Author's Notes:

Pt. II, "My Wayward Son" is John's pov.

XXXXX

Part II: My Wayward Son ...

Spring, 2002

Damn ! I sure didn't see that coming ... It came like a bolt from right out of the blue and I don't mind admitting that it's freaking me out. A lot ... And I never freak out. Well, not after all the shit I've seen over the years ...

Don't get me wrong, I love the kid and I'm so proud of him. Dean's about the only good thing I have left and I sure as hell don't want to lose him if I can help it. He's my firstborn and any parent would be extremely lucky to have him for a son. I thank God every day that he's mine and I'm truly blessed to have him in my life. Dean's my pride and joy and my biggest regret is that Mary never lived to see how well he turned out, especially after everything he's been through. She'd have been so proud of him ...

Whenever I look at him, I can't help being struck by how similar he is to my beloved Mary, in both looks and nature. I sometimes meet Dean's expressive, green eyes and it's like having her look back at me. The likeness between my late wife and my eldest son is uncanny. He possesses all of her strengths and virtues and unfortunately, most of my shortcomings and weaknesses.

When you consider how impatient, stubborn, wilful, hot-headed and cocky Dean can be, there's no doubt that he's my flesh and blood. That he is my son. But all those negative traits are compensated by his intelligence. He may not be book-smart like his brother, Sam, but he makes up for it by being street-smart and shrewd. He possesses a quick wit; has a sweet and loving nature and above all, the boy's loyal to a fault. Relentlessly so. Even to the point of death ...

Looking back, most of our disagreements are down to his wilful fealty to me. Dean will recklessly jump in where angels fear to tread if he believes I'm in danger or in trouble. There's nothing the boy wouldn't do for me and I'd willingly do the same for him, if it ensures his safety and keeps him alive. Ultimately, that's all that matters to me. That I don't lose him, like I've lost everything else that I care for and value ...

That's partly why his confession has rocked me to my core. It's like he's unwittingly driven a wedge between us and I don't know how to react to it. What I do know is that Dean's never lied to me about anything. He's never been able to fool me or pull the wool over my eyes, especially after he's been drinking.

With hindsight, I should've realized something was up with him over these past few months. He's become more protective and is always keeping a close eye on me and watching my back. Every so often, I feel his limpid, emerald gaze fixed upon me, its warmth caressing me when he thinks I'm unaware of his scrutiny.

Unusually for him, he's been rather "touchy-feely" lately and unless you're under thirty five, female with long, flowing hair and stacked with a 36DD chest, that's virtually unheard of ... Until tonight, I didn't think twice about it. But now, looking back, there was a lot more to it. The casual, friendly pats on the shoulder and how his fingers accidentally, yet lingeringly brushed against my hands when he'd pass me my weapons or my duffle bag; all those times he's patched me up after a hunt had gone bad, his touch light, gentle and sure against my sensitive, wounded flesh, like a lover's ...

But what should have alerted me to this crazy obsession he's developed for me, is the way he "forgets" to lock the bathroom door as he takes a shower and then slips past me through the narrow doorway with just a damp towel draped around his lean waist. It's almost as if he craves some kind of physical contact with me.

There's no denying that he's a fine looking boy. Or man, I should say ... Women can't get enough of him. There was a time (when Sam was still with us) that he'd reciprocate and enjoy their feelings wholeheartedly. But since his brother left, he's just been content with my company. Insisting that I go bar crawling with him when I force him to go out and unwind after a particularly rough day.

Being six foot tall, with a lean, athletic, tautly-muscled build; short, dark blond hair; golden skin lightly dusted with freckles; arresting green eyes; high cheekbones and those full, pouting lips, Dean's never short of willing female company. But lately, he's clearly been uninterested and has knocked back all offers. All he seems to want to do is hang out with me, have a beer and eat, then go back to our room and sleep.

I know if I don't do anything about it soon, this could end up a fucking nightmare of a problem. So far, Dean's managed to keep his mind on the job and until tonight, his feelings to himself. But now, I don't know how to deal with situation or how to handle him. Maybe it'd be best if I just took off in the middle of the night and left him. But I can't do that to him. I can't repay his unswerving loyalty by abandoning him. I'd be betraying him and he'd be so devastated.

Throughout his young life, Dean's selflessly put other people's needs, wishes and desires ahead of his own. He's never asked for anything. If he has, it's always been for someone else. Never for himself. It's as if he feels he isn't entitled to anything good and that just fucking kills me. If anyone ever deserved his heart's desire, it's my brave, fearless, self-sacrificing boy.

I have to stop calling him that ... a "boy." He ceased being a boy long ago and had to become a man far too soon. Dean's had to grow up way too fast and had responsibilities dumped on him when he should have been allowed to enjoy his youth like most other kids. He lost his innocence. Saw things he never should have had to see; learnt things a child shouldn't have to know ... and I'm to blame for it all ...

God ! I wish I'd handled this fucked-up situation better. I'll never forget how devastated he looked before he bolted. It's my fault he's hurting so bad and if I could find a way to take it back, I would. It took a helluva lot of nerve for him to admit what was bugging him ... Even if he did have help in confessing from Jack and Bud ... One thing you can safely say about Dean, is that he has stones alright. Huge ones.

What he said ... Fuck, what he did, scared the shit out of me but it's no excuse for the way I treated him. The way I acted. I was a bastard pure and simple ... He must've felt so confused and the way I reacted, must've really messed him up. Dean, if he was in his right mind and thinking clearly, would never have cut and run like that. Never ...

Like I said, I was a real bastard and I'm deeply ashamed of the way I acted. What's really freaking me out is - once I got over the shock - how good it felt to be held in his arms and what a stunningly good kisser he is. The things he can do with that talented tongue of his is mind-blowing. No wonder he's so popular with women. Now I'm having problems dealing with how something that's forbidden by our society, which is so wrong, can feel so right ... So perfect.

I fought against responding to that kiss, but in the end, I must've been beguiled by it. 'Cause, even now, I can still feel those firm, cool lips on mine. Caressing, teasing and mesmerizing. And so help me God, I have fallen into temptation ... Despite knowing how wrong it is and the gnawing guilt I feel, I enjoyed it. More than I would've thought possible. So much so, that I'd give anything to experience it again. To feel Dean's long, hard, lean body crush mine and his sweet, wicked mouth seduce me into doing whatever he desired. To go further. Much further ...

XXXXX

Two hours later

A combination of guilt and worry got to me in the end and I went looking for him.

Usually when Dean bolts or goes off on one, he'll eventually turn up once he's cooled down and had time to think things through. But somehow, instinctively, I knew it wouldn't be the case this time. After a tense half hour of waiting, I realized he wasn't coming back. That he was avoiding me for one of two reasons. Either he was devastated by my reaction and needed to be on his own to lick his wounds. Or - and this was my greatest fear - something bad had happened to him.

For once, luck was on my side and I quickly found Dean. Just as well really, considering the weather had taken a turn for the worse. The downpour was relentless and I was soon drenched to the bone. I stumbled upon him by the side of the highway. Soaked to the skin, Dean lay on the ground curled up in a foetal position, silent and non-responsive. For one chilling, heart-stopping moment I thought I'd lost him. Then, to my intense relief, he gave a faint moan and began to move.

Eventually, I got him back to our room and was shocked by his appearance. He looked like a drowned rat. Dean's bruised, handsome face was pale and tear-stained. His lithe frame shivered uncontrollably and his skin was icy and clammy. Swearing under my breath, I got him to sit on his bed before going into the tiny bathroom to turn on the shower. By the time I'd stripped off my sodden jacket and shirt, toed off my boots and socks and got back to him, I saw that he hadn't moved a muscle. He sat huddled up on the end of the bed. The shivering had, if it were at all possible, worsened and his skin had taken on a bluish tint. What really had me worried was the blank, withdrawn expression on his face and that his striking green eyes were dull and unfocused. For a strong, young man who was always full of life and vitality, his apathy and listlessness had me worried sick.

"Shit ! Dean ... Come on, buddy. You're frozen. You need to get out of those wet clothes and into that shower. Now, Dean !"

The worried tone in my voice must've finally penetrated his skull, as Dean slowly and stiffly rose to his feet. His movements were really sluggish and he had trouble removing the saturated, black t-shirt that clung like a second skin to his upper body. Seeing him struggle with the rest of his clothes, I ended up carefully, yet swiftly, stripping him before leading him into the bathroom and shoving him beneath the hot water in the shower cubicle. He just stood meekly beneath the spray for a few minutes and overcome by inertia, made no further attempt to move. That's when I noticed the tears silently falling down his face and I cursed softly, realizing I'd have to do what I'd been hoping to avoid at all costs - I'd have to get into the shower with him.

As I reluctantly unbuckled my belt, I saw Dean out of the corner of my eye, slump against the cubicle wall and slide down its length to sit on the slippery floor. He drew up his knees and wrapped both arms around them, before resting his forehead upon his forearms. I'd never seen him look so defeated. So broken.

Sighing deeply, I walked into the shower, still dressed in my jeans and white t-shirt, and turned off the water before sitting down beside him. Dean was oblivious to my presence, but as soon as I laid my hand upon his shoulder he flinched, then reluctantly raised his head. Confusion and misery reigned on his face, yet he remained silent. I slipped my arm around his shoulders and felt him briefly resist, before sagging against me and finally resting his head on my shoulder.

It was sheer hell being so close to him. Having his sleek, wet, perfectly formed body in my arms; feeling the warmth of him through my damp clothing; hearing his soft, steady breathing and trying damn hard not to be so aware of his nakedness.

I wish to God that he'd never kissed me or confessed his feelings, because it's terrifying how quickly a person's life can change in such a short space of time. Three hours ago, I lived in a state of blissful ignorance. Within two hours, my life had been turned completely upside down ... And all I can think of now, is impure thoughts, lustful ones, about someone who's supposed to be out of bounds. Off-limits. Someone I love deeply, yet mustn't touch. My son. My Dean ...

What he said earlier, before he stormed off, continues to race around in my mind. I keep having vivid images - fuelled by his words, his desire, his love - of Dean's body covering mine. Pleasuring us both. Loving me ... And heaven help me, I can't help wanting it. I crave it. Long for him ...

Dean trembled and I knew he must be cold. Guilty for allowing him to lose whatever warmth he'd gained, I silently led him out of the shower and began to briskly towel him dry. The thin, white towel glided across his broad shoulders and down his back. I tried not to think of how firm his pert ass felt and swallowed hard as I heard Dean's soft, needy moans. He slowly turned and passively allowed me to continue to dry him, his body instinctively swaying towards mine as the damp cloth made short work of his powerful chest, abs and toned thighs. He was all sleek muscle; hard steel covered with warm, golden silk. As I firmly stroked his taut thighs with the towel, I couldn't avoid being aware of his arousal. Dean's "little" soldier stood perfectly to attention, erect and proud. I felt my mouth become dry. I froze, my hands trembled as I tried not to brush against the long, thick member and I quickly backed away. Panicking, I mutely offered him the towel 'cause I daren't carry on with my task.

Dean instantly picked up on the confusion, shame, guilt and the yearning I felt warring within me. He closed the gap between us and gently took the towel from my numb fingers. All the while he watched me steadily, his limpid green eyes now softened with compassion and understanding. He raised his right hand and lightly caressed my cheek with his fingers.

"It's ok," he murmured huskily. "I know ... I know what you're going through. For the past six months it's all I've dreamt of. All I want and hunger for. There's nothing you can think of that I haven't already imagined. Believe me ..." His eyes fell upon my mouth, the extent of his need, his yearning, laid bare for all to see in their depths.

My breath suddenly hitched and I heard Dean give a low moan and mutter, "I'm sorry. Please, forgive me but I need this ... Just this once ..." He gently drew me towards him and brushed his lips against mine.

It was a kiss unlike any I'd ever experienced before. Not even with my beloved wife. Soft and reverential, it was a tender and lingering kiss, with an underlying current of passion and hunger. This time, I didn't resist. I couldn't, even if I'd wanted to ... if my life depended on it. I couldn't. And in all honesty, I didn't want to fight it. I returned the kiss wholeheartedly and sank willingly into his embrace.

XXXXX

So, here I am ... It's five in the morning and I'm still awake. Sleep is elusive and although I'm feeling absolutely knackered, I don't care. This is the happiest I've been since that yellow-eyed bastard took my wife. I honestly thought I'd never feel this content again and I've never been so glad to have been proved wrong. For the first time in months, I feel calm and strangely at peace and it's a rare and precious feeling. To experience a glimmer of light and hope in a nightmarish world of darkness and despair.

And the reason why I'm feeling this way is nestled at my side. Fast asleep. Stirring languorously, Dean inches closer to drape himself possessively across my body. Even while he sleeps, he's determined to protect me and just to make sure I'm unable to leave, I find myself effectively pinned to the bed by a long, well-muscled leg. It's funny, but the last thing I want to do right now is leave, as I'm perfectly content in his embrace. Especially when I feel those full, sensual lips nuzzling my throat and his slim, callused fingers lace through mine.

"Love you ..." Dean mumbled drowsily as I idly run my fingers up and down his spine, making him writhe and almost purr with pleasure. I smile faintly. My boy's such a hedonist. He enjoys being pleasured and equally revels in returning the favour.

I know now, that I've succumbed to something that's forbidden. Fallen into temptation. That there's a special place for me in hell for the sin I've committed. For lying with my son. But I am past caring. So long as we're careful and we keep moving, no one need ever know what happens between us behind closed doors. We both know what we're doing is wrong. That it's an anathema. That we'd be persecuted and ostracized for it, if we were found out ... But I've suddenly realized that this is something we both need and want. Desperately ...

I'm a forty seven year old man. Middle-aged, cynical, twisted and lonely. An embittered, selfish, stubborn bastard. I can't afford to start a relationship with anyone, because I've lost everyone I've ever loved. And I know I'm risking all that I hold dear by getting involved with Dean. But when I look at him, all I can see is the one constant in my life; the only person to stand by me through thick and thin. The one individual who's loved me unconditionally, despite my nasty temper and arrogant, unpredictable behaviour.

If being with me truly makes Dean happy and is what he genuinely wants, then who am I to argue with him ? More than anyone I know, Dean deserves to be happy. He's sacrificed so much in his short life. His freedom. His education. His hopes and aspirations. But if I am able to somehow help fulfil his dreams, then being damned for eternity in both man and God's eyes is a small price I'm willing to pay in order to ensure and secure his happiness. He means the world to me - although I rarely show it. He's my son. My closest friend ... My confidante ... Hunting partner and now, my forbidden lover.

I'd go to hell and back if need be, in order to protect him. Christ ! I'd even sacrifice my soul, my life, for him if the need ever arose. I couldn't bear to lose him, 'cause I love him and he's my only reason for living ...

Finis