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It’s a diner like any other. Tables lined next to the big windows, uncomfortable sofa benches. Less than caring waitresses. John orders himself a coffee and some run of the mill crepes, Dean asks for the sweetest thing on the menu. Strawberry wafers with extra vanilla cream and syrup, he’d memorized the order since the kid was old enough to do it himself. He asks for a coffee – black, just like his father’s – and a milkshake. Two straws specifically, he liked slurping as a kid and never let go of it. John doesn’t pay much attention, keeps scanning the paper. Same old morning in the same old diner, even if they’re in different parts of the country every time.
Dean separates the straws out when the waitress leaves, takes a sip off one and nods at him to use the other. Sharing a milkshake, some romantic cliché he’s picked up off of too much cable tv. John’s not immune to it, he supposes, not with how they’ve been going on last… he doesn’t want to think how long.
He waits for the kid to lean in and take a sip and goes for it too, grins at him as he goes, eyes sparkling and looking for Dean’s matching. Except Dean almost chokes and pulls back, eyes wide and blushing, looking around and then at his plate and nothing else. Nods and clears his throat at any attempt John makes to engage in conversation.
He doesn’t take another sip of the thing, lets Dean finish it and shakes his head at his attempt to coax him. They leave the place business like and aloof, getting into the car like strangers.
–
Fresh off a kill and full of adrenaline and the sun is still up. Busy small town street and nice pleasant weather. Little more they could ask for. Dean is smiling and perky, smoking in the streets like a teenager, keeping a brisk pace next to him. He’d almost scold him for the cig but he has one himself, stark smoke crisp against fresh air. He stares as Dean brings it to his mouth, wraps pink pulp lips around it and breathes in, turns to grin at him. He wants to kiss him and hold him. Hug him close and breathe his air, taste his tobacco breath.
He reaches for him and pulls him close by the waist, nothing but a celebration of success. Dean goes stiff and red and pats his back brotherly – fatherly of all things – and steps away with eyes cast down, his energy sapped.
John keeps his hands to himself in public from then on. Doesn’t look as his son smokes, thinks only of times in private and away where he lights up directly in his lap. Keeps himself distant and aware in prying eyes.
–
They end up in a bar. Gay bar. Worst place to look for suspects as far as he’s concerned. Worst place for a stakeout too. Dean is hunched over the bar next to him, John’s own leather jacket enveloping his shoulders completely. He’d happily rescind it entirely to the kid, but Dean himself insists John wear it from time to time. So it smells like him. He smiles softly to himself, keeps his eyes on his boy. And his ears open for the target of the night.
He’s somewhere behind him, babbling on the dance floor. But as he turns around to make sure the guy eyes him suspiciously. John cheers and turns back to Dean, who’s also staring at the man. Can’t have their cover blown or draw too much attention, especially not from a supposed vampire.
Some clichés are such because they’re tried and true. Best distraction is intimacy. Not like there aren’t at least three more couples making out around them, or that anyone in a place like this would shy away from looking on as they do. But it’s still a good way to lower suspicion, to make themselves look like they belong. It’s not like they aren’t both sleep starved because they spent the better of the night fucking.
He leans in with an unpleasant feeling in the back of his skull, down into his spine when Dean freezes and tries to back away. John holds his thigh fast and firm, makes him understand this time he’s going to have to comply. He kisses him just long enough for the moment to pass, Dean stiff against him the entire time.
Kid’s eyes are blown and cheeks red when he backs off, Dad..!? urgently falling from his mouth before he can think better of it. The waitress giggles from the beer tap on the other side of the bar and leaves them to it, other patrons to serve. Dean looks at her terrified and goes to pull on the sleeves of the jacket, mortified and embarrassed.
John taps him on the knee with his own and pets his thigh, tries for cheerful as he whispers directly in his face “Twink over there called his boyfriend ‘dad’ three times just this hour. You’re good.”
Dean huffs a fake laugh and nods, goes back to scanning the dance floor. John does the same.
–
It’s a bust. They won’t tell you that but most stakeouts are. At least they got enough side info to lift some of the suspicion off this man. John wouldn’t like to see him guilty, he can admit that much. Not one cheer for the guilt of a fellow patron of this kind of establishment.
They walk to their motel. Short distance and one too many for the night. Especially for John himself, he can feel his cheeks warm and pace wobble.
They’re walking next to each other but with both their hands in their pockets. Respectable distance away. Dean’s sullen still, even relatively good news not enough to lift his mind off of things.
John blames it on the whiskey but he can’t take this anymore. Dean’s not even reaching for the Marlboros he knows are in his own jacket pocket. Too upset to relax.
He bumps into him friendly, lightly. Walks closer, keeps his voice low. “What’s with you?”
Dean hums and mumbles a nothing’, doesn’t stray farther away. John feels the impish impulse to push.
“Considering how you are behind closed doors, didn’t think you’d mind much showing off…” he trails off with eyebrows raised, asks a question without asking it.
Dean sniffles and rubs at his nose, casual macho mannerisms and worn leather jacket making him look like a dream in the lamplight. “Just didn’t… ya know. Wanna make you uncomfortable.”
“Do I look uncomfortable?” Dean eyes him with something like suspicion in his eyes. It doesn’t make sense to him, John figures. It doesn’t make sense to him either, if he’s fully honest. He’s more worried when they’re alone, more reluctant for this kind of intimacy. More afraid of making his own child kiss him like this.
There’s something there about witnesses and being held accountable. About other people to see what he’s doing and stop him if he goes wrong. Something about protection in publicity. He doesn’t dwell on it. He’s given up on making sense of any of this.
“They don’t know who we are, Dean. Can’t call the cops on us.” me, call the cops on me “Plus, we’re wanted for far bigger things.” He says it lightly, breathily. Comes out more cheerful than he thought he could manage. Alcohol. Probably. Alcohol and late night and Dean’s pretty eyes staring wide into his soul, Dean’s broad shoulders hugged by his own jacket.
“We’re still… men.” his voice is small, a whisper. A confession.
John barks a laugh, looks at him like suddenly everything makes sense.
“Baby, I’ve been called a faggot since before yo–… well, understandably since before you were planned.”
Dean stares at him with something like pity in his eyes. Warmth too. Understanding. He finally smiles softly and wraps and arm around his elbow, other hand fishing out the pack of cigs. Leans into his shoulder and kisses it “Sorry.”
John hums and kisses the top of his head, keeps his hands in his pockets. Dean lights up and he doesn’t stop himself from staring. He blows the smoke into his face and smirks, leans up for a kiss, a promise of soft lips and ashen taste.
“Hey, buddy. It’s okay. I don’t wanna… make you uncomfortable.”
His tone is a mockery of Dean’s earlier but he means it. They don’t need to show off at gay bars and sunlight, not if Dean minds.
But the kid just leans on him harder so he’s stable on his tiptoes and kisses him himself. Walkers-by and streetlights as their witness.
–
Next time they’re at a diner, Dean leans into the other straw himself. Giggles about it to boost. Rubs their noses together. They’re far down south and nobody bats an eye.
They play footsie under the table and Dean kisses John as he opens the passenger seat’s door for him. John goes easily, enjoys the weight lifted off his chest.
If anybody turns to stare, they don’t turn to look.