Chapter 28

Dean went out the next morning to do some shopping, after extracting a promise from me not to fight with Bobby while he was gone. I decided to retreat to the library until he got back, but to my dismay I found the hunter already there, seated in an armchair with a book on incubi and succubi—the same book Dean had read on his second day here—on his lap.

Bobby scowled when he saw me. "You morons weren't any quieter last night, ya know. There ain't enough bleach in the world to scour away the images of what you two might've been up to!"

"Not my problem, old man. No one invited you to come here, and it certainly wasn't my idea to let you stay!" I snapped as I sat at my desk. I then paused and took a deep breath. "My apologies. You're important to Dean, and for his sake I should make a better effort to get along with you."

"I told Dean I'd try harder too," he admitted somewhat ashamedly. "Where is he anyways?"

"He's gone out to some home goods stores. He wants to redecorate now that we're sharing a room," I replied.

"You ain't going with him?"

I shrugged. "The whole Queer Eye thing isn't exactly my forte. I hired an interior decorator when I first moved in here and didn't change much for years. Dean's the one who really transformed this place into a home—he repainted, rearranged furniture, added rugs, pictures, and all sorts of other domestic touches. He's done the same outside—all the gardening and most of the décor out on the terrace is his work. So whatever he wants to do with the bedrooms now is fine with me."

"I take it that the same bedroom thing is a new development?"

"Kind of. I gave Dean his own room from the start, so that he'd have his own space where he'd have a sense of privacy and control," I explained. "We actually ended up sharing a bed after only a few days though, because we discovered that he didn't have those terrible nightmares—which you must be all too familiar with—when I spent the night with him. So even before we started getting . . . intimate, he'd sleep in my bed, but he still went to his room to wash, change, or when he wanted alone time. It was only on the day you showed up that Dean decided to move into my bedroom for real."

Bobby sighed. "I hate to admit it, but so far it seems you've been good for Dean. He's fit and not half-starved-looking, he's barely been drinking at all, and overall it looks like he's taking care of himself properly for a change. I ain't seen him smile or laugh so frequently as these past coupla days in a long time, especially when he's around you. And given the hell John put him through, I didn't have high hopes that the kid would ever let someone get close to him before this. I don't ever wanna know details, but the fact that he's so comfortable being physical with you makes me hopeful that he's finally beginning to heal."

He fixed me with a stern look. "This don't mean that I'm ready to trust you with him yet! Or that you're off the hook for buying him to be your sex slave either! Being bought by you mighta been better compared to someone that woulda really hurt or killed him, but that still don't make it right. I also know that there's plenty 'bout your 'relationship' that neither of you've told me yet. Like how I figure things between you weren't always so open and easy, or that he wasn't always able to do as he pleases. Dean didn't show signs of mind control when I tested him, but I still ain't convinced that there ain't some Stockholm-like asshattery going on. And don't think I haven't noticed that thing around his neck looks an awful lot like a gussied-up collar!"

I nodded. "You're absolutely correct, Bobby. Buying another person and holding him captive is never right, and how well I've tried to treat Dean doesn't change that. And I did keep him under a lot of restrictions for the longest time. We're in a good place together now, but it wasn't easy getting here, and I'm still amazed that he's been able to forgive me for the mistakes I made. But if you want him to be happy, you're going to have to learn to accept what happened, even if you can't pardon me for it.

"Just like I'll have to accept that the person Dean respects the most in his life stood by and did nothing while he was physically, emotionally, and sexually abused for years. There is no way that you didn't know something about what that bastard did to him, and I'm not sure if I can ever truly forgive or respect you for not stopping it. You might've done your best for Dean after the sonofabitch was locked up, but that doesn't make up for the fact that he wouldn't have suffered so much if you'd manned up and protected him earlier." I folded my arms and gazed back at him implacably.

Bobby swallowed. "You ain't wrong, Sam. I failed Dean badly, and I dunno if I'll ever be able to forgive myself for not standing up for him. I swear I didn't know 'bout the sexual abuse until after, but . . . I did have my suspicions 'bout the rest. Thing is . . . John and I met in 'Nam, under some of the worst conditions imaginable. Back then, John had his demons, but he wasn't a bad man, and he saved my ass more than once out there. The war changed him for the worse though, and then losing Mary like that pushed him over the edge.

"Not that any of that shit excuses how he treated Dean but . . . I owed John my life, and I guess I didn't wanna believe he'd changed so much. So I tried to rationalize the signs I saw—the bruises, the broken bones, how thin Dean always was, how withdrawn he got after Sammy was gone, and so on. I told myself it was just boys roughhousing and being clumsy, or growing too fast to keep up with what he was eating, or missing his brother, or regular teenaged moodiness. I told myself that John was grieving, that his drinking and anger was excusable given what he'd gone through, that he loved his son and wouldn't hurt him. I told myself that if there really was a problem, Dean would come to me. Deep down I knew I was lying to myself, but I didn't wanna admit it.

"When I got the call that Dean was in a coma after the attack . . . nothing you've said was worse than how I've blamed myself. If I hadn't deluded myself, if I hadn't made excuses for John, if I'd found the courage to take those boys away, that tragedy wouldn't have happened. I of all people should've known better, since my own dad was an abusive drunk. Dean deserved better than a cowardly fool like me, but I was pretty much all he had. I resolved to do my best for him from then onwards, but I knew it'd never make up for what I should've done.

"That boy has every right to hate me for how I let him down, and it's a testament to his big heart that he found it in him to keep loving me. But I know that's part of why he left too. As much as he tells me I'm the dad he wishes he had all along, he's never understood why I didn't save him. And I got no explanation to give him that could begin to justify my failure as a father or as a man." He stopped to wipe at his eyes.

I went to the small liquor cabinet, poured a finger of single-malt scotch each into two glasses, and handed one to him. "I can't offer you the absolution you need. I can't imagine letting someone I care about be mistreated so badly. The most I can do for you is help Dean recover from this trauma as best I can, and then someday maybe he can forgive you for your shortcomings.

"But I've made my own mistakes and hurt him pretty badly as well, and I'm still atoning for what I've done wrong. So . . . perhaps we can find a way to make some peace with each other over our individual need to make amends and our mutual affection for him," I added.

Bobby raised his glass. "I can drink to that. And to Dean, who deserves better that what life's handed him so far, yet has managed to overcome it despite our blunders."

I raised my glass as well and then took a sip, savoring the fruity aroma, the rich, woody taste with notes of vanilla, apricot, caramel, and honey, and the hint of burn as it slid down my throat. We were both silent as we slowly finished our drinks.

He set his glass down and closed the book in his lap. "I hafta say, the books you got here are fascinating. I've got the best lore library outta the hunters I know, but it don't hold a candle to this collection! Most of what we hunters have to work from is based on myth and legend, and a big part of our research is trying to sift the facts from the fairy tales. But reading these resources 'bout the supernatural, written by the supernatural, opens up a whole new world of information! Like this here—I never knew that the thing 'bout consensual sex is like a religious tenet with your kind. It makes me more inclined to think that maybe you are serious 'bout never forcing Dean into anything physical."

"It's our most important precept—that love in all forms must be freely given. I was already pushing the boundaries of what's acceptable by purchasing Dean with the intent to feed on him. Coercing him into a sexual relationship would've gone against not only my beliefs but also my personal principles," I said firmly. "As I told Dean many times, I never wanted him to feel compelled or obligated to do anything. Even if he'd never agreed to become my lover, I was happy to have him here as a companion and friend."

"For Dean's sake, I'd like to believe that's true, and maybe I will after I get to know you better," he responded. "But reading this stuff, talking to you two and the others 'bout your community . . . it makes me realize just how much I don't know. I ain't one of those hunters who shoots first and asks questions later or thinks that everything supernatural is evil, but now I wonder how many creatures I still mighta misjudged. If we hunters had access to this kinda knowledge, not only could we do our jobs better, but maybe we could avoid going after those that don't deserve it."

"Do you really think most hunters would even care?" I asked bitterly. "From our experience, the majority of your kind are revenge-driven, bloodthirsty fanatics who think that anyone who isn't human should die. Letting them have this information would simply enable them to slaughter us more easily."

Bobby looked at me shrewdly. "You really don't have a good opinion of hunters, do you? I noticed how you reacted to me initially, and whenever I mentioned other hunters. It seems more than just a general fear of being persecuted—your anger seems personal."

"Oh, it's very personal. Both of my parents were murdered by hunters," I retorted. "I didn't know my father well, and I never learned the exact circumstances that drew a hunter's attention to him. So it's possible he did something to bring about his demise. But my mother was innocent of any wrongdoing! She ran a pleasure house near Las Vegas as a sanctuary, a safe place where people like us could live and feed without drawing attention. In all the decades that she was madam there, not a single client was ever harmed by one of her courtesans. Eventually however, a pack of hunters discovered the brothel, and they didn't care that no humans were being endangered. They slaughtered most of the people inside, including my mother, and then torched the building to try to cover up their crime."

"Damn, son! I'm sorry 'bout what happened to your momma. There's no excuse for what those bastards did to her and her people." He appeared to be sincerely upset. "I get now why you hate hunters, Sam. But we ain't all like that—any more than all monsters are bad either."

I shrugged. "Maybe, but from our perspective, reasonable hunters like you are the exception, not the rule. The ones most of us are unlucky enough to encounter are more like what I imagine John Winchester would be if he knew about the supernatural."

"Why d'ya think I never told that sonofabitch the truth? The man was already unstable enough with his damn serial killer theory. Telling him that demons, ghosts, and everything else that goes bump in the night are real, and that one of 'em was responsible for his wife's death, woulda sent him completely off the deep end." Bobby shook his head. "I wasn't gonna be responsible for the rampage he woulda gone on after that!"

"Hopefully I'll never have the misfortune of ever meeting the bastard. He deserves more than merely being locked up, but I'll settle for Dean never having to deal with him again." I eyed the other man curiously. "From your reactions though, it seems like you might be reconsidering the need to attack our community."

"Yeah, I reckon that ain't on the tables no more. And not just 'cause I dunno if there's enough hunters in the whole country to take on a group this big—we ain't exactly the organized types. If what you all been telling me is true, bringing a bloodbath down on this place ain't the right thing to do. That Food Market shithole needs to go down, but the regular folks just trying to live peaceful lives don't deserve to suffer for it," he said. "Jo told me 'bout the various ways some of you have been trying to fight this Market system, and she mentioned that you specifically have been working against it, despite the lapse with Dean."

"I've done what I can, which has mostly been helping set up non-exploitive food sources. We find people appropriate positions at butcher's shops, funeral homes, morgues, blood banks, et cetera, and then we connect restaurants, grocery stores, and similar businesses with them to supply the . . . err, parts the businesses need. It was slow going at first, but the plan's gained traction as more people realize that this is more ethical and less expensive than the Food Market," I explained. "It's safer as well—if we ever are discovered by hunters or the public, it'll be easier to convince them we're not a threat if we're not killing humans for food."

"If you're so against this bullshit though, why d'ya buy someone through it? And why is that damn collar still 'round Dean's neck?" he demanded.

"Going to the Market was a serious moment of weakness. I was tired of the time and effort needed on a regular basis to find people to feed from safely. And I was lonely and wanted more than meaningless hookups just to meet my basic needs," I admitted. "I'm still ashamed that I patronized that place, even though finding Dean has turned out to be the best thing that's ever happened to me.

"As for the collar, I'd take it off in an instant if I could, but unfortunately it's not up to me. It was locked around his neck at the Market, and only members of the Council, the community's ultimate governing body, can remove it," I continued. "Until then, Dean can't leave this city without their authorization. The normal procedures to free someone are slow—it took a friend of ours three years, and she didn't have the complication of . . . well, you. Once we've gotten past Dean's heat though, I'm going to do my best to find a way to shortcut the process or circumvent it altogether."

"Balls! Ain't this a convoluted goddamn mess!" he swore. "What woulda happened if I had tried to take the boy outta here with that damn thing still on?"

"As you approached the city limits, the collar would've started emitting increasingly stronger electric shocks. They'd have become excruciatingly painful as Dean reached the border, to the point of potentially being lethal if they went on too long. The only way to end the discharges before his heart stopped would've been to bring him back inside the city. Despite all our efforts, we've yet to find a method to remove or tamper with the collar without catastrophic consequences to the wearer," I replied grimly. "Trust me, if we hadn't been able to talk you down when you first arrived, I would've told you this sooner."

"It's a good thing then that you did calm me down enough, and that I realized that taking Dean away forcibly wasn't what's best for him!" Bobby exclaimed. "If there's anything I can do to get him free of that, you let me know though."

"I will." Not wanting to test the limits of the fragile accord between us too far, I grabbed a couple of books and went to the living room to pass the time.

Dean returned a little over an hour later, pulling a laden luggage cart in with him. He eyed me suspiciously and declared, "You better not have killed the old man and stuffed him down the garbage chute, dude!"

I got up and gave him a kiss. "No, he's in the library. We did talk for a while, and I think we might've reached a détente. Is there more in the car?"

"Nah, this is everything. Help me unload the cart, and then I'll make lunch," he said.

We unloaded the contents of the cart at the mouth of the hallway to the bedroom wing, and then he left to take the cart back down to the lobby. I started to look over his purchases out of curiosity. There were some display cases, which I assumed were for the figurines and replicas remaining in his old room. There were more rugs, cushions, lamps, and other decorative items that I wasn't sure which room they were for, as well as a padded bench, footstool, and a couple of small round tables.

Bobby came out of the other wing and glanced around. "I thought I heard Dean out here?"

"He just went downstairs to return the cart he used to truck all this up," I replied, waving my hand at the pile in front of me. "I suspect we'll be spending most of the afternoon helping Dean put these together and moving things around."

My surmise proved correct. After the omega came back, he put together cheesesteaks with sharp provolone and parmesan cheese and sautéed sweet onions, bell peppers, and baby portabella mushrooms, beer-battered onion rings with buttermilk ranch dressing, and buffalo chicken pasta salad. Then we were put to work assembling and setting up his purchases. The display cases went into his workshop, the other furniture went into our bedroom, and the rest was split between the master and what was once again the second guest room.

Once everything was arranged to Dean's satisfaction, we decided to relax and order in Chinese take-out. While waiting for the food to arrive, the three of us argued good-naturedly about what movies to pick. Dean got outvoted, so we actually watched something with more drama than explosions with our dim sum, spring rolls, hot and sour and wonton soups, kung pao chicken, General Tso's shrimp, beef chow mein, and house special fried rice. Bobby called it a night after the second movie, and we decided to retire as well.

As we were undressing, Dean commented, "It was nice to see you and Bobby getting along, man. To be honest, I was kinda surprised—I expected the two of you to be growling at each other for a while longer."

"Oh, things are hardly perfect! Neither of us really trusts or approves of the other yet, and that's going to take time to resolve," I said. "But we do agree on how much we care about you, and that for your sake we need to make an effort to stop fighting and learn to coexist."

"Well, I'm glad that you two are trying, Sam." He smiled and kissed me before going into the bathroom.

"Also, I think he understands that attacking the community isn't a good idea," I added as I followed him in. "He of course isn't happy about the Food Market, but he seems to be willing to let us try our methods to bring it down. I didn't mention the idea of the geas to him though—it'll be better if it comes from you."

He sighed before picking up his toothbrush. "Yeah, you're probably right. I'll try to talk to him 'bout it sometime tomorrow."

As we got into bed together a little later, I mentioned, "In the interest of keeping the peace, we should try to be quieter tonight. Bobby complained that we were still too loud last night."

"Shit! Ain't that awkward!" He blushed a little. "Umm . . . well, I got something I wanna try out that should keep one of our mouths busy!"

With that, Dean gave me a deep, probing kiss, ensuring a full dose of my saliva. As the effects started to kick in, he licked, nibbled, and kissed his way down my body, beginning with my jaw and moving down the center of my throat, chest, and abdomen to my groin, with brief detours to toy with my nipples and navel. When he got to my erect cock, he stroked it momentarily and moistened his curved lips with the tip of his tongue. He started to lean forward and then hesitated, his uncertainty and nervousness clear.

I propped myself up on one elbow. "Dean, you don't need to do that if you're not feeling up to it. I'm fine with what we've been doing. This should always be about enjoying yourself, and I don't want you to push yourself past where you're comfortable."

He looked up at me. "No, I do wanna do this! It's just . . . I need a minute to get past the memories, that's all."

"Then I think I know a way to make this better for you. Swing your legs up towards me," I told him with an encouraging smile.

He immediately caught on to my intent and grinned as he complied. "Huh, didn't think of that! Good idea, man!"

I slung an arm across his hips and licked up the soft skin of his shaft before suckling on the head of his cock. He sighed in pleasure and lapped at the pre-ejaculate fluid leaking from my slit, then swallowed down as much of my member as he could. I groaned quietly at the sensation of his warm mouth enveloping me and took him down to the base in my own mouth. It was a challenge to keep my hips still as he sucked on my length and scratched his nails gently on my scrotum and inner thighs. I in turn swirled my tongue along his shaft and massaged his balls with my fingers.

We continued to pleasure each other in this manner for several minutes. When I felt him approaching his climax, I slid two fingers into his slick entrance and pressed them against his prostate. He came suddenly with a muffled shout, his semen spurting down my throat. I attempted to pull back as my own orgasm peaked, but he followed and insisted on swallowing my seed as well.

His expression was surprised as he lifted his head. "Damn! I used to hate it when those asswipes would make me swallow after they were done, but your cum doesn't taste bitter and nasty like theirs did!"

"We are designed to make sex as enjoyable as possible, and that includes being on the receiving end of oral," I replied with a smirk, before reaching down and tugging until he'd shifted positions to bring his head up onto my shoulder. "How did you like that?"

He grinned happily. "That was awesome, Sammy! Definitely something to replace those crappy memories from before!"