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Entry tags:	fanfic, fanfic: spn, genre: porn, genre: slash, pairing: d.winchester/omc, rating: nc-17

[Supernatural] Reading Between the Lines [NC-17] Slash
.
.reading between the lines.
Supernatural. rated nc-17. slash. porn. mild violence. implied abuse. pre-series. Dean Winchester/OMC. ~6000 words.

Disclaimer: Not mine. In other words, Show belongs to Eric Kripke and consorts.

Reading between the Lines
by Chocolate H.-D.

When Jacen notices the stranger for the first time, he is rather imressed. He has never seen him before, he is sure he would remember someone like this. The guy is playing pool over at the table with some of the patrons of the bar, and just from the way he holds himself, he knows he is confident. Whether this is because he is that good or just too full of himself, he can’t tell.

He flirts with the ladies the way he plays pool. Cooky. Self-assured. Almost arrogant. And it is not very surprising that they are all over him as well. Given his looks – the black leather jacket, the black and perhaps a little too tight pants – the guy could get every single person present if he only wanted to.

Jacen included. No doubt there.

The stranger loses the first three games in a row. One obvious, the other two less. And he is about to put that cooky and confident manner off as complete arrogance, when the guy wins the fourth game as well as the fifth. And he wins it hands down, too. By the sixth, it is clear – at least to him – that he was acting.

Losing on purpose.

To lull his opponents into a false sense of security.

Shaking his head, he takes a sip from his coke. And he was good too, because had seen a lot of acting in the 19 years he lives, and yet, he almost missed it. But he doesn’t, not now that he knows what he is looking for. Whoever the guy is, he is not arrogant. He simply is that good. Calculating. He can see it in the way he holds his eyes, the way he watches the other men around him.

When he quits, he treats his opponents to a drink. He leaves the bar after that. Alone, and there are many disappointed women in his wake. One of the woman, Gina, a stunning blond lady in her thirtys, who could easily pass for a lot younger, comes to sit next to him. He knows her well. “What a guy, huh?”, she asks grinning.

Jacen smiles back. She knows he favors the male part of her clientele than the female. “Yeah. I think you should hand out tissues for the ladies. They’re drooling on your husband’s expensive floor.”

Gina laughs and eyes the group of women at the pool table. “Probably,” she comments dryly.

Since he has nothing better to do, he asks what is on his mind. If he was here before, Gina would know. “Do you know him?”

“Never saw him before. And I wouldn’t forget a face like that.” A pause. “Ever.”

There is nothing he could say to that, so he drinks to it. And when he comes home later on, he is glad that his mother and stepfather are not there and when he dreams that night, he dreams of black leather and pool.

-I-

When he sees the stranger again, it is the next day and he is standing in front of the grocery store. The man that haunted his dreams walks by on the other side of the street, looking as good as he did last night.

He is concentrating on watching him, so when the door opens behind him and his mothers new beau marches in, he doesn’t notice at first. Only when a large hand grabs his upper shoulder painfully hard, forcefully turning him around, he knows he has made a mistake. “Flaunting your discusting lifestyle again, huh?” the man hisses in his face.

He doesn’t flinch. Not anymore. Nor does he say anything. It would not do him any good anyway. “I asked you a question!”

“Why do you care?”

He gets slapped in the face for that comment. Nothing new there, too. “Don’t talk to me like that, you little slut.”

“At least I don’t cheat on my wife.”

Another slap and this time, he can taste blood in his mouth. He doesn't say anything, but he smiles. It tastes bittern, but it's the truth, so it's ok. And if he still believes in something these days, it's damn well honesty. People stare at them as they walk by. Jacen ignores them. They don’t know anything. This is none of their business.

“Your mother pampered you too much," his companion eventually breaks the silence. "If you’d be my son, you wouldn’t have become such a pansy. You would be a man!”

“See, that’s were you're wrong. You should see me down on my knees, taking it like a man. Can’t say that about you, huh?”

Before the words even leave his mouth, he knows it's a bad idea. Like, capital B and I bad idea. He knows what comes next, and he still can’t keep his mouth shut. It's the only thing he has left. But the expected blow doesn't come. Instead, someone stops the man's hand in the air mid blow, pale fingers curling 'round a tanned wrist. When he turns his head to see who stepped in, he almost chokes on his own tongue, suddenly too big for his mouth. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the stranger from last night drawls, voice smooth and cool and razor sharp. He stepsfather winces as the stranger tightens his hold.

He doesn’t do that often and it almost makes Jacen smile. He knows better. “I don’t know who you think you are, buddy, but I treat my stepson as I see fit,” his stepfather snaps. Yeah, you always do.

Jacen sees the stranger clench his jaw along with his hand, teeth grinding. “I think it would be better if you left.”

They stare at each other for a long minute. His stepsfather looks away first. Then and only then does his savior release him. “See how you get home then!” he barks, red-faced and oh-so-furious, and storms off to his car. Jacen doesn’t look back. He could care less how he gets home later, he'll walk if he has to. Just not being in the bastard's company makes it look like temptation.

Instead, he just stands there for a moment, lost in his own thoughts, before he feels a hand on his shoulder. This time, it doesn’t hurt. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, uh…”

“Jacen.”

“Dean. You’re welcome, Jacen.” Eyeing his split lip, he frowns. “Does this happen often?”

“I don’t think that is any of your business,” Jacen says, with a smile and that coupled with his tone of voice, well, he damn well knows he sound foolish. Like a petulant child. He can't help it.

But the guy doesn’t bat an eye, doesn't even look like it bothers him. “Right. Of course.” He offeres him a tissue, though, which Jacen takes gratefully. Wiping the blood away, Dean reaches out to touch his lip, prodding a little with his thumbs. “I don’t think it needs stiches,” he is told eventually.

Good to know, and the gentle touch on his lip makes him shiver despite himself. Then he remembers where he is and he takes a step back. No need to draw yet even more attention to them than they already have. In any case, he's not willing to let the stranger, Dean, go so soon, and because he can’t come up with something better, he invites him to dinner.

To his endless surprise, Dean accepts.

They both have today's special, with pie and ice-cream and milkshakes and soon enough they are talking and joking like they are old friends. But they are not and he doesn't dare forget it. Neither does Dean. They talk about food, women, about the weather and brothers they both have – name’s Sam and he is away to college – and the way the world changes.

Even though Dean talks a lot, he says little to nothing. Jacen learns that very qiuckly. He flirts with the waitress like he did last night, but everything he talks about is nonsense. Not that he is stupid, no, he is just good at staying away from personal topics. It's superficial. Small talk, he thinks, that’s what it's called. And Dean excels at it like whoa.

He knows better than to ask why, though, he won’t get an answer, or at least not a honest one. So he doesn’t ask, doesn't need the lies, but he listens and it’s still different from the way he acted at the bar last night. Because he speaks with his eyes. Before he knows it, it's already getting dark outside and Dean looks just as surprised as he feels, so maybe he isn’t the only one to enjoy their conversation. As shallow as it is.

“Where do you life?” he asks and Dean tells him.

He buys himself a cherry lollipop on the way out – because damn, he really fucking likes them – and when he catches Dean eyeing him licking and sucking on it out of the corner of his eyes, huh, he knows something is up. In more than one sense of the word, 'cause when he glances downward, incidentally, his pants are visibly tight in the front. Huh. Who would have guessed.

Dean gasps when Jacen brushes him as he passes on the sidewalk and it’s probably his fault that Dean’s hand shakes a bit when he pulls out his keys, too. Still, he gets the door open quite quickly, and when he turns back to face him, he is so close that Jacen can see that the man’s eyes are a very strange, very fascinating mix of brown and green. Dean looks back at him for a long moment, and when Jacen leans in to press their lips together, he does nothing to stop him.

This, he thinks, is much better than the stupid lollipop. The kiss is hard and violent, there is nothing romantic or loving about it, but it's good and hot and he can’t get enough. They kiss and bite and lick until they can’t breath anymore and when he pulls away, back, Dean’s breath is coming in short, wheezing gasps. Just like his own. The swollen, shiny pink lips are an incredible turn on and he doesn’t resist when Dean pulls him into the room, door closing behind them with a bang.

The thought of resistance, it doesn’t cross his mind.

Once inside, his back hits the locked door and Dean’s lips are on his. The cut stings a little, but it not hard to ignore it in favor of everything else. It’s too good to let this pass. And really, who would send Dean away because of a split lip or a headache? Right. Now it is Dean who pulls back first from the kiss and there is a strange look in his eyes. “I’ve never been with a guy like this before,” he says, panting, and all of the sudden a lot of things make a lot of sense.

He looks up so he can meet his eyes. “That’s all right. I’ll show you,” he promises with a smile.

When Jacen palms the half hard dick through Dean’s jeans, his breath hitches anew. A moment later he has Dean with his back against the door and Jacen knows one thing: he has to get rid of those clothes, fast. Shortly after, the jeans pool at his companion's feet and Jacen stares. Jesus. The sight in front of him – Dean stripped from the waist down, his hard dick curving upwards – makes his own dick throb in return. Damn. This is going to be hot, oh yeah.

For a moment, he ignores the man's aroused sex, rubs his hands over his flat chest instead, stiff, hot nipples digging into his palms through his shirt. Burning him even through the cotton. But his hands seem to have a mind of their own, as they travel lower, lower, and god, Dean’s beautiful dick is hot and hard and--hmmm. He licks his lips in anticipation. There is only one thing he wants to do right now. He wants, he needs to taste him.

He forces his eyes away from his crothc to look into those beautiful eyes. “I want to suck you,” he whispers, huskily.

Dean stares at him for a heartbeat, two, and Jacen thinks that maybe he has problems to follow what he is saying. Well, which guy wouldn’t when someone is stroking and squeezing your dick? The chuckle bubbling inside him doesn't make it past his lips, thank god. But Dean nods, so he gets down on his knees, watches Dean watching him through half closed eyes and his lashes.

This look, it's pure sex. Lust burning hot and bright.

He knows, because he has seen it before. But when he is down on his knees, Dean’s cock in his mouth, he is well aware that the man is holding back. “I am not a girl,” he says after a moment, giving the hard, oh-so-hot flesh in his hand a firm squeeze. “Do what you want. I won’t break.” He wants to say ‘Let go, you don’t need to be in control,’ but something tells him that it's wouldn't go over well. Dean seems like someone who isn't exactly great with giving up control. Not even during sex. Perhaps especially then.

But Dean understands anyway. The instant he goes down on him again, swallows him like the bubblying laughter before, Dean tangles his fingers in his hair and fucks his mouth like there’s no tomorrow. Like he needs this. And maybe he does. Not necessarily from him, of course, but from someone.

Jacen has no problem taking it. He has done this enough times to know what to do and how to make it good. How to relax his throat and hold is head, how to not choke. So when he takes him as far as he can, he isn't surprised by the strangled gasp tearing out of the other's mouth from somewhere above him. For a moment, they stay like that, but soon, Dean starts to move again.

His own hands moves to his ball, squeezing and kneading them gently and far too soon, he knows Dean is close. Pulling back a little, he teases the slit with his tongue, licking and sucking. And when he starts humming in the back of his throat, Dean explodes in his mouth.

When he swallows, he doesn’t think twice.

Or at all.

Once it is over, he gently pulls off, leaning his sewaty forehead against his thigh.

While Dean is trying to catch his breath, Jacen thinks about the words his stepfather threw at him over the last years. Slut. Every nasty comment, every slap. Whore. But this is all worth it, no matter what. Fag. He would never give it up. How could he? It would mean to give up himself. And he can't let anyone do this to him.

His knees protest a bit once he gets up to kiss those soft, pink lips. “That was good...,” Dean whispers against his throat, sucking on an extremely sensitive spot. Oh wow, now that feels more than great.

“Ah...god... Gay men give the best head. Didn't you know.”, he tells him sighing.

They make their way to the bed, still kissing and not letting go of each other, and when Dean pushes his thigh between his legs, he moans loudly. “Like that?”, and damn, he can even hear the grin in that husky voice!

“Uh-huh.”

“Thought you would.”

Trailing his fingertips along the bulge in Jacen's pants, outlining it in a maddening slow pace, he is pushed down on the surprisingly soft sheets, and god he pushes his hip up to get a bit more of that delicious friction. The man chuckles but he starts to undress him anyway. First the shoes, the socks, then his pants. Last goes his shirt, and he stares, because, oh, yeah, right, “No underwear? Naughty.”

Jacen shrugs, and catches a wild, hungry glint in green-brown eyes as Dean watches his exposed body. And if this was someone else, he might be a bit worried, but with this particular stranger? There is no fear. No worry. No nothing. What is different about him, Jacen doesn’t know, but he feels strangely... safe somehow. If it makes sense. In his heart it does, but a little voice in the back of his head screams at him that he is crazy.

Then again, he knew this already.

As Dean strips off his own shirt, tossing it across the room, he watches. Uh, maybe he stares, okay. And yeah, he might even drool. A bit. But, shit, the man has a body to kill and die for, so he can’t help it. That’s when he sees them. The scars. He has a lot of them, some really bad ones, and if Dean catches him staring, he doesn’t say anything about it.

Jacen does not ask.

He has his own secrets he doesn’t want anyone to know about.

Instead, he kisses and licks and caresses every single one he can discover. Faded or angry red, good or bad. It doesn’t matter. He teases Dean’s body with his tongue and lips and teeth and hands for what feels like an eternity, until Dean writhes under him like a snake, moaning his name in sweet agony. He chuckles softly, yes he knows how he feels right about now. “What do you want, Dean?” he whispers into his ear, bites it tenderly.

“I-I want to... fuck you...”

He is not one to beat around the bush, and that is all right. Jacen isn’t either. Smiling down at the blond, he cooks his head to the side. “Ever done something like this? I mean with a woman?”

“N-not really...”

What that really means is clearly meant to be for him to decide, but it’s not really important when they are both naked and hot as hell on a bed. Jacen trails one of his finger along the underside of his hard dick. “Condom and lube in the backpocket of my pants,” he tells him. Always prepared, it's something akin to a motto to him, more than ever with fucking. Sue me.

While Dean gets up, he snatches one of the pillows to place it under his lower back, lying down. When Dean hands him what he asked for, he opens the tube and coats his fingers with the clear lubricant inside. He spreads his legs as wide as he can, digging his heel into the bed, and reaches for his opening.

Next to him, Dean’s breath hitched, and he smiles. Seems like this doesn’t let the man cold after all. He doesn’t look over, though, it would be too distracting, and he has to concentrate on himself as he eases one finger inside. It stings a bit, but doesn’t hurt too much. Sliding his finger in and out a few times, he feels himself relax. Starting to open up. Great.

He is about to add another finger, when Dean suddenly grips his wrist. Hard. “Can I...?”

“Of course.”

Handing him the lube, he lies down on his back, one arm under his head as a make-shift pillow. The bed dips a few times when Dean moves around and then he feels two warm hands on his legs, caressing his even warmer skin. It takes a few moments before he gets that Dean is only staring at him. Doing nothing. Oh, right. “Use your fingers, start with one, two than three. It’s not rocket science, you'll figure it out.”

There is silence and a moment later, he feels the tip of Dean’s fingers. The liquid is cold, but it’s good. And when he pushes in, it’s okay, so he tells him to use two. This time, it stings a bit more, just on the verge of pain, but that’s fine too. He can take a bit of pain once in a while, so Dean starts to move his fingers like he did on himself. In and out.

In and out. After a while, he is used to it. “Wriggle around a bit, curl your finger. You’ve got to fit in there,” he teases, gently.

Pushing down on them, he moans.

Oh, that is far better then his own hands or the--yeah. Right. But when he looks at Dean’s face, he thinks the man looks far too serious for what he is doing. Still he doesn’t say anything about it, because it is a rather long time since he had someone inside him. And he does not want to kill the mood. The third finger is a little bit harder to take, still not too bad, most likely because Dean is surprisingly careful, almost gentle.

After a few more minutes, he is as ready as he can get, so he tells Dean to move on to the real thing. He hears paper being torn and then there is the tip of something bigger brushing his opening. For a split second he thinks that this won’t work. The thought isn’t new. It was there the first time he had sex, real sex, and all the other times after that, but he had been proved wrong. It had hurt, sure, but given time, it had been very nice.

Which is what makes him come back for more every time. Regardless of what his stepfather and other say. And it’s not only about sex. Absolutely not. “Just go slow,” he says, smiling at the man hovering over him.

He draws in a breath when the head pushes inside, biting back a hiss and a groan.

That’s always the worst part. Eventually it always will be. Dean cleches his jaw so hard when he tells him to stay still for a moment, he fears for his teeth. But it doesn’t take long until he feels himself relax, open but fine, and soon after he is filled completely. Yet again they pause for a moment, their hard and fast breathing the only sound in the room. When he is a bit more comfortable, he draps his legs around Dean’s waist pulling him even deeper inside.

They moan loudly at the shift of position. And sweet Jesus! “You can m-move now,” he grits out around a moan, and when Dean starts to move, a slow pace at first, it is like coming home after a long, long time. Speeding up the pace, Dean changes the angle he thrusts into him and hits the spot that makes him see stars. He doesn’t think about what the people in the next room might think, and even if he did, he can’t hold back the groaning and the moaning and... you get the picture.

Now it is him who is squirming under a hard, muscled body and fuck, does he likes it. If Dean only kisses him to shut him up, he has no idea, but it doesn’t matter anyway, he is feeling far too good to care. He likes being kissed during sex no matter what. Hard and fast or gentle and sweet, it doesn’t make a difference, he is not going to complain. Just opening his mouth wider, to give Dean better access at fucking his mouth with his velvet tongue.

Not bad, he thinks. Not bad at all.

So when he pulls back, he is almost disappointed, but then he gets a real look at the man above him. Dean looks like sex in person from Jacen’s point of view. Eyes wild and wide, sweat drenching his hair, his body glistening in the dim light, he looks like a greek god carved out of stone he once saw in a museum. Yeah, maybe he is exaggerating, or that’s just him and the fact that he is fucked by that man, making him feel very good.

Honestly?

He couldn't care less.

Because Dean is beautiful, despite all the scars, or maybe because of them. And whatever his secret might be, he is sure that he will never find out. Man like him come and go, they never stay, and that’s fine, because if they would, they might lose their magic touch. Or whatever it is that people find so enthralling. People like Jacen.

Then he feels a rough hand gripping his cock, jerking him off in the very same pace he is fucked, and oh god, he can't think anymore. There is nothing but pure white bliss when stars explode in front behind his eyes. Flying couldn’t possibly be any better than this.

Once he comes back from soaring the sky and his senses return back to normal, he can see Dean lying next to him, face down, breathing evenly. He chuckles amused, because now the term ‘fucking someone selnseless’ has a whole new meaning to him. He never thought it was possible. Apparently the man hears him, because sleepy eyes meet his own.

A frown on his handsome face. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he whispers, but he can’t stop chuckling. Damn. “It’s just... I have an idea what ‘being fucked senseless’ means now.”

First Dean stares at him, then his lips curl upwards and he, eventually laughs out loud. “Thanks, I think,” he murmurs, obviously amused.

“You’re quite welcome." He means it too, “but shouldn’t it be me thanking you? You did all the work after all.”

“Nah.”

“O-kay. It's not like I'm going to argue.” Sighing, he looks at his wrist. It’s time to leave. “I should get going. Late enough already.”

“Don’t get me wrong, but is that a good idea?”

“Huh?”

“Going back.” To whatever awaits you there, heavily implied, but never put into words. Still, it rings in his ears like a scream. He stays silent. “Stay for the night. I don’t care.”

“You sure?”

Dean grins.

“Okay. Thanks.” He turns around to rearranges the pillows, but when he reaches for another one, something stings his hand. “Ow! What the...”

When he pulls the pillow aside to see what had hurt him, he freezes. There is a knife under it, a rather huge knife. Before he knows what is happening, Dean is gripping his wrist, holding it still, all sleepiness and joking suddenly gone. As if it had never been there in the first place. Huh? And he does not seem surprised. At all. “Hold still. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

And suddenly, the horrifying idea crosses Jacen’s mind that the knife actually belongs to Dean. That the man sleeps with a knife under his pillow. He should probably be terrified, panic, or whatever, but truth is, he is not. After all, the world is a scary place, and who knows what Dean has seen in his life. He knows what he himself has seen, and he isn't going to blame someone for being paranoid. And that's even in question, considering.

So he does what he is told. Holds still until Dean gets back, lets him tend to the cut – even though he thinks Dean fusses way too much – and lets him bandange his hand in the end. He remembers that Dean mentioned a younger brother, so maybe he just does for him now what he might have done for his brother some time ago. He can remember a time when his own brother did it for him as well.

When he is done, he offers the knife to Dean, handle first, and he silently accepts. He puts it under his own pillow, nodding his thanks. And Jacen knows it’s not the act itself, but because he doesn’t question.

No questions asked. Right. Of course.

Later on, it will be just another one of the mysteries that are Dean.

Which, naturally, is what makes that man so unbelievable irresistible. Everybody likes to flirt with danger every once in a while, and Dean is just that. Danger personified. In addition to the sex, no doubt.

Carefully he leans back onto the bed and pulls up the thin sheet to cover them. He turns on his side, facing Dean, and when he sees the man staring at him, he can't help it. He leans over to kiss him, whispering a barely audible “goodnight” against those incredible soft lips, before he closes his eyes.

-I-

Dean wakes him at 8:30 am and after they both take a shower, they walk back to the diner for breakfast. They take their place away from the other costumers at the far end of the room. Dean orders a quite large amount of food, flirting shamelessly with the friendly and – of course – hot waitress and it is as if he doesn’t exist next to this man, because she nearly leaves before he can tell her what he wants.

Dean is an intense presence. One cannot help but notice that man, one way or another.

In a way, he thinks, Dean is like the sun.

Shining, bright, their light warms you, but you can't look right into the heart, the center, it would blind you, leave you scarred. What goes on beyond the surface, only he knows. Plus maybe a few selected others. But that’s okay, because it is nobody else’s business what goes on inside his head – his heart– anyway.

They eat and drink and talk and when they are done, Jacen knows it’s time to say good-bye.

He follows Dean back to his motel to see him off when he leaves. The car is not really a surprise once he thinks about it: A shiny black Impala, year 1967. Jesus! It fits the man so perfectly well that – if a car and it’s owner could be soulmates or something – Dean and his Impala would be a match made in heaven. No doubt there.

He is a little bit surprised, however, when Dean digs up what he thinks is an old shoe carton from the backseat. He frowns a bit, but when the man opens it, his eyes almost come out of their sockets. There are many, many strange things in there. They look like charms or amulets, symbols he has never seen before. Either Dean doesn’t notice him staring or he ignores it. He thinks it’s the latter.

Silently he watches Dean rummage through the small box, then closing it again when he obviously finds what he’s searching for. The box goes back to where it came from, and when Dean turns to him, he can't help but ask about it. “What are you doing with these things?”

Dean shrugs. “It comes with the job,” is all he says, but Jacen knows when he is being dismissed.

How was that saying again? ‘Ask me no question, I’ll tell you no lies’? Yeah that, or something along that line. Ah well. So he closes his mouth and swallows the other questions that burn on his tongue. Instead, he dumbly stares at the pendant Dean is now holding out to him as if it is going to bite him. “Huh?” Oh, how very eloquent, isn't it?

Dean chuckles. “It’s a lucky charm. It’s for protection.” Jacen raises his brows suggestively, even though he knows it’s not what he means. And this time Dean actually laughs. “Not that kind of protection, you jerk.”, he is told. Jacen merely grins back. “No, seriously. It is a symbol for protection.”

With a shrug, he takes it from nimble, oh-so-talented fingers, looking at it closely. It’s apparently made of silver. A pentacle, he knows that one, and something that might look like a celtic knot, but for the rest, he has no idea. “Why are you giving me that?” he asks instead.

“It is a symbol for protection, healing and courage. I think you might need it.”

“What?” Again, very eloquent.

Dean's smile softens. And he is almost afraid of what the man is going to say. “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Well maybe he does, but he doesn’t want to admit it, so he crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You do, Jacen, better than you want to. The bruises speak for themselves, loud and clear. Whenever you look into a mirror, whenever you look ar yourself, you can see--”

He can't stand that, so he cuts Dean of mid sentence. “OKAY! Okay! I know what you are talking about, okay! I get it! Jesus!”

“Then do something about it. Don’t tell yourself it’s not like that. Don’t lie to yourself. You told me you don’t lie to others, that’s great, but you lie to yourself. And that’s almost worse, because it won’t end your torment, okay? You can't talk those burises away. Not now not ever. Stop lying to yourself and actually do something!”

“I can’t. My mother--”

“Is old enough know what she is doing. What he does to you... it’s wrong, Jacen. He doesn’t have the right to hit you or say to you what he says.” And just then it dawns on Jacen that Dean heard more than he let on when they first met. “Don’t let him do this to you when you got the power to change it.”

“I just can’t leave her with him.”

“If she stays with him, even though he treats you like shit and she never says anything, I say fuck her. She's just as bad as he is.” Dean carefully touches the cut on his lips. “Maybe even worse. No one deserves to be treated like this, not because you’re gay or for whatever fucked up reason, but you don’t need to feel bad for yourself if you could so easily change your life.”

“You don’t know--”

“No I don’t, you are right, but I know it’s going to kill you sooner or later. Not physically, no, but on the inside. No matter how strong you think you are, dude, one day you are going to break.” Those words are all too familiar, someone said that to him already a long time ago. “Don’t let that bastard abuse you like this, Jacen. Because that is what he does. No, you’re not a child, but he still does. And still, because of that, you can fight back.”

Jacen closes his eyes and the edges of the pendant cut into his hand when he curls it into a fist. “It’s just hard you know. I love my mother, but I still hate her for never siding with me. I just, I can't leave her.”

“Your brother did, didn’t he?”

“Yes, and she never spoke to him again.”

“Is that what a mother should do, Jacen?” Dean asks, but he can't answer. He probably isn't supposed to. “I don’t really know, my mom died when I was a little kid, but I don’t really think so. A parent is supposed to love and care for their kids no matter what, isn't that right?”

“Yeah...,” he whispers.

“Then forget about her for a second! Show her what it means to be left alone. Maybe she will come around after a while. And if she doesn’t, she deserves neither your respect nor your loyalty or love. You have to think about yourself once in a while. That has nothing to do with being selfish. It’s called self-protection, Jacen.”

He fucking knows that Dean is right. Yes, he has a brother that offered his help so many times before, but he always declined, saying he could deal with this himself. But can he? Truly? He is not sure about that anymore. And listening to the beautiful man in front of him makes him doubt his own beliefs even more. “I know I can't force you to do this, but at least think about what I said.”, Dean goes on to say, and he nods.

“I will think about it, I promise.” But a voice in the back of his head tells him he has already made up his mind. He ignores it. “Thank you, Dean. Not only for this,” he says, holding up the charm.

“Don’t mention it.” And just as fast as it came, the serious tone is gone, back is the flirting grin. Instead, he grabs the chain and fastens it around his neck. “Can’t let them ruin that pretty face of yours, huh?” he teases, stroking his lip, and Jacen laughs.

He knows he is supposed to laugh. “Right. We wouldn’t want that, no?”

“No, not at all.” Dean pulls him close than, so close that he is pressed against the mans body head to knees. One hand’s on his waist, the other cupping the side of his neck, he and kisses him. Open mouthed, with tongue and everthing he is worth. Just there, in the middle of the parking lot, where everyone and their mother can see them, but Dean doesn’t seem to care. Nor does he. Jacen might have been humiliated and hurt for who he is, but he was never ashamed of it.

He is never going to hide.

“Take care,” Dean says as he pulls back. They are both breathing heavily, and Dean's hand touches his cheek tenderly, only for a second, but he can't help but smile.

Then, when he watches Dean drive away, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he should swallow something beside cock for a change and get over himself. For once, he listens to the quiet voice in the back of his head and swallows his goddammed pride. Pulling out his phone, he dials the number he has come to know by heart over time. As his brother picks up after the fifth ring, Jacen says that he is so sorry, for everything, and does something he hasn’t done for a very long time.

He asks for help.

After he hangs up, there is a small part of his heart that hopes with all its might that he is going to see Dean again, no matter how far in the future that might be. What was it they say?

People always meet twice...

Yeah. So long, Dean!


.FIN.