Title: Hunter's Heart Pt. 1

Fandom: Supernatural

Paring John/Dean

Rating: FRAO (father/son angst-free incest)

Warnings: Violence, blood/gore, one-sided incest

Summary: Takes place just before the series starts. Sam is still at Stanford. Dean wants more than a father/son relationship with John, and uses circumstances to get it.

And yet again my grateful acknowledgement and thanks to Sioux-Sioux for the beta work on the story.

John stared at the driver's license in his hand. He frowned and shot Dean a look. His son was still snickering behind his hand. "I swear to god, Dean I am never letting you do the ids again. Just dropping Winchester off our names, how lazy can you get, and we don't even have the same last name now. Dean Elliot and John Francis—what are you laughing at?"

"I didn't know your middle name was Francis."

"Grow up; I thought you were supposed to be twenty-six not ten. What's wrong with Francis? I happened to be named after my Uncle Frank. You should be thanking me for Uncle El, too. You could be Dean Hubert Winchester, you know. I saved you from that one when your mom wanted to name you after Grandpa Bert." John said smugly watching out of the corner of his eye as Dean shuddered.

Satisfied John added, "Yeah and Sammy was Eleanor Claire when we thought he was going to be a girl, so I guess he really dodged a bullet there."

"Look, so what if the names don't match - nothing says we have to be father and son. A lot of people travel together; we can work together or something, a business trip," Dean said.

"Yeah, but we've only got the one hotel room. Do business people stay in the same room?" John asked pulling a slip of paper out of his pocket. "And how do you explain the Impala? Business people drive sedans not muscle cars."

With a shrug Dean made a turn off the main road and into the hotel parking lot. He smiled; the place was a lot more impressive than the last dump they'd stayed in. The building was a nice two story structure with gables and green storm shutters. The white washed walls were clean and freshly painted, a large main door was golden hued oak surrounded on both sides by frosted bottle-glass windows. Three steps led to a covered porch with a wooden swing, and several pieces of sturdy white rattan furniture.

A pool was enclosed in a wooden fence across the lawn from the house, and Dean could see a number of tables covered by large green umbrellas and lounge chairs scattered around the crystal clear water.

They had been asked to come to the hotel by the owner. In fact the woman was almost hysterical when she left a message on Jim Murphy's phone saying that she had been given his name by another hunter John vaguely remembered from the Roadhouse. Jim had passed the message onto John since he and Dean were already in upstate New York looking for an ancient book of arcane lore. As was customary Jim had told the woman to expect two hunters, no names were ever mentioned. So John tucked the driver's license into his wallet and settled into the seat looking out the window.

The Inn was a bed and breakfast on the outskirts of a small town name Bradbury, a little south of the Hamptons. The trees were just beginning to turn, red and yellow foliage brilliant in the late afternoon sunlight. The air was cool; a hint of winter settling in. Dean took a deep breath. He had always loved fall weather, loved the crisp feel of the air and the cold bright blue sky.

"Hey, this is a really nice place isn't it, Johnny?" Dean said.

His father's dark expression sat off another round of snickering. With a sigh John opened the door, dragging his duffle bag out of the rear seat. He chose to ignore his son's question.

"Oh come on…don't be like that."

Dean grabbed his own bag, and followed his father's retreating form across the parking lot and into the main building. Dean hustled after the broad back of his father, catching the door that John swung back, none too gently and dodging around a luggage cart by the entryway.

"Oh come on...I'm sorry, John!" he repeated.

An elderly couple was sitting on a sofa in front of the already roaring fireplace, twin cups of steaming tea held in their hands. The lady looked up blinking at Dean. She followed his gaze to the retreating figure of his father and smiled. John was standing beside the desk while a younger woman shuffled through the register and found the room number assigned to them. She handed him two keys; John pocketed one and held the second out to Dean. He grabbed it following the girl to the elevator.

The room she led them too was large and airy with a bay window, a small sofa and chairs arranged tastefully around a table across from a television against the wall. One door opened into a closet whilst a second door revealed the bathroom, sparkling white old fashioned claw-footed tub with a separate stall for the shower divided from the toilet with a double vanity and large framed mirror.

"Hey," Dean said "This place is real swanky."

He dropped his bag beside the bathroom door and turned as John uttered a curse. His father was standing in front of the bed, a large king-sized bed on the north wall, covered in a thick goose down comforter and a multitude of pillows.

"Shit, I told her we needed two beds."

Dean grunted.

"Oh, come on Dad, we've shared a bed before, and not even so nice a one. It won't kill us."

"You hog the blankets," John snapped. "And keep calling me John. You're going to have to do it in public all the time and we can't afford for you to slip."

"Well, you snore - Johnny." Dean said grinning.

John growled and if looks could maim Dean would have been a cripple.

"We might as well stake out the place, check out the other guests before we meet with Judy Miller."

John nodded. He went into the bathroom, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the window. In a few minutes he reemerged face scrubbed and beard trimmed down to just stubble. He had also combed his too long hair loosely, letting it fall over his forehead. Dean nodded in approval. With his beard trimmed and no gray showing John looked at least ten years younger.

"I figured that if we are supposed to be co-workers we should at least look closer in age." He offered by way of explanation. Dean couldn't argue.

The desk clerk met them at the elevator door. Dean noticed her slightly harried expression as she caught Dean's attention with a brief gesture.

"Mr. Elliot, Mr. Francis Judy asked me to tell you she can't meet with you tonight, but that she will see you first thing in the morning, she's at the hospital—her daughter went into labor. I'm supposed to get you dinner so if you'll just follow me to the dining room."

She paused hopefully, but her expression fell slightly when she noticed John's annoyed look. Dean glanced at his father, and then started to follow the girl toward the dining room. John looked caught between tagging along and getting something to eat, or making a break for the front door to do some recon.

Dean looked at his father then sighed and came back sliding his hand into the small of John's back and propelling him toward the dining room. John surrendered with a frown, but Dean kept his hand on John's waist the entire time they walked across the lobby and all the way to the table. He winced when he noticed that most of the other guests were gazing at them with open curiosity, but shrugged it off. John, for once, seemed oblivious to the stares of the other people in the room.

When they got to the table Dean gallantly slid John's chair out, and waited until he took a seat before moving around to the opposite side of the table. Picking up a menu he glanced at the other tables. The scent of pot roast wafted by from a waiter's tray and his stomach rumbled.

John smiled.

"I guess we can take a break tonight, and hit it tomorrow. I'm starving."

After dinner the receptionist came to the table again. She smiled at Dean and said, "Judy told me to run a tab for you, against your bill, so if you want to get a drink in the bar I've already told the bartender to put it on the tab. Bradbury isn't known for its nightlife, we're pretty much all there is to do in town after dark."

John shrugged and he and Dean followed her to the bar. The bar was large with a parquet dance floor and a live band on a raised platform at one end of the room. A marble-topped bar ran the length of the room with tall chrome stools lining it. Dean motioned his father to the bar, ducking into the side hall leading to the restrooms. John settled on one of the stools ordering a Jack and coke. He sipped at the drink, wincing a little as the whiskey bit at the back of his throat. He felt a hand fall on his shoulder and he turned expecting to see Dean standing behind him. Instead he saw a tall, lanky man in his mid-thirties with a neatly trimmed beard and steel blue eyes. The younger man motioned to the barstool beside John.

"Mind if, I sit down?"

John shrugged.

"It's a free country."

The other man grinned slipping into the seat. He motioned the bartender over and ordered a beer.

"Can I get you another?"

The man nodded at John's drink. John shook his head, and sipped at the glass glancing around to see what was keeping his son. He suspected it might be the pretty bleached-blond waitress in the black mini-skirt. But John could see her chatting up a bored looking business man in a bad suit. The guy sitting beside him touched John's leg and he flinched.

John could see he had just said something and frowned.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"My name's Mike Tanner," the other man said offering his hand. John shook it.

"John…Francis" he said stumbling over the last name and cursing himself inside.

He was tired and distracted, and maybe Dean had been right in insisting that they take a night off. There was no need going off half-cocked. Mike was saying something to him again and John sighed. Looked like he wasn't going to get rid of the guy by ignoring him.

"You must be one of the tourists?" Mike said letting his hand fall on John's thigh. John moved his leg back, but Mike's hand drifted over his leg and fell on the seat of the barstool, fingers tangling in the seat cushion.

John nodded.

"Yeah, my friend and I are staying here a few days on business."

He smiled then turned away hoping that Mike would get the idea and leave him the hell alone. Apparently for once in his life John was being too subtle and Mike brushed his hand over John's arm to catch his attention.

"Sure I can't fix you up with another one of those."

His fingers lingered on the hem of John's shirt cuff. John looked down, a line forming between his brows. He shook his head again.

"No, really I'm waiting for Dean--my friend" he offered.

Suddenly a hand fell on his shoulder and John turned. Hoping it wasn't one of the locals he glanced up and caught a look at Dean's face, expression dark with some emotion John couldn't identify. Mike looked up at Dean, and he seemed to be a whole lot better at reading Dean's expression because he picked up his beer mug and slid off the stool. Dean sat down with a thump and ordered himself a beer.

"You know, we could have gotten information from him, "John said gruffly.

Dean snorted taking a long draw on the beer. Finally, he leaned forward and grinned.

"Information is not what he wanted to give you, da…John." Dean winced and John shot him a look.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The guy was hitting on you." Dean hissed. John blinked glass stopping half way to his mouth.

"The hell you say," John snorted, this time bringing the glass all the way to his lips. Dean shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't be so surprised. You're a good looking guy."

Dean waggled his eyebrows over the rim of the beer mug, and John's face pinked nicely. It never failed to amuse Dean that John Winchester—infamous demon hunter, blushed like a schoolgirl when he was embarrassed. He'd never forget the hunt they had gone on after Sam first left for Stanford. How red his father had gotten when he was felt up by a gray lady in the cemetery while they were burning zombies. John had salted the ghost's remains out of spite even through she seemed harmless enough—other than groping male passersby.

It remained absolutely amazing to Dean that John, who could tell you fifteen different ways to kill someone with common household items, couldn't talk about sex without becoming a blathering idiot. He was eternally grateful that he had taken sex education in school because John had almost had an aneurysm giving him 'the talk' and he had tried to make it as easy on John as possible. Unlike Sammy who had almost caused their dad to go into convulsions when he asked, point blank, if…and how often… John masturbated.

But to his credit John had actually given Sam a straight answer.

Dean had often wondered if it was his father's unease with discussing sex that had caused him to focus on John as a sexual being. He knew that his father didn't sleep with anyone, at least he hadn't when they were younger. But it was just after Sam's ill fated discussion that Dean also became acutely aware of the fact that John did masturbate. In fact, he began listening to his father in the bathroom, before bed or after a hunt and Dean was uncomfortably aware that he wanted to hear John's breathy moans and furtive movements, maybe a little too much.

Now sitting in a bar with John, mellowed by good food and even better whiskey, Dean smiled. He had grown up admiring his father, awed by the man who could kill monsters. Now, as an adult, Dean was aware of John not just as a father, but also as a man—a man he respected and loved. The only person he trusted whole heartedly and therefore the only person worthy of Dean's love. Of course he loved Sam, after all he had helped John raise his younger brother but that was an act of devotion and duty. And he did trust Sam, but no one could fill the places inside him that John did. And wrong or not Dean wanted to express that love in every possible way—including physical intimacy. With a sigh Dean glanced over at John smiling behind his back. Then he got a good look at his own face in the mirrored bar back and was appalled. Dean was looking at the face of a man in love. He had always figured that he was bound to go to hell for any number of things he had done in his life, he just didn't expect it to be for wanting to fuck his own father.

Standing Dean dropped his hand to John's shoulder. He glanced over at lanky man sitting at a table just behind them. Raising his voice slightly as a sort of warning he said.

"John. I'm going up to bed."

He stared at the other man who tipped his glass with a grin. John nodded gulping down that last of the whiskey and cola.

"Wait, I'll come too. It's been a long day."

John slid the glass down the bar a little way and shoved the barstool back. Dean steadied his father with a hand to the back and then slid his hand down John's spine and over one hip. John looked down then glanced up at Dean from under his lashes, confusion plainly written on his face.

Flashing a vicious grin at the man seated at the table Dean felt his stomach flip when the guy glared at him. He fought the urge to pat John on the ass, and in the end only the fear that his dad would deck him right in the bar kept his hand at his side.

Once they were back in the room, however, Dean felt the beer roil in his belly. He fumbled with the key, and almost dropped it. John nudged him out of the way and shoved the door open. Quickly John stripped to his boxers and t-shirt, flipped the duvet back and slid into the crisp, clean sheets. He shivered as his heated skin cooled, and was grateful when Dean slid into the bed as well. Without a second thought, John scooted back forcing Dean to spoon up behind him. Dean stiffened.

"Dad, what the hell?" Dean grunted "You don't have to crowd me there's plenty of room."

"Crowd?" John scoffed "I'm freezing my ass off, and I expect you to warm it up for me."

Suddenly, it didn't seem as if Dean could get enough air into his lungs. Dad wriggled a little and he wondered if he might hyperventilate. With a sigh Dean decided that this situation probably fell under the "be careful what you wish for" category.

John hadn't been drinking lately and Dean decided that the whiskey must have hit him hard because he was out cold before Dean could even get settled. His father's even breathing was interrupted by little hitches and mutterings and Dean frowned. John had talked in his sleep as long as Dean could remember, and more than he had actually wanted to hear on more than one occasion. Especially a few months back when John had been out of it and had a wet dream. Actually it had ended pretty spectacularly for Dean too, listening to John mutter all those dirty things in his smoky, ground-glass voice.

John shifted in his sleep bringing his ass into contact with Dean's groin and Dean hissed. His arm was around John's waist, tucked under his father's armpit, and John had him clamped tight. Dean's cock twitched.

"Oh god, no…" he thought but he couldn't untangle himself from John without waking his father up. John murmured something, and it sounded a lot like 'Fuck me.'

A shrill little whimper escaped from Dean's throat and he clamped his lips shut. Well, that settled whether or not John had been sleeping around, only not the way Dean expected. He was kind of surprised that his dad did guys but not much. John was fairly opened minded, when he wanted to be. So maybe he was only surprised that John bottomed. Dean shifted trying to cushion himself with a layer of blanket. He rubbed experimentally and found he could still feel the firm, rounded globes of his father's ass beneath the covering. Shifting Dean rubbed again and John exhaled as if he had been holding his breath a long time, a low rattling hum. That was all it took and Dean was coming, breath caught in his chest. He jerked away from his father's body.

"You okay, Dean?" John said in a half-slurred voice. He lifted his arm, and Dean scooted back so his father wouldn't feel the wetness spreading across the front of his boxers.

"Yeah, sure - my arm was going to sleep. Didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay, sorry about the arm."

John rolled his head downward and drifted back to sleep.

John was up early the next day, showered and dressed before Dean even rolled over. He thumped Dean on the back in passing and said, "Rise and shine, boy. We got work to do. I'll meet you downstairs in the dining room."

"Yeah, fuck you very much." Dean snarled tossing a pillow at his father.

John chuckled as Dean rolled out of bed. He tugged his sagging drawers up and scratched his ass. John just shook his head.

The same elderly couple he had seen in the lobby yesterday was seated at one of the tables. They nodded and waved him over. John paused then finally settled into a chair at the same table-information was information and maybe they knew something. The lady smiled at John in a motherly sort of way.

'Hi, I'm Erma Thompson and this is my husband Dave."

The two men shook hands. John ordered coffee from the waitress then introduced himself. "John Francis, I'm just staying for a few days. Are you permanent residents in Bradbury?"

"Oh no," Dave said. "We just come up every year for the Fall Tour. We spend a few days at a bed and breakfast looking at the indigenous foliage then move on to a new area. There are several more couples in our group who will be here tomorrow. Erma and I like to get here a little early."

"Oh," John said slightly miffed, scratch information.

Now he was going to have to sit here making small talk. The waitress provided a small distraction taking John's breakfast order, and he barely heard Erma's next question.

"Where's your young man?" she asked kindly.

John blinked distractedly.

"My what?" he finally asked.

Dave put a hand on his wife's arm, shooting her a silent warning glance. John watched the interplay and smiled. She didn't look the slightest bit cowed.

"Your man?"

"Erma, maybe they don't like to be called that. It's very rude to presume." The older man offered John a slightly embarrassed grin. "She's just nosy."

Finally it dawned on him that Erma meant Dean. John grunted, "He was still in bed when I left. I had to wake him up, but he should be down in a minute."

The door to the lobby swung open and Erma sat up straighter.

"Oh look, Dave. It's Bill and Marion. Sorry to leave you, honey, but our friends have just arrived."

John made an 'it's fine' gesture, and watched as she dashed off. Dave took their check and offered John a parting nod. He sat there sipping at his coffee and let his mind wander back over the conversation he has just had. A sneaking suspicion hit him, and he clapped his hand over his face.

"My man…oh shit," he said.

John hoped that Dean was in a good mood.

He looked up as Dean wandered into the dining room. His son settled at the table across from John grinning at his father. John frowned and Dean almost stood up again.

"What's wrong?" he asked shooting John a look.

"What did you do yesterday? I just had a very interested conversation with Erma and Dave."

"Who?" Dean asked.

John jerked his head toward two elderly couples standing in the lobby. Dean remembered one of the women from when he and John had arrived. "What kind of conversation?"

"She asked where my Man was. Apparently they think that we're a couple."

Dean tried to hedge his bets.

"A couple of what?"

John actually growled at him. Dean suddenly became very interested in the menu. John reached over the tabletop and shoved it down.

"Do you mind I'm trying to order here?"

"Just who gave them that idea, Dean? It wasn't me. You're the one who couldn't keep his hands to himself. And just why do they think you're the man? Why not me? I'm a hell of lot more butch than you are."

Now Dean got a picture of what was really bothering his dad. John wasn't so much offended by people thinking they were gay, just at thinking John wasn't the dominant one in the relationship. He grinned.

"Oh god, da…John. It doesn't work that way. They think we're both men. I just happen to have a vibe that's all."

"I've got vibes, too." John huffed.

Dean almost snorted coffee out of his nose. John was eyeing him like he needed to be doused in holy water and rock salt.

"I do, just why did she say you were my man?'"

"It's because of your eyelashes." Dean said sagely.

The look on John's face might have cowed a lesser man, but Dean gamely continued.

"I'm not kidding. No man should have eyelashes as long and as thick as yours. It makes you look pretty."

John rolled his eyes. He got up and walked around the table casting a glance at his son before moving around behind Dean's chair. Leaning against the back of Dean's chair he said, "I may be a lot of things but pretty ain't one of them. So we've got to pretend to be lovers for as long as we're here. Think you can do it and keep a straight face, no pun intended."

"I think that I can manage, sweetheart."

John cringed.

"You know that as soon as we get out of town I'm going to kick your ass."

"Yeah, I figured. But in the meantime, honeybear, I'm going to work it for all its worth. At least, I'll have that ass-whupping coming."

John turned around tipping Dean's chair back a little so that he could look his son in the eye.

"Dean, you call me honeybear one more time and I won't wait until we get out of town."

TBC