DISCLAIMER: Sadly, Winchester Snr & Jnr aren't mine. Eric Kripke refuses to part with them, despite a genuine offer of a loving home ... No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Notes:

1) Set during Sam's first year at Stanford Uni. in 2001. Dean is 22 years old, John, 47.
2) Pt. I, "Honour Thy Father" is Dean's pov.

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Part I: Honour thy father ...

The Fall, 2001

My life sucks. Truly sucks ...

Sammy's gone. Left. Broken free and flown the coop to college. Or if I'm being picky, to study law at Stanford University. Deep down, I know I should be happy for him. Hell, I am happy for him.

All Sam's ever wanted was a normal life and this is his chance. I want him to have this opportunity, to make the most of his life. Sammy's smart. Real smart. He's actually going to make something of his life ... Go places ... Be someone. He's not cut out for the family business, like I am. For a start, he's far too argumentative and opinionated. My baby bro doesn't follow orders and you could never call him a "yes-man" - and that winds the hell up out of our old man ...

He may not show it - I know for a fact that he makes a damn point not to - but Dad's gutted that Sam's left. He feels hurt and betrayed by his decision to quit hunting and opt for normality. The two weeks leading up to Sam's departure were crap. Totally shit. They did nothing but fight and bitch all the time and I kept ending up feeling like a bone caught between two snarling mutts.

They're my family and I love them both dearly. But this situation between them's slowly killing me. Sam left five weeks ago, on extremely bad terms with the old man. Words and accusations were spitefully hurled between them. Things said which could never be unsaid. Sam really lost it. And Dad ? Well, he was so bitterly hurt and disappointed that the row culminated in him stating icily, "Samuel Winchester ... You walk out that door, don't even think of coming back. Ever. You're no son of mine ..."

I could tell as soon as those angry words passed his lips that he deeply regretted them. But my Dad's a proud, stubborn man and was intent on saving face. He wouldn't back down. Despite his love - and yeah, he loves Sam deeply, although he rarely shows it - he couldn't ...

I'll never forget the fleeting look of pain on Sam's face, as the old man's words sank in. He looked like a badly kicked puppy. Then just as quickly, his face became an icy, unfeeling mask. He just reached for his things, a large duffle bag and his laptop and coldly snapped, "Fine ... Suits me just fine. You've let hunting become an obsession. It's taken over your life. Consumed you. Not everyone's like you, Dad. Fuck ! I don't want this life. I never asked for it. I don't want to be like you, so obsessed with the past that you forget about what's important. What's right in front of you ... What you still have ... I want more from life and I mean to get it."

He paused and ran an agitated hand through his mop of dark brown hair. "There's more to life than hunting. Killing things. The family business. I'm leaving 'cause I want out. And nothing ... no one's gonna stop me quitting !" He slowly turned to look at me, his steady gaze full of regret, "'Bye, Dean ... I'll be seeing you, bro ..."

And with those final words, he stormed off. Out of our lives. Without even a backward glance.

After that, we never spoke about what happened that day. Sam's name was never mentioned, even though we both loved and missed him desperately. It became an unspoken rule between us. Even so, he was never far from our thoughts. I suspected Dad still kept tabs on him at Stanford and I'm pretty sure he always knew that I kept leaving messages on Sam's cell begging him just to call once in a while, just so that we knew he was ok. But in the end, my requests fell on deaf ears and my calls gradually dwindled into nothing.

XXXXX

Spring, 2002

Then it was just the two of us. We were always on the move and never stayed anywhere longer than we had to. Dad had a gift for finding us new gigs, new hunts. His motto seemed to be get the job done and get gone.

We lived out of our duffle bags, drifting from one piss-poor motel to another until they all began to appear identical. Real dives, which we only used in order to catch up on some zzzz's before moving on to another job, in another small town, in a different state, always managing to end up in yet another similar, crappy motel.

Being a former marine, he'd take charge and make all the decisions. I sometimes disagreed with his orders, but being a dutiful, loyal son, I always obeyed them - though not always to the letter - like a good, little soldier. I saw no reason not to, as I love my dad. I respect him. I trust him implicitly and I know that he'd never do anything deliberately that'd put me in harm's way. He always has my back, as I have his ...

So why is it, six months after Sam deserted us, I made the most stupid, reckless mistake of my life so far ? Something that's wrong on so many levels. Something which was - is - forbidden ... Taboo ...

I can say, hand on heart, that I've no idea why I did it. Why I was compelled to do what I did. Why I craved it so badly. Maybe it was because we were holed up in another crappier that usual, cramped room and were living on top of each other. Maybe it was because we'd got dragged into a bar room brawl, after I'd been caught hustling pool and my dad had to bail me out ... or maybe, it was 'cause I was wasted and I told him I loved him ...

In the end, it hardly mattered that it was a combination of all three of those excuses. All I cared about, in my alcohol-addled state, was that I hadn't lied to him. I'd spoken nothing but the truth. Over the past couple of months, we'd been in each other's company twenty four-seven. Continuously in each other's faces and pockets. Seeing the best and the worst of ourselves. During this time, I'd begun to see him - despite my better judgement - in a different light. I saw him as less than a father and more as John, the man. And if I'm being honest, I liked what I saw - a lot ...

Although three years shy of the big five-oh, he's still an imposing man. He stands tall. Well over six foot and still has the bearing of a marine and the toned, muscular physique of a man in his mid-thirties. He's kept himself in good shape, despite going through a bad phase of drinking heavily whilst suffering from depression a couple of years ago. But since we'd been thrown together in such close quarters, I've become intensely aware of how ruggedly attractive he truly is. And now I'm drawn to him. Like a moth to a flame ...

D'ya want to know what the real kicker is here ? Why all this is one big, twisted, fucking joke ? It's the fact that I, Dean Winchester, ladies' man extraordinaire, have fallen - for the first time in my life - deeply and obsessively in lust with another man. And it's no ordinary man either. After all, I've never done anything by halves. Oh, no ... that's just not my style. Nah, I've clearly fucked up this time ... This time I've gone too far. I want the one man I can't have. A man who's forbidden to me ... My father.

God ! This is tearing me apart, being denied the one person I truly want more than anything. It's never happened to me before. Not being able to have the person I long for in my arms and in my bed.

I know it's wrong. Utterly, totally, completely and hopelessly wrong that I feel this way about the man that sired and cared for me. But I can't help it. I yearn for him - although he's oblivious to my feelings. He just sees me as his firstborn and loves me the way a father should love his son. Purely, protectively and unconditionally. Like a child should and ought to be loved. That's not to say that he was ever soft on me or even spoilt me. Nothing could be further from the truth. He was a strict father and you could almost say he raised me like a mini-marine. I can't say I loved him for it at the time, but it was his rules, his orders, that kept me alive up to now and for that I'll always be grateful to him.

Every day it's getting tougher to be around him. To be near him. To be beside him and not allowed to touch him. To love him as I want to love him. Wholeheartedly and in every way imaginable ...

Shit ! I want him so bad that it fucking hurts. Physically hurts. I've this constant ache within me. It feels like my heart's being crushed in a vice. My concentration's shot to pieces and I feel lightheaded whenever he's nearby. But all that's nothing compared to the raging hard-on I've permanently had over the last few months 'cause of the way he makes me feel. I swear to God, I must have the severest case of blue balls ever known to man by now ... never mind the times I've had to go and relieve myself 'cause he's in my thoughts and dreams morning, noon and night.

XXXXX

So here I am - it's well past midnight - out of my freaking head on Jack Daniels and Budweiser, slumped against our motel room wall, tentatively licking my busted lower lip. The room starts to spin and for a brief moment, I have to close my eyes just so I'm able to remain on my feet. I can hear my Dad - or John, as I now think of him - rummaging in the tiny bathroom and cursing up a storm as he tries to find where he put the gauze swabs, antiseptic cream and painkillers.

It was stupid and pathetic of me to get so fucking wasted, but it honestly made sense at the time. I only ended up this way 'cause for one night - just one night - I wanted to forget the way I felt about him. Just to be without the gut-wrenching ache of longing and desire that's slowly killing me, for one goddamn, single night. Was that too much to ask ?

But as I felt his large, callused hand rest on my t-shirt clad shoulder and the warmth of his breath gently caress my face, I knew my plan had backfired. That there'd be no respite for me.

"Hey ! Dean !" Even his deep, gravelly voice's attractive and had my traitorous body swaying towards his. "Look at me, son ... Open your eyes for me, Dean. Please ..."

"Love you, Dad ... You know that, don't ya ?"

I heard him sigh heavily then reply gruffly, "Yeah ... yeah, son, I know. Now quit screwing around, so I can check for concussion. That was some blow you took, kid ..."

I finally opened my eyes and blearily focused on his face, absently noting the flecks of grey in his neatly trimmed beard as he carefully studied my bruised face. "It's true, y'know ? Love you more than anything ... Anyone ... Even Sammy ..." I blinked at him owlishly, then rested my forehead against his and sighed.

He slowly shook his head and pulled away from me, his dark, warm, whisky-hued eyes gazing at me in a mixture of exasperation, concern and love. "Dean ... Dean ... Dean ... What the hell am I going to do with you, son ? Let me h- "

As soon as I felt his eyes upon me, I was lost. I was compelled to act upon my feelings, my need and yearning for him. Before he realized what was going on, I claimed his mouth and kissed him feverishly, determined to get a response from those cool, firm, non-responsive lips. He immediately froze and his tall, powerful frame coiled with tension and shock.

Never had I felt such a desperate need, a hunger, for someone to reciprocate to my demands. I slid one arm inside the open plaid, flannel shirt that he wore, to encircle his waist and entwined the other one around his neck, drawing his long, lean body even closer to mine. I could feel the warmth emanating from him, as I lined my slighter build flush against him. As I shifted, I was all too aware of how tight and unyielding my jeans had become and how he could hardly miss my arousal.

I began to put my heart and soul into the kiss as I tried to coax a willing response from him. Moaning softly, I gently ran the tip of my tongue along the seam of his lips in order to gain access to his mouth. That's when I heard his faint, husky groan and felt his warm lips begin to soften and move beneath mine before parting slightly. I could hardly believe my luck. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I took advantage of the situation and began to leisurely probe and explore the warm, moist cavern. My tongue duelled with and caressed his. A tiny spark of passion ignited between us and began to flicker and take hold. I began to drown in the feel of him and savoured the taste of peppermint toothpaste, the hint of strong, black coffee and Wild Turkey on his lips. He tasted so good and felt so perfect. So right ...

Then suddenly, I was abruptly pushed away. Confused, I watched him warily. Even though I was loaded, I noted that he'd swiftly put some distance between us and was pacing agitatedly. He ran a trembling hand through his thick, dark hair and was unable to meet my gaze. Suddenly, he raised his head and looked at me through dark, gold-flecked horrified, accusing eyes. His handsome countenance was drained of colour and his expression was distraught and full of self-loathing and disgust as he sank down to sit on the edge of the nearest bed, before covering his face with both hands.

"D-Dad ... ?" I whispered hesitantly, unsure as to whether I should approach him. "John ... ?"

His head snapped up and he glared at me through narrowed eyes. He seemed shattered. Devastated by what had just happened between us.

"Dean ... What the ... ?" He rasped, sounding completely broken. "What the fuck did you just do ? Tell me ! What the fuck's going on here ? Why the hell did you kiss me ?"

I swallowed hard and decided to bite the bullet. I had to tell him. Loving him the way I did was damn near killing me and I'd gone way past the point of no return when I kissed him. I couldn't lie to him about my feelings any more. Cautiously, I inched closer and crouched between his long, muscular, denim-clad legs.

"I love you," I said huskily as I watched him intently, "I really love you ..."

"Look, son ... You've gotten too up close and personal with Jack 'n' Bud tonight. You're pissed, tired and confused. Dean, you're just not thinking strai- "

I raised my right hand, lightly rested it against his cheek and gently brushed the ball of my thumb across his full, kiss-swollen lower lip. "Fuck ! You're not listening to me, are you ? When I said I loved you, I meant I was in love with you ... I want you ..."

I knew as soon as I uttered those words that I'd made a mistake. He immediately recoiled from me. His strikingly beautiful eyes stricken and full of guilt. It felt as if I'd been struck - hard - in the gut and his rejection hurt. The pain I felt was far worse than anything I'd ever experienced.

"Holy Mary, mother of Jesus ..." he breathed, as the impact of my words finally struck him. "What the hell's wrong with you, boy ? You're my son ... What you feel for me is wrong, d'ya hear ? So fucking wrong. It can never happen, Dean. Ever ..."

"But Joh- "

His eyes narrowed angrily at my use of his name. "Dean, no ! I'm your fathe- "

"You kissed me ..." I accused him softly, my gaze pleading with him. "I may be wasted, but I didn't imagine that. I can still feel your lips on mine ... I can still taste you ..."

"And may God forgive me for it ! That was wrong of me and I never meant for it to happen, I swear."

I could feel tears start to prick my eyes and I rounded on him. "But it did happen. We kissed, damn it ! I'm in love with you and I can't help it. Shit ! I've felt this way about you for months. Ever since Sammy left. And I'm not fucking sorry about it ... I'm not ashamed about the way I feel about you ..."

He sighed, "Dean- " He absently stroked his beard, before moving his hand to wearily rub the nape of his neck.

By now, tears were silently streaming down my face and I suddenly sprang to my feet. I moved away from him, swaying slightly.

"No ! Don't you "Dean" me ... D'ya think I don't know how wrong this is ? I know, ok ? I know I'm not supposed to have these feelings. These urges. But I can't help it. I know it's wrong of me to want you so badly that I ache. To want to fuck you through the mattress. Have you scream my name with raw passion as I go down on you and make you cum like you've never done before ... To feel your warmth, your strength and your weight crushing me as you take me any and every way you can. I know how fucked-up this is. I don't need you to tell me that ... I ... I just don't fucking care ..."

All my pent-up emotions shone clearly in my eyes. Undeniable and absolutely genuine. Going by the look of anguished pain on his face, I could tell that he knew I wasn't lying. That I was genuinely in love with him. I ran a tired hand through my short, dark blond hair making it spikier than ever and whispered sadly, "I just don't care anymore ..."

I felt my chest constrict and a sob began to rise in my throat. All I knew was that I had to escape. That I'd screwed up once again. Only this time, it was the worst thing I'd ever done. My biggest mistake ever. I'd ruined the most important relationship I ever had and that it could never be fixed. No matter how desperately I wanted it to.

Wallowing in pain, misery and self-pity, I opened the door and bolted outside into the cold night air, ignoring the rain which was pelting down and his worried cries for me to stay. I fled into the dark and ran 'til I could run no more.

T.B.C.