Title: Paint it Black 7/9
Pairing: John/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3330
Disclaimer: If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*
Warning: Drug abuse, Sexual abuse, Violence

Summary: Dean's been keeping secrets. His family's not sure how to deal with that.

A/N: This has not been beta'd. If I made any really bad mistakes (or just did something that annoys you) let me know.

Chapter Seven

One Year Ago…

Dean was nervous. John could see that. There was a time when seeing his boy this nervous would have tied his stomach into knots, had him wondering what fresh can of worms was going to be opened now. But that seemed like a life time ago. They didn't keep secrets from each other anymore. John had even told him everything he knew about the demon. Dean wanted him to tell Sam, but agreed that it would likely lead to the boy blaming himself for their mother's death. And there was still so much that John didn't know. Whether to tell Sam was one of the few sources of conflict in their relationship.

It had been a hard thing to get used to, telling each other everything including the ugly things they would normally pretend didn't exist. Especially after Sam left. That had been a dark period for both of them and for the first time John had started to doubt if they'd actually work out. They managed to get through it the same way they got through everything; together.

Now things were good between them, better then they'd ever been other than missing Sam. Sometimes he wondered if they could have gotten to this place if Sam had stayed. How could they have explained it to him in a way that he'd have understood? That wouldn't have had him running screaming in the other direction?

But wondering about that wouldn't change the way things were. The plain truth was that Sam was gone, leaving a huge gaping hole in their lives. They checked up on him, practically stalked him, whenever they could. And when they couldn't, they found ways to negotiate that hole, filling the rest of their lives with something that felt a lot like happiness. Hunting together, hustling together, sleeping together… sometimes even working together.

That first weekend they had sex, they'd barely gotten any sleep. By Sunday, they were so tired and sore that they both had to go pick up Sam to keep each other awake. When Dean crawled back into his bed after dropping Sam off at school the next day, John was finally able to get some sleep. Not even the bruises he'd left on his boy in the shape of his fingers or the sweet curve of his son's ass pressed against his half hard cock could rouse him. They didn't have times like that often afterwards. Usually Dean would sneak into his bed in the middle of the night, or they'd fuck when John took the boy with on hunts. Or when Sam was at school and John and Dean didn't both have a job or a solo hunt. So, they rarely had time to be together.

The night Sam left Dean moved into John's bedroom and from then on the two always shared a bed. Their relationship was a strange hybrid of father/son and lovers. But it worked for them. They were both happy despite how badly they missed Sam and how much they worried about him and the Yellow Eyed Demon's plans for him. John shared everything with his son, things he never thought he'd share with anyone. Dean was sane again, sober in all its painful, messy, brutal glory. He still worked the program, still went to weekly or at least bi weekly meetings. John was proud of the man he'd become.

John's sense that something was wrong was heightened by the fact that the boy made his favorite dinner, served with his favorite beer. But he was patient and let Dean tell him in his own way, at his own pace. Something he never would have been able to do four years earlier. They washed the dishes together after dinner. He took Dean's silence for what it was – the boy was just trying to work up his courage to tell him something he didn't think he'd like. He wasn't really hiding. So when they went to bed, John tried to reassure him the best way he knew how. They were still much better with actions than words.

"I got somethin' I need to tell you, Dad," Dean said as they lay in bed curled around each other.

"Yeah?" John coaxed gently, his fingers buried in soft hair.

"I got a call today from the mother of an ex-girlfriend. You remember that girl I told you I gave the rest of the Oxy I stole?"

John frowned into the darkness. A call from the mother of an ex-girlfriend couldn't be good. He fought to keep his voice even, calm. "I remember."

"Turns out that's not all I gave her." John was silent for a long while, waiting him out. "She… she had a kid. I'm on the birth certificate."

"A kid?" John repeated. He couldn't keep the shock out of his voice and Dean pulled away to look at his face.

Dean swallowed. "Yeah. A son. His name is Avery and he's three. Timin's right, if it happened right before you found out I was usin'."

"Why…" he trailed off and ran a hand down his face. "Why is she just now callin'?"

"She has cancer. Stage four. It doesn't look good. Becca, that's my ex's name, is MIA. Has been since the kid was born. She… she left him in the hospital, Dad. He was born addicted. Her mom was afraid that I was still strung out too, but she was desperate. They don't have any family who can take the kid."

A son… Dean had a son. He had a grandson. What the fuck where they gonna do with a three year old? But he was their blood. "They're still in California?"

"Yeah."

"Then we leave at first light. In the meantime, you got some decisions to make, baby boy."

"Like what?"

"Do we really wanna pull an innocent kid into our lives? You know the Yellow Eyed Demon is after Sam. What if he uses your son against us? What if he comes after us and the kid gets caught in the cross fire?"

"He's my son," Dean said with a ferocity that John could relate to. There was no decision to be made. Not even pointing out that it was possible that the kid wasn't his would likely change the outcome. "I think he's gonna be a target whether we leave him where he is or not. We have to protect him."

"And you know what the best way to do that is. You don't know what it's like to put a gun in your son's hands. I don't want you to ever know what the feels like." He still remembers how he'd felt when he put a gun in Dean's hands. That memory wasn't any less bitter with age.

"Maybe he'll be better than me."

"Better than you? How can he be better than nailing every target I ever put in front of you? I'd pay to see that."

"So… you weren't… you weren't disappointed?"

He blinked up at his son, saw the look on his face. He'd thought nothing could make that memory worse… but that look on his boy's face did it. "No. God, Dean. I'm… I'm such an asshole. I was disgusted with myself. It made me sick to see you with a gun in your hands. I didn't mean… dammit. I should've told you how good you were. I should've…"

Dean pressed his face against John's neck and snorted out a laugh. "Yeah. But that was sixteen years ago. Avery needs me, needs us. It's not a secret that he's my son, all it takes is for the wrong person or thing to find out. We'll teach him how to be safe, even if it hurts to do it. And we'll tell him that he's done a good job."

John held the boy close, let the tightness in his chest loosen a little. "Sounds like a plan."

They ended up starting their trip a few hours later when they realized that there would be no sleeping that night. Dawn saw them crossing the California state line and they made it to Becca's house a few hours later. It was a nice, middle class house. He wondered what made him luckier than the woman inside, why he was able to pull his son back from the brink while she had to watch her daughter plummet over the edge.

"Did you love her?" his asked Dean as they made their way up the walk.

"Only thing I loved back then was the drugs. I'm not… I'm not even sure who either of us would've been without them. She was gorgeous, though. Long dark red hair," he said with a nostalgic smirk. "Tight little body. God, I hope she hasn't killed herself out there."

John hung back and Dean knocked on the front door. A gaunt, tired looking woman answered. There was a small boy behind her, staring up at them from behind her leg with big blue eyes. John heard his son draw in a sharp breath and he knew why. Those were Mary's eyes. The boy had his wife's eyes and his son's face.

SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN

Yesterday…

Avery was dead to the world when they parked at Sam's apartment complex. John sighed. The boy was small for five, but he was solid. He looked so much like Dean, only with strawberry blond hair and more freckles. He scooped the boy up after trying unsuccessfully to wake him, feeling every year of his age. He grabbed Dean and Avery's bags with his free hand and kicked the door closed. He'd come back for his own things. Provided that he and Sam didn't get into some sort of pissing match that made him staying in the apartment impossible.

When he got to Sam's door, he realized he didn't have a free hand to knock with. He kicked the door with the toe of his boot. After a second, Sam answered the door, blinking at him owlishly.

John smiled, happy to see his youngest face to face again. "Hey, Sammy."

"Dad… you have Avery, right?"

"Yeah. This is your nephew. You mind grabbin' somethin'?"

"Uhm, sure." Sam looked from the kid to the bags and back again before deciding on the bags.

Avery whimpered a little, and John absently rubbed his back to soothe him. "You look good, son. Taller."

"Hey, Dad." John looked past Sam to see Dean standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking awkward and afraid in a way that he hadn't since he was eighteen.

"Dean. Damn, boy, it's good to see you in one piece."

"'M sorry, Dad. I didn't… I tried…"

"It's okay," John ached to pull his boy into his arms and hold on tight. Dean looked so small and fragile for the first time in so many years. All he wanted to do was make this better, but he knew he couldn't. There was no easy fix for this. "You got away. You even managed to finish the hunt. But even if you hadn't… I'm glad you saved yourself. By the time I got there, it might've been too late."

"You went there?"

"Of course I did. When you didn't check in and didn't answer your phone, I packed up and only stopped to drop the kid off at Bobby's. When I saw the car and all your stuff at the graveyard… scared the shit outta me, Dean. Back tracked your steps and finally figured maybe you came here since you were so close. "

"'M sorry, Dad. I… I wasn't thinkin'."

"Yeah, I know. I know everything Dean."

"Every… everything?"

John turned to Sam. "You got somewhere I can lay this boy? He's gettin' heavier by the second."

"Yeah… you can put him on the couch. Or in my bed if you think he'll roll off."

"The couch's fine." John carried the boy into the living room and laid him down. Dean sat down next to him on the edge of the couch and pushed back the boy's short hair.

"He's been okay?"

"He missed you," John said, biting back the now familiar pet name he used for Dean. Sam would probably think him calling Dean 'baby boy' was strange. And that was probably putting it mildly. "But other than that he's been fine. His new favorite flavor is peach, by the way."

Dean chuckled. "What happened to strawberry?"

"It's apparently still okay, but not as cool as peach. Peach pie, peach cobbler, peach soda, peach ice cream. Peaches cut up in his oatmeal or Wheaties. Oh, how could I forget peach marmalade and peanut butter sandwiches?"

"He looks like he grew a little."

"Probably. He's at the age where they grow pretty much all the time. Always more noticeable when you go a little while without sein' 'em."

Sam cleared his throat. "I, uh, I got class. But you'll all be here when I get back, right?"

"Yeah, Sammy," his father said. "We'll still be here.

Dean was sat staring at his son for a long while after Sam left, and John sat staring at him. He wanted to touch him. "So," Dean finally said into the unnatural quiet without looking away from the boy, "you said you knew everything."

"Yeah. I found the waitress who spiked your coffee."

The boy sighed and seemed at least ten years older than he was. "So it was the coffee. I thought that shit was extra bitter. At the time I just figured it'd been on the burner a little too long."

"I was showin' your picture around town. She didn't come clean right away, but she looked like she knew somethin' so followed her after she left the dinner. She lead me straight to that ass wipe Sugar's place. He told me everything."

Dean dropped his head. "Jesus. I'm sorry, Dad."

"Will you stop apologizin'? You were drugged and…" John couldn't say it. "He hurt you. I promised I wouldn't let him hurt you."

"That was six years ago. Neither of us thought that bastard was a problem anymore."

"Did you… did you get yourself checked out? After?"

Dean blushed and nodded. "The day after I got here. While Sam was in class. I'm supposed to go back for… for results."

"When?"

"Yesterday."

"Dean…"

"I know, okay? I just… I know how to change my own bandages and what's a couple of days gonna do to test results?"

"Bandages?"

"Dad…"

"Let me see."

Dean pulled up his shirt to reveal four bandages over his stomach. John reached out to peel back the corner of one but stopped just before he did. He looked up at Dean as if asking permission. His son gave him a jerky nod. He peeled back the corner to reveal a small, round burn.

"Jesus, Dean. Is that… is that a cigarette burn?"

"Yeah."

"Sugar did this?"

"No."

"Who?" John demanded.

"One of his guys. I think I broke his nose the first time I tried to get away."

John gently replaced the bandage. He felt sick to his stomach. "I should have killed the son of a bitch and all his 'guys'."

"What did you do to him?"

"I… I gave him a taste of his own medicine."

"You…" Dean blinked at him, not comprehending what he was saying.

"I drugged him and tied him to… to that bed…" John stopped and cleared his throat.

Dean's face crumbled and John pulled him close with one hand behind his head. "Hurts. Hurts so fuckin' bad, Dad. I don't wanna be alive. I wanna be numb."

John nodded. "Yeah. Numb is kinda attractive right now. I'm so proud of you for not goin' down that road. For stayin' sober."

"Got too much to lose if I go back there," he said just loud enough for John to hear, hot breath sending shivers down his spine.

SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN

Sam came home from class to find his father watching Dean and Avery sleeping on the couch from the breakfast bar. He went to the fridge and pulled out two beers. Silently, he handed his father one and sat down next to him. They sat in silence for several minutes drinking.

"So," Sam finally said, "you gonna raise Avery to hunt?"

His father looked at him in what he swore was amusement. "Avery is Dean's son. You'll have to ask him about that."

Sam snorted softly. "Like Dean would ever do anything you didn't want him to."

"So you think I wanted him to use drugs? Have unprotected sex with his equally drug addicted girlfriend and knock her up?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do. Sam… Do we have to do this?"

"I just want Dean to have a life of his own."

"He does have a life of his own. Just 'cause it's one that you don't approve of, doesn't make it a bad one. You're brother's been happy."

"I just want him to be safe."

"So do I. I know you don't get it now, but the only reason I taught you two how to hunt was because I wanted you to be safe. I believed, I still believe, that if you know dangers exist it's damn negligent not to teach your children how to protect themselves."

"Like that time you gave me a .45 when I told you there was something in my closet?"

"Exactly! I didn't see anything in there. But what if there was? What was I supposed to do? Leave you defenseless? At worst, if the shot didn't kill the thing it would have woke me up and had me come running. What was the alternative, Sam? Knowing what I knew, that there were monsters that liked to eat children? Keep you in my bed? Make you totally dependent on me for your survival? What about when you grew up, or when somethin' happened to me?"

"All I wanted was… I dunno, to know you gave a shit, Dad."

"That's what I was doin', Sammy. The best way I knew how. I'm the first to admit that I probably could have done better by you. But the mistakes I made… they weren't because I didn't love you. Look, son, can't we just… I dunno… call a truce? I mean, it's a little late to trade each other in for new models. Besides, I got kinda attached to you."

Sam sighed out a breath. John was right, he knew he was right. None of them were likely to change… but that included him and his tendency to try to change his family. That wasn't true, though was it? Because his father had changed. It started after Dean got 'sick'. John had been more open, more flexible. He didn't let up on the hunting and constant moving, though, and that had been what finally drove Sam to leave. But his father hadn't stopped changing. He could see it in his reactions, in the way he held his temper in check. If John could change, then maybe Sam could too. "I'll try."

John nodded. "That's all I can ask. I just want my son back. If that means it's on your terms that's fine. I want you to be able to call me or your brother if you need us, if anything… if anything happens."

"Nothin's gonna happen, Dad."

John sighed. "Is it okay if I etch some protections around here? I swear it'll be where no one will notice. Just to ease my mind."

"Dad…"

"You think parents ever stop worrying about their kids, Sammy? I lose sleep over all the things that could happen to you. I just want you to be safe. That's all I've ever wanted. I wouldn't survive it if anything ever happened to you."

He frowned at his father. Talk about changing. "Okay, who the hell are you and what have you done with my father?"

The older man chuckled. "Some things I can change, can do somethin' about. Others…" he shrugged. "But dealing with your brother's addiction taught me to be honest about shit I would've bitten my own tongue off then actually say out loud before. The plain truth is you and your brother are my entire life."