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Rituale Winchesterorum

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Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus –“

“It’s not gonna work, dad,” says the thing wearing Dean’s face. It’s doing a pretty good job of portraying John’s eldest son, but John’s a seasoned hunter and there’s no way he’s letting it fool him.

“– omnis satanica potestas –“

“Dad, come on, this is ridiculous. It’s me,” the thing insists, Dean’s best ‘you can trust me’ expression firmly on. “You already went through all the tes– Shit, that hurt!”

Not wasting breath on conversation with the son of a bitch, John just shakes his hand out – Dean’s jawbone is like made of stone, punching it really did hurt – and carries on. “Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii –“

The demon is remarkably resistant and powerful, and John wonders whether it could be the demon. It would make sense in a way; all it’s ever done was destroy John’s family.

“– omnis legio –“

It hasn’t reacted to holy water or salt or Jesus’ name, and it doesn’t seem too bothered by the exorcism either. It spits blood at the floor when John punches it again though, and more of it dribbles down Dean’s chin from the split in his lip when it starts laughing.

“– omnis congregatio et secta diabolica –“ John’s mouth keeps on reciting the familiar words on autopilot while John watches the demon warily, curious to see what it’s going to do now that it’s giving up the pretense.

Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te.

When the demon still does nothing but laugh, John silently apologizes to his son and punches it once more. Dean’s head snaps to the side with the force of the blow, and the cut-off moan that falls from his lips almost sounds like the real Dean.

Cessa decipere humanas creaturas–“

The demon goes back to pretending it’s Dean as its eyes, still infuriatingly green, regard John disbelievingly. Accusingly. “Is it really easier for you to accept that your son is possessed by a demon than that he fucks men?”

“– eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare. Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine.“

John has to concentrate on the words now, not because they’re difficult, but because he can’t allow his thoughts to go back to what he saw in this motel room earlier, no no no no, not Dean face down on the bed, pliant and moaning into the pillow, allowing that man to violate him with his giant hands holding him down and his dick fucking into him again and again and again – “Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos.”

The demon is laughing again, but there’s desperation in there too, which means the exorcism must finally be getting to it. “So I take it up the ass occasionally. What’s the big deal? It’s still me, dad!”

Only it is a big deal, and this definitely isn’t Dean, it can’t be. It just can’t. “Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae te rogamus, audi nos.”

Except there’s no black smoke coming out of Dean’s mouth, only tired words. “See? I told you. It’s me.”

“It can’t be.”

The thing – Dean? – seems actually surprised that John addressed it directly. Relief flashes across its – his? – face, but it’s gone in a split second, replaced by weary sadness. “It really is, dad. I’m sorry.”

It’s the apology that does it, that shatters John’s conviction, sends it scattering across the floor in a million broken pieces. “Oh God.” On shaky legs, John takes the few steps to Dean, pulls out his knife – doesn’t miss the sharp intake of breath and the widening of Dean’s eyes – and cuts through the ropes that tie his son’s limbs to the chair. “I’m sorry. I should have known.”

Dean rubs at his sore wrists, but doesn’t get up or move otherwise. He’s staring at his feet when he asks, “Is what I do between the sheets that important to you? I didn’t peg you for a homophobe.”

“I’m not,” John sinks into the second chair, feeling drained. He hides his face in his hands, but when he closes his eyes, all he can see is Dean being held down by that mountain of a man and begging for more harder yeah fuck yeah, and try as he may, he can't wrap his head around that. He sits up straight, looks his son in the eyes. “I just– What I saw…” A hot wave of fear burns through him, nausea following in its wake. “Is that some messed up thing that I caused somehow? Being a good boy for strong authority figures? Is that… is that your way of taking approval wherever you can find it?”

“What?” Dean raises his head at that. “No! Come on!”

“No? Then what, huh? Why exactly would you go and let some stranger do those things to you?”

“Because I like it, okay?” Dean snaps, and he’s angry, getting angrier with each new word. “Simple as that, dad. I like it when they hold me down and when they fuck me hard, because if fucking feels good. And it doesn’t mean that I’ve got daddy issues or whatever it is you’re thinking right now, it doesn’t mean a damn thing except that it feels good and surprise, I like to feel good once in a while. And it definitely doesn’t make me a worse hunter.” He pauses and stares at John, practically challenging him to object. When John doesn’t, Dean goes on, still in that uncharacteristically belligerent tone. “And just so we’re clear, the reason I never told you I swing both ways is ‘cause it doesn’t actually change anything and it’s none of your business anyway. So could we please just let it go and oh, never talk about this again?”

John considers it for a moment, but really, there’s only one possible answer. “Yeah, okay.”

Dean nods once, pushes himself to his feet. “Good. Great. Now if you don’t mind, I could use a shower.” He walks away without waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, okay,” John says to the closed bathroom door. “Okay.”