When A Bullet Hits the Bone Part 1 B
Sighing Sam rose picking up his jacket. He slung it over his shoulder and followed his older brother out the door. They were sitting at a table beside the juke box an hour later drinking beer. Dean was mellow and Sam could tell his brother was looking for a warm body to pick up by the way he kept casting his glance around the room. They both turned to the door when it swung open. Sam gasped when he saw it was the dark-haired kid who had been hustling on the street corner. From where he was sitting Sam could see the bruises on his face. Dean also looked over at the younger man. He whistled appreciatively.
Dean nodded at the tall, slender young man walking in the door of the bar. He looked to be younger than Dean, but a bit older than Sam. With a grin the older Winchester kicked Sam in the ankle under the table. Sam cast another glance in the direction Dean nodded.
Dean's grin became obscene. "Will you look at that Sammy? Now that's a US Grade A choice piece of ass."
"Oh great we're supposed to be looking for Dad, and you're picking up hookers."
Dean flinched. "He's not a hooker…"
"Yes Dean, he is. I saw him hustling on the street corner. He's the one that got beat up by his pimp. God knows what he has."
"I'll tell you what he has little bro, yards of leg and a really nice ass," Dean whispered.
He let the front two legs of the chair rock back to the floor with a resounding thud. Draining the last of the beer from the mug he slid it across the table and headed to the bar. The dark-haired young man was sitting at the far end, not looking up or he would have noticed Dean approaching. The other man flinched a little when Dean slid onto the barstool next to him, but he smiled tentatively when the older man nodded.
"Can I buy you a drink?" Dean asked nodding at the younger man's still empty hands; staring for a minute at the long slender fingers. The younger man's huge hazel eyes warmed slightly and he shrugged.
"Sure why not."
"I'm Dean…" he said offering a hand. The younger guy smiled again, blushing a little and Dean felt his stomach tighten. The guy seemed familiar, but Dean just couldn't place him. Finally when he thought the other man was not going to answer he sighed, shaking Dean's hand.
"Sharkey," he said quietly. "I'll have a Jack and coke."
Dean felt his heart seize a little bit, Jack and coke had been his father's favorite drink. It was funny that he should run into this kid, who looked so much like someone he knew, who drank the same thing. Dean peered intently at the younger man and Sharkey blushed again. After the drinks has been served Dean spun around on the barstool watching as the other man sipped at the dark liquid.
"You have any relatives in Kansas, Sharkey?"
"Maybe somewhere, I mean, why the hell else would I be in Lawrence, but then I don't remember much. A john beat the hell out of me, or so the cops and my pimp said. I don't remember nothing before a few weeks ago."
"So you are a… uhmm…professional?" Dean flinched trying not to sound judgmental, and failing. Sharkey winced and took another sip.
"Yeah, but I'm off the clock right now," Sharkey smiled at Dean. "Shug don't care what I do in my free time, so don't worry he won't come after you or nothin'."
They drank in silence for a minute, and then Dean leaned forward brushing the long strand of dark brown hair off Sharkey's cheek. The younger man's eyes were luminous hazel, ringed with darker brown and turned whisky amber in the soft lights of the bar, not the harsh amber flash of a demon, but something warm and smooth. Dean sighed.
"Can we get out of here?"
Nodding Sharkey slid the glass onto the bar and rose. Dean followed him out the door and down the street. They ended up at the dumpy hotel, a building so rickety it probably violated every known building code. The room Sharkey led Dean too was on the second floor, facing the rear of the building and once again Dean was struck a sense of loss. His father had always asked for second story room facing away from the street. Something low on the cops' radar.
The room was every bit as horrible as Dean had feared. But the bed was clean looking, and the few possessions scattered around made it more of a home than a place of business. And he was grateful for that. At least the rumpled sheets looked dry, not covered with the reminders of Sharkey's business.
The younger man shucked his clothes with a practiced ease, and that made Dean a little uneasy as well. But he knew coming into this that Sharkey was a whore. Shaking his head Dean stripped off his t-shirt while toeing off his boots. His jeans hit the pile of clothes at his feet and he crawled onto the bed.
Sharkey opened a drawer in the nightstand pulling out a white plastic tube and a box of condoms. Dean slid across the worn comforter and bumped against the younger man's back, slid a hand along his ribs. Sharkey flinched shooting him a glare form under incredibly long thick lashes; the dark line of kohl around his eyes gave the look a bit of added menace. But Dean just snickered.
Leaning on his elbow he wrapped one palm around Sharkey's chest raking his fingers up through the whorls of dark hair, to the younger man's jaw. The two days stubble was wiry, but warmed by his skin and Dean smiled. He turned Sharkey's head and pressed a kiss to his lips.
Sharkey opened for him, and Dean swept his tongue inside. Rising up onto his knees Dean leaned over the other man's back and pulled the tube across the table. He squirted a big dollop of lube onto his fingers. Sharkey moaned when Dean's strong fingers worked their way into his body. Grunting he pushed his hips back and Dean let Sharkey fuck himself on Dean's fingers for a few minutes before rolling on the condom. He pushed the younger man down onto his hands and knees then slid his legs between Sharkey's long, lean thighs. Grabbing the other man's hips Dean slid inside Sharkey with a groan.
It had been too long since Dean had enjoyed another man's body, the heat and hard muscles clenched around him, and he knew he couldn't hold out long. Slipping one hand off Sharkey's hip he reached around and grasped his dick. Sharkey grunted once pushing back, impaling himself on Dean's cock. Shivering he stilled and came over Dean's hand. Dean wiped the come on the sheets then grasped the younger man's hips thrusting hard. He jerked once then came bending over Sharkey's back and gasping out a curse. They lay side by side for a minute, before Sharkey rolled out of the bed and strolled over to the small refrigerator beneath the window.
"You want something to drink?"
Dean sat up. "No, you go ahead."
H watched as the younger man fished a glass out of the sink above the fridge and poured it half full of orange juice. He brought the glass back to the bed and settled down beside Dean.
"So, you're not a cop are you?" Sharkey asked glancing down at Dean's discarded jacket lying in the floor. Dean frowned, started to ask why the other man thought he might be a cop, and then noticed that Sharkey was staring at the .45 Dean had concealed in the lining pocket. He cringed.
"No, uhh, me and my brother we're bounty hunters," he said glancing at the other man. Sharkey frowned and Dean quickly added, "I'm not looking for you, okay? I just saw you in the bar and thought you looked good."
"You going to be in town for long?"
Dean shrugged. "I don't know. We're supposed to meet with our Dad."
"Oh, you want to fuck again? I've been up since three and I'm beat, but I'll go once more if you feel like it."
Dean smiled and leaned over kissing the younger man on the cheek. "Can't, got to go. But we'll be around for awhile. Can I take you out for dinner or something?"
Sharkey looked confused. "You mean like on a regular date?"
"Yeah, if you won't get in trouble. Meet me at the bar tomorrow night same time as tonight and we'll go out."
Sam was asleep when Dean got back to the hotel. He unlaced his boots tugging them off and dropped his jeans in the floor on top of them. With a sigh Dean crawled into the covers. Sam rolled over in his own bed and hissed, "You'd better take a shower, you'll get scabies or something."
"Sharkey wasn't dirty. He was actually a pretty nice guy…"
"For a whore," Sam snapped. "Something about him just rubs me the wrong way."
Dean grinned in the dark even though he knew that his brother couldn't see it. "He sure rubbed me the right way."
He could feel Sam cringe all the way across the room.
By noon the next day even Dean was willing to concede that finding their father in even so small a city as Lawrence was going to be a major undertaking. Of course they had tried the house. But Jenny had sold the house and she and the kids were gone. It stood vacant, cold and empty.
Sam groaned as he watched his brother circle the place once again. With a muttered curse he got out of the car and ambled up to his brother's side. Dean was leaning against the arch framing the front door, glaring at the empty building as if it might hold all the answers he was looking for. Of course it didn’t, and Sam knew that even if Dean didn't want to admit it.
"Maybe we should just go see Missouri, she might know what happened to Dad," Sam said quietly. "She's a psychic after all."
Dean shrugged. "So are you and I don't see you pulling any answers out of your ass. If we can't find him ourselves in a couple of days we'll go. She might be able to come up with something."
They spent the rest of the day revisiting every place that Dean could ever remember going with their father. His memories were fading with time, but there were certain places that jumped out at him; Mike Guthrie's garage, an ice cream store that Dean remembered going to with his Dad many times, and an old park, with ancient swings and climbing toys. Dean especially remembered the huge sandbox, framed with rough wooden beams and filled with heaps of soft white sand. The park was empty but Dean settled on one of the metal and wood slides, looking at the sandbox with a pained smile. Sam bent down beside the slide following his brother's gaze.
"I remember Dad would pile all my Tonka trucks in the trunk of the Impala after he got home from work, and we'd drive over here. He'd sit at that picnic table over there and smoke a couple of cigarettes while I made forts in the sand. I had the best collection of trucks, dump-trucks, a grader, a back-hoe and big semi with a trailer. We used to go down to Court Street and watch the construction on the new court house. For a while there, I used to want to be a construction worker so I could drive the D-9. Dad knew one of the guys on the crew and he snuck me in one day at closing time and let me sit in the Cat with him."
Sam smiled but he felt empty. He wished that he had those kinds of memories of their father. John had been different by the time Sam had reached the age of four. He was harder, colder. Not that Sam ever doubted that John loved him, loved them both, but he had none of the good warm memories of a loving, soft spoken father that Dean had occasionally mentioned.
When Dean looked over at him Sam could see the suspicious glittering in his eyes. He looked away uncomfortable for some reason he couldn't define. Dean's voice was deep, tight as if he was having trouble breathing and Sam felt his own chest tighten in response.
"I've got to find him, Sammy. I need to find him, to make this all right again."
Same nodded rising as Dean suddenly sprang up from the slide. He didn't bother pointing out to Dean that nothing had been all right in their lives for twenty-two years. Dean wouldn't be swayed and Sam knew it. Dean and their father had always had a bond that Sam didn't understand, maybe it was because they both could remember that long ago time when things had been all right. It tied them together in a way that Sam had never felt connected to either of them.
It was late when Sam settled down on the bed watching as Dean got ready to go out again. He frowned knowing that Dean was meeting Sharkey again. With a sigh Sam turned to his older brother.
"Dean you know this can't go anywhere. You know the guy is a hooker for god's sake. What is it about this guy that has you so pulled in?"
Frowning Dean sat down on the bed beside his younger brother. He purposely refused to glance out at the window where Sam had once again been watching the boys ply their trade on the street corner, Starkey among them. With a sigh the older Winchester shrugged his shoulders. For a minute Sam thought that Dean might not answer him, that maybe he didn't have an answer when Dean turned smiling his old hell-bent grin.
"I don't know. I feel a sort of an attachment to this guy. I can't explain it. He's hot, and he's great in the sack. With moves like that I can see why he went pro."
“Dean, most kids like Sharkey become hookers because they run away from abusive homes, or get thrown out. He's doing this because he has nothing else. And I don't think it's fair for you to disrupt his life, make him think he has a chance and then dump him in the end when we move on."
"Sammy, you’re a real buzz killer, dude," Dean snapped, but truthfully it wasn't something that his brother hadn't said before about a hundred other people, in a hundred other places. Dean just let the sound of Sam's voice wash over him, lulling him into a kind of dream-like state. His younger brother's words were lost in the steady droning, and Dean just flicked a hand at Sam. "Don't wait up."
Sharkey was late coming into the bar, but not much. He smiled at Dean, and the older man felt that weird pull again, it was unsettling and arousing at the same time. Dean leaned back against the bar taking a long pull on the beer bottle clasped loosely in one hand. The younger man settled onto a bar stool and Dean thought he could see Starkey wince as he sat down. His hair was wet, and Dean thought that he had probably gone home to wash up before meeting him at the bar. He was grateful for that. There was a pale bruise forming on the side of his face, competing with the mark left from the beating his pimp had given him the day before.
"You want a beer?"
Starkey smiled rubbing at his hip and nodded. Dean frowned when he noticed a ring of bruises forming on the younger man's slender arm. He finally decided that he had been wrong about Starkey being older than Sam. The kid was tall, but it was clear that he hadn't grown into his full adult weight. That made Dean feel bad for the guy. When Sharkey shifted and winced again Dean pushed the beer bottle across the bar. Sharkey took it gratefully.
"You okay, you look like you're hurting."
Blushing Sharkey made a stabbing motion at the window with the beer bottle, indicating the street. "Oh I have a regular; he kinda likes to slap me around a little first."
"Why do you let him do that to you?" Dean asked angry but unsure of why he felt so mad. Sharkey thrust his shoulders back, and Dean knew he was treading on thin ice.
"He pays extra for it. I wanted a quick night and if I make my cut Shug lets me go early. A couple of rough tricks makes for more money."
Dean glanced at him. "Your cut? What do you mean?"
"We have to pay Shug for the things he gets for us. He took care of me right after I got out of the hospital, and I owe him money for the stuff he bought me, clothes and stuff. And for the watching out for me, with the johns. So he gets a part of what I make every night. I don't want to talk about it okay?"
"Fair enough, it's none of my business anyway. You want to go to a movie there's one playing that I heard about. Looks like it might be good."
Sharkey grinned. "Okay, movie it is. Then you can walk me home after, or wait…I know, you can carry my books for me at school."
Dean blushed. "Smart ass. Come on."
The air was cooler when they got out of the theater. The movie hadn't been that good but it had been nice for Dean to do something that was normal. But sitting in the darkened theater with Sharkey had been a kind of torture for Dean, especially when the younger man had made his first smart-assed remark at the screen, and then tossed popcorn. Dean had almost got up and walked out. They hadn't done many family things as kids with their Dad, but every now and then they'd go to a high school football game, or a park, and on some memorable occasions the movies. His Dad had a bad habit of talking to the screen, making the same kind of smart-assed remarks and even throwing popcorn. It had embarrassed the hell out of Sam but Dean got a kick out of seeing the old man like that, relaxed and funny. He had been in high school before he realized that his Dad had a truly wicked sense of humor.
Dean slid an arm around Sharkey's waist propelling him toward the Impala. It was a short drive back to the hotel where the younger man lived and Dean followed him up the stairs again. The room was cleaner that it had been, bed made and the sheets were freshly washed. Starkey grinned at him.
"I didn't want you thinking I was some kind of a slob."
Dean smiled at him tossing his jacket on a chair and pulled the younger man in for a kiss.
Sharkey sighed molding himself to Dean's chest, sliding the shirt off his shoulders and dropping it onto the floor. They staggered to the bed, and fell together. In a few minutes Dean was buried deep inside the younger man's body. Starkey moaned appreciatively panting. Dean groaned rolling his hips, Sharkey moaned thrusting up to meet his thrusts. With a smile Dean slid his hand down grasping Sharkey's dick. Dean grunted, "That good, baby?"
Sharkey snorted, "Don't call me baby. I'm twenty-three. Yeah, that feels really good."
Rocking Dean groaned again, panting he pulled back not wanting to come yet. He glanced at the warm hazel eyes of the young man lying beneath him. "Is Sharkey your first name or your last?"
"Can't we talk about this after…" Sharkey panted, "Besides I don't know. I don't even know your last name Dean."
"It's Winchester, Dean John Winchester…after my father"
Sharkey stiffened, "What'd you say?"
"John Winchester…my father," Dean gasped sliding a hand beneath Sharkey's thigh and thrusting deep inside the other man.
Suddenly Sharkey stiffened. Groaning he pushed against Dean's chest. A deep abiding feeling of wrongness settled over the younger man. He tried to buck Dean off, but the older man buried his face in Sharkey's neck, grasping his hips and holding him down.
"That's so good…"
"Dean," Sharkey whispered. He cried out as a bright starburst of pain shattered his brain. Moaning he twisted his fingers into Dean's hair trying to push the other man off him. Dean slid his hands up grasping Sharkey's wrists and holding him down on the bed.
Sharkey felt as if his head would burst open. He cringed as the room dissolved around him, fading from view. He was standing in a dark foul smelling room gun leveled at his chest. He felt bone tired, numb in a way he hadn't since Mary died. Dean was lying in a hospital bed hooked up to a ventilator and he was dying. John had nothing left to loose. He nodded, eyes dropping closed.
Hell wasn't fire and brimstone, John discovered later. Hell was knowing that he had done the wrong thing, and having no way to make it right. Hell was lonely, desolate, watching his son shatter and break and knowing that he was the one who had broken him. John moaned in pain.
Hell was humiliation and pain as well, as John found out that selling his soul meant selling his body as well. The demon made a point out of proving to John just how helpless he was. He felt himself slammed onto the ground, a hot body laying over him. The sickening feeling of violation as he was raped, again and again, while watching his children lose their way. John struggled shoving against the hard body laboring over him
John fought against the darkness, fought upwards to the light and warmth, to the smell of sweat and the harshly panted breath on his neck. He opened his eyes, and realized that the demon wasn't raping him. That he was lying in a sagging, rumpled bed with a man on top of him.
"Sharkey," the man hissed, voice a low growl against the side of John's neck. He grunted trying to force the man's body off him. "Sharkey what's wrong?"
John didn't know who Sharkey was, but the voice was tantalizingly familiar. The sweat darkened honey blond hair was all too familiar as well, and John gasped. His throat ached.
"Dean?” he hissed and the body moved. Dean pulled back, thrust up and in, and John jerked. His erection wilted, and John glanced down at the hand stroking his limp flesh. "Dean, oh God! Please…Dean."
"I'm trying baby, but you've got to give the man a little room to work his magic here," Dean whispered softly and John cringed.
The same feelings of anger and violation roiled through his body and John jerked at the hands clamping his wrists to the bed, he bucked up trying to throw Dean off, but before he could say anything Dean leaned in and forced his tongue into John's mouth. John moaned low in his throat and felt Dean's body jerking through his orgasm.
The room was sweltering, and the heat radiating off his son's body made John ill. Dean collapsed on top of him, sighing. John groaned again pushing his knee up into Dean's chest and throwing him off onto the bed. John rolled gagging and rushed for the bathroom. Knowing that he was never going to make it John sidetracked to the trashcan and vomited up everything he had in his stomach.
Sinking to his knees beside the trashcan he retched again, bringing up a little bile. Finally, after few minutes John shuddered drawing his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs. He heard his son settling into the floor behind him, but he couldn't muster the energy to turn around.
Dean's touch was hesitant, tentative and John froze, not wanting to upset his son any more than he had. Dean stroked his fingertips over the younger man's face, and John shuddered again. With a gentle sigh Dean tucked his fingers under the other man's chin, fingers scratching at the two days stubble on his jaw. John felt raw, completely unnerved, but not so far gone that he didn't notice that his jaw line was tighter, no longer sagging with the looseness of middle-age. Glancing down at his arms and legs he gasped when he realized that he was thinner than he had been, his thighs taut with the leanness of youth.
John finally surrendered to Dean's gentle prodding and turned looking up at his son. He frowned cocking his head to one side. Dean smiled gently; Sharkey was looking at him, not like the younger man had looked at him before, with the hunger of a new lover, but with a deep abiding love. His hazel eyes were warm even though his brow was furled in confusion. Dean gasped, his father had looked at him with that same almost weariness tinged with love. Then Dean really looked into those whisky colored eyes, the line of the brow, the indent in the forehead that was his father's 'I want' line. One Dean knew too well.
"Oh my God! Dad, is that you?" Dean almost wanted the younger man to make some disparaging remark, tell Dean he was crazy. But John merely nodded. Dean fell back, his flank thudding against the floor. Pain raced along his spine but Dean was grateful for it. He deserved it.
"Oh my God, I fucked my own father."
"No! Dean you didn't know who I was. I didn't know who I was…this Sharkey he was in that bed voluntarily, I hope. I didn't know who I was until you said my name. Where am I? What am I doing in this shitty hotel?'"
"Uhh," Dean swallowed hard. "Dad, I need to call Bobby see if we can get you to his place. You're in Lawrence right now. You've been here for maybe a month. As far as the hotel…"
Dean wanted to sugarcoat it as much as possible but there was no use. His Dad would just see through any lie he told. "You live here, when you're not working."
"And I, or at least Sharkey, works as…"
"You're a whore, Dad."
John's face went stark white, he offered Dean a sickly grin that was more of a grimace.
"That's not a nice thing to say to your father, boy."
The joke fell flat, and John slumped over. "You mean I…I'm a bonafied hooker?"
"Yep, you turn a fifty dollar trick, right out on that street corner."
"Holy shit," John sighed. "Wait, I only get paid fifty dollars? I think I got screwed in more ways than one. I'm worth a hell of whole lot more than that."
Dean sighed. "Dad, let's not lose sight of the big picture here. You've got a big, nasty pimp named Shug who has a bad habit of beating on your ass. He's not going to be too happy when Sam and I take you out of here."
"Maybe you and Sam should go without me…"
"Dad, I am not leaving you here. We'll take you to Bobby's; he's been pissed off at you for leaving him, let him beat on your ass for a while to make up for it. Let's get dressed. We need to talk to Sam. So… John…get washed up and get some clothes on. I'll shower after you."
"You can't push me around, boy," John snapped.
Dean merely grinned at him, and John flinched.
"I hate to tell you this, Johnny, but I'm older than you now. So as my new little brother I can push your ass around as much as I want.
TBC