Author's Notes/Warning: Almost there, ladies and gentlemen! Internet issues are currently eating into my writing time. But I made it! Hope you enjoy!

John's POV - Chapter 6

He was on his own with Victor because Dean was – once again – not where he was supposed to be.

John watched as Victor used a key to let himself into the back door of the home. He assumed Victor would lock the door behind himself at that point, so getting into the house without tipping off Victor or causing a disturbance that would prompt someone to call the real cops would be tricky.

He decided to not rush in. Instead he hastened back to the car to get his duffle. He'd probably need something to get into the house or to deal with Victor, so better to be prepared.

Popping the trunk, he pulled out the gun he had hidden in the waistband of his jeans to check bullets. He was dealing with a human. No need for salt or silver. The standard issue would do just fine. Then he pulled out the already prepared duffle. Slamming the trunk shut, he hurried back to the house to search for another possible point of entry, hoping he could also look into windows to see what was going on inside.

He knew Victor was going to need time to position himself somewhere in the home to be discovered by the sitter. John also knew Victor was not going to attack right away, since the idea was to first pass as an innocuous statue. John had no idea why Victor would think a clown statue in any home would be considered innocuous in the first place. Still, the idea was to first slip by undetected in plain sight, making sure the sitter was comfortable with the "statue" once he'd been detected. He would want them to continue with whatever they were doing, letting their guard down, before he would strike.

A 5-minute wait while he searched for a way in would be long enough to give Victor time to get into place, John thought. He didn't want to risk the life of the girl who was unknowingly going to be Victor's next victim.

John watched the neighboring homes and looked for any place where someone might detect his presence on the property. It was early evening still, but dark enough to move about without easily drawing attention.

John tested windows and a basement door to see if he could slip in. He got lucky. There was a window open that led into the kitchen. The light was off, so the girl was most likely not doing anything in that room right now.

Looking around once more, John pushed the window open as far as it would go. There was a screen in place, so he had no choice but to dig out the cutters he always brought along for potential break-ins like this.

He cut away the screen and removed it, leaving it outside the house, and quietly slipped the duffle in first, then hauled himself up and into the window. The window was positioned over the kitchen sink, so he had to move the faucet without accidentally turning it on.

He stepped carefully onto the floor of the kitchen, then closed the window, hoping –should she come back in – that the girl wouldn't notice the missing screen outside the window. He pushed the duffle to the side of the sink so it would not be easily seen by anyone else. Then he reached into his waistband and retrieved his gun.

Stealing through the kitchen, John flattened against the wall and quickly peeked through the door. It was a dining room. The lights were also off in the room, so he snuck through continuing to search the house while listening for the girl and for Victor.

From the dining room, John could see there was a small entryway and another room on the other side of the house where the lights were on, but he couldn't hear any movement. The well-lit stairs in the entry area were against a wall. There was also a small area on the side of the stairs where he could duck for cover while he decided where to go next. He wanted to check out any other rooms that were downstairs, but how to do it unnoticed was the question.

Suddenly detecting the girl's faint footsteps above, he spotted a closet door behind him and decided to take cover there as he heard her coming. He strained his ears to hear and picked up on the sound of something opening and closing upstairs. Maybe he could dash over to the other room?

He looked up the stairs, checking for signs of the girl, or shadows of some sort. Seeing nothing, he started to move to the bottom of the stairs, using the wall as cover to peek into the next room. He could see some furniture, but from where he was standing, he couldn't see all the way into the room. He'd have to step out to take a better look. As John weighed his options, he heard more movement from upstairs, this time accompanied by a girl's voice. It sounded as if she was on the phone and getting closer to the stairs. John hustled back to the closet, being careful of any squeaky floorboards that could betray him.

He slipped in and pulled the door almost closed, just in time to see the girl coming down the stairs and heading into the adjacent room. She was a red head. Long straight hair brushed her back as she moved. Her thin frame and delicate features made John think she would not present much of a challenge at all when Victor finally pounced. And he could very well do just that when she entered that room. John hated not knowing for sure what she was walking in to.

"Yeah, I'm on my house sitting job right now. – Nope, just gonna go hang out and watch a movie, why? – What? No, Richie, you cannot come over here. – You know why! This is my job, Rich. I have to take care of the place." John could hear the girl laughing, "Yeah, ok, I'll take care of you when I see you tomorrow. – No, Richie, not here…"

John listened as the girl's voice moved further away. He snuck out again to take cover behind the wall. He could hear her talking. Sounded like she had moved into another room even further away, so he used the opportunity to sneak up the carpeted stairs and began checking inside the rooms. He was grateful that this family went for wall-to-wall throughout the rooms and in the hall upstairs. Made it easier to be quiet as he moved stealthily from room to room, looking for Victor in his damned clown costume. The lights were off in all the rooms. John surmised that the girl must not have been planning to go to bed anytime soon.

Slipping into the first room, John looked into corners and closets. Upon seeing nothing, he moved on to the next room. He moved methodically through the upstairs rooms, listening for the girl's voice possibly ascending the stairs each time he switched to the next room. In the bathroom, he saw the shower curtain was drawn and he stopped in his tracks. Steadying himself, he walked carefully to the tub, looking for any signs that someone was hiding there. He tilted his head to detect any sound of breathing, but there was just the faint sound of cars driving by outside. He inched his fingers along the curtain, gripping it carefully, before yanking it back to reveal – nothing.

John relaxed his gun and prepared to sneak back out of the bathroom when he heard a scream from downstairs. It was the girl.

Tossing aside all desire to be covert, John gripped his gun tighter and raced down the stairs in the direction of the scream. He could hear her gasping and the sounds of a struggle as he finally rounded the wall into the room he had been trying to get into earlier. That room was empty of activity, but ahead of him were wooden sliding doors. They were partly closed, but the commotion was clearly taking place behind them.

Rushing to the doors, he flung them open to see the girl on the floor, Victor on top of her, trying to strangle the life from her. John knew he had to be quick before the clown had time to snap her neck.

"Victor!" he yelled, cocking and aiming his gun inches away from the serial killer's face. He was hoping not to have to shoot since the monster they had been looking for was not a ghostly legend after all, but only Victor in a creepy clown costume.

"Get off her, Victor, or I will shoot!"

John heard the girl collapse to the floor. She was still breathing, but not moving just yet. Victor rose up and slowly turned around to face John. He cocked his head as he studied John. The makeup distorting his face into a perpetual smile seemed more creepy than ever. No wonder Sammy hated clowns.

"Victor isn't here right now. Maybe I can help you?" The clown stepped closer to John, who instinctively backed up to keep a safe distance between them.

"Victor, I know it's you."

"No, no, no. I'm afraid Victor is otherwise occupied."

"OK, if you're not Victor, then who are you?"

The clown smiled and stood still, placing his hands behind his back as he rocked on his heels in pretend thought. "Hmmm. Who am I? Who am I, you ask?"

"I thought I was pretty clear. Who are you?"

The clown's hands fell to his side as he sneered at John.

"I'm Victor's protector. Vince."

"Well then, Vince, what are you doing here? To that girl?"

Victor looked back at her and pointed. "Oh, you mean her? We were just playing! I wanted to surprise her. But…tsk tsk tsk…it seems she couldn't take a joke. Started screaming!" Victor waved his hands in mock surprise.

"I couldn't risk her telling anyone about us, now could I? Victor and me? So…" the clown shrugged. "…she had to go."

"No, Victor, I don't think she is the one who has to go."

The clown stepped forward again, edging John closer to the wall, which he really didn't like at all. "It's Vince and whatever do you mean?" The clown pointed grandly to himself. "You don't mean me, do you? Noooo. That wouldn't work at all!"

"And why not," John asked loudly, hoping the girl would revive enough to get up and call the police while he had Victor's attention. This would be so much easier if Dean had remained on his post. Where was that damn son of his?

"Victor needs me. I protected him all those years ago when those clowns accosted him in that house. It really did a number on his mind. He was so messed up. I had to come out for him, to be there to protect him from his own worst nightmares."

John realized at this point that the medical building he had followed Victor to the other day had listed the names of a number of psychiatrists as residents. Victor must have been seeing one of them. That meant that Victor was aware of his problem, so what had gone wrong? John wondered if maybe he was off any medication he should have been taking.

"Vince, you did a great job protecting Victor that night on Halloween," John said softly, trying to lull the clown into a false sense of security. The clown nodded happily. "I did good, didn't I?"

"Yes, but this is different. The girl poses no threat and I can't let you hurt her. I'm sorry. But if you just step away from her –"

"No!" Vince yelled, pounding his fists like a petulant toddler on the multi-colored pants covering his thighs. It would have seemed comical were it not for the dire circumstances. "She is mine! I must take care of Victor! I must get rid of her!"

John saw the girl slowly starting to re-awaken behind the clown's back and he stepped further back to draw Victor closer to him.

"I can't let you do that, Victor."

"And who's going to stop me? You?"

"Me," John replied.

Victor stopped to smile at John. One of those damned creepy clown smiles. Yeah, he thought, he and Sam were definitely on the same page when it came to despising clowns.

"Don't make me do this, Victor."

"My name. is. Vince!" At that, Victor lunged at John, who had no choice but to shoot. The bullet caught Victor in the shoulder, forcing him down to the ground. John rushed over to him to deliver one sharp punch, knocking him out cold for the moment.

He stepped back, shaking his hurt fist. He saw some of the damn makeup on his knuckles.

"Damn, that's going to be a bitch to get off me," he cursed.

John stepped over Victor to lift the girl off the floor. She was still woozy and it didn't register that someone was carrying her. John laid her on the sofa, then rushed back to his duffle to gets cuffs and rope to secure Victor. After tying him down, John called the police from the girl's phone, which had hit the floor in the struggle. He guessed she was either done with her last call, or it got disconnected. He couldn't chance that it was just disconnected and maybe police were already on their way.

So he called them himself, gave the address of the home and let them know the serial killer was shot but still alive, restrained and in need of medical attention. His civil duty done, John grabbed his duffle and hightailed it out the door, checking for possible police presence already. Seeing none, John rushed down the walkway and back to his car, just in time to hear the sirens already on their way. "Reno's finest to the rescue…if you're in the right neighborhood," John muttered to himself.

He watched as the cop cars pulled into the driveway of the home and in front of it, before he started up the Impala, making a U-turn and heading back to his house – and, most likely, to Dean.

(~~~)

It felt like it took John forever to get back to the house. He pondered all that could have been going on with Dean to cause him to ditch his post. With every thought, John only got angrier. He couldn't imagine a good answer to the question of where Dean was right now.

Pulling up to the house he knew one thing – Dean was home.

Quickly parking the Impala, he stormed up the stairs and into the house. He couldn't miss the sounds of a woman's laughter coming from Dean's room. He walked up close and listened. He heard the female voice, then Dean's before rearing back to kick open the door.

"Dean!" John was mad. Huffing mad. So mad he was sure his eyes must surely be flickering given the startled looks on Dean's and the girl's face.

"Dad!"

John only paused a moment at the door to take in the scene. He had caught Dean beneath some young woman in mid-moan. Her back was to John as she sat astride his son. There was a flash of her firm thigh. The snatch of sheets as she covered herself revealed Dean's own nakedness under the thin covers. The young blonde recoiled quickly drawing the sheet up to her chin, looking over at Dean, then John. She was a beauty, John noticed. Slightly different from what Dean usually chased after. There was an air of confidence that surrounded her. She wasn't embarrassed so much as caught off guard.

"You the one distracting my boy?" John asked, taking a step forward.

"Dad! Stop!" Dean yelled as he sat up, any shame falling away as moved to kneel between John and Belinda, shielding her from John's wrath.

"Please, Dad. It's not her fault," Dean continued. John stared at Belinda, then back at Dean. "Boy…," he started, looking back at the girl under the sheet. She stared at John with curiosity.

"It's time for you to leave, young lady," he commands.

"Dean needs me right now," she said, clearly not intimidated by the older man.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. He needs me. Can't you see that?" Belinda put her hand on Dean's shoulder as she stepped from the bed, the sheet falling away and revealing a well-toned body.

John tried to keep his eyes on her face and remain in control of the situation. "Listen, young lady, I don't know who you think you are –"

"I'm his friend."

"You barely know him."

"I know enough. I know he's hurting and he's lonely and that he doesn't even know it himself."

Dean looked over at Belinda, but said nothing as he looked back at John.

"But you know, don't you," Belinda charged.

John clenched his fists, unsure what to make of the naked woman standing before him. He came prepared to finally confront Dean and the last thing he needed was a fight on his hands with some temporary fling.

"See, I felt the pain coming off Dean when I first met him and it drew me to him. I wanted to help him. I needed to."

"Look, whoever you are –"

"Belinda."

"-you are not needed here. I can handle my own son."

"Can you? Where have you been, John?"

"Excuse me? Look –"

"No, John, I won't let you avoid this."

"Hey," Dean interrupted.

Belinda and John faced off as Dean rose from the bed, dragging the sheet from the bed to wrap around his waist. He stood between them awkwardly. "You know how I love it when people fight over me," Dean chuckled. "But this…this, uh, is just weird."

Belinda stood boldly now as John continued to glare at the brazen woman.

She reached one arm back around Dean, her eyes never leaving John. Then she raised her other to pull Dean into an embrace, stroking his hair as she whispered into his ear, "It's alright, my love. You do what you need to do."

"Um," Dean cleared him throat as he lightly hugged Belinda in return. "I'm sorry," he told her. "I should have known better." Dean then stepped back, facing his dad.

John narrowed his eyes, his fingers splaying. "You're apologizing to her? I think you're a little confused, Dean," John said patiently. He was gathering his senses, focusing them on his next move. He had given Dean all the time and all the room in the world and Dean had repeatedly thrown it back in his face. He had given more than enough warnings as well, but Dean had seemed unwilling to heed them.

Belinda reached for her clothes on the floor. As she stood, she glared at John before reaching over to Dean again, drawing his face to hers as she kissed him on the lips in full view of his father. Her arm protectively stretched across his chest, turning him toward her as she pressed her bare breasts against his chest.

As she stepped away, John was amazed to see a blush creeping onto Dean's cheeks. "I'll go get dressed and leave you two alone for now," she decided.

John could feel the heat coming off her as she walked past, but his gaze stayed on Dean, who was wordlessly begging him not to do anything to the girl.

John held his son's gaze. He couldn't allow himself to go after the girl right now. He needed Dean to understand that time was up. This could go down no other way.

Once the door had shut behind Belinda, John spoke. "Where did I tell you to be?" John growled, edging closer to Dean. His right hand carefully reached for his belt buckle.

"At the house of the next possible victim. I know." Dean stepped back as he spoke.

"And when, Dean? When did I ask you to be there?" John raised his left hand to start pulling the belt from its loops.

"Um," Dean swallowed. He glanced briefly behind him, realizing the wall was quickly coming up behind.

"Dean!"

"I hear you! You told me to stand watch for as long as it took, to wait for you, but I…" Dean took a bracing breath, closing his eyes but a moment. When he opened them, John could see the resignation on his face.

"I didn't listen. I mean, I did, but I just…I was somewhere else."

"Yeah! Here! With that girl who…what? Gave you the best sex of your life?! What could she possibly have between her legs to make you lose your mind, boy? You were supposed to back me up!"

"I know," Dean replied quietly, looking at the floor.

"You were supposed to be where I told you when I told you for a reason, Dean!"

"I…I…I know," Dean replied, still refusing to look up.

"Do you know?" John couldn't stop himself now. He grabbed Dean's upper arms, pulling him toward himself, unable to let the disrespect and disobeying of orders go unpunished any longer.

"Dad! Yes! I know! I'm sorry!"

John gripped his son's flesh, his anger transferring to his tightened grip. Dean winced, trying to find relief under his father's vice-like hold.

"You know. You keep saying you know, but if you knew, we wouldn't be here right now with me having to whip sense into my 24-year-old son!"

"I'm sorry, Dad. It was stupid to bring her here. I wasn't thinking," Dean whispered, averting his eyes once again. "I don't know what I was thinking. I swear."

"Hell no, you weren't thinking! At least not with the head that holds that brain of yours!" John roughly released the chastised boy and took one large step back. He breathed out.

"Assume the position."

John saw the boy pale at the command, green eyes wide with disbelief.

"Dad…"

"Don't make me say it twice, Dean."

"Dad, please, I know I have this coming. You warned me. I heard, but I didn't…
Just…can we just…not? Please?"

John gave Dean one more chance, choosing not to reply instead of repeating himself. He knew he had been more than patient and tolerant of whatever this funk was his son was in. He knew he was angry, but not so angry that he couldn't carry out this discipline with the controlled hand needed in order for Dean to get the message.

"Can I at least get dressed first? I mean, you know, wear somethin—"

"No!"

Dean jumped at the word, stopping his pleas to yield to the task at hand.

Dean nodded and John could see his son turning a slight crimson again. He could only assume he was embarrassed, but it was not enough to stop John's hand. He narrowed his eyes at Dean once again.

"Right," Dean acquiesced, rubbing his neck. "I'm doing it." He slowly looked around the room.

"Any time today, Dean."

"Dad," Dean tried one more time. "Really, at least boxers…"

John snorted. "I'm not sure you could have set it up more perfectly, Dean, even if you'd tried" he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "Somewhere in the back of your mind, maybe you knew this was coming and you got ready for it. Now do I need to start adding on to the licks I've already got planned for you?"

"No. No, sir." Dean shut his eyes, tugging at the sheet around his waist. He looked again around the small room and back at John, refusing to look him in the eye now. "Um, where…?"

John noticed then that his usual preferences, a chair or even a table that Dean could lean over, weren't available in the tiny bedroom. He was not going to break the moment by relocating them to another room, so he decided to improvise.

"You can hold on to the footboard," he decided.

Dean could only glance at his father from under his long lashes. Nodding again, he slowly complied. He moved to the foot of the bed and clutched the wooden rail of the footboard, the sheet finally falling completely as Dean leaned forward to hold the rail. He took a couple of steps back, slightly spreading his legs like he was about to be arrested. Surely he would have preferred that right now.

John watched his son's bent back, waiting while he gripped the footboard with both hands, head bowed in submission.

"How many?" Dean asked.

"I'll decide as I go," John snapped.

Dean nodded and John could see the apprehension in his boy's posture while he awaited the first strike.

John shook his head. It didn't have to be this way.

The first powerful blow to Dean's bare ass caused Dean's knees to buckle slightly. John heard him hiss as he repositioned himself, feet apart, one hand now gripping the rail. The other hand planted itself on the mattress, bowing Dean even further but giving him some sort of relief too.

John only waited for him to still again, then reared his arm back to bring another angry lash onto Dean's right butt cheek, quickly followed by one to his thighs, causing him to buckle yet again. But Dean only exhaled loudly, finding his formation yet again. The sheet of the bed gathered in his clenched fist.

Not wanting to drag things out, John doled out three more strikes, first forehand, then back, then fore again, each landing on Dean's left cheek, then right, then left again. Dean leaned forward now to brace himself on his elbows, his head buried between them and shaking slightly. John didn't have the heart to tell the quiet boy to resume the original position. He knew he was far from done. Six licks in and Dean was already close to breaking. John inhaled and blocked the thought from his mind.

Three more strikes turned Dean's behind a scarlet color, and John only hesitated a moment before laying two more to his thighs. Dean buckled more now, taking longer to straighten, and John giving him less time to do so.

With focus, John swung, the belt landing from Dean's lower back to mid-thigh, licks concentrating to the left of his ass and to the right. John could see Dean struggling to breathe with each lash and John was determined now to break him. Not to force Dean's will into compliance with his own so much as to loosen his tongue and rip away whatever it was that had put this rift between them.

John very much intended to give Dean at least 24 lashes with that belt, but he was only at 15, and Dean was taking longer to stand back up, shaking between his arms. John was sure he could hear the sounds of muffled sniffles on the bed.

"Almost there, Dean. We have to get this out." John knew Dean could barely stand now, and even though he knew his son might resent him for it, he decided to give him the only break he could as he remembers a bag in the back room.

"Don't move," he warned Dean, heading back to the door. Dean turned his head away, wiping his eyes across his arm as he did so. He stiffly nodded but stayed prostrate at the foot of the bed. John knew he has his son's full attention now and he was going to finish this, once and for all.