The Shape of Things to Come Pt 1

by Linda Atkinson

The final showdown between the Winchesters and the YED ends differently than John thought. He lives with the consequences. John/Dean slash. Violence, rape, domestic abuse, drug use.

1. Chapter 1

The Shape of Things to Come. Pt 1

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Demon Dean/John

Rating: FRAO

Warnings: Darkfic. Rape mentioned but not explicitly portrayed. Out of character behavior. Violence. Coerced sex. Drug use. Attempted suicide. Character Death, no happy endings in this one.

Summary: Demons are slowly taking over the world. John lives with the results of his obsession.

Thanks once again to Sioux_Sioux for beta on the story.

It was dim in the penthouse apartment. The twilit skies were awash with pink and purple clouds as the rain cleared away for the first time in days. That had been one of the hardest things for him to get used to, the new climate. Apparently demons loved cooler weather. Of course, it was a minor thing very small compared to the other things that had happened. Some of them so chilling that John Winchester shuddered, involuntarily, and tried to blot them out of his mind. Sighing he wandered over to the large leather sofa and clicked on the television. The news was a far cry from the free-press, first amendment newscasts of only a year ago. The demon controlled press was more guarded in reporting

events especially if they involved the demonic take-over going on. He winced as the red-eyed, slightly out of focus face of the demon newscaster flickered onto the screen, even his Armani suit and oh so tasteful tie couldn't detract from his overt alienness. Not for the first time John wished that he could not see the demon for what he really was.

"Alienness?" John thought to himself distractedly. "Was that even a word?"

John tried to focus on the more familiar and comforting appearance of the human woman sitting beside the demon. Shifting he let the cool silk of the pajamas he wore distract him for a moment. Designer label whisper soft silk, only the most expensive and best could clothe him now, Dean made certain of that. John shuddered again. Dean would be home in a little while, ready for dinner, talk and later sex. John had almost gotten used to the homey lie that his life had become and that made him shiver again. Dean had once told him to just "get over it." He carefully pulled the black silk sleeves over his arms and the not quite faded red welts that crossed each wrist, thick bands of scar tissue. He had tried to "get over it" once, but Dean had kept John from it.

Now he didn't try anymore. He couldn't anyway they had the power to heal. He supposed he had just given up. John was restless, bored. He didn't work anymore. God forbid that the 'domestic partner' of the almighty Dean Winchester should sully himself with common work. He had his charity-work he supposed. Political stuff Dean wanted him to do, so they looked more normal. With an aggravated sigh John walked over to the huge mahogany desk, so highly polished that it made him wince and sat down. But the flyers for the company's charity events had been finished that morning.

Idly John flipped through the pages of the newspaper. It was a lot thinner than it once had been, and mostly filled with non-descript social news. Since the Demons had began crossing over in larger numbers and infiltrating human organizations the news had shifted from war and terrorism to more mundane things. Most people were still not aware of the fact that demons were taking over the world. But many human/demon hybrids, like Dean, were working their way into high places.

Dean was now one of the wealthiest and most influential men in the United States. John frowned; Dean as a corporate big shot, that was something John had never thought that he would see. But Dean Winchester was one of the Elite. Human hybrids that were much more powerful than full demons, at least, in this physical plane of existence. John winced, his whole life since Mary died had been spent in pursuit of the thing that would ultimately destroy his entire world, taking his sons, his hope and, at times, even his sanity.

There was a soft knock at the wall of the living room, and a figure appeared carrying a tray with a teapot and fragile bone-china dishes. Beside the teapot was a plate of cakes, soft and delectable. Dean made sure that every thing that John touched was beyond compare.

John turned toward the middle-aged woman who settled the tray on the table. She was fairly new to the household, but he remembered seeing her working in the casino beneath the hotel, after he and the boys worked that last and ultimately life-altering job, after they had first arrived in Vegas. "Isabel, you didn't have to bring this in. I'll get dinner when Dean gets home."

"No, Senor John. You haven't eaten all day and Senor Winchester will be very angry with me if you get sick again. You eat this, its good if I say so myself. I made it this morning just for you." She smiled a strained little smile at him. John signed nodding.

"I don't want him to get angry at you either," she added, clucking a little, adjusting the napkin and pouring the sweet tea. John studiously avoided looking at her face, but he felt the heat creeping into his cheeks. He didn't reprimand her. She wasn't blind. She'd seen the bruises.

John finished eating the cakes; the sweet taste of honey washed away by the tea, and pushed the chair back. He poured more tea out of the pot, blowing on it to cool it. Carefully John picked up a small paper cup and downed the blue tablet in it. Dean kept him supplied with his "medication" and in a few minutes John would be more settled. He glanced at the clock on the wall, a quarter till six; Dean would be coming up from his office downstairs. John tried not to notice that his hand was shaking when he picked up the cup again.

He rose, feeling the movement tug at his hip, and a sharp pain jolted down his left leg. He limped a little when he walked, a reminder of the first night after Dean was changed by killing the demon. The night that John had thought his twenty year hunt was finally over, and the night that, to his horror, he found everything was just beginning. The night that Dean had almost beaten John to death, breaking both his legs in the process, then raped him for the first time…

The Impala sat crushed against the hood of the truck as Dean kicked the door open. Sammy and his Dad lay across the front seat, bleeding and still, but Dean could just make out the shallow rise and fall of their chests as both men drew in weak gasps of breath. He reached over the seat, and John raised his head. Eyes flickering open the older man pushed the gun into his son's hand watching as Dean staggered out of the car, one arm hanging uselessly by his side. John reached out again pushing his fingers gently against Sam's neck, smiling when he felt the thump, thump of his younger son's pulse.

It took more effort than he thought possible but John got the door open, and half-fell half-rolled out of the car. He had to lean against the side of the Impala, keeping one hand on the side, then the hood as he staggered around the car, and followed Dean to where the trucker stood, unmoving in the grass.

The demon possessed trucker grinned, first at Dean and then at John. With a low chuckle he turned on John.

"Remember that old saying about being careful what you wish for, old man? This just might fall under that category. Come on sonny, do what you were meant to do."

John frowned, all this time he had expected Sam to be the one the demon was after, now it looked as if it was Dean he should have been worried about. All those years of carefully guarding his secret and it was nothing but a lie. A hint of doubt crossed John's mind, and he raised a hand trying to catch Dean's attention. Suddenly Dean fired the Colt.

The demon spewed out of the trucker's body in a roiling hurricane. The wind hit Dean swirling around him, bits of black cloud dancing on the wind, not dissipating but molding itself to Dean, sinking into him, changing him.

He stood up, healed, skin firm and smooth and strong, no traces of the life threatening injuries that had riddled his body before. John staggered back, trying to run, but the gunshot wound in his leg slowed him. He flinched in pain, crying out and fell.

Dean was over him in an instant and John shuddered. Dean was completely healed; his face the same as John had always known, but there was a light in his eyes. They didn't go completely yellow like a possessed man's would, but it was there just under the skin. Dean was not right. In a minute John discovered just how wrong things had gone.

With a careless gesture Dean reached out stroking one fingertip down John's jaw, scratching through the rough stubble. John jerked his head away.

"Dean, what's wrong? We've got to get your brother to the hospital, what happened to you? I know how hurt you were."

"I haven't felt better in years, Dad."

Dean pushed his fingers against John's face, turning his head, and then he pulled back. The punch rocked John's head sending him reeling. He tied to crawl away from his son, but Dean moved after him. Kicking and hitting John too many times for the older man to count. He gasped, pain racking his body as he tried to drag himself away.

With a sneer Dean grabbed John by the front of his shirt.

"I was your good little solider, Dad. I never walked out; I did what you wanted, and all the time you just used me to protect Sammy. And when he walked away, you just let him go, but I stayed to watch your back. Do you want to know why I stayed, Dad? It wasn't out of loyalty, not even obedience, and sure as hell not for Mom. I stayed because I loved you. I still love you John. It's just lately that I've come to realize that I loved you in a different way than most men love their fathers. You know why John? Because I want to fuck you. Did you ever think about that? Did you ever think about me wanting to fuck you, John, because you'd better think about it now? And I'm going to keep on fucking you, as long and as hard, and what ever way I want. And you're going to spread your legs and take it or I'll make sure that your precious little baby boy pays for it, got it John?"

His father screamed as Dean's fingers twisted into the gunshot wound in John's leg. He kicked out trying to loosen Dean's hold, but his son's hands were like iron. The sickening sound of bone breaking came to John's ears before the pain even hit him. He writhed on the ground trying to fight, trying to gain some kind of a foothold, a means of escape and it was all for nothing. Dean's hand grasped his left hip, holding him down, foot resting on his shin. The snapping sound seemed far too quiet for all the pain he felt, and John retched. Dean just smiled and rolled him onto his stomach.

When it was over John lay weakly on the ground, too stunned to even cry. His throat was hoarse from screaming, and every inch of his body was alive with pain. It coursed through him like electricity jangling his nerves and making him jitter like a broken puppet. He looked up at his son, standing so calmly, smiling serenely as he fastened the buttons on his jeans.

After a while, John had lost all track of time, Dean came to where he lay. He reached out gentling his father with softly murmured words and light pats. When John had sunk into semi-consciousness Dean tugged on the broken leg, the pain flared like a light bulb coming on and John moaned. In a few minutes he was aware of soft warmth that suffused his body. The leg felt better, experimentally he bent his knee. Dean worked on the other leg, healing the break and the gunshot wound. He fingered John's belly and the warmth spread, seeping into him, and he knew what ever internal injuries he had suffered were healed. Whether he could not or did not, just because he wanted John to still be in some pain, Dean healed the worst of the injuries leaving only the bruising. After he was finished healing most of John's injuries he placed both hands on John's shoulders and pushed a white hot bolt of lightening into him. John didn't realize what Dean had done until much later when he finally was able to look at himself in a mirror. Dean had made John younger, probably no more than forty at the most.

When he had finished with John, Dean turned his attention to Sam. In a few minutes the younger man was sitting by the side of the road in the grass huddled together with his father as Dean checked the semi over to see if it was still operational.

After they made it to town things really began to change. If Dean had been good at hustling pool and cards before the transformation he was fantastically good now. Soon they had more money than they had ever had in their lives. Dean kept making money and investing it in different projects. Soon he owned several businesses, and then the 'business associates' began showing up. John knew what they were immediately, but Dean acted as if they were old buddies. John and Sam kept their mouths shut too scared for each other to make trouble.

Sam had told John that first few weeks had been a sort of nightmare period for him; especially the first time he had actually witnessed his brother raping their father. It almost pushed him over the edge, but they both learned that John suffered more if Sam tried to interfere so he just settled into a kind of numb acceptance and tried to offer John as much comfort as he could. John particularly remembered Dean's smile when he said, "As long as you cooperate John, Sammy will be safe."

They both stopped trying to fight Dean after that.

After John had been subjected to the same treatment again and again he realized that Dean could hurt him and heal him as often as necessary to keep him in line. And if he didn't behave Sammy was there for Dean as well. He supposed he had a nervous breakdown sometime after that, but the pills helped calm him into a drugged equilibrium. Now he didn't try to fight anything Dean did. Sex with his own son was just another part of his existence. He hated himself sometimes when he spread his legs for Dean, but it was better than the pain. And Dean had told him the truth Sammy had always been kept safe so long as John cooperated.

The front door of the apartment opened and Dean strolled in, laughing at something his right-hand man, Kyle, had said. Kyle and Dean were followed by another man, Mike, Dean's driver. Both men were of the large, no neck variety and both had suspicious looking bulges under their jackets. John knew that Kyle was a full demon, but he kept his human appearance in place because John tended to freak out when he let the red-eyes and soft-focus blurring bleed through his human face. John could hear other movement in the hallway as well.

Dean walked over and John flinched a bit when Dean's hand fell on his father's shoulder. John tilted his head back for the obligatory kiss, and Dean's lips fastened over his. John accepted the kiss and Dean smiled at him warmly.

"I'm glad to see you're feeling better, John," Dean said smiling, but it never touched his eyes. With a jovial grin Dean glanced over at Kyle. "Isn't it good to see John feeling better?"

"Yeah boss, it's real good. How are you doing tonight, Mr. Winchester?" Kyle offered John a thin smile, making sure to seem genuinely warm and caring.

"Fucking Demon," John thought. "If I only had some holy water and rock salt."

Dean gripped John's shoulder tight enough to make him wince. And John knew that the thought had bled out. It didn't happen often, but when it did he regretted it immediately. Kyle was smiling broadly now, for the first time looking like he really meant it, eyes glued to where Dean's fingers were digging into John's flesh. John sighed, eyes dropping closed.

"I'm fine, Kyle. Thank you for asking."

Dean released John, chuckling. "What's for dinner, honey?"

"I'm pretty sure Isabel made prime rib, the way you like it," John said stiffly. Dean would make a show of eating the meal with John, but he wouldn't really consume much of the food, saving his appetite for later when he would eat with the demons. And if John wanted to be able to eat dinner he really couldn't think about what they would be feeding on.

John settled in the chair, pulling his plate over. Isabel had really outdone herself with the food. Kyle was standing just inside the door and he looked over as another, younger, man came in the room. John barely glanced up at the newcomer. He was also a demon, but recently crossed into the human plane and he had difficulty keeping his human features in place. John glared at him then settled on trying to ignore the two demons in favor of keeping his dinner down.

The younger man kept his eyes glued on John until Kyle nudged him, none to gently, in the ribs. Finally, he turned to Kyle grinning slyly. "Is the human for us? I'd like to have a go at him one way or another…."

"Whoa," Kyle hissed, "You keep your distance from him. That's the boss's piece of ass you're talking about. We don't touch him for any reason, got it? If he gets upset and you need someone to handle him you get one of the humans, but we don't lay a hand on him."

John blanched at being referred to as Dean's 'piece of ass' but he supposed that was all he really was anymore. Certainly, if Dean hadn't harbored that sick little secret of longing to bed his own father, John would have been dead by his own son's hand almost two years ago.

The younger looking demon, John had no idea if demons actually aged like humans, moved closer to the table and leaned against a chair back. He made a movement as if he intend to touch John and suddenly John lunged from the chair flinging salt from the salt cellar on the demon and muttering, "Christo!"

The demon howled in rage as the salt bit into his skin like acid. John grinned, and Kyle hustled out the dining room door, running to fetch Dean. The younger demon clutched at his face, and John could see the oozing sores where the salt had eaten into his skin. He smiled and sneered.

"You were warned about touching me. You should have listened."

With a snarl the demon lashed out, grabbing John by the wrist. Jerking hard he laughed when the bone in the human's arm cracked. John cried out trying to pull free, but the demon closed the distance between them laughing as if he was enjoying the fight. John jerked his arm away.

"Two years ago you wouldn't have been laughing when I walked into the room," John said angrily.

The demon tilted his head back. "Two years ago you wouldn't have made it into the room."

The demon closed the distance between them again, one hand working itself under John's shirt. John bit back a whimper when the demon's claws bit into the skin of his chest. With a snarl the demon pulled John forward closing his lips over John's mouth. John bit him, and the demon slapped him hard enough to send John sprawling. He pulled back as if he intended to kick John and the human huddled trying to protect his belly and groin. Quickly, the young demon reached down, ripping the black silk shirt, baring John's chest.

"First I'm going to fuck you and then I'm going to rip the skin off your bones while you're still alive. Got that?"

John glanced up, then caught sight of Dean standing in the door way. Dean was frowning, still trying to take in the sight of one of his men, face ruined, standing over his father's prone form and John disheveled and breathing hard lying on the floor. Finally, he came over taking John by the arm.

"What happened?"

His grip tightened until tears sprang into John's eyes. His fingers dug into the skin of John's bicep and blood leaked through the silk shirt. John cried out.

"Haven't you been told not to throw things in the apartment?" Dean shook John making him whimper.

"He touched me, he said he was going to fuck me and then kill me."

Dean dropped John's arm moving to stand before the younger appearing man.

"You were told never to touch John. Do you think I was fucking kidding about that?" He gestured at the older man. "That belongs to me. Do you understand?"

Dean raised a hand, closing his fingers and the demon jerked. Suddenly his head blurred, vibrating first vertically then horizontally. His body rose in the air convulsing spasmodically. The demon shrieked in anger and fear. He blurred as if he was out of sync with the rest of the room, and John knew the demon was caught between his plane and the physical dimension, something which was extremely painful for them. Dean held the younger man suspended between dimensions letting him hiss and scream in anger and pain before thrusting his arm out and slamming the demon into the wall. His body sagged and the black cloud of vapor that was the demon's true form spewed into the air, dissipating as the demon died.

Dean knelt down beside John gently lifting his arm. He healed the break and the gouges he had made on John's biceps before pulling the shirt away and healing the claw marks the younger demon had left. He pulled John to his feet, and then glanced at the table. At least John had eaten most of his meal. Dean constantly watched to make sure he ate properly since John's meds kept him from being hungry much of the time. He slid his arm around John's waist and led him to the bedroom.

The huge bed sat mid-point in the far wall across from their north facing wall that was one large window. They had a breath-taking view of the Strip and far into the distance for miles. Dean pulled the comforter down, and sat John on the bed. He went through the drawers of John's dresser pulling out an almost identical pair of silk pajamas in dark blue. He hustled John into the clothes and put him to bed. "I'll have Isabel bring you some warm tea and your sleeping pills. Okay?"

John nodded grateful that he didn't have to deal with Dean or his 'business colleagues' after that. Still, when he considered where Dean was going and what he would be doing John just wanted to keep his son with him. Twisting his fingers into Dean's shirt he whispered.

"Don't go out tonight. Stay here, please."

Dean looked torn, obviously aware of his desire to comfort John, but doubly aware of the demon standing in the hallway just out of John's line of sight. John could sense Dean's confusion and used the one thing that he had to offer that Dean never refused. Leaning forward he stroked his fingers down Dean's chest.

"Make love to me."

"I'm just going to close the door, I'll be right back." Dean leaned forward kissing John's cheek. He pulled the bedroom door half way closed jerking his head at Kyle. "I'm going to stay here for a little while. Go in the living room and wait, I'll come out after I get him settled down. We can go downstairs then."

The demon grinned as if he knew just how Dean was going to settle John down, and shrugged his broad shoulders. He disappeared around the corner, as Dean pulled the door to the bedroom shut.

Stripping his tie and jacket off Dean dropped them on the sofa beside the window wall. He pushed a button and the curtains slid back opening the room to the night sky and the brilliantly lit city. John slid out of his pajamas and pulled the blankets down. He reached into the drawer of the night table placing a tube on Dean's side of the bed.

Dean slid into bed beside John and leaned forward for a kiss. John responded as eagerly as he could manage. He had gotten pretty good at faking it, but Dean would want more since John had asked him to stay.

At first John was not able to function sexually with Dean, he almost never got hard and, if he did, he rarely came. Dean just used John anyway. But John's mind began to slip, and he had been confined to his room, finally needing to be sedated for much of the time almost a year ago, then came the suicide attempt and Dean had gotten smart enough to realize that even threatening Sam was no good if John died. So he had gotten smarter, the drugs relaxed John, kept him off balance and made him easier to manipulate.

Now almost a year later John was responsive enough that Dean could coax an erection out of him and made sure he came. But John was usually passive. Dean could live with that. Passive meant controllable.

Tonight John was being more active. He rose up to meet Dean, kissing him. And when Dean slid into him, he moaned pushing his hips up to meet Dean's thrusts. Dean groaned. Even with all the problems he had had in the past, being inside his father was one of the sweetest pleasures in his life. Not that he didn't find companionship elsewhere when he wanted it, but John was special, truly the only thing left in the world that Dean loved.

He took his time, savoring the act almost as if he believed that John had really wanted to make love. Glancing at the clock on the bedside table Dean decided that he had stayed as long as he wanted. He used his hand to make John come, then thrust his way to orgasm.

Afterwards, Dean held John for a while, before rising and using the intercom to call the housekeeper in and make sure that she brought John's sleeping pills in. She came into the room ignoring the fact that Dean was standing beside the bed stark naked and the bed was rumpled. She pulled the blankets up around John and gave him the pills and warm tea. Dean dressed as if she wasn't even there.

John was already drowsy, the orgasm and the pills working together to put him to sleep. He sighed reaching across the bed, looking for Dean. The other side of the bed was empty and John shuddered. At least he had delayed the inevitable, kept his son human just a little bit longer. But he felt a familiar bone-deep numbness settling inside him again. Not realizing that Dean was still in the room, John rummaged in the drawer and found the small kitchen knife that Isabel had left on his breakfast tray a few days ago. The blade was only four inches long but the knife was as sharp as a razor.

He struggled to sit up propping his back against the headboard. The lights from the window glinted on the silver blade, until John pressed the edge to his left wrist. Blood welled, spilling over the metal and leaking onto his thigh where he cradled his arm in his lap.

Suddenly, the bed jerked behind John and the knife flew out of his fingers skittering across the silk duvet cover and smearing a long steak of blood on the cloth. Dean's face was twisted with rage. He jerked John's arm up, pressing his fingers against the cut. John screamed trying to jerk his hand away, and Dean slapped him across the face.

"Where did you get that? I told Isabel that you were never to have access to anything with a blade. Did she give it to you?"

He jerked John up onto his knees. With a shaking hand Dean pushed a bolt of white energy into the cut wrist and the edges sealed together. He glanced at the blood spotting the sheets, carpet and John's leg. It wasn't that much. John was pretty much out on his feet, the pills having finally taken effect. Dean shoved him down on the bed, jerking the duvet up and tucking it around his father's prone form.

"Kyle," Dean screamed, picking the knife up from the top of the bed. He slammed the bedroom door open. Hurrying down the hall Dean yelled again, "Kyle, get that bitch out of the kitchen, and bring her downstairs."

TBC