Title: Hunter's Heart Pt. 2
Fandom: Supernatural
Paring John/Dean
Rating: FRAO (father/son angst-free incest)
Warnings: Violence, blood/gore, graphic M/M sex sort of, no real sex (sorry)
Summary: Takes place just before the series starts. Sam is still at Stanford. Dean wants more than a father/son relationship with John, and uses circumstances to get it.
Many thanks to Sioux_Sioux for betaing this puppy.
Dean sat in a chair in front of a large highly polished desk. Behind the desk sat an improbably small and terribly odd-looking middle aged woman. She was a foot shorter than Dean and John, and somewhat rotund, to put it politely. Her hair was braided with several different colored ribbons and coiled around her head almost like a halo. She was well dressed in expensive clothes but wore a lot of cheap perfume that did nothing to mask the cigarette smoke clinging to her. Even John, a former smoker, found his eyes watering from the combined fumes. Dean just sat, trying to cover his runny nose with a Kleenex, and follow along with Mrs. Miller's convoluted story.
John sat patiently, for him, with his fingers clenched in the hem of his jacket, and nodded. Mrs. Miller – Judy finally wound down enough for him to get a question in.
"Judy, I understand that you're concerned about your clients, guests…but what exactly do you want us to do? As far as I can tell from what you've just told me that none of your guests have gone missing?"
"No," she said, "It's true that none of my guests have turned up missing, is that a contradiction? Can one actually turn up if one is missing?" Judy smiled.
John shrugged and offered her a polite grimace which was as close to a smile as she was likely to get Dean thought. "Why don't you tell me who has turned up missing?"
"See, I knew you were a smart man. It's mostly been hunters and a few homeless people. They all disappeared out on Haney Lake Road. And it's never a lot of people, just a few every couple of months, but enough that word is starting to get around. Even if Sheriff Parker has tried to keep it all quiet, not a cover-up mind you. He just doesn't want people talking. It's bad for the town-we all live on tourists."
"How do you know these aren't natural disappearances? I mean hunters, hikers they all wander off all the time. Why do you think we should get involved?"
She nodded, "Oh I know hikers and the like disappear, but at least they eventually get found or what's left gets found. These folks up and disappear and nothing is ever seen of them again- not so much as a scrap of clothes or even a body part."
"My old Grandma Greta, God rest her soul," she crossed herself. John repeated the gesture out of habit before he even thought of it. Judy continued, "She used to say that there was a lake monster that ate people…every now and again someone says they see it."
"Lake Monster?" Dean asked. "Like Loch Ness or something smaller?"
"Well, that's the thing no one has ever seen all of it, just a flash but I've heard its something like a cross between a big fish and an octopus, but in the lake not the ocean. The one time anyone actually saw the thing and survived he came back stark raving mad."
"Mad?" John asked. "How, did the monster make him mad or did he go over because he saw the thing?"
"I'm not sure, but knowing Buddy Avers he was not on solid ground mentally to begin with. But he said the thing looked like some kind of dinosaur fish, but with tentacles on its head. Now this is the weird part…"
Dean snorted as if a dinosaur fish with tentacles on its face wasn't weird enough. Both Judy and his father glared at him. Dean grinned sheepishly.
Judy continued, "He told Harry Parker that old man Tenet, Sister Mary Paul and Gene Reynolds got between him and the lake and kept the thing off of him until he could get away."
"That's not so odd; a lot of people will jump in…."
"A lot of dead people? Sister Mary Paul died five years ago, Kyle Tenet's been gone for maybe six and Gene Reynolds went in June in a car accident. It's a shame they were good people, you know. Salt of the earth all of them, would do anything for folks in need."
"Did these dead people come after Mr. Avers?" Dean asked, and John shot him a look. Judy didn't seem to notice the edge to Dean's question.
"Oh no, he didn't say that. But as a matter of fact a couple of other people have mentioned seeing them too. The reason that I asked you here is that Malinda Sanchez said that she had a…uhmm… ghost in her house and a man came out and fixed it. She met him through a cousin from Minnesota who knew this Pastor. He said he could find someone to help."
"We'll go out to the lake tonight see what we can find." John said rising. Judy smiled bouncing up out of her chair. "We'll let you know what we find in the morning."
It was damn cold at night Dean decided. The wind had picked up a little rattling the chain link fence surrounding the Harold P. Manfred Recreation Center on Haney Lake Road, just down the way from the Bradbury Memorial Park. The trees were close together and surrounded by tangled underbrush and too dense foliage for the lake to actually be visible from the road. John put his black duffle bag down on the soft dirt of the shoulder and dug around for tin shears. Dean took the huge heavy-duty tool and cut the padlock on the gate. The lock thumped against the ground and rolled a few inches. As he tucked the tools away John passed Dean his favorite .45 and a spare clip. He made sure his Glock was tucked into the waistband of his jeans and pulled a wooden rosary out of the bag. Quickly John twined the beads around his left wrist making sure that the intricately carved crucifix lay against the back of his hand, clearly visible in the pale, silver moonlight.
"Got any idea what we're up against?" Dean asked once John was ready to go. John nodded pulling out his Latin Book of Prayers, just in case it turned out to be demonic in nature.
"Yeah, it's most likely an Aboleth, a mutant throw-back--non-sentient so we're just dealing with a big nasty animal." John said looking through the bag for a flashlight and a lighter. He tucked the lighter into his pocket. "We'll need to get it out of the water. On land they're slow and vulnerable, but in the water the goddamn things are nearly impossible to kill. We've got to burn the sucker."
Dean nodded checking his gun and pulling a large hunting knife out of the bag, strapping it to his waist in a leather sheath. He followed the retreating form of his father across the rec center parking lot and down a path that ran behind the building off into the forest. The trees parted and they came out on a wide strip of imported white sand that served as a "beach" for the swimming area.
The lake was wide and as black as obsidian in the pale moonlight. Dean could see light glinting on the gentle waves as the wind stirred the lake's surface. The white-caps broke against the sand making a gentle rocking sound that clamed him even as he scanned the horizon for some sign of the monster lurking beneath the surface.
John skirted around the small cove at the south end of the lake keeping several yards between himself and the glassy water. He waved Dean toward the far side of the lake and Dean took off at a rapid trot, making sure to keep his father in sight at all times. John slipped passed the playground and headed toward the fence bordering the recreational area and separating it from the cemetery on the other side.
Suddenly John pulled to a halt, and Dean slid to a halt as well, pausing to watch John's progress toward the cemetery. John climbed onto the lowest rung of the split rail fence, leaning forward. Far up the hill, just outside of his effective range of vision John thought that he could make out a group of people, maybe six huddled in a loose circle around the marble fountain that graced the front of a small mausoleum. The group seemed to be standing, moving awkwardly and they were definitely looking in the direction of the lake. John cursed under his breath, the last thing he and Dean needed was an audience. Still if John was having difficulty making out the figures--half shrouded in fog and underbrush, they would have more trouble seeing him and Dean if they stayed at the south end of the lake. That limited their effective search range, but a monster tended to seek prey and he and Dean could lure the thing to them rather than search it out.
John jumped down, turning a little too quickly and staggered closer to the lake than he intended. The water roiled splattering him with cold droplets, and the huge maw of a fish-like creature jetted out of the lake. The creature was dark sliver in color, shaped vaguely like a huge trout but with six tentacles on its face, three on each side of the gaping mouth.
Grunting John tried to jump back but one of the tentacles snapped out hitting him mid-chest. He staggered as the air was knocked from his body. Bending over he gasped trying to fill his aching lungs. Grabbing his hunting knife he lashed out. The knife skimmed over the silver scales on the Aboleth's face, just nicking the lower most tentacle. The creature made a high pitched sound like a seal barking, and snapped its tentacles again. The top most appendage on the right side of its mouth struck John across the face, and he felt the sting of poison.
A second tentacle wrapped around John's throat squeezing. He dropped the knife, grasping at the slimy thing with both hands. His vision began graying out around the edges and John jerked his head back, feeling his spine creak as the bones ground together. His head felt like it was exploding, and he sagged to his knees.
Dean was beside him then, pushing his father out of the way, and raising his .45. The sound of gunshots filled the air. Dean pumped half a clip into the thing, and it jerked away sending John tumbling into the fence. He wheezed gulping oxygen into his air starved body.
With a final lunge Dean stabbed his knife into the largest tentacle on the thing's face, and the creature reared back, slapping at the younger man, but retreated. It sank under the water, and Dean turned to the still figure on the ground. He grabbed is father's bag, dragging a flask of holy water out. Even though the Aboleth was not demonic in nature the holy water was sterile and would wash the poison off John's face. After Dean doused his father he carefully wiped the slimy goop away. John's skin was clearing, unblemished by burns or raw sores, so the poison must have been very weak or took a long time to seep into the skin.
Sliding a hand under his father's arm Dean levered the older man to his feet. John swayed a little but managed to stay upright. He tugged the bag off the ground, and slung his arm over Dean's shoulder. They made their way unsteadily back to the parking lot, down the street to the inn.
The side door to the lobby was unlocked at night for the convenience of the guests, but in clear sight of the reception desk and the night clerk, a huge man named Rodney, who sat reading a book by the soft lamp light. He barely glanced up, and all he could see was the gay couple coming in, the older man hanging all over the younger one. Rodney decided the older guy probably had a bit too much to drink. He went back to his book.
They took the elevator, John still limping and gasping for breath. Dean pulled his father in closer to his body than was strictly necessary, but each time John put himself in harm's way Dean felt himself die a little. "What the hell were you doing?" he asked hoarsely.
John bridled at Dean's tone of voice, "What the hell I always do, kill monsters."
"Yeah, well that one almost killed you. You turned your back on the lake, why? One of the first things you drilled into my head was never turn your back on your target. What happened?"
Wincing in pain John leaned against the wall as Dean unlocked the door. "I thought I saw something in the cemetery. People, five or six of them…"
"Did they see us?"
Shaking his head John stumbled through the door. "I don't think so, I could just barely see them, and we were screened by the underbrush."
He dropped the bag, sinking down on the bed. Dean grasped his father's arm keeping him upright until he could strip John's outer layers off, leaving him in a reasonably dry and clean t-shirt. He bent down picking up John's feet one at a time stripping off his hiking boots and socks. John was already dozing by the time Dean worked his fingers into the button fly of John's jeans and stripped them off. John rolled onto his side, but Dean smacked him on the ass and John raised his hips so that his son could tug the blankets from underneath his body. Finally, John rolled under the covers and fell to sleep.
Dean stood at the foot of the bed for a few minutes before going into the bathroom to take a shower. He chafed the hot water against his too cold skin, sighing at the feeling came back into his fingertips. Each time John put himself on the line Dean felt the same dead sensation engulfing his body. And each time they dodged the bullet, this time, he felt inordinately grateful.
He dressed in boxers and a clean t-shirt and climbed into the bed. John rolled over, and Dean pressed against him sighing when John's arm slipped around his waist. With his father's head resting on his shoulder Dean drifted off to sleep.
John woke slowly, unsure if what had disturbed him. Dean was wrapped around him, arm casually slung over John's side, palm flat against his father's chest. Dean's other arm was stretched above John's head, fingers limp on the pillow. John took a deep breath and tried to wriggle free from his son. Dean grunted wrapping his fingers in John's t-shirt and digging his knees into the back of his father's thighs. John winced, the bruises on his chest throbbed under Dean's grasp. Shifting John tired to pry his son's fingers loose. Dean twitched. With a sigh he settled against John's back, rubbing his chin on the older man's shoulder. He slid forward tilting his hips until his he could grind his cock against John's ass. John froze. Dean was hard; in fact hard enough that John could feel a wetness spreading cross the front of Dean's shorts even through his own boxers.
"Uhmmm…baby," Dean said. "Oh yeah, that's so good."
John choked back his laughter, until Dean rubbed against him again while working one hand under John's t-shirt to pinch a nipple between his thumb and finger. John flinched, feeling his own cock jerk in response. Okay, that was enough, there was no way he was dragging Dean down into the muck with him.
"Dean, let go, you're hurting me."
Dean released his father immediately, rolling onto his back. Rubbing his eyes he glanced at the clock. "Jeeze, it's six a.m. why aren't you asleep?"
"You kept groping me. I had to wake up to defend my virtue."
"Oh yeah, because we all know that you're a virgin." Dean replied sarcastically to cover his embarrassment at getting caught. John just grinned at him.
"I'm going down for breakfast. Tonight we're going back out to that lake and to the cemetery, too." John groaned as he rolled out of bed. Dean sat up, pulling up the hem of his father's t-shirt. John's left ribs looked like the New York sunset, all blues and purples. He frowned. John pulled his shirt free and headed for the shower. When he stripped off the shirt in the bathroom leaning over the sink and looking in the mirror Dean could see the vivid bruises ringing John's throat, and finally the black eye adorning his face.
"Man that thing did a number on you. Shouldn't we wait a couple of days for you to heal up?"
John shrugged, "Nope, it's all superficial stuff, nothing broken."
Dean sat on the bed waiting for John to dress and leave. As his father pulled the door closed he headed for the bathroom. Turning on the shower he stepped under the hot water, sighing he closed his eyes and thought about the feel of his father's body pressed close against him.
John took the elevator down one floor instead of the stairs because walking caused his ribs to ache. He was seriously reconsidering going back to the lake, but he wanted to wrap this job up and move on. He was becoming a little too careless in allowing Dean to hang all over him, and he was guiltily aware of the fact that he was beginning to like it a little too much as well.
The dining room was packed so John had to wait on the bench by the door for a table to clear. He picked up a newspaper from the table beside the bench and began scanning the headlines, looking for anything relating to the case. He was so absorbed in the paper that he didn't hear the man walking up beside him. When the figure didn't move John glanced over the paper and caught sight of a pair of khaki uniform pants and black combat boots.
"Shit," John thought - the sheriff. He settled himself; neither he nor Dean had used the new credit cards they were carrying, so he was reasonably certain that the sheriff wasn't going to arrest him for credit card fraud. Of course, trespassing might be a possibility, if anyone had actually seen them cutting the locks on the recreation center fence last night. He avoided looking up, shielding the side of his face with the black eye, and trying to cover the bruises on his throat.
"Mr. Francis,'" Sheriff Parker said tapping against the paper with his index finger. John turned his face as far away as possible and still look at the older man's face. The sheriff didn't smile. "Mr. Francis, I need to speak with you regarding a complaint I received last night."
John sighed, so it was trespassing. "I'm sorry Sheriff I don't know what you're talking about," he said trying to bluff his way out of it. The sheriff wasn't buying it though, and John could see his face crease when he frowned.
"Mrs. Thompson complained that you and Mr. Elliot we arguing loudly last night. She said that you kept her up half the night."
With a grimace John decided that good old Erma was really beginning to piss him off. He offered the other man a slight smile. "I didn't realize we were being so loud. I'm sorry; I'll keep it down the next time."
The sheriff nodded as if placated and slapped John on the back. His ribs creaked and John grunted before he could stop it. Parker paused looking down at the younger man. "Are you okay?"
John made the mistake of turning his head to keep his black eye from showing, and a look of dawning suspicion filled the sheriff's face. Reaching down he put his fingers under John's chin and tilted his head toward the light. In the bright glare of the overhead fixtures the black eye was spectacular. It covered his left eye and part of his cheek. He flinched. Parker pressed his fingers into John's jaw and pulled his head up, baring the livid purple bruises surrounding John's throat. Unwilling to deal with the pain John didn't jerk his head away. He simply sat unmoving. The sheriff dropped his hand and settled on the bench beside John.
"Mr. Francis - John, I used to be a little prejudice against your kind of folks. But I'm just beginning to see that we're all God's children regardless, and well I've got nothing against you, you understand? I'm responsible for protecting folks in this town, as small and backward as it is, and that means all the folks – resident or tourist. If there's anything happening to you that you need to tell me about…"
John shook his head in confusion, until he realized that the sheriff thought Dean had beaten him. He coughed to cover the snort of laughter. "Uh, no I said I'm sorry about the noise. I'll be sure to keep it quiet; I don't want any trouble, Sheriff Parker."
"I sure don't want to cause you any trouble either, but like I said I'm responsible for protecting folks these parts, and I don't want you to keep quiet. One of the little girls in town had this kind of trouble and she kept quiet and now she's in a drawer in the morgue, and well, I'd hate to have to see another one."
"I'm hardly a little girl, sheriff. I can take care of myself." John said.
"I didn't mean it that way. Maybe you can take care of yourself but maybe you won't. I haven't seen him yet, and you're pretty beat up. Does he look like this too?"
John flinched. Dean didn't have a mark on him. That wasn't going to look good.
The sheriff noticed his look as well. "For what it's worth. If you can't or won't do anything and you need help come to me, okay?"
John was torn between being terribly offended and absurdly touched. The man was obviously out of his depth in this situation, yet he was offering concern and protection. John smiled warmly at him, "Really I don't need help, but if I ever do need it, I'll come to you."
The sheriff wandered into the lobby and stood beside the desk talking to the clerk. He glanced up as Dean came into the room, frowning at the obvious lack of bruises visible anywhere on Dean's body. John rose from the bench and intercepted Dean in the corner of the lobby beside the dining room door. He caught Dean by the shirt, pulling him away from the sheriff. Dean slapped his father's hand away, but John stopped him.
"You had better be nice. Sherriff Parker is watching us."
"Why?" Dean asked, smiling at the older man across the room. John leaned forward lowering his voice and pulling Dean's head around.
"Because he's hell bent on protecting me." John grinned at the look on his son's face. "Erma Thompson, again. She heard us arguing last night when we came in, and with the black eye and all, the good sheriff naturally assumed you beat my ass. So we had better be one happy couple this morning, so look like we kissed and made up."
"I can do that," Dean said sliding his hand up John's arm, and cupping the back of his skull with one large, warm palm. John realized what Dean was up to just one second too late. He couldn't pull away because they were being clandestinely observed. With a grunt he whispered.
"You wouldn't dare…"
But Dean merely grinned. Leaning forward he hissed in John's ear. "Don't think that I won't."
John tilted his head giving Dean plenty of clearance but said smugly, "You haven't got the balls, boy."
He glared into Dean's eyes. Dean waggled his eyebrows and tilted his head, leaning forward until he could feel John's breath on his face.
"Still don't think so?" Dean hesitated slightly, and he saw a flash of triumph in John's eyes.
Before John could say anything else Dean pressed forward. John's mouth was a thin line of disapproval under his lips. John dug his fingers into Dean's side pinching hard, just out of the sheriff's line of vision. But John was damn proud when Dean didn't flinch. He pulled John's head forward and deepened the kiss. John's death glare was somewhat blurred by their closeness, and Dean didn't back down when his father upped the ante and parted his lips. Dean grinned and pushed his tongue into John's mouth. His father's fingers went limp against Dean's side, and his hand drifted down coming to rest on Dean's hip. Dean slid one hand around John, careful of the bruised ribs and skimmed lightly across his back.
Suddenly aware that they were standing in a public place John dropped his hand and stepped back. Blushing from the roots of his hair to the collar of his shirt he brushed his hand over his lips. The sheriff was gone when they both looked back at the reception desk, and the girl holding menus at the door of the dining room was gaping like she had walked in on the set of a porn film. Dean tried to keep one step behind John hoping that his father wouldn't notice that Dean had an erection. He glanced down trying to see if anyone else would notice it either and was grateful that the tail of his shirt was untucked covering him. John was not so fortunate and Dean could clearly see that his father was half-hard.
Now wasn't that interesting.
TBC