(no subject)

[derryderrydown]

Title: Suck You Dry
Pairing: John/Dean
Rating: Adult
Summary: Demons Made Them Do It. It's a totally valid summary.
Notes: Thanks to brown_betty for American Canadian that-side-of-the-Atlantic checking. Any remaining faults are entirely my own.



The first time John's woken up by Dean's dreams, he thinks it's pretty funny. Dean's lying on his back, moaning like he's got an entire team of cheerleaders crawling over him, and John grins, pulls his pillow over his head and goes back to sleep.

Half an hour later, he's awake again. Dean's thrashing now, sheets twined round his legs and his moans are higher-pitched, more desperate. So John hisses his name and Dean's sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes wide and unfocused.

"What?" he says and his voice is slurred with sleep.

"Your dreams were making a row," John says. "Keep it down."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Fuck." Dean's asleep again practically before he's horizontal.

It takes John longer and, barely an hour later, he's woken again.

This time, he just turns away, shuts his eyes, and waits.

In the morning, Dean's sluggish and there are dark circles under his eyes. John isn't feeling much better but he bites down on the urge to snap. Dean isn't so considerate.

There's no reason to leave but there's no reason to stay. John slings their bags on to the back seat of the Impala and doesn't say a word as Dean slides into the passenger seat, shooting John a challenging glare.

Dean's asleep within moments and stays that way until they're three hundred miles away, when he stretches and yawns. "Where are we going?" he asks and John doesn't have an answer, so he doesn't say anything.

He can feel Dean frowning at him.

"We'll stop for the night soon," is all he says.

"Right." Dean's voice is heavy.

After a few miles, John pulls into an anonymous motel and sends Dean in to get them a room.

Dean comes back with two keys and John frowns. "We don't throw money around."

"I'm going out tonight," Dean says, and he looks just past John. "Didn't think you'd want a ringside seat."

John doesn't always know when Dean is lying but he knows this time. He takes the key he's offered and doesn't say anything.

He sleeps right through the night and, in the morning, Dean looks worse than he did the night before.

It's following them, then.

John knows he can't go far enough or fast enough to get away but he damn well tries and the next time they stop, they're nearly six hundred miles away.

There's a room booked in the name on John's credit card and a package waiting for a man by the same name. He opens it in the lobby and drops the packaging in the trash.

They're in the room before he hands the iron bracelet over to Dean. "Wear it."

Dean looks at it. "Not my style."

"Wear it."

"I've got my amulet." Dean's settling into stubbornness and John shuts his eyes.

"Just wear it."

After a moment, he hears Dean pulling up his sleeve and a muttered, "Fuck," before Dean says, "Fasten it."

John's hands are steady as he fastens the clasp. The bracelet looks absurdly feminine against Dean's wrist, the engraved symbols too delicate.

"Jesus," Dean says, looking at it, and he's probably thinking the same thing.

John sends Dean out for food. While he's gone, he carves a pentacle into the bed, sprinkles holy water over the sheets and puts hawthorne leaves under the mattress.

He's not expecting it to work.

That night, Dean is on his hands and knees and the noises he makes would be funny at any other time.

"What's going on?" Dean asks him in the morning. "What is it?"

"I'm taking care of it," John says and the relief on Dean's face hurts.

"It's an incubus," John says and he can hear Jim's intake of breath even over the crackling line.

"You're sure?"

John rubs the bridge of his nose and tries not to think about it. "I'm sure."

"Have you tried an exorcism?"

"Not yet. It's too strong. I need a way to weaken it."

"How's Dean?"

It's the one question John can't answer with any degree of certainty. "Holding up."

"You haven't spoken to him, then?"

"No." God, no. He can't talk about this.

Jim sighs. "You need to. You need him to fight it too."

"Just give me a way to weaken it."

"I haven't got one," and Jim sounds reluctant to say it.

"Shit." John can't stand another night of it. "Where's Caleb?"

"I'll get him to call you."

John's phone rings when he's in the library. He's not expecting to find anything useful but you never know what a podunk little town is hiding.

He ignores the glares of patrons and staff as he holds the phone to his ear and strides to the exit. "What have you got, Caleb?"

"Not much. The only real way to weaken its hold is to find something - or somebody - the victim wants more. Maybe the real version of whatever form the demon's taken."

"Jim told you it's Dean?"

"Yeah." A long pause. "I'm sorry, John. He's a good kid, at heart."

Trouble is that Dean keeps that heart locked away so damn tight that John's got no idea how to save him. "Thanks, Caleb. You find anything else, you'll let me know."

Dean's crashed out in the driver's seat of the Impala. His skin's like paper, circles like ink under his eyes, and John's suddenly scared his son will rip in two if he wakes him. But then Dean's head falls back and he licks his lips, moans faintly, and John leans through the window to shove him awake.

He smiles when his arm's gripped, twisted and trapped before Dean's fully awake. "Just me," he says and, after a moment, Dean lets him go.

"You sure you're dealing with it?" Dean asks. He looks lost.

"It'll be over soon," John says and Dean believes him, heaves himself out of the car and trails after him.

They go to a diner for lunch and Dean nods off while they're waiting for the waitress to bring their burgers. The waitress is Dean's age, blonde and perky, and Dean pays her no attention.

Once they've eaten, John drives them out of town and makes Dean practice. Shooting, knife-fighting, barehand, everything he can think of to keep him awake and swearing and staggering with exhaustion. Everything he can think of to put off the moment when he'll have to find out what Dean's dreaming about.

"Fuck it," Dean says after he's landed on his ass yet again. "Fuck you." He stretches out on the grass and his shirt rides up until a strip of skin is visible, and he's asleep.

John sits next to him and runs his hand over Dean's hair. He doesn't want to see it but he needs some idea, some clue as to what form the incubus is taking, so he stays silent as Dean relaxes and his lips part.

"Dad," Dean says, so softly John barely hears it.

"What?"

But Dean's still asleep and John tells himself it was just Dean calling out for help. He's normally good at lying to himself but not this time. Not with the sounds Dean's making - deep, low moans, filthy beyond belief. And the lies he's been telling himself since before Sam left fall away.

"Why him?" John asks. And he's not expecting a reply so he's startled when something speaks with Dean's mouth.

"He's pretty. I like them pretty."

John wants to kill the demon for this, possibly more than anything else. "He's trouble."

Dean laughs, a sizzling hiss that's nothing like his own laughter. "He's no trouble. And neither are you."

There's a sharp pain in John's head and when he wakes up, it's dark. Dean's silent next to him, asleep and naked and marked with semen. John doesn't feel much better even after he's checked that none of it is his.

He wakes Dean for long enough to shove him into his clothes, then drags him back to the Impala.

At the hotel, a maid spots him hauling Dean into their room and looks suspicious. "Never could hold his liquor," John says and the maid grins.

"You take good care of him, now," she says and John nods and smiles.

With Dean settled on his bed, John thinks to put on the second bracelet that was in the package from Pastor Jim. He'd never actually considered himself to be in danger from the demon. He'd been stupid.

He's still being stupid if he thinks the bracelet will protect him but it's all he's got.

He leaves Dean alone for long enough to go to the liquor store and pick up a bottle of bourbon. When he gets back, Dean's naked again, face buried in his pillow as his breath hitches into sobs and he grinds against the mattress.

John goes into the bathroom and pours bourbon into one of the disposable plastic cups that serve as toothmugs. He downs it in one swallow and ignores the burn with the ease of long practice.

He drinks another cup, and another, and another, until the world is slightly numb.

And then he strips and goes back into the bedroom.

Dean's wet with sweat, his hair plastered to the nape of his neck and John takes a deep breath before he walks over and slides his hand down Dean's back. Dean shivers at his touch and his movements still for a moment.

John moves quickly, before the demon can realise and fight back. He rolls Dean over and presses his own lips against Dean's. Dean's mouth opens under him and Dean's tongue is in his mouth, hungry and desperate, as John falls on to the bed next to him.

John wraps his arm around his son, snugs him in closely, and lets himself kiss Dean back.

And then he breaks the kiss for long enough to glance past Dean and stare into his own face. He watches his lips draw back into a smile and watches himself run a hand down Dean's side. His other self is naked too and he watches Dean pull away from him to press against the other.

"Dean," he says, and Dean's eyes struggle open.

"Dad." He's drunk with lust, glancing between the two of them. "I. There was. One. Only ever one." He's starting to panic and John does the only thing he can think of. He kisses him again, pulls him away from the demon.

And Dean responds, pushing up against John and John wishes his cock wasn't hard.

"You're his father," the demon hisses.

John thinks it's the demon. It could be his own conscience. Whatever it is, he blocks it out and licks Dean's jaw and he can feel Dean moaning, can feel Dean's cock hot against his hip, and he has to move against it until Dean's legs are round his thighs and Dean's shuddering beneath him.

"It's not me," the demon tells Dean. "Don't let him do this to you."

But Dean's eyes are closed and he's wrapped around John and when John looks, the demon is fading slightly. Weakening.

He tries to form the first words of the exorcism but Dean twists and it's all he can do to keep breathing.

"I need you, Dean," the demon says and its voice crackles. "Don't leave me. I love you."

Dean smiles and thrusts against John and John's coming, electricity through his spine, and the demon's still fading.

"Regno terrae," John says. "Cantate Deo, soli te Domino."

Dean stops moving and when John looks at him, his eyes are wide and horrified. John shuts his eyes and carries on. "Pre fertum super celum." He holds on to Dean as the covers are ripped from under them and presses his other hand against the pentacle on the bedframe. His words are whipped away but he carries on. "Vade satana inventor et magister omnis." He can feel something on his back and speaks faster. "A mercedes diavoli libera nos domine." Whatever it is, it's clawing at his skin. He keeps talking, keeps hold of Dean. "Exert tua virtute et fortitudinem levi sue benedictis deus gloria patri!"

And that's it.

The room is silent. And Dean is staring at him, eyes red with exhaustion, and his cock is still hard against John's hip.

"Dean?"

Dean swallows. "Dad?"

John takes a deep breath and pulls away, stands up. "You'll want to clean up. Before you sleep."

While Dean's in the shower, John strips the sheets from his bed. There are no spares so he pulls on his jeans and goes out to the Impala to bring in the blankets he keeps for emergencies. By the time he's made up Dean's bed, the boy's out of the shower and swaying in the doorway.

John nods towards his own bed. "You take that one."

Dean can hardly keep his eyes open. "You?"

"I'm good with the blankets."

Dean looks like he's going to say something but he just falls on to the bed. As John pulls the sheets over him, Dean grabs his wrist. "Am I safe to sleep?"

John pries Dean's fingers loose. He feels he should pat him on the shoulder, touch him somehow, but he can't without it being an extension of everything wrong. "You're safe," he says instead. "Sleep."

And Dean does.

John watches him for a few minutes and he tells himself he's making sure the boy's sleep is peaceful.

And then he showers and crawls into his own bed.

It takes him a long time to sleep.

He wakes to find the room filled with sunlight and Dean snoring. He's careful not to wake him as he dresses and heads out.

First stop is the Impala to get the necessary supplies and then he goes to the laundromat. He leaves their clothes to wash before walking out to the used car lot on the edge of town.

The black truck towers over everything else in the lot. He gives it a pretty thorough going over before bargaining the salesman down to half what he was asking, then he hands over the whole of their cash reserve and drives it into town. Its engine is pitched higher than the Impala's gutteral roar and it's uncomfortable to his ear until he settles into it.

He picks up the laundry before driving back to the hotel.

Dean's awake, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. He doesn't look up when John comes in.

"Dad," Dean starts and John interrupts him by tossing him the Impala's keys. Dean stares at them, then up at John.

"Figure we'd be better splitting up for a while," John says. "Picked myself up something a bit newer."

Dean's silent.

John wants to hold him, tell him that nothing's his fault. But he can't. He just says, "You know enough to go out on your own, now," and hopes Dean understands what he's actually saying.