, and if Bill took any offense at John's tone it didn't show in his voice. He rolled over draping one forearm over John's thighs working his huge hand between and gently squeezed John's balls between his thumb and fingers. John grunted and Bill stoked over John's already hardening cock.
"Need a hand getting to sleep?" Bill said snickering at his own joke. John rolled his eyes and flopped back letting the other man's hand work him until his back arched and his hips jumped off the bed.
"Just ride me, Bill, and let's go to sleep."
Bill didn't wait to be asked twice. He rose up shoving his knees between John's legs and pressed their cocks together. Humming in the back of his throat he let out a gasp and rocked them both to orgasm in a few minutes. John sighed after he came, nothing better than a good fuck to get a man to sleep at night.
They didn't kiss each other. Not that John had objections to kissing another man. It was Bill's unwritten rule; he saved the kissy stuff for his wife. John didn't object to that either. Just because they were fucking didn't mean they had to get mushy about it. Bill pulled the towel he had placed on the end of the bed and wiped them both down. John was already dozing when Bill brushed his lips over the smaller man's cheek. John put his palm on Bill's face and pushed.
"Cut it out."
"Yeah, I love you too, honey," Bill snickered again. "You know John; I may be a tad bit drunk."
"You're drunk off your ass Bill; half a bottle of Jack will do that. I'm drunk off my ass too; I just hold my whiskey better than you do."
"Do you think we'd fuck if we were sober?"
John rolled over onto one elbow and sighed not foreseeing getting any sleep in the near future now that Bill wanted to talk. At least he wasn't maudlin and crying about cheating on Ellen like the last time, six months ago. John preferred hunting alone and if he and Bill hadn't run into each other tracking the same werewolf he would be sleeping alone again. But whenever John and Bill found themselves together they wound up in the sack. Even then that was a half a dozen times at best.
"Why don't we give it up?" John asked.
Bill rolled back over to face the other man and looked at him aghast.
"Drinking or fucking?"
"Either or," John said in a pissy tone of voice and crossed his arms over his chest.
Bill looked down right grave now.
John shook his head, and muttered, "Just shut up and let me get some sleep."
"Jeeze, you'd think that a guy who just got banged would be in a whole lot better mood. Good night Gracie."
John groaned and rolled onto his side, facing away from Bill, snuggling down into the too soft pillow. He didn't know exactly what woke him, but sometime later he raised his head listening intently for some vague sound. Then he froze. There was a tapping on the glass window panes. He heard a delicate rap, rap rapping that didn't sound quite normal or natural. John squirmed out from under the bulky body lying next to him and crept to the window. His hand came to rest on the sill and the rough salt crystals bit into his palm. A sing-song voice, almost like a child, carried to his ears and John cocked his head.
Little pig, little pig let me come in,
Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin,
Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in…
John leaned his head against the glass, and the cool pane leeched the heat out of his face. His eyes scanned the parking lot. His huge old GMC pick-up sat beside Bill's Buick in the only two occupied slots in the entire lot. Seemed like he and Bill were the only ones there. The wind picked up a little, whipping a few dried leaves and some old newspaper into the air. Even though the lot was otherwise empty, John still felt uneasy. He normally asked for a second story room, but the hotel was one floor only, and the emptiness of the parking lot made him more nervous not less.
Suddenly a shadow fell across the window and John leapt back. He could see the vague shape of a man standing just outside the glass. The figure was as tall as John, same body type, probably the same weight as John as well. From the back he looked younger though, with short cut hair. Then he turned. Smiling, the man leaned down, but the shadow of the awning blanketed most of his face until he shot forward both palms rattling the glass. His eyes glowed bright amber in the moonlight.
John cried out shooting upright, before he realized that he was sitting in the bed. His heart was pounding in his chest.
"Shit, oh, shit," he muttered.
Bill hadn't even flinched, and John was annoyed. He usually woke up when John had a nightmare. But truthfully Bill had drunk a lot more than John. Not willing to admit that he was scared John decided that he'd wake Bill up and try to talk him into, at least, jerking John off.
"Bill," John hissed and his voice sounded hoarse in his own ears. "Come on, Billy wake up. I'll let you fuck me this time."
Bill didn't move, and now John was seriously annoyed.
"Come on Bill. Wake your fat ass up."
He jerked on Harvelle's shoulder and the big man flopped over. His throat was a mass of ripped flesh, blood clotted black on his chest, matting the blonde hair. John shuffled back on the bed watching Bill's hand jerk as he tried to push himself upright. He raised his head as much as he was able, considering how much of the meat on his neck and shoulders was missing, and grinned.
"You're fucked alright, John-boy," he said as blood bubbled over his lips.
John gasped.
He shot straight up in the bed, hand groping over the covers beside him. The mattress was dipped under him, but only him. There was no one else in the bed. His hand shaking John flicked on the bedside lamp.
John stumbled out of the bed, throat aching. He couldn't breath. There was half a bottle of Jack Daniel's on the dresser and he splashed two fingers into a plastic cup he had gotten out of the bathroom.
Of course Bill wasn't in the bed. Bill was stone cold dead and had been for twelve days. John had salted and burned his body after the werewolf had ripped out his throat. He was on the road back from Harvelle's Roadhouse dropping off Bill's things to his wife Ellen.
John and Ellen had never gotten along; it was hard for a man to look a woman in the face when he was occasionally sleeping with her husband. And John suspected that Ellen knew about him and Bill, because frankly Bill couldn't keep his mouth shut, and he had blathered to John that he thought that he had once called Ellen "John" when they were screwing. Just fucking great. Everybody and his brother probably knew about it now. And John had to look at the girl when he dropped the boxes off with her mother. So he was in a shitty mood, and just drove as far as he could until the needle in the gas gauge had dropped to E and he had to stop for gas.
That meant that he was in some crappy little dive in Nebraska and who the hell decided that Nebraska should be a state and that it should have absolutely fucking nothing in the whole damn place but grass and prairie dogs and god forsaken empty roads. But this little patch of heaven that he was holed up in, feeling sorry for himself, had three things in its favor. It was on the highway, out of state, it had a reasonably clean, dumpy little hotel that had a second story and half way decent TV reception, and there was a tavern and gas station across the street. John looked at the clock; it was a quarter past six. At least he had gotten five hours of sleep, which was more that he'd had in a while.
A thin line of amber was crawling across the horizon, and John stumbled into the bathroom for a shower. He had forgone shaving and brushed his teeth. He could see that the IHOP was open as he dressed, and gathered his few dirty clothes into a pile to deal with that afternoon. Pulling a coat on John fished his room key out of an ashtray sitting on the dresser and picked up his wallet. He hiked across the parking lot to the diner and found a place at the counter. The news was on TV at the end of the counter and John focused on the reporter when the broadcast cut to Blue Bonnet.
"Hey," John said flagging down a waitress as she topped off coffee at the table next to his seat. "Can you turn that up a little?"
"Sure, honey," she said snapping her chewing gum.
John winced, he had quit smoking because just about every damn place had made it illegal to smoke inside, and maybe they should have made it illegal to chew gum too. But she did turn up the sound enough that he could follow what was being said.
A tall, fortyish looking woman in a tan suit was standing in front of the burned out remains of a house. The still smoldering wreckage looked like one of a row of track homes in a normal looking neighborhood in some backwater little Nebraska town. She turned to the camera and John could swear he saw a gleam in her eyes. Not demon gleam just twisted-sister gleam. How did that old song go…it's interesting when people die. John felt disgusted.
"…fire was first reported as accidental, but the police are reassessing that issue since the child has been reported missing. Once again the police have confirmed that there are two dead in this house fire in Blue Bonnet, the third fire in the past year. The dead are listed as Jack and Kelly Callahan. Their six month old son, David, is listed as missing. Back to you Dan…"
She smiled at the camera, and John thought, "Bitch" rather uncharitably since he really didn't know her. But it seemed as if John was not done in Nebraska just yet.
He was sitting at the bar in O'Malley's Tavern that evening with his back to the pool table drinking tequila when he noticed that the room seemed to still around him. The buzz from the crowd grew a little quieter and the waitress shuffling between tables came to a complete halt staring at the door.
He walked into the room as easy as you please, at a rolling stroll that looked a little too practiced to be natural, in John's opinion. But he had John's attention just as much as everybody else in the room. He was as tall as John, and about the same weight with brush cut honey blonde hair, short and neat, and maybe a dozen years younger than John's forty. He moved easily between the tables with only the slight swish of denim on denim and the creak of his brown leather jacket. Maybe John only noticed him because he looked like Mary. He twisted his wedding ring around his finger, a nervous habit he never seemed to stop over the past twenty years since she had died.
The table of young college girls getting sloppy drunk and looking to get laid made a few nasty remarks toward the newcomer's direction that John thought girls would never make, but the young man just flicked a grin in their direction and kept walking. He moved past the pool table and thumped down on the barstool next to John's.
"Any good," he asked nodding at the glass in John's hand. John shrugged.
"As good as any, I guess," John said.
The kid had the look and feel of another hunter. They always seemed to be able to feel each other out. It was how John had met Bill Harvelle. The younger man smiled, and waved at the bar tender.
"Fix me up with the same," he said making a stabbing gesture with one finger in the general direction of the glass in John's hand. He leaned back stretching his back until it cracked and it almost brought a grin to John's face. He had the habit of doing the same thing. The kid looked over at him and offered his hand, "Dean Jackson."
John cocked his head, and then shook. "John Winchester."
Dean took a sip of the tequila then nodded at the window. "You from around here, John?"
"No, just passing through."
"Yeah, I'm on my way to some little hellhole called Blue Bonnet," Dean said. "I've got some business down there."
"I was heading that direction myself," John said, and he knew then that Dean was a hunter probably checking out the same demon John was tracking. Dean spun around on the stool and thumped his booted foot against the leg of the pool table.
"You play pool, John?"
John did grin then. If the kid thought he was going to hustle John Winchester at pool he was ill informed at best, stupid at worst. But looking at Dean, John had a feeling the kid was anything but stupid. Lucky for Dean he was feeling charitable right now.
"Been known too, but I'm kinda tapped out at the moment."
"I don't play for anything as mundane as money, John."
"Is that so?" John said waiting for the punch line. When it was not forthcoming he finally sighed. "What do you play for?"
Dean leaned forward, letting his hand rest on John's thigh just a little too high to be friendly camaraderie.
"If I win I get to fuck you."
John sat back, both intrigued and offended. Did the kid think he was easy?
"How do you know I swing that way, Dean?"
"If you don't now, I guarantee I can make you."
Dean grinned at him, and slid his hand up until his thumb bumped against John's groin. John felt a shiver crawl up his spine. He threw out his chest a little; the damn smug bastard knew exactly what he was doing.
Swallowing hard John shrugged.
"What do I get if I win?"
"How about if you win I fuck you?"
John rolled off the bar stool and headed to the rack to help himself to a pool cue. Dean racked the balls. When John stepped past him, he felt Dean's hand on his ass.
"You seem to have a one track mind there, Dean."
"Oh, you have no idea."
They agreed on best three out of five, and John hung in there, losing the first game, but picking up the second and the third. Still he was sure that Dean was playing him, knowing that he was going to get what he wanted whether he beat John or not, and was letting John win. But the last two games went to the younger man. They had drawn a crowd and money was passed back and forth after each man had won. John watched the last ball roll into the side pocket and Dean dropped the cue on the table. He watched as Dean wandered over to the corner and collected a big pile of cash from a group of truckers, and John was annoyed. The kid had obviously bet on himself, and in a big way.
They walked out of the bar together. John saw a classic 1967 Impala parked in the hotel parking lot near his truck and turned to Dean.
"You drive that thing?"
Dean shook his head; he jerked his chin toward the '86 Pick-up that John was driving.
"You've got a thing for muscle on wheels, too."
John flushed when the younger man stoked a hand over his ass again. With a conspiratorial glance around he whispered to John.
"You want to fuck in the backseat of my car? It's plenty big enough."
"Hell no, I gave that up in high school. I prefer my bed, at least the crappy one in the hotel room."
He waited while Dean grabbed his bag out of the car, and followed the older man to the stairs. John ushered the younger man up the steps and unlocked the door. He glanced over his shoulder and watched as Dean crossed the devil's trap without even looking down. He breathed a little easier after that.
Dean took a shower, but John figured he was clean enough. He stripped and pulled the covers down on the bed. The sheets were cold and John shivered pulling the blankets up to his chest. Dean pushed the bathroom door open and hurried across the room, practically diving into the bed. His skin was cold to the touch when he brushed up against John, and John jerked away.
"Jeeze, wasn't there any hot water at all?"
"Not enough apparently, but you can warm me up."
"Who writes your stuff kid, cause that line went out when I was your age. How come you didn't hook up with the college girls? A couple of them had tits that wouldn't quit."
"Don't like college girls but I do like good looking older men. You fit the bill. But I gotta warn you, I don't bottom. You got a problem with that?"
John shook his head. Most men he hooked up with expected him to want to top them, and were surprised to find out that John actually preferred to bottom. With a woman he had the physical high-ground and they both knew it. No surprises about how things were going to go. But with a man he usually looked for someone who just might be able to kick his ass. And then laid back and enjoyed being man-handled, so to speak.
"You can even get a little rough if you want," John said grinning.
Dean returned the grin, and grabbed John's wrists. Pushing his thumb into the flesh just under John's thumb he forced John's hands flat on the bed, and John felt a flash of heat running down his belly to pool in his groin. The kid was a lot stronger than he looked.
John was kind of surprised when Dean leaned in and kissed him, working his tongue into the older man's mouth. He lay back letting Dean blanket him and slowly felt his body warm the other man's skin.
John pushed up trying to work his wrists out of the younger man's grip, but Dean pressed his thumb against the nerve on the underside of John's wrist and John gasped in pain. His hips jerked reflexively off the bed. Dean grinned at him pulling back and hissing,
"So you like that John. Get off on being held down?"
Dean shifted on the bed reaching for the shaving kit he had left on the bedside table, pulling out a bottle of lube and a box of condoms. He rolled the condom on and brushed a little of the lube over it. Releasing John's arms he pushed John's legs apart and stroked the rest of the lube of John's entrance, working two fingers inside. John sighed.
John lay back on the stack of pillows, with Dean between his legs. He reached up grasping the younger man's arms in his hands. Guiding him into a more comfortable position John shuffled down on the bed, and gasped when the younger man sank into him without hesitation.
Dean might have been younger than John but the way he moved spoke of more experience and expertise than John had acquired in his years, particularly since it had only been the past few years since Mary had died that John had gotten back in the saddle again. John just settled back and let Dean work some of his youthful aggression out on him, and he was extremely happy with the results.
Dean sighed and settled onto his back beside the older man. He slid his arm behind John's shoulders urging him closer. John hesitated, and then slid across the few inches between the two men; this touchy-feely stuff was something that he rarely did with another man. But Dean seemed to like pressing his hip and leg against John's side, and John was just on the outside of sleep, and warm enough that he didn't care.
John fell asleep to the sound of gentle even breathing in his ear, and a strong arm thrown carelessly across his chest. John rolled over snuffling in his sleep. He wasn't sure what had awakened him but the body lying next to him was boiling hot. He felt sweat creeping down his chest, pooling at his groin. He shrugged off the younger man's arm staggering to the bathroom to pee. He washed his hands and splashed a little water on his face turning back to the other room with a frown. He wasn't in the habit of picking up strangers in a bar, too many nasty surprises in that. John couldn't even blame it on being drunk, maybe he was missing Mary too much again.
He flicked off the light and bypassed the bed heading for the window. He could see the landing outside beyond the window, and he had salted the door and windows. He brushed the pad of his thumb across the line of rock salt crystals and winced when a drop of blood welled on his skin. The wind had picked up in the parking lot, and he glanced down. His truck was parked adjacent to the big black Impala and the wax gleamed on both vehicles. Dry leaves rustled on the asphalt dancing in the breeze. A faint noise rose above the crinkle and clatter of dried vegetation.
A voice carried to him on the winds, light and child-like but fraught with dark menace.
Little pig, little pig let me come in,
Not by the hair on my chinny, chin chin,
Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in.
John leaned against the glass, letting the coldness of the window pane cool his cheek. Suddenly, a shadow fell across his body, and he jerked but refused to move. A figure was standing on the landing outside the window. He was tall, as tall as John and moved with an insouciant grace, John frowned. He peered out but the street lights were too dim and too far away to light the man's face.
The face was blanketed in shadows. Nothing was showing but his even white teeth. With a jerk of his head his eyes flicked open and he smacked his palms against the glass hard enough to rattle the pane in the window frame. When the yellow eyes pressed forward, the glass melted away and two hands reached in for him.
John shot upright in the bed panting like he had just run fifteen miles. He squirmed over the covers away from the body lying in the bed beside him. Dean groaned and rolled over.
"John, you okay?" he asked his voice thick with sleep. John felt his body go limp.
Dean was up and around the bed in a minute. He draped one hand over the older man's shoulders, John was shivering. Dean nudged him down, pulling the blankets back, and tucking them up under his arms.
"You want something to drink?"
"Look, I'm not a damn kid; I don't need anyone looking after me."
John felt like crap smarting off to the younger man. He was just trying to help. If Dean took any offense at John's tone he didn't show it.
"I know, it's just in our business we all have a few nightmares once in a while." Dean smiled. "I have 'em myself some nights."
"Sorry there's no reason for me to get nasty with you. Thanks, if you want to take off now I'll do okay."
"You're kicking me out?"
"Hell no, but I just though that you might not want to hang around with a deranged lunatic," John said sheepishly, grinning at the younger man.
Laughing Dean settled back down on the opposite side of the bed. "Hell, I would have thought that you'd be worried about the same thing. They don't get much more deranged than me."
At the diner the next morning they settled on working the job in Blue Bonnet together. John preferred solo hunting and it seemed, at least from the way he talked, that Dean was working alone too. But John had developed a liking for the younger man, and the sex was good so he didn't put up much of fight when Dean suggested that he follow the older man to the town, and then they hook up with each other at the first hotel they found. John explained his system of picking the first hotel in the yellow pages and taking a room. Always Room number 16, if he could. If not look for the next consecutive number until Dean hit John's room. Since most hunters, Dean included, worked under the radar it was a commonly used system and easy to remember, no need to worry about remembering names.
Blue Bonnet turned out to be a blip on the map at best. It was a small, dingy looking old town from depression days that looked as if it had been haphazardly built and poorly maintained. The housing tracks on the outskirts of town were the newest construction and they had probably been built twenty or so years ago.
The first motel John could find was a Motel Six just below the exit ramp on the freeway. It was a three-wing two story structure that had a pool in a chain link fence and was across the street from two fast food places, a dirty hole in the wall diner called Granny's Kitchen and a Chevron station. John sighed he had planned on looking for a place downtown but he had sinking feeling that this was downtown.
John pulled into the mostly filled parking lot and pulled his duffle bag out of the cab. Leaning against the side of the truck he glanced at the street and was rewarded by the sight of Dean's Impala turning off the freeway.
The younger man insisted on getting the room, since he had spent the night in John's room the last time. And John didn't feel like making an issue of it. They ended up in the rear wing on the first floor, everything John hated. They were blocked in on both sides and didn't have a clear view of either the parking lot or the street. But with Dean, at least there were two of them. That cut the odds of something jumping them in the sheltered areas of the motel. Of course it also meant they were pretty dependant on each other as well.
Handing John the second key to the room Dean hauled his bag up onto one shoulder and followed the older man to the room. It was just a few minutes past noon, but neither man felt particularly hungry. They let themselves into the room. John spent the first fifteen minutes salting the windows in the room and the bathroom while Dean drew the devil's trap on a piece of paper that could go on the carpet in front of the entrance when they went to bed that night. He left the paper on the dresser and began shuffling through his bag. John barely noticed what the younger man was doing until he saw Dean disappear into the bathroom.
He came out a few minutes later, rubbing a towel over his face and hair. John shrugged out of his jacket and turned on the air conditioner. The room was not too hot now, but when the sun hit the window later that evening it would be stifling.
Settling on the bed Dean began stripping off his boots and socks. John looked up from the notes he was making in his journal and cast a questioning glace at the other man. Dean grinned at him.
"I thought I would try to talk you into a little horizontal recreation."
John stripped down and flopped onto the bed. Dean rolled over, and kissed John. Sliding his hand down he tugged on the hair matting John's chest. John grinned pulling back a little. Dean dropped a kiss on John's breast then slid his tongue along the fine line of soft brown hair to his navel. He spent a few minutes exploring the shallow indent, until John got bossy and pushed his head further down. Dean took a deep breath and engulfed the tip of John's cock in his mouth. John uttered a brief, descriptive curse and thrust his hips up off the bed.
"Come on swing around here so I can reach."
Dean obliged by shuffling around on the bed. John rolled them over until he was resting on his left side, and swallowed the younger man down. Dean gasped around John's cock, and slid his hand up wetting two fingers with spit and pre-come. He dropped his hand to John's ass and pushed the fingers inside. It had to have hurt a little but John never so much as twitched. In fact he grunted once, and the cock in Dean's mouth swelled to even bigger proportions before John shot down the younger man's throat. With a sigh John slid onto his back pulling Dean up and over him. Dean thrust his hips experimentally and when John seemed okay he pushed into the warm heat of John's mouth until he came.
Dean rolled off the bed and headed back into the bathroom. John frowned when he heard the water coming on again. So the kid was obsessed with showering. John sighed he hadn't been getting nearly enough sleep. Muttering under his breath he drifted off.
The wind picked up and the screen on the window was loose. The scraping of the edge of
screen against the frame irritated John and he sat up rubbing his eyes. The sky outside was dark and he was alone in the room. Disgruntled that the younger man had screwed him and left without so much as a goodbye he stumbled out of bed and went to the window. The salt lines were poured neat and undisturbed and Dean had, at least, put the drawing of the devil's trap on the floor in front of the door before he left. Rubbing his eyes John leaned against the window letting the cool glass take the sting out of his cheeks. A sound carried to his ears, a fluid voice light and child-like…
Little pig, little pig let me come in,
Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin,
Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in...
He couldn't see the parking lot from the window so John wasn't sure that Dean had ditched him. Something moved on the sidewalk outside the window. The lone security light on the wall opposite his room was burned out and the lights from the parking lot were too dim for him to clearly see the figure outside the window but John thought it might be Dean. He pressed closer to the glass disgusted with himself for the quickening of his pulse when he thought he recognized the younger man.
Suddenly the figure on the sidewalk whirled and John flinched, the man's face was blanketed in shadow, the only thing he could clearly see where his even white teeth. The man jerked his chin up and his eyes flew open glowing yellow in the pale moonlight. He reared back slamming his hands against the window, the screen peeled away and the glass shook in the frame. John tried to back away, but the glass shattered before he could move and the man's strong hands wrapped around his wrists and pulled him forward. The teeth were not so even this close, they we filed to sharp points and they cut like glass against the skin of his throat.
Crying out John bolted upright in the bed. Pale sunlight streamed through the window behind the blinds. Dean had been sitting in one of the shabby chairs arranged around a Formica topped table by the window. He leaped to his feet when John thrashed his way upright in the bed. Quickly he scurried to the bed and sat down.
"Hey, John…John are you okay? Let me get you some water."
John didn't bother to stop him. He took the glass gratefully and gulped the tepid water down. His hand was shaking. Dean nudged him over and laid his hand on John's thigh.
"That must have been a doozie!" he said with a weak grin, and John flushed embarrassed. He brushed his hand across his cheek and was vaguely horrified when it came back wet. John hoped that he was sweating.
"Yeah, it's a bitch all right. I've been having the same one for the past couple of weeks now. Since my last hunting partner died," John whispered.
He had settled down now and was vaguely ashamed of bothering the younger man with his bad dreams. Dean didn't seem to mind though, and John sighed casting a sideways glance at the other man's face. Dean smiled at him, and John felt some tightness inside him that he wasn't even aware of breaking apart, and warmth spreading through his body. Taking a deep breath John closed his eyes. It was very possible that John was falling in love.
"Oh shit," he thought. "That's the last damn thing I need."
TBC