Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/847751.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/John_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchster, John_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Parent/Child_Incest, Extremely_Dubious_Consent
  Series:
      Part 3 of Sins_of_the_Father
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-06-18 Words: 3899
****** Son of Mine ******
by Susanthebeta
Summary
     Dean never cried with his dad . . . except the first time.
Notes
     I will neither confirm nor deny the underage-ness of Dean.
     I thought I would end up in special hell for this one, but I'm pretty
     sure from the filth in the kink meme sites, I'll just end up in the
     circle of hell reserved for those who spit gum out in the parking lot
     and don't replace the toilet paper on the dispenser.
     Totally digging myself a deeper grave by comparing petty annoyances
     with Wincest. No offense intended.
     In no small way inspired by/stolen from ”His_Father’s_Soldier” by
     circe. Hers was better than mine, but hers did not follow my story
     arch, so I had to rehash her idea into one with a bit more non-con
     and deeper story line. Read her fic!
Dean never cried with his dad. . . except the first time.
Sammy was spending the last weekend of his summer break with a Boy Scout troop
leaving Dean and their dad to find, salt, and burn the body of some school
nurse, or cafeteria lady, or some other pissed off bitch who was haunting their
school of the month. Dad said that they would leave in the morning to transfer
into a school in Phoenix.
Sammy at camp meant that Dean got to have one of the two double beds in the
dingy motel room to himself. This motel was out of roll-aways, and they were
both getting too big for the one bed, and hence the kicking fights almost every
night. Dean spread out between the sheets, but when he woke in the middle of
the night, he was curled on the far side of the bed, subconsciously leaving
room for Sam in his sleep. He spread his legs, and his foot brushed against
warm flesh.
“Sammy?” Dean reached out with a blind hand and felt a scratchy beard instead
of his brother’s smooth features. “Dad? Uh, did I get in the wrong bed?”
Dean hadn’t been in the same bed as his father since he was ten, and John was
passed out while still clutching a bottle of Jack Daniels. It seemed as though
the only time Dean could be close to his dad was when the ex-marine was too
drunk to bark orders or write in his journal.
“No, Dean. I wanted to be with you,” his father almost whispered.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything’s fine.” John’s fingers brushed through Dean’s short hair.
“Better than fine.”
Nothing was ever fine with the Winchesters, but Dean reveled in the touch. John
only ever touched Dean for a brusque pat on the back after a job well done or
to pull him out of the path of a wrathful spirit. Dean was confused and a
little alarmed. “Dad?”
“Shh.” John’s hand stroked down Dean’s lightly stubbled cheek. “I love you, you
know?”
A tear stung in Dean’s eye. He hadn’t thought those words existed in his
father’s vocabulary, though he knew his father felt nonetheless. “Yeah, Dad, I
know. What’s going on?”
John pulled away from Dean to lay on his back with his head on the pillow.
“There’s something I’ve wanted to show you for a long time. Something you and I
could share. Do you want that Dean?”
John’s warm, calloused hand grabbed Dean’s naked thigh. Then it moved up.
Dean wanted to jump out of his skin, but he couldn’t move. His arms, his legs,
they didn’t move.
The hand smoothed over Dean’s boxers and lightly clutched his soft cock through
the cloth.
“I want you to understand. This is something I want you to want, too, but I’ll
understand if you don’t want it. Say something.” John rolled onto his side and
held his son’s face with his free hand. “It’s up to you.”
Dean’s mouth was completely dry. Words refused to come. The hand on his penis
began to burn, and his stomach twisted in painful knots. His heart thrummed
hard against his ribs.
The hand stroked, and Dean managed to whimper.
“I knew you would want this Dean. It’ll bring us closer, I promise.” John’s
thumb rubbed at the dimple Dean’s mouth made with his grimace. He rolled onto
his side and pulled at Dean’s hip and neck to bring his son closer to him. “I
just need somebody there at night, you know? It’s been so long. You’ve always
been there for me. You’re such a good son. Be a good son to me, Dean?”
Dean’s eyes fluttered and rolled back into his skull as he felt his father’s
lips on his own, his tongue following. He could feel John’s weight pressing
down on him. There suddenly wasn’t enough oxygen in the room, and he began to
pant.
John’s thumb pressed at Dean’s cheek to open his mouth. His tongue was cold and
slimy in Dean’s mouth, and the younger Winchester was finally able to turn his
head.
John pulled back and smoothed Dean’s hair back. “Sorry. You’re right, it’s too
much at once.” He leaned back down and nuzzled his lips against Dean’s neck.
Dean’s hand clenched and unclenched. It moved under the sheets to claw at his
father’s back, to pull him off at first, but then it curled into a fist again
and wrapped around to his John’s shoulder. Dean was unable to do anything but
submit to the light licks and kisses that made his skin crawl and his stomach
flutter.
“I’ll make you feel so good, I promise,” John breathed heavily into Dean’s
neck. “It only hurts the first time.” He moved to straddle Dean, and his
erection dragged across Dean’s t-shirt. “I promise.” He pushed up Dean’s shirt
and felt his boy’s chest and stomach see-saw before slipping under the elastic
of the boxers.
Every muscle in Dean’s body stiffened, and everything in his head screamed for
him to push John off of him. And he could now, he was strong enough. But he
could not move. He could smell his dad’s scent, whiskey still clinging to his
pores from yesterday, and motor oil mixed with something new, something
different. The salty scent of arousal.
The hand squeezed Dean’s member, calluses scraping at his sensitive flesh. He
shuddered when the hand cupped and then rolled his balls around. His chest
spasmed, but the screams remained trapped inside. His toes curled, and his feet
kicked out in every direction.
His dad kissed along his neck slowly and then down Dean’s chest and stomach
until John’s short beard tickled the pubic hairs.
Dean was completely flaccid with disinterest, and he let out a yelp when his
dad’s cool mouth wrapped around the head of his penis.
John hummed like he was sipping a good cup of coffee after an all night binge
on Jose Quervo, and the sound vibrated up Dean’s dick.
Dean’s fingers clawed at John’s shoulders. “Dad! Dad! Dad?”
John moved up his son’s body again, pressing his hips and erection against
Dean’s belly. He squeezed Dean’s wrists and pushed them up. “Shh, shh. Here,”
he pushed at Dean until his hands hit the iron bars of the head board, “hold on
here.” He squeezed hard at the wrists, and Dean grabbed the cold bars. His
fingers brushed down Dean’s arms to his elbow and shoulders. John felt Dean’s
Adam's apple bob as he swallowed anxiously. “This is something very special,
Dean. You’re so special to me.”
Through his confused haze, his father’s words still made him blush at the
thought of his pride.
“I want you to come when I tell you to, Dean.”
Dean panted and whimpered.
“Shh, be a good boy and stay quiet.” A hand returned to Dean’s member and
wrapped around it. A thumb stroked the head of his penis.
===============================================================================
”Shh, be a good boy and stay quiet.” Dad pressed his knee into Dean’s chest and
pulled the limp arm.
His shoulder cracked as the arm was reset back into the socket. Dean collapsed
in agony onto the green motel bed spread and swallowed his scream.
Sammy jumped onto the mattress and smiled, “See, that didn’t hurt, did it,
Dean?”
Bursts of white pain flashed behind Dean’s eyes with each of Sammy’s movements
on the bed. “No, Sammy. It doesn’t hurt.”
===============================================================================
Dean shook with a silent sob. He squeezed the bars above his head harder as his
father began to pump with a dry hand.
John used his knees to urge Dean’s legs open and then both of his hands to wrap
Dean’s knees around his hips. “This’ll be so good. So good for both of us.”
John pressed his hand against Dean’s mouth and urged his lips open. Dad slicked
his palm with Dean’s tongue. “Need something, don’t want it to hurt,” and Dean
summoned what little saliva he could and licked his dad’s palm.
John brought the spit-slicked palm down between them to stroke his penis,
barely slicking it before he nudged at Dean’s unprepared hole.
“Gotta relax, you gotta relax for me now. C’mon Dean,” he said, jerking a hand
along Dean’s cock twice, roughly, but the more his dad stroked, the tighter he
clenched.
A fat, calloused fingers pushed inside. It felt wrong, backward, and
disgusting. He panted as a second finger pushed inside, and they forced his
muscle to open more. The dry hand squeezed hard at Dean’s flaccid penis. The
thumb stroked from the head down the underside in the place Dean was most
sensitive. He grew hard despite the pain elsewhere.
The fingers inside of him hooked, and a fluttering warmth grew in his belly.
“You’re doing great, Dean. You’re doing great. Try to stay quiet.”
===============================================================================
“Try to stay quiet,” Dad whispered.
Dean nodded to his father from under the bed, and rolled himself and five-year-
old Sammy under the bed and out of sight. He pressed his hand against Sammy’s
mouth.
The motel door slammed open.
BAM!
That was a shot gun. Was it Dad’s shot gun or the monster’s?Stay quiet, stay
quiet. Swallow the scream!He squeezed Sammy’s shaking body.
Heavy footsteps approached the bed. “Dean, run!”
===============================================================================
John spit into his hand and slicked it down and inside of Dean.
Dean swallowed and breathed through the discomfort as his father breached him.
The blunt pressure seared and stretched his sphincter muscle. He was going to
break. “Da-ad!”
“Shh, you’re okay.” He pushed and pushed until Dean felt the white-hot pain of
something tearing. “Uh! You have no idea, ah!” Dad was panting above Dean.
Dean was slowly losing his grip on the rods of the bed. The pain was turning to
nausea, and a sheen of cold sweat washed over him.
His dad moved, pulled out a little and thrust back into him. He crooned into
Dean’s neck, “Oh, so long. Baby, so long.” He rocked gently above his son, but
the small movements caused aching pain in his hole.
Dean was trying to stay in control, trying to keep his body from shaking and
from crying out. A painful lump grew in his throat.
His ever swelling dick was pinned between his stomach and his dad’s hairy,
sweaty flesh.
Dad’s balls tapped at Dean’s ass with each slow thrust back inside, and despite
the awful pain, Dean felt pleasurable warmth grown in his belly stemming from
his trapped dick, and strangely, from something inside that his dad’s cock kept
brushing against with each push and subsequent tear.
“So good, so tight. Perfect,” his dad breathed hotly in his ear. “Dean? Are you
ready? Come for me, boy!” He squeezed his hands around Dean’s knees and jabbed
his dick quickly in and out of his son.
Dean was definitely not ready to -- his hips bucked forward meeting his dad’s
thrusts, and the warmth began to burn in his belly as his dick was rubbed
between their sweaty stomachs.
“Come, Dean! Now!” Dad barked as if it were an order to shoot a ghost with
rock-salt.
Dean’s neck and back arched before he realized was was happening, and his dick
shot his come between their bodies. The abrupt pleasure was short lived as his
dad thrust wildly into Dean’s torn body.
Dad grunted and sighed. He wrapped his big hands under Dean’s shoulders and
pulled Dean into each quick thrust. Dean heard the unmistakable whisper of
“Mary” praised against his collarbone. “Turn your head. Close your eyes,” he
grunted. He stopped thrusting. “Ah! Ah!”
Dean squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head to the side. He could feel the
spurts inside him, and his cheeks flushed with color.
One more thrust. Two more. Dad stopped and collapsed his whole weight onto
Dean’s smaller body.
Dean felt a chill as their sweat began to cool. He wondered how long Dad would
lay on him like that. He wished to God that he could smell alcohol on his dad’s
breath, and that his dad would be too drunk to remember this night, but no such
luck. Dad was perfectly sober. Dad’s dick twitched inside Dean’s throbbing ass.
John kissed Dean on the forehead and squeezed his arms around him. He rolled
back onto his side, and Dean hissed as the cock slid out of him.
Dean immediately closed his legs and raised his knees. He felt wetness leaking
from his hole, and the fluid pooling in the sheets under his legs and back. He
tried to squeeze his hole closed, but the sharp pain stopped him. His stomach
hurt, and the threat of vomiting swirled around his head at the realization
that it wasn’t just Dad’s load dripping out of him.
Dad curled around Dean’s side and rested his arm over Dean’s stomach. “Oh, let
me get something,” he said and reached with his long arm over the side of the
bed. “Here.” He wiped Dean’s stomach with a soft cloth. “You did so good, Dean.
It’s been so long, and you were so fucking tight.” The cloth pressed between
Dean’s legs.
Dean had to concentrate on opening his legs. He wished his dad would shut the
hell up.
The cloth stuck to his skin as Dad wiped away most of the wetness. “Are you
okay, Dean?”
Dean nodded. In the dark, of course, Dad couldn’t see the gesture. Dean
swallowed and licked his lips. He prayed that his voice wouldn’t squeak and
said, “Yes, sir.” His voice was actually deeper than he expected.
“Good man.” It was the first time Dad ever referred to him as a man. Dad laid
back down next to Dean and wrapped his arm around him. “You smell so good,
Dean.” Dad kissed Dean’s cheek.
The kiss felt so good. Tears stung at Dean’s eyes. He spent the rest of the
night trying to blink them back.
===============================================================================
Dean was still awake when Dad slowly rolled out of bed. Dean watched as his dad
rubbed at his face and walk sleepily to the bathroom. A few moments later he
heard the shower turn on.
”Dean?!” Dad shouted from the shower.
Dean’s ears perked up, and the hairs on his back stood on end.
Dad came out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. He looked to
Dean and turned on the overhead lights.
Dean winced at the bright lights and pulled the sheet over his head. The sheet
was pulled from his hands and off his body. He shivered.
“How bad is it? My dick is covered in blood. Show me? Oh, God! Let me see.” Dad
tried to pull Dean’s knees apart, but Dean couldn’t make himself open his legs.
The muscles in his thighs and his abs hurt, but they clenched at his father’s
touch.
“Fine, turn on your stomach.” Dad pushed at Dean’s legs and tried to push Dean
onto his stomach.
Dean’s bottom lip quivered. “No, Dad. No. I’m fine. Leave it alone,” he
insisted, but his dad still pushed him to his side.
“Jesus Christ, Dean.” Dean could feel his father’s eyes coursing over his
backside. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurting last night?”
Dean flinched as his dad spread open his cheeks. It hurt more this morning than
it did last night.
“I can’t see with all this mess on you. Can you walk?”
Dean had yet to consider the fact that he would have to walk eventually. Stand.
Sit. Run after Sammy. The way it hurt down there, he probably shouldn’t move
much at all. “Yeah. I’m fine,” Dean said from under his arms. He took a deep
breath and prepared to shove all the impending pain in a dark corner in the
back of his mind. Keeping his feet together, he swung his over the side of the
bed and sat up. The pain seared from his ass up his spine and down into his
finger tips, but he kept it in check. He felt a renewed wetness between his
butt cheeks and felt dizzy. He breathed through it.
“Hold onto me.” Dad wrapped his arm around Dean’s waist and pulled Dean’s arm
over his shoulder.
Dean didn’t want to be touched, but he couldn’t very well stand on his own
right now.
“Stand up. Take it slow if you need to.” Dad kept staring at him.
Dean breathed hard. It was taking considerable effort not to let his knees turn
to gelatin and collapse onto the floor and die. “It’s not that bad. I’m just
having a dizzy spell is all.”
Dad led him to the bathroom where the shower was hot and steaming. The mist was
an assault on his senses.
“Step in there.” Dad pushed at Dean until he was standing in the shower.
It hurt to lift his legs over the side of the bathtub. The spray of water
peppered Dean’s already flushed skin. He held his hands over his privates. He
didn’t know why; they weren’t very private anymore. The coppery scent of blood
filled the shower, and Dean finally looked down at himself.
Pinkish water flowed down the drain, and darker reddish water streamed down his
thighs. There was blood caked into his pubic hair.
His legs shook harder beneath him, and he didn’t think he could stand any
longer.
“Turn around. Most of the blood is on your ass,” Dad suggested.
Dean ignored his dad and braced himself with a hand on the wall. He crouched
slowly down but he could not avoid the pain and tearing in his hole as he
finally sat gingerly on the shower floor. He looked up to see that his arms
were shaking. He let his head rest against the far end of the shower wall and
couldn’t care enough that his face was in the direct spray of the shower or
that his legs were splayed open.
His dad moved the shower head, so that it didn’t spray him in the face. He
crouched down next to Dean. “Are you okay?”
Leave me alone! Dean screamed in his head. “I’m just dizzy.” It was an effort
to even say that. Right now all he could do without considerable effort was to
breathe.
Dad sighed. “Let me get you some Tylenol and water.”
Dean closed his eyes. When he opened them again, John was lifting his head to
the plastic motel cup of water. Dean drank, and his dad slipped two pills into
his mouth. Dean swallowed them down, too. The sound of the water was
hypnotizing, and Dean started to think too much about last night. About Dad.
About Mom. He remember the time she told him to “never let anyone touch you
down there” before he left for his first day at Little League. What would she
think? Could she see what they did from Heaven? Would dad do this to Sammy?
Sammy. He finally asked, “What time is it?”, and opened his eyes.
“A little after seven.” Dad was staring at him.
“We have to pick Sam up before noon. We haven’t packed yet. We need to get
going.”
“Dean, do you want to go to a doctor?”
Dean refused to believe that he was really that bad off and absolutely refused
to think about attempting to explain what happened to him to a doctor. “Of
course not,” he said, trying to make his voice sound strong. “I haven’t eaten
in a while. Once I’ve had breakfast, I’ll be fine.” Dean scooted in the tub to
sit up. There was another tearing pain, and more red trickled down the drain.
“Sam will flip if we show up late. You know how paranoid that kid is that we’re
going to leave him with some happy family like he’s some kind of unwanted
orphan.”
Sammy.
He could worry about Sammy. It gave him strength. “Could you get me some
clothes, so I can get dressed, Dad?”
“Are you really alright?”
“Nothing a little Neosporine can’t handle. I’m fine, Dad.” Dean hoped his face
didn’t look as pale and flushed as it felt. “Can you get me some clothes, so we
can hurry up and leave this stupid town?”
Dad pursed his lips. “I’m trusting you on this one, son.”
===============================================================================
”I’m trusting you on this one, son.” Dad tossed his shotgun to Dean, and he
caught it expertly.
“Yes, sir.” Dean loaded it with two rounds of rock-salt before breaking the
lock off of the mausoleum.
===============================================================================
“Yes, sir.”
Dad brought back some relatively fresh clothes and a pair of dark-colored
jeans. He left Dean to his privacy.
Dean rubbed his face for several minutes, hoping in vain that the rubbing would
do something to wash away the thoughts.
Sammy.
He carefully stood, turned off the water, and wrapped himself up in a thin gray
towel. He was slowly regaining some strength, but his eagerness to dress and
leave the motel waned with each drop of red dripping down his thighs and feet
and onto the tile floor.
He pulled long sheets of toilet paper from the roll and stuffed them into his
briefs. He licked his lips and joked in his head that the toilet paper had
better work or the toilet paper was going to get it. It was a stupid joke, but
it distracted him from the discomfort of putting on one pant leg and then the
other. Each stab of pain was a reminder of last night. Of Dad. Of the twisted
sick feeling in his stomach.
He couldn’t bare to look in the mirror after he finished dressing. He took slow
steps out of the bathroom.
The room was already cleared. Dad had packed while Dean had dressed.
“What time is it now?”
“Nine.”
Nine? Somehow Dean had lost track of an hour and a half.
“Are you ready?” Dad’s face was drawn. He held his leather jacket in one arm.
He looked down at the floor and then pressed it into Dean’s chest. “This is
yours now.”
Dean took the coat and swallowed. Dad must have seen him put his jacket on all
those times when he thought Dad was asleep. He knew he looked pathetic putting
it on so slowly, but he was glad that Dad didn’t offer to help him put it on.
Dad slapped Dean on the shoulder. “Looks good on you. Let’s roll.” It took them
five minutes longer to walk to the car than it should have.
Dean laid on his stomach in the back seat of the Impala and finally fell
asleep.
===============================================================================
Sam looked from his brother laying in the back seat of the car to his dad at
the wheel. “Dad, what’s wrong with Dean? Why is he laying down all the time.
Did he get hurt?”
“Shut up, Sam!” Dean yelled.
Two minutes later Sam started again with, “Dad, Dean doesn’t have his seat belt
on.”
Ten minutes later they ordered breakfast at a McDonald’s drive-thru. Dean
opened his sausage egg McMuffin and made noise with the paper. He couldn’t
stomach the idea of eating at that moment, but he had told Dad that he would
feel better once he ate. He continued making noise with the paper with the
hopes that his dad would think that he had eaten.
Sam looked over the seat for the sixth time. “Dean, if you’re not going to eat
that, can I have it?”
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