Title: Rough Trade 1/10
Word Count: 800
Warnings: Consensual Daddycest
Disclaimer: If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*
Summary: When he met a guy named John in a bar, all Dean knew was the he reminded him of his Dad. Scarred, both mentally and physically, John obviously needed saving as much as he did. So when he gave the man his street name and suggested a 'mutually beneficial' relationship, he never dreamed that three weeks later he'd find out that John actually was his father.
A/N: This was writen for the spnslashbigbang. Thanks to the longsuffering and extra awesome wickedlilwitch for being an amazing beta and the very cool longerthanwedo who agreed to be my secondary beta, even though I often edit again/add things after they work their magic. All mistakes are mine. Chapter title is taken from I Am a Rock by Simon & Garfunkel.
Prologue: It's Sleeping In My Memory
The place was just one more dive bar in a very long line of dive bars. Frankly, John was well past bored with hustling poker and pool. But Sammy had to eat and he needed ammo, and he couldn't afford to settle down to get a nine to five. He had to keep moving, had to at least try to keep his kid under the radar so that he wouldn't end up like Mary and Dean.
A familiar pain bloomed in his chest at the memory of the two family members he'd already lost, a pain that he now knew would never really heal. All he could do was let it wash over him and hope it wouldn't take too long to pass. He'd watched Mary burst into flames, pinned to the ceiling. He'd run out with Sammy and left him bundled up on the grass, screaming his little lungs out to go back for Dean. Leaving the baby was against his better judgment, but he wanted him out of the house as quickly as possible. He'd thought that he'd have more time than he did, but the fire had burned so hot and spread so fast. Hotter and faster then what was natural. He had to fight his way through the flames, rushing ahead heedless of burnt clothing and skin, defying suffocatingly hot air and smoke inhalation that had made him feel like his lungs were being steam cooked… only to fall through the floor at the door of his boy's room.
Two days later, he woke up in the hospital on a respirator. Sammy had been fine, taken in by his business partner while John struggled to survive severe burns, smoke inhalation and injuries sustained in the fall. But Dean… there hadn't been a trace of his beautiful towheaded, green-eyed boy. In fact, the fire had been so intense that any remains were lost in the ashes of John's life.
Much as John was relieved to still have his baby boy, the loss of Dean almost broke him. Mary had been bad enough, the memory of seeing her hanging stuck to the ceiling like that, like her entire center of gravity had shifted. The horror it had filled him with at that moment and the detached way he had wondered why her entrails weren't falling out of the gaping, bloody gash in her abdomen. The smell of her skin and hair burning when she burst into flames. That haunted him whether he was awake or sleeping. But the thought of Dean dying like that, alone and probably calling for his Daddy. Choking on smoke. Burning. That had nearly destroyed him. He rubbed at the ruined skin on his arm, remembering how badly it had hurt. How he'd refused to take any painkillers in the hospital because he had wanted to feel it, wanted to do some penance for not getting Dean out when he'd had the chance. Until Mike's wife had come to the hospital and begged him to take his medication because he needed to heal. Needed to get back to Sammy, who spent all night screaming for parents he was afraid had abandoned him. So he sucked it up and did what he needed to do to get out of the hospital and back to his youngest. But he had never gotten over the feeling that he'd gotten off too damn easy.
John watched himself in the mirror over the bar trying to find some trace of the man he'd been all those years ago. He idly fingered the beer glass in front of him, his second of the night, eyes burning with tears that he would not shed until he finally averted them from the stranger staring back at him. Dean had been beautiful. Perfect. His. Whenever he was hurt or frightened, Dean always sought out John. He'd sit for hours on the weekends watching television with John, or out in the driveway watching him work on the Impala and learning the words to his music. The minute John came home from work, Dean was there to greet him. Mary always told everyone that Dean was a Daddy's boy, so focused on John when he was home that it was like she wasn't even around. And in the end, John had let him down. Had let him die. Maybe if he'd gotten Dean before taking Sammy out… He closed his eyes and shut the door on that line of thinking. He couldn't go there. He'd spent months there when it first happened and almost lost his sanity and the only part of his family he had left.
Speaking of that family, he needed to provide food and shelter for his growing boy. Not to mention ammo and other supplies. He downed the rest of his beer and approached the pool table. The only bad thing about hustling pool was that nobody ever thought he was an easy mark anymore. Good thing he had the poker hustling and credit card scams to make up the difference.