The truck was cleaned thoroughly inside and out
Its black paint waxed to an impeccable shine
The weapons arsenal completely organized
Guns oiled, barrels clean of all residue and fully loaded
Knives sharpened to perfection and all traces of blood stripped away

His hair was combed and beard trimmed
He even donned a new suit
But no matter what John did to change his appearance
It never worked
Never made him feel any better inside about himself

He wished for forgiveness he didn't deserve
But then again that's to be expected when a grown man acts upon a lust for his own flesh and blood

Out of all John's failures Dean was his biggest mistake of all

Sitting upon the edge of a bed John stared at a Polaroid of Dean. He estimated Dean must have been 14 or 15 when it was taken. He knew Dean couldn't have been older because it was taken before it happened before he happened to Dean. Something resembling hopeful innocence still shone in Dean's eyes in the photograph, but no more, not anymore.

With a heavy heart John still could not help but admire his son's rugged beauty. Dean's full, pink lips, pale young skin and stone-green eyes still aroused John despite his strongest attempts to repress such feelings. Trailing a fingernail along the fading, warped surface of the picture he traced the outlines of his son's features.

"Beautiful. Just fucking beautiful." he whispered aloud

Staring at his eldest, then and now, was like ingesting a drug. A drug which could only be absorbed through every pore and that type of high could only be obtained by entwining nude, sweat-laden flesh forcefully. How very easy it was for John in the beginning, to take whatever he wanted from his always obedient son and the more John took.. the more he craved. He remembered how much he enjoyed the feel of his son's writhing, moaning and protesting underneath his heavy frame.

During those stolen moments John would become lost in a place he never wanted to leave. It was impossible for him to believe he had created something so strong, so intense and appealing. His stomach turned a foul knot when he realized that this Dean, this boy in the photograph no longer existed. Dean's demeanor had changed and was most noticeable in his facial features.

Dean wore a heavy look which no man should ever have to carry. At only age 22 Dean's brow was now constantly furrowed. Frown lines were deeply embedded into his jaw line and the gleam which used to be so visible in his large eyes was nothing but a distant memory. All of Dean's expressions were now colored with a cold, gray vagueness with no hint of shining light visible anywhere in the fading ghostly recesses of his face.

The man was distant..angry, Dean was damaged and John knew it was all his own fault. That there was zero excuse for his actions. His son was totally fucked up and it showed for the whole world to see.

Five words repeatedly and viciously swarmed through John's brain as the picture fell from his open palm onto the floor:

I am not a monster..