"Oh yeah, oh yeah." Dean breathed out as softly as possible. He was on his back, his body alight with the pleasure of a nice fuck with an extremely hung man. Enjoying the feeling of that thick cock as it forced itself hard against his prostate, making it sing with every short thrust. His eyes searched for the man doing it to him, the person who was making him feel intense pleasure. But he couldn't see, it was almost like a darkness had descended, leaving only him and this glorious appendage. "Please?" He moaned. Unsure what he was asking for, at that a face emerged from the darkness, almost as if he had beckoned it into existence, and it was at this moment he froze. Because the man making him feel so wonderful was his own father.

Instinctively, his hands grabbed at that hard face. The one covered in a thick line of stubble that was slightly greying, for a moment eyes just holding Johns. A look of love passed between them before Dean pulled his fathers face down, pressing tender kisses against his lips, across his jaw and down his neck. Before circling his arms around with a sigh, head falling against the bed covers. Just enjoying the sensation pulsing through his body.

"Feels good daddy." He whispered as his eyes fluttered shut. Wanting to savour the feeling. John changed his angle and redoubled his efforts, making sure he hit Deans prostate with every movement in. Knowing his teenage stamina wouldn't be able to take it. It was an indication he was close, and he wanted Dean to cum with him.

Breathy moans enveloped the room as they came closer to their end. The skin slapping on skin at how hard John was forcing himself into Dean. Occasionally the younger hunter could hear words of love from his fathers lips that made his heart burst with pride. Mentions of how beautiful he was when he was being fucked. How good he was for his father. It was everything he wanted.

Eventually, they met their end. John yelling as he crashed down onto Deans small teenage frame. Cumming hard into his sons channel. That little movement was enough to send Dean over also, following his father into oblivion. His vision going as he growled through his orgasm.

It was only then did he wake up.

His body was sticky when he awoke in the chair, still fully clothed after collapsing with a beer in his hand, unsurprisingly. The thing that surprised him though was how sore he felt. Almost as if his father had been with him, as if they'd been making lo…as if he'd been taking advantage on him. As he blinked awake, becoming aware of his surroundings, he jumped when he saw that familiar trench coat ahead of him. Cas standing there awkwardly, watching him as he slept. His half empty beer went all over him.

"Dammit Cas. I've told you to stop doing that." He murmured in frustration. There was no response, that Angel of the lord instead just staring at him in his normal perplexed state. Dean snorted, wiping away the beer from his shirt. Embarrassed when he could see that dark mark on his jeans from his dream. The wet dream he had about his father. He hoped Cas hadn't been in his mind at that time, that he hadn't seen his father take advantage of him in his formative years as an adult.

Sadly he was not that lucky.

"Dean, may I ask you about your dream?" It was so casual, so Castiel. There was no preamble, no attempts to skirt around the question. Just straight to the point. Straight to Cas asking about his perverted memory with his own father. He sighed. Sitting up, hands running through his short hair. This was a dark secret he didn't want to confront, and now Cas was here, wanting to talk about it. He just couldn't.

"Don't make me Cas. Please don't."

"But you were having a dream about your own father Dean. Your father, molesting you." Molesting. That word he couldn't accept for so long. When John first died, he blamed himself. If he hadn't been the one to 'seduce' the man, maybe he wouldn't have been such an enticing man for the demon to take. But he had to turn his fathers head, make him want more from their relationship. Make him…want him. It took him a long time to realise he'd been poisoned, that he was a child and nothing was his fault.

It was never his fault.

"Yes Cas, my daddy molested me. Is that what you wanted to hear? If so, can we now drop it?" He didn't mean to be so short with the angel, but he couldn't do it. Couldn't talk about what that man did to him. Finding it easier to bury it down with all the other horrible memories of his childhood. If it meant a vivid sex dream where John fucked him again and he came in his pants well…that was a sacrifice he was willing to take.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Because how do you start a conversation like that Cas? By the way Cas did you know my father was a literal monster and manipulated me into sex?" There were tears forming below his lids now. He couldn't look at the angel, too ashamed of that version of him. The version that enjoyed John doing those…things that bought him so much pleasure. He would give anything to take them back, to have never been with his father like that.

Cas stared at him in his typical stoic way. Lips pursed, head cocked in as if trying to figure something out, eyes hard. Dean feared this. The disappointment in his friends features when he found out how filthy he was, how he would relish hanging off Johns cock. Now Cas would stop helping them, and it would all be his fault. Everything was his fault.

"You should have told me Dean. I could have helped you." Dean snorted.

"I don't need help Cas."

"Oh really? You are an alcoholic who barely sleeps Dean. If anybody needs help it's you." If Dean wasn't so broken he would have called Cas up on his venomous response, told him his fathers actions weren't the only reason he was an alcoholic insomniac, and it had more to do with the monsters he had faced. Instead he just changed the trajectory of the conversation.

"How could you have helped me? Unless you can wipe my memory of all those times he did this to me."

"That's exactly what I can do." Everything stilled in the room, including Deans breath. If he confronted what John did, told Cas his deepest secret, the angel could wipe his memory. Pretend none of it ever happened. But why couldn't he do it anyway, without Dean confronting it? It was only right to ask.

"Why…do I need to tell you? Why can't you just wipe my memory without knowing the details?"

"You have buried the memory deep in your subconscious. Whilst I would be able to remove the majority, there are still parts I will be unable to remove and you will still be suffering. By confronting it, I would have a better chance of removing it." He thought for a moment, maybe this could be his salvation. If Cas could do this…maybe maybe he should let him. Unable to trust his voice, he nodded his head. He would talk about it.

"When did it start?" There was no subtlety, just straight to the point. He steeled himself, knowing how tough it was going to be.

"When I was 15. A hunt had gone wrong and he had gone drinking. When he came back, he forced me up against a wall. Ranting about how I wasn't good enough to be a hunter and how he should find another use for me. Then he kissed me." His breathing was becoming ragged at the memory. He stopped for a moment and looked to the ground, body shaking. Cas just gave him the time, not pushing. He was grateful for that at least. "He was drunk so I managed to push him off me. I don't know what would have happened if I couldn't though." He had replayed that moment in his mind multiple times. The venom in which John spoke, the anger and hunger in his eyes as he pushed him against the wall. If he hadn't been strong enough, he believed his father would have raped him.

"When did he…take things further." He couldn't help the second snort that left his body at the way the angel prompted him for more information. He thought a millennia old angel of the lord would be able to say the word sex. Especially Cas who was normally not known for his tact.

"He was a gentleman in that respect. He at least waited until my 18th birthday. He sent Sammy to Bobbys for the night and booked us into a hotel. Giving me a few beers before broaching the subject." He paused again, eyes shutting as the memory assaulted him. "He told me he had been so lonely since mom died and that I was pretty. It was then he asked if I would have sex with him. I told him he was a sick man wanting that with me. But he used my need to be accepted by him against me. Telling me I was a bad son and I never really loved him for denying him this one thing." He shuddered at how easy his father manipulated him with those words.

"He had sex with me that night, on my birthday, and I let him." Dean could remember it so vividly. How he lay there, facing away from John, listening to the disgusting grunts of pleasure from the older man as he forced himself deeper and deeper into his eldest son. Calling him a good boy, telling him he loved him. Kissing him tenderly down his neck and chest. Pulling his face towards him and kissing him on the lips with gentle touches. He remembered how his body reacted when that man touched the amazing sweet spot in his body, when he assaulted it with every thrust in. He remembered the shame he felt when he was finding himself feel good on his daddy's cock, when his disgust turned to bliss. When he eventually came, moaning 'daddy.'

"Afterwards he wouldn't look at me for weeks. I believed he was ashamed at what he had done, and that would be the end of it. But I was wrong. It was all another manipulation. He knew by ignoring me I would want it more. I would do anything for him, and I would ultimately be the one to make the next move." Looking back he was mortified by his teenage actions when it happened a second time. The way he bounced so readily on his fathers cock, how he moaned for his daddy over and over again. Begging for him to make him cum, the wanton, breathy, kisses he pressed against his lips and neck. How his father called him a little whore for seducing his daddy, how he liked being called such filthy named. The floodgates opened after that second time. He let his father do every little perverted thing he wanted to him from that moment onwards, and he begged him to do it.

"How long did it go on for?"

"It didn't stop until he died." His body was wracked with guilt as he admitted those words. He could understand his teenage self being that for the man. He was young, naive, easily led. But a man in his 20s? There was no excuse. He had the strength to stop him, to finally end it all. But he was too busy relishing the love his father showed him in those moments. It made him feel sick, thinking he was so devoid of affection he would let his father keep doing that to him for so long.

He was so lost in his own thoughts he didn't notice Cas reaching over to touch his face. The warmth of that grace flowing through his body. And then, there was nothing. Everything in his mind was blank.

"What were we talking about?" Dean asked, looking up at the angel of the Lord who had a haunted look in his eyes. Why was Cas staring at him in such a way?

"Nothing Dean. I think maybe you should get some more sleep. I'll be back soon." With that Cas flittered out of the room, leaving the younger man alone. Wondering why his body felt slightly cold and sticky. Not wanting to worry about it though, Dean shut his eyes again, and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep for the first time since he could remember.