The Future of Things to Come Pt 3

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairings: John/Bobby, John/Demon Dean, John/OMC

Rating: FRAO

Warnings: M/M sex, Rape (Demon Dean/John), violence, coerced sex, drug use, domestic abuse, dark themes.

Summary: Two years after Dean becomes a human/demon hybrid and starts aiding demons in taking over the world John blows up a building with Dean and his followers in it. John goes back to hunting thinking that he and Sam are safe, Dean is dead and the demon take over is finished. This story takes place six months later.

John had finished eating breakfast and was startled when the bedroom door swung open again. He took a deep breath to steady himself as Dean walked into the room. Caroline was still straightening the room and she paused turning to Dean as he walked in.

"Can I assist you in some way, Mr. Winchester?"

Dean offered her a cheery smile.

"No I just wanted to make sure that you had met John and to see if he was feeling better. He was exhausted when we arrived last night, weren't you, honey?"

John steeled himself, and then looked down trying to school his expression into something suitably submissive. Finally, he glanced up at Dean from under his lashes.

"Yes, but I'm feeling much better, Dean," he whispered.

Dean grinned coming to the bed and sitting down beside his father. With a sly look he picked the tray up inspecting the contents and appeared satisfied that John wasn't going to try to starve himself.

"Good," Dean said, stroking his thumb over John's lips.

He leaned in kissing John gently. If Caroline was displeased by the open affection between the two men, she didn't show it. John glanced at her to see, her face was still beaming at Dean.

"When you're finished with breakfast I want you to get showered, and dressed. I'm going to take a few days off from work, and spend some time with you. I want to show you the house. I think you'll like it better than the penthouse in Vegas. And then we're going over to some friends' house for lunch."

Rising, Dean walked over to the clotheshorse where Caroline had laid out John's clothing for the day. He frowned. Picking up the shirt he went into the closet and selected another hanging it on the rack instead. John rose from the bed wincing. Dean may have been able to heal the physical injuries from the beating he had given John the night before but the pain of abused and strained muscles remained.

When John headed to the bathroom Caroline hastily exited the room. Dean watched his father limp toward the archway leading into the master-bathroom. Before John could disappear into the side room Dean caught him by the waist pulling him around. John paused not looking up. Dean ran his fingers through John's hair tilting his father's head down to compensate for the inch in height that John had on the younger man. It had always annoyed Dean to no end that both his father and Sam were taller than him.

"You're going to be a good boy today aren't you, John? I wouldn't want to have a repeat of last night's performance so soon. I really don't want to make you suffer."

"Then let me go," John said quietly. "Why can't you just leave me alone? I'll give up hunting if that's what you want? Now that Bobby's…."

Dean slapped John across the face.

"I don't want to hear that hillbilly's name around here. I'm still a little upset that you'd actually spread your legs for him. You know I don't think you completely understand who you belong to, do you?"

Dean grabbed John by the arm hustling him to the bed. He shoved the older man down onto the soft surface and began stripping off his clothes. John shuddered, but he refused to struggle. When Dean was naked he climbed onto the bed, pulling John into his arms.

"Do you get it, John? This is what I want from you."

Dean leaned forward pressing his lips to his father's. John closed his eyes, and then relaxed letting Dean work his mouth open. The younger man's tongue delved inside, drawing John's tongue out. John grunted as Dean pushed him down stripping off his pajamas. Quickly Dean stretched across the bed to the nightstand, opening a drawer. He pulled a tube of lubricant out, squeezing a large dollop onto John's belly. With quick movements Dean worked the lube inside his father, stretching John's entrance. John forced himself to relax, let his body go limp.

With a vicious grin Dean dropped into the prone body beneath him, gripping John's hip tightly in one hand. He guided his cock to his father's hole, and slid in. Sighing Dean popped himself up on his elbows staring down at the other man. John didn't look away.

Dean pulled out and thrust in, leaning in he kissed John and the older man opened for him. When he saw that John wasn't going to struggle Dean cocked his head.

"So you're going to behave then, John? You're going to let me have my way with you? I want more than that…"

Dean slid his hand across the bed searching for John's hand. His fist was clenched at his side, and Dean grinned when he pulled John's hand and his fingers loosened.

"Jerk off for me. I want to see you touch yourself."

His chest jerked but John didn't flinch. His fingers curled around his cock, stroking pulling until he finally hardened. Dean grinned triumphantly as his father worked his own cock, fingers sliding up and down in rhythm to Dean's thrusts. Finally, John's eyes did close, his hand tightened and he uttered a brief harsh exhalation of breath. Dean felt the warmth of John's semen hitting his belly; he thrust in hard once, and came inside his father.

Panting Dean dropped down onto John's chest. He stroked the wiry hair under his cheek, pinching one dusky pink nipple between his thumb and forefinger. John grunted, flinching and Dean laughed.

"Still ticklish, Dad?" he said quietly.

John's breath caught in his chest. Dean's fingers worked into John's ribs, and the older man barked out an obscenity. He tried to roll away, but Dean caught him around the waist rolling them both onto their sides. John almost got away, but Dean was much stronger now, and manhandled him as if he was a child. The younger man slid am arm around John's waist, laughing into his ear, then seized the lobe in his teeth and bit down, gently. John flinched again.

Suddenly he froze as the bedroom door swung open and Caroline stood framed in the soft light of the outer corridor. Her eyes widened, and John cringed. He and Dean were naked and John was still covered in his own come. There couldn't possibly be any doubt about what they had been doing prior to her coming into the room. He prayed that Dean was not angered by the older lady's indiscretion. She froze unsure of whether to back up or move into the room. Dean causally flicked the bedcovers up, draping them over his and John's bodies. John was mortified, but Dean didn't really seem to care.

"I….oh, please forgive me," she said and it was the first time John saw a break in her carefully controlled demeanor. Finally, Caroline managed to pull herself together. "Mr. Winchester, there is a call for you, Judge Watterson."

Dean nodded sitting up. "I'll take it here," he said.

She made a hasty exit as he slid out of the bed. Turning Dean slapped John on the ass.

"Get a shower, and get dressed."

John made it into the bathroom before collapsing against the wall. He was consumed by guilt and confusion, sick to his stomach and revolted by what he had just done, and yet torn by the periods of almost normalcy in his and Dean's interactions. Taking a deep breath he fought down the trembling until he could stand up. He knew that Dean was trying to break him, force him into taking the drugs Dean had kept him on in Vegas, but John wasn't going to do it. The only chance he had of getting out of this permanently, and making sure that Sam and his new girlfriend stayed safe was keeping his mind clear, focusing on the problem, working the case just as he would have any other hunt. Except he didn't have to sleep with the enemy in any other case.

In so many ways John still saw his wonderful little boy in Dean's eyes, the tilt of his head, the dusting of freckles on his face. And yet just the idea that John had voluntarily masturbated in front of his son made him sick. He shook his head to clear it. In the two years he had been with Dean in Las Vegas he had done much worse. Of course, he used to blame it on the drugs back then, even when he knew he had just given up. And the memories, although tempered by the drugs, were still clear enough. John remembered sucking Dean's cock in the backseat of the car, with Mike driving them somewhere.

He turned on the water, running it as hot as he could stand it then scrubbing his skin red with a wash cloth. Then he turned the water to cold. The frigid blast pulled an abbreviated shout from his lips, but he stood letting the water cascade over him. Finally, John pulled one of the thick, warm towels off the rack and rubbed at his skin. He felt cleaner, clear-headed and determined not to let Dean get the better of him no matter what.

The clothes on the rack were incredibly expensive, designer label stuff that he would have never been able to afford as a blue-collar working man. The underwear was silk, and he sighed again. Ivory colored and whisper soft, the sleeveless undershirt floating over his head skimming down the hard planes of his chest and back. He pulled the boxers on frowning at the slight curved slit cut up the sides. He felt like some kind of high class whore. But he supposed that was just how Dean wanted him to feel.

The jeans were tighter than he normally wore, but John prided himself on weighing no more than he had at twenty-five and worked his ass off to stay in shape. Truthfully they were probably cut for a man half his age, but he turned, looking at himself in the mirror. The acid-washed soft denim jeans wrapped around the curve of his ass just right. Not bad, if he did say so himself.

Cocking his head John glanced at Dean's back as he sat at his writing desk blathering on the telephone. Well, two could play this game, and if Dean wanted people to see him as Dean's slightly older brainless bimbo of a lover then John was just going to make sure they did. Maybe he could piss Dean off enough that he would kill John himself.

He slid into the soft emerald green silk shirt, and smiled. Walking over to the desk he practiced his stroll, until he had an almost effortless glide going, with just a twist of the hips. John could remember Mary tutoring him on how a girl walked to catch a boy's attention, years ago. It would take a little time but John thought he could knock it out, and make it look real.

John settled on the bed and pulled on his sock and shoes, pegging the hem of the jeans over the expensive dress boots. He felt like a fool, but at least he was a well dressed fool.

Dean clicked off the phone and turned to survey his father sitting on the bed. He rose, grinning and moved over, holding out a hand. John let himself be pulled to his feet. He even obligingly turned in a circle when Dean raised his hand over John's head.

"Well, don't you look good enough to eat?" Dean said with a hiss.

With most lovers, not that John had had many, that wouldn't have caused John so much consternation. He shivered and Dean laughed.

"Not that I would mind you. Well, maybe not all of you…" Dean winked, sliding his hand down John's hip and cupping his dick through the fabric of the jeans. John rolled his eyes, and that set off another round of laughter. Dean tucked his father's hand into the crook of his elbow. "Let me get a quick shower and dress again then I want to introduce you to the staff, and show you your new home."

The house turned out to be huge, much larger than John had expected. It was one of those places that he had only been in on hunts, working for people who had looked down their noses at him, as if he was only a little bit better than the poltergeist, ghost, vengeful spirit or other piece of ectoplasmic trash littering their house.

It was decorated like the covers of those architectural digest magazines, pretty, sterile and without an ounce of human warmth. It might have been a museum for all the lived in feel of the place. John hated it in an instant. But he hung on Dean's arm memorizing the lay-out, looking the place over for blind spots, structural weaknesses in the load-bearing walls, and gaps in the security camera coverage.

After they had toured the entire place, which took forty-five minutes, Dean took him back to the main entry-way where a small group of people were gathered, He recognized Caroline, and she stepped forward smiling. Beside her and to the left were two younger women who turned out to be the maids. The women were human. Kyle was there with several others all of whom John was sure were demons. Beside them was a man, perhaps forty, tall, slightly thinner than John with soft honey brown hair and deep blue eyes. He smiled at John and stepped forward.

"This is Dylan, your driver," Dean said.

John understood the unspoken 'body guard' that went with driver.

"He will go with you anytime you leave the house if I'm not with you. If we go together Kyle will drive us."

John nodded. His gaze lingered on Dylan's face just a fraction of a second too long before he caught himself and squeezed Dean's arm.

"This place is something."

Dean looked pleased.

"I knew you'd love it here. Everyone, this is John. Whatever he wants, within reason, he gets. I don't care if you have to send the helicopter to down to the city to get it. His word is law around here, do I make myself understood?"

John cocked his head at that, down to the city. He just had to figure out what city Dean was talking about. Before he could consider it Dean was pulling him out the door. John followed along with the big demon taking up a positing flanking them.

The car was a different Mercedes than the one they had used in Vegas, newer with more gadgets and gizmos and expensive as well. Dean seemed hell-bent on showing John just how much money he had, and it amused John. If Dean thought he could buy John like some gold digger he was sadly mistaken, but John looked suitably impressed and let Dean open the door for him.

The house they were driven to was not as large as the one Dean owned, but it was more to John's liking, if just for the long winding driveway and wide expanse of lush green lawn. He could see a small pond was in the center of a brick turn-out at the end of the driveway as Kyle pulled the car up. Kyle got out, opening the door for Dean, and John waited in the car until Dean came around and opened the door for him.

They were greeted at the door by a small middle-aged woman dressed in a uniform remarkably similar to the one that Caroline wore. She ushered them into the den where a tight knot of people were gathered around a bar. John surveyed them taking in three elderly men that were old enough to be his father. With two of the men were middle-aged women and the third woman who was probably no older than Dean. She was leaning on the arm of, probably, the oldest man of the three. Her bright red dress and over done make-up was an odd contrast to his somber charcoal gray suit and grim expression. Her laughter was just a little too bright and brittle sounding and John cast an annoyed glance at her. She noticed his look, and frowned, pulling a little away from the old man.

The three men greeted Dean warmly then smiled and shook hands with John just as if he had always been a part of their group. If anyone of them objected to the fact that, for all intents and purposes Dean and John were gay, they didn't give voice to it. In fact, the men tended to treat John as if he was Dean's wife. And it irritated him when he realized they were talking down to him as well as the three women.

The older man, John learned, was Judge Harold Watterson, Superior Court Judge for Essex County. John remembered driving through Essex County years ago and finally pin- pointed their location as upstate New York. He wondered how Dean had settled on New York, and then remembered that Winchester Inc. was actually head-quartered in New York City, and that it owned two large casinos in Atlantic City. Still Las Vegas to New York was a big jump. John began to think that things had not gone well in Vegas after the fire.

It turned out that the blond bimbo was Judge Watterson's twenty-nine year old wife, Terri. John smiled coldly as she took his hand flashing him a tight, grim smile. He couldn't quite keep the irrational irritation he felt for her out of his expression. The other people were Jack Carter and his wife, Lydia, and Pete Harrison and his fiancée, Marla Burke. John cocked his head.

"Ms. Burke, have we met before? You seem familiar."

She looked pleased and he felt that he had done something right.

"Maybe you've seen me on TV?"

John didn't watch TV, but he smiled.

"Of course, on…"

"The District Attorney," she jumped in before he could make an idiot of himself by not knowing the name of the show she was on. He nodded even though he had never even heard of it.

Dean patted his arm.

"John, honey…I think we're ready to go out to the veranda for lunch."

John offered his arm to the woman; she giggled and tucked her hand in his elbow. Dean followed them out. Just as they got to the hall Terri Watterson corralled John and shooed Marla Burke on, Dean stepping up to take her hand. Terri rounded on John frowning and hissed at him.

"I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I don't appreciate the attitude, John. You've got some nerve for a forty year old man who lives off his younger boyfriend to look at me like I'm some kind of a whore. You can look down your nose at me all you want but don't forget you've gotten everything you have the same way I have…on your back."

John watched her flounce out of the room, shaking his head.

"Well, way to go John," he muttered to himself, "You're really making friends here."

Dean frowned at him when John and Terri finally got to the door. Terri slipped past Dean and he noticed she was red faced and scowling. Dean cornered John at the door forcing him back into the den while the others lined up at the buffet table. Judge Watterson was frowning in John and Dean's direction, and watching intently.

"What did you do to Terri? She looked upset," Dean snarled. "These people, especially Judge Watterson, are very important to me. You need to fall in line here John for the good of the company."

"I didn't do anything to her. She thought I was looking down on her for being married to a much older man and took it upon herself to remind me that I'm no better. I didn't even say anything. I don't even want to be here. These people are not my kind…"

Dean grabbed John's arm squeezing it until the older man cringed in pain.

"Well, they're my kind and you'd better get used to it. There's a big charity art sale coming up to benefit a local children's shelter and Terri and you are going to be organizing it."

"Dean, I don't know shit about art, or running some benefit. Just leave me out of it."

Dean whirled slapping John hard enough to split his lip. With a growl Dean quickly fished a handkerchief out of his pocket, and threw it to his father.

"Watch your mouth, these people don't talk like that. Clean yourself up and get your ass out there."

John leaned against the wall watching as Dean walked easily out the door, dismissing him as if he didn't even exist. He pressed the cloth to his lip until the bleeding stopped but he could feel the tender flesh and knew the bruising would be obvious. The Watterson's housekeeper appeared beside him with a plastic bag of ice wrapped in a white bar towel.

She held it up to him.

"Here put this on it. It should help take down the swelling."

John was barely able to keep from cringing at the look of pity she gave him. He flushed, angry and embarrassed. Taking the ice he slipped out onto the veranda trying to stay out of sight. Terri Watterson had an evil gleam in her eyes when she came back to the door, and John knew she had seen Dean slap him. At that moment he had never hated Dean more.

Pete Harrison slid his arm around John's waist propelling him toward the bar.

"Come on, John; let's get you a little something to loosen up that stiff spine of yours."

Harrison was more than loose himself in the few minutes they had been outside, and John figured he had already had a good headstart on getting drunk long before he and Dean arrived. He smiled at the other man and didn't shrug off his arm, even when Dean looked pointedly at them. Harrison stepped up to the bar.

"Bourbon and cola," he said to the bartender then glanced at John.

John looked around quickly to see what the others were drinking. Most of the men had glasses of whisky or bourbon but the women were drinking Margaritas. With a smile he glanced at the other man from under his eyelashes.

"I'll have a peach Margarita."

Harrison blinked then slid his hand from John's waist to his hip.

"Whatever you want, honey."

Dean cornered his father in the hallway on the way to the bathroom. His face was a dark mask of rage. With a grunt he grabbed John shoving him against the wall. John refused to flinch even though Dean was hurting him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Act normal."

John sneered.

"I am acting normal. Just like the rest of the wives and girlfriends."

Dean stepped back as if suddenly becoming aware of the fact that they were in somebody else's home.

"You're not my wife or my girlfriend. I want you to act like John Winchester."

"Well, I can't because John Winchester wouldn't roll over and let his little boy fuck him up the ass."

"I'm not your little boy anymore, Daddy. Don't ever forget that."

John closed his eyes drawing in a ragged breath.

"I used to think that, Dean. But sometimes I can almost see him in there, lurking, just under the surface. I have to believe that something of Dean still is in you. It's all I've got."

Dean blinked rocking back and John could see the confusion on his face. Then suddenly the demon smiled, eyes flashing with a cold gleam.

"Oh poor Johnny, still in love with the past. I want to fuck my father not some witless bimbo."

"Well you're not going to get it, not again. If you don't like me this way either let me go or kill me. But John Winchester doesn't roll over that easy, not any more."

"You will, Johnny. Play your game for now. I'll fuck you as the stupid whore that you're playing. I still get what I want one way or another."

TBC