Title: Rough Trade 2/10
Pairing: John/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1510
Warnings: Consensual Daddycest
Disclaimer: If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*
Summary: When he met a guy named John in a bar, all Dean knew was the he reminded him of his Dad. Scarred, both mentally and physically, John obviously needed saving as much as he did. So when he gave the man his street name and suggested a 'mutually beneficial' relationship, he never dreamed that three weeks later he'd find out that John actually was his father.
A/N: This was writen for the spnslashbigbang. Thanks to the longsuffering and extra awesome wickedlilwitch for being an amazing beta and the very cool longerthanwedo who agreed to be my secondary beta, even though I often edit again/add things after they work their magic. All mistakes are title taken from Brand New by Daisy
Chapter One: I'm a River That's All Dried Up
"When are you comin' back, Dad?"
"In a day or two."
"But I thought the hunt was over."
"It is. I just need to make a little more cash. We were runnin' low, buddy."
Sammy sighed… and how the boy could pack an entire argument, insults on what a completely crappy Dad he was included, into a sigh was a mystery to John. "I've got a report due, Dad."
"I know that," John lied. Well, it wasn't really a lie. He knew… he'd just… forgotten. "I got you covered, Sammy. I'll tell the school that we had a family emergency and had to be out of town for a few weeks."
"You're not gonna kill off grandma again, are you? Cause you do that at least once a year."
"It's always a different school," John said defensively. And what was it about Sammy that always made him feel defensive these days?
"Yeah. Don't remind me."
The boy was obviously too young to be in a bar. Shaggy dirty blond hair fell into green eyes that John found familiar even though he was sure he'd never seen that exact shade before. John would have guessed about 15 or 16, but he was taller than you'd expect a kid that young to be. And he seemed more mature. Of course, that could just be because he'd spent too much time on the street. One thing was obvious; the kid was way too damn skinny, like those kids they pimped for sponsors on those late night commercials. As he studied him, John noted that the boy's body language telegraphed his nervousness despite his best efforts to put on a brave façade. But that façade was crumbling quickly. He was trying to hustle pool, and John had to admit that the kid wasn't half bad at it, but the creep he was playing against was all over him. The boy played along; all smiles like he was used to it, maybe even expected it, but it was clear to John that he didn't want it. He just didn't expect anyone to help him. And John was struck with a sudden realization that this kid probably ended up on his knees more often than not and that led him to the obvious fact that this kid was probably a prostitute trying to make some money at pool so he wouldn't have to make it on his back tonight.
That didn't sit well with him. He never frequented prostitutes himself, but he never passed judgment on others who did, as long as all the participants were consenting adults. Hell, even a little slightly underage was okay with him if no one was being forced into something they didn't want. After all, if you could march off to war at seventeen like he had and risk being shipped home in a box, you could decide if you wanted to have sex. But this was different. This kid was obviously either severely neglected or a runaway and even if the living he was trying to make wasn't exactly honest, he wasn't hurting anyone. Taking advantage of his apparent desperation was just wrong.
John found himself on his feet and making his way to the table. "You got a problem with your hands, son?" He kept his voice low and condescending, letting it rumble up from his chest, as he addressed the jerk manhandling the boy. The man, who was actually only slightly younger than John, blinked up at him.
"This kid's been comin' in here connin' good, hardworkin', decent folks outta their hard earned money. Only fair we expect him to work a little harder for it. I seen him on the corner with all the other whores, so it's not like he's not used to it… bet he's real good on his knees. Just look at those lips." He sounded defensive. Reminded John of Sammy when he got caught red-handed doing something he knew John didn't want him to do. Kid was too stubborn to ever admit he was wrong. Always had to try to figure out a way to be right.
John threw a quick glance at the kid. The boy was staring at him with wide eyes, hope and fear warring in them. John briefly wondered if the kid would prefer having sex with him to the asshole who was pawing at him, but quickly dismissed that thought, not even sure of where it had come from. He wasn't going to expect anything for his help anyway, and the kid clearly just wanted to be left alone. "You got five seconds to take your hands off 'im."
The man scoffed. "He's just a whore. What do you care?"
John smirked and threw a punch without a second warning. Stupid bastard used up his five seconds being a whiny bitch. The man went down like a sack of potatoes and didn't get back up. The kid gawked down at the sprawled form suddenly lying at his feet and then back up at John. John looked around as he shook out his hand, but nobody seemed to actually notice what had happened. Dive bars were funny like that. Either everybody was everybody else's cousin or best friend and hitting someone started a brawl, or everybody just yawned and kept knockin' 'em back. The latter was apparently the case here. "What's your name boy?"
"De… Devon."
John raised an eyebrow, wondering what kind of name that was to give a boy. "Well, Devon, think you can stay out of trouble for the rest of the night?"
The kid snickered. "It would be a first. Thanks for that. But you probably shouldn'ta done it."
"Why's that?" John frowned at him, wondering if he'd misread the situation.
The kid shrugged and looked away. "Not like it won't just happen again. And he might come lookin' for me later…"
The kid's voice trailed off and John realized that he was right. Petty bastard like this would just take his anger out on the kid. "You got somewhere to sleep tonight?" And John wanted to take the words back, because really? Inviting an underage hustler to spend the night in his hotel room when he was sitting on a wad of cash he was trying to grow into an even bigger wad wasn't exactly the brightest idea he'd ever had.
"Oh… you want some company?" The boy smirked at John as if he was proving the kid's point, even though he didn't seem at all happy about being right.
John smirked back and raised an amused eyebrow. "Not particularly. You ain't my type. 'Xpect you to keep your hands to yourself, boy."
The kid blinked at him wide-eyed and shocked. To his credit, he recovered quickly. "What, afraid I'll take advantage of you," he snarked.
John rolled his eyes. "Terrified. You comin' or you gonna wait here for that son of a bitch to come to and manhandle you some more?" John headed for the door, not looking behind him. But he was relieved to find that the boy was right behind him when he walked outside. "So… when's the last time you had a meal?"
The kid hunched his shoulders as he dug his hands into his pockets in an attempt to stave off the evening chill and gave John a suspicious sidelong glance. John noted how threadbare the kid's t-shirt was. He really needed a jacket out here. Whoever was supposed to be looking out for this kid should be shot. "Depends on what you'd call a meal. Do crackers and packets of grape jelly count?"
John snorted and shook his head. The malnutrition might make him look like a refugee from a third world country in the middle of a drought, but it hadn't hurt the boy's wit. Or at least he hoped it hadn't, because once he got him healthy he'd be running circles around John. And when the hell had he decided to get him healthy? He shouldn't have this kid anywhere near Sammy. Shouldn't be letting him into his life at all, Sammy or no Sammy. He'd just take him to another town, somewhere far away from anyone who'd seen him out on a corner. Give him a chance to start over. He gave the kid another glance. Kid might be underfed, but he was too damn pretty to be out on the street. Even if he weren't, no kid deserves to be let out on a street corner like some stray dog nobody wants. Hell, not even the dogs deserved that. Okay. So maybe he'd take him to Blue Earth. Jim could find him a good home, and helping homeless street urchins was right up his old friend's alley. That way he wouldn't be turning his back on this kid, and he wouldn't be letting him into his life either. He let out a long breath. "How does pizza sound?"
"Like the meal of champions," the boy said with a bright, hopeful smile that stole John's breath away and made him ache in ways that only remembering Mary and Dean usually did. John looked away and gritted his teeth, breathing though the pain until it was manageable.
John let the kid into the truck he'd borrowed from Bobby while his girl was waiting for him to fix her suspension. The doors squealed loudly and he decided that he was going to oil them tomorrow just on principle. That damn sound was annoying as hell.
They stopped at a pizza joint and John went inside to pick up a large pizza with way too many toppings to be healthy, with a side order of breadsticks and a couple two-liter pops. He threw in some chips and pie for good measure. Dean had loved his mother's homemade pie. Would have eaten it for breakfast, lunch and dinner if they'd let him. John wondered if Dean would still love pie as he watched the girl behind the counter bag everything up and decided that he would. Dean would still love all the things he had before because Dean was forever four-year-old perfection in John's imagination.
It was only a few weeks from the anniversary of the fire and John could feel himself getting maudlin and emotional, spending way too much time trying to imagine what his boy would have been like now, at fifteen. Would he have been rebellious? Would he have been bookish like Sam, or hell on wheels? Would he have been a heartbreaker like his mother claimed he would with that dazzling smile, those big green eyes and ridiculous lashes?
Hell, missing Dean was probably why he suddenly had the urge to take in some street kid he wasn't sure could be trusted. Why he kept feeling this compulsion to take care of him every time he looked at him. He gathered his purchases and headed outside with them precariously balanced in his arms. The kid was out of the truck as soon as he saw him and met him halfway, relieving him of some of his burden.
Once they got to the room, he was glad he'd bought so much food. The kid out ate him at a margin of at least two to one. He inhaled the food so fast that it was almost frightening to watch, and then washed it down with a two liter. So much for pizza for breakfast. When the kid saw the pie, his eyes went wide and worshipful and he ate it like it was some sort of fucking religious experience.
"You two want some time alone, kid?" John watched him with an amused disbelief. He'd never seen anyone behave like that with food. Not anyone other than Dean, but Dean had been four. Four year olds were supposed to bliss out over sweets.
Devon looked up at him, his mouth in a full pout and John suddenly felt uncomfortable. The kid blinked at him with wide hurt eyes that made the older man want to hug him, which made him even more uncomfortable. And where the fuck was all this touchy feely, emo crap coming from? He needed to drop this kid off at Blue Earth before he started lactating or something. "I like pie's all," the boy said around a half-chewed mouthful. "That a crime?"
"No, kid. 'S not a crime. Want my piece?" John slid his across the table, suddenly wanting to make amends for teasing. The boy looked at him suspiciously before accepting it.
After dinner, John made Devon take a shower and gave him some clean clothes to sleep in. When the kid got out of the shower, he stood next to the bed in a set of sweats that was way to big for him, eyeing John questioningly as he held up the pants with one hand. "Is your name really John?"
"Yeah. Why?"
The kid raised an eyebrow at him. "I hear that name a lot. You could say almost everyone I've ever meet these days is a john."
John snorted softly in amusement. "Oh. Right. Yeah, my name's really John, kid."
"And you're not some psycho killer?"
John sighed in exasperation. He'd exhausted all his extroversion for the day, and this kid's utter lack of survival skills were making him wonder how the hell he'd made it on the streets more than a handfull of days. "A little late for that question, don't you think?"
Devon shrugged with a canting of his head and raised eyebrows, as if ceding the point, and started chewing on his bottom lip. And the uncomfortable urge to hug him, to make all his fear and uncertainty go away, was back in full force. "Guess it doesn't really matter," he finally said.
"Why wouldn't it matter?"
The kid gave John a painful looking smile. "Where do you want me?"
John sighed and let him change the subject. "We can share the bed. Just stick to your side and stop talkin'." He didn't mean to sound so gruff, but he was just beginning to realize that Devon hadn't come with him because he trusted him. He'd come because he was tired and just needed somewhere to rest, even if that got him killed. Because he didn't expect to live long anyway. The kid might actually be seventeen, he was definitely mature enough to be even older, even if he didn't look it. But either way, he was too young to look at his own death as an inevitability. He was supposed to think he was invincible. This was the age that boys did stupid reckless things because they thought they couldn't die, not because they believed it was only a matter of time. The idea that this kid was at that point made something in John hurt, something he thought got burned out of him in the fire, and he wasn't sure how to deal with it.
The boy silently got in the bed and John turned off the light, prepared to spend a long night staring at the ceiling.
"John?"
"What?"
"You're grouchy. I think you need to get laid."
Thrown by the utter sincerity in the boy's voice, John turned his head and looked at the form laying a few inches away, bright eyes staring back at him. "You offerin'," he asked incredulously.
"Maybe."
"I don't do little boys."
"Hey! I'm seventeen!"
John snorted. "My ass."
He saw a flash of white as the boy smirked. "If that's what you're into. I've never actually topped before, but I'd do it for you."
He wasn't sure what bugged him more, the fact that the boy seemed to mean every word he was saying, or that he was actually tempted. It had been awhile since John had been with anyone and his scars ensured that he didn't seek out companionship often. The ones he'd earned hunting weren't so bad and he could easily make up something plausible for them… but the burns. The burns hurt to even think about, and he could never bring himself to lie about them. The story might increase his odds of getting laid, but it was a rare day when it didn't totally kill the mood for him. "Devon," he warned, his voice a soft growl.
"What? You got a nice ass… John."
"Shut up and go to sleep before I tie you up and gag you."
"Oooh… kinky." The kid yawned suddenly, his mouth trying to devour his face.
"You're tired, kiddo. Go to sleep. You can annoy me more in the morning."
"Promise you won't chop me up into bite sized pieces and throw me in the river?" The kid sounded so young and scared and vulnerable that John wanted nothing more than to protect him. If anyone asked him why, he couldn't explain it. It was just there, as real and visceral as his need to protect Sammy. But why this kid? It had been eleven years since the fire. He would have thought if his reaction to his grief was going to be to take in some needy kid about the age Dean would have been, he would have at least felt the urge a long time ago.
John snorted. The kid might be fatalistic, but at least he didn't want to die. That was something. "Promise."
"'Kay." And just like that, the boy was out cold. John had never seen anyone go to sleep that fast in his life. Except maybe in the Marines, when they pretty much marched you until you were dead on your feet. He chuckled softly, his own eyes growing heavy with sleep.
John was shocked to find himself waking up the next morning since he hadn't planned on actually falling asleep. He was even more shocked to find no trace of Devon. He checked his wallet, because the boy was a hustler and a street kid after all, and found it only twenty dollars lighter. The borrowed truck was still in the parking lot. Not that he'd miss it, but he really didn't feel like dealing with Bobby. The man bitched enough without giving him anything to bitch about. John reasoned that twenty bucks was an acceptable loss, if it kept the kid alive a little longer. But it still bothered him that Devon was out there all alone again.
John was trying to reconcile himself to the old saw about not being able to save everyone, when the door knob jiggled then turned and the door swung open. John already had his gun drawn and aimed by the time he realized that it was Devon, wide-eyed and clutching a bag and a drink holder that contained two Styrofoam cups as he stared down the barrel of John's gun like a chicken staring down a hawk.
John lowered the gun and huffed out a breath. "Jesus, Devon! I almost shot you!"
"Yeah… noticed that. Can I come in, or you want… you want me to go?"
"Come in. You got breakfast?"
"Yeah. Well, I used your money. Assface never gave me what I won last night, so I didn't really have any. But I thought… I donno. You were tired and… I hope you don't mind I got somethin' for me too." The boy was still standing in the doorway, fist squeezed tight around the top of the bag, teeth worrying his bottom lip as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. The kid was only wearing the clothes he'd worn the night before and he had to be freezing out there.
"No… it's fine. Just come in and close the door."
Devon rushed inside and closed and locked the door behind him. He sat everything on the table and hurried over to put John's change on the side table. "I got you a country breakfast. Three scrambled eggs, sausage, hash browns and biscuits. And black coffee. I got some sugar and cream just in case you like that kinda shit."
John chuckled at the boy eyeing him nervously as he stood there scratching the back of his neck. "No. Black's fine. Smells good."
"So… you a drug dealer or somethin'?"
"What?"
"You sleep with a gun under your pillow." Devon nodded at the pillow where John had returned the gun.
"Do I look like a drug dealer?"
"I donno. You could be an enforcer or some shit. You kinda look the type. Big and like you know how to handle yourself."
"No, Devon. I'm not an enforcer."
"Wouldn't matter to me," Devon said, as if he thought John was lying for his benefit. "Not like I got much room to judge anyone else's life choices."
"Life choices?" John repeated incredulously.
Devon shrugged and scratched absently at his arm. "One of my teachers thought I had a screw loose. Made me see a shrink. That was one of his favorite phrases. Kinda stuck in my head."
"What did you get yourself from the diner, kid?"
"Egg and sausage sandwich and a cheese Danish. If that's alright. I mean, you can have it if you want it. I just thought…"
"'S fine."
"And coffee. I got coffee."
"That shit'll stunt your growth, you know."
Devon snorted incredulously. "Don'tcha think it's a little late to be worried about that?"
"Men grow till they're twenty one."
"Really?"
"Yeah." John hid his smirk behind his coffee as the kid pushed his own cup away with a frown.
After they finished breakfast, John took Devon for a haircut. The kid protested, but it wasn't nearly as bad as Sammy's protests so John just ignored him. The kid was so shocked when John told the barber he was his son that the complaints stopped long enough for the tall thin man to get started. He spent the rest of the day making more cash and feeding Devon, who he decided was basically a food disposal with legs.
The next day, John parked behind a clinic offering free STD testing. The kid looked at the building and the sign advertising the free tests, then at John before shrugging.
"Probably a good idea," he said, sounding a little fatalistic and way older than seventeen.
"What's probably a good idea?"
"Gettin' me checked out," he said casually as he got out of the car. John stared after him for half a second. That went a hell of a lot better than he expected, especially after the haircut. He finally got out of the car and followed, grateful that the kid was such a pragmatist.
Turned out bringing him had been a damn good idea. Devon had Chlamydia, rectal gonorrhea, crab lice and the antibodies for Hepatitis C. John gave a full body shudder at the list. Thank God he hadn't taken the kid up on his numerous and blatant offers of sex.
"Antibodies for Hep C? What does that mean?" John asked as the doctor laid out several vials of antibiotics, ignoring the way the little bastard kept looking at him as if he were personally responsible for Devon's conditions. Probably thought John was his pimp.
"Means he had it at some point, but his body was able to fight if off. There doesn't appear to be any damage to his liver from it either. Kid's unbelievably lucky. Everything else he has can be cleared up relatively quickly and it doesn't look like he's had any of it long enough to have done any serious damage. The trickiest thing is the gonorrhea because it's rectal. With a little more luck, he'll be fine in two weeks. After that, the only thing he has to worry about is the baseline HIV test. It'll take another few days for that one to come back. And even though it's a pretty accurate test, I'd recommend he take it again in six months. Just to be sure."
Two and a half weeks later, they were leaving another free clinic with a clean bill of health for Devon, who sprawled out obscenely on the passenger's side of the Impala. "You know, I'm disease free now. And shaved smooth." He smirked lasciviously and wiggled his eyebrows at John.
"Good for you. Want a prize?"
Devon's gaze flickered to John's crotch as he slowly and deliberately licked his lips. John had to admit the kid had really sexy lips as he tore his eyes away from them. "I think we both deserve one."
John shook his head to clear up the haze of sudden arousal and ignored the boy, turning up CCR. He was a little surprised to hear Devon singing along, and wasn't sure if it was more because the boy obviously knew the words to Bad Moon Rising, or because he actually had a decent voice.
The trip was taking longer than John anticipated, mainly because he now had another person to feed and clothe. He wasn't sure when he'd dropped the idea of taking Devon to Blue Earth, but he had at some point and keeping the boy meant he needed almost twice as much money as before. Though he missed his son and really didn't want to have to deal with the fall out, he was relieved that he'd be away from home for the anniversary of the fire. Sammy hated the fact that John wouldn't let go of their dead and didn't have any problem letting him know it. According to Sam, the fact that he didn't remember Mary and Dean meant that he should be allowed to pretend they never existed. That they hadn't been stolen from them both. And the fact that John could never let go, could never forget, somehow made him a horrible father.
As was his custom, John got shitfaced on anniversary of the fire. Though he did generally like to drink more than the average person, he usually kept actual drunkenness to once a year. All the things he locked up tight the rest of the year came out to torture him on this day every year and the only way he could live with the pain was to numb it. Because thinking about his beautiful wife and his perfect son and how he'd failed them was enough to kill him if he let it hit him full force. This one night, the night when the spirits of the dead roamed closest to the living, was the one time of the year that he couldn't keep his own ghosts buried and he was left to survive the only way he knew how. .
Later, he only remembered jumbled pieces of what happened after he left the bar. Stumbling into the hotel room after spending the entire evening at the bottom of a bottle. Finding Devon lying on his bed, watching some cartoon with characters who were going on about whizzing on an electric fence. Then he was lying on the bed having some sort of fucking breakdown. At some point, Devon was holding him and running his fingers through his hair like a mother soothing a child.
None of that explained why he woke up naked next to an equally naked Devon, though. He sat up so fast he had to clench his jaw against a sudden wave of nausea as he stared at the boy lying on his stomach next to him. His hangover muddled brain tried to fill in the missing pieces, and none of what it came up with was anything he liked much. And he really didn't like how sore his dick felt, like it had been rubbed raw. The sudden flash of memory of tight heat sent a shudder down his spine that was equal parts desire and dread.
"What the fuck, Devon?"
The boy blinked up at him. "Can you be more specific, John?"
John narrowed his eyes slightly, not sure if the kid was playing dumb or if he sincerely didn't understand what the problem was. John would wager it was the later. The kid seemed so open and unashamed about sex, especially for someone who had obviously been abused, that the sex would probably be the last thing he would consider a problem. "What happened last night?"
A slow smile spread across his face. "You really gotta ask?"
"But… how…"
"I was pretty shocked you were able to get it up too as drunk as you were, but you managed. Boy, did you manage. Made me cum twice. You didn't cum, though. Just sorta passed out. You're heavy, man. Took me forever to get you off me. Probably didn't help that you were still in me at the time." Devon's smile turned dirty, his tone making shivers run down John's spine. "And still hard as a fuckin' rock."
John grit his teeth as he tried to tamp down the fresh rush of arousal. "What did you do?"
"Hey, you're the one who started in with the kissin' and pawin', Mr. Grabby Hands. Either you're more into little boys than you thought, or you don't really think I'm a little boy." Devon rolled over onto his back and stretched like a cat, the covers sliding down to reveal more pale, freckled skin. He was still too skinny. There was no reason he should be this tempting with his bones sticking out like that. "You're just frustrated. I think we should try that again, and see if we can get you off too this time."
John gawked at the boy, his head splitting and his eyes dry and gritty, trying to make sense of what was going on. His cock, though… his cock twitched at the idea of being inside this boy and vague but definitely pornographic memories of the night before flickered through his mind again. And the sight of the boy's hairless pubes sent a fresh wave of want through him at the memory of how good he felt there, all smooth and soft. John's stomach had other plans.
Devon followed him to the bathroom, completely and shamelessly naked, and watched him heave into the toilet from the doorway. "Dude… that's so uncool. I give you my best pitch and you throw up." But he didn't really seem offended. He grabbed a face cloth and wet it with cool water from the tap, rung it out and placed it on the back of John's neck. It felt so good, John couldn't help leaning into it, into Devon. The boy ran the fingers of his free hand through the short hairs at the nape of John's neck in a way that reminded him of Mary so much that his heart twisted painfully in his chest. "You know, tomato juice or soup helps with hangovers. I can go get you some."
John groaned and straightened up, taking the cloth from Devon and wiping his mouth. "It's okay. I just need to stay hydrated. I'll be fine."
"So was it true? What you said about your wife and kid dyin' like that?"
John closed his eyes and nodded. "Yeah. It's true." For the first time, he realized that he was just as naked as Devon and he trudged back to his bed and crawled under the covers, Devon still right behind him. Like one of those puppies they tell you not to feed. John smiled slightly at the comparison. Devon was a lot like a puppy. Mischievous, playful, eager to please, and relentless.
"I'm sorry. That was fucked up. At least you still have the youngest one. I wish I still had somebody."
Suddenly, John felt like an ungrateful, selfish fuck. Not that he wasn't always thankful that Sammy had survived that night, even if he wasn't thankful that he had survived himself, but he hadn't even called the poor kid last night. He wiped his face with a hand only to look up and see Devon shoving a bottle of water in his face. He took it with a smirk. "Thanks. You auditioning for the part of house boy?"
"I'd settle for kept boy."
