Rain Makes the Grass Grow

Notes: written for the spn_holiday ficathon, for angstslashhope who requested: John/Dean or John/Dean/Sam that *isn't* abusive, or markedly underage (Sam 16-17 is earliest I'd be willing to go), or overly angst-filled (slash).


The absolute worst part about hunting in the rain was, in Dean's opinion, the fucking rain. Any other time, rain didn't really bother him, even when driving. But standing outside in the woods, soaked through to the skin with only a partially standing tree trunk for shelter -- pretty damn annoying.

It was worse, though, when he knew the rain wasn't going to let up anytime soon.

They'd been running, half-hoping they'd make it to the car, despite it being at the bottom of the valley a good ten miles away. When they'd spotted shelter his dad had veered and now here they were. "So," Dean said casually, after he and Dad had been standing there for a few minutes. "Thirty foot long, six-legged frog?"

It was possible he'd imagined it, or been confused by the shadows.

"Yeah," his dad said, exhaling over Dean's shoulder. The trunk wasn't exactly big enough for two grown men, but it was that or stand in the rain -- and when the rain was caused by a pissed off water spirit, the Winchesters knew that a little discomfort was no real problem.

Dean and his dad were pressed into the hollowed out trunk, Dean's back to his dad's front. The shared body heat was actually pretty nice, as Dean's entire front was freezing. He tried to slip his hands inside his pockets, but his whole jacket was soaked and it didn't really help much. He stared out at the rain, and the woods, looking for any sign they were being watched.

Not that a thirty foot frog would be hard to miss.

"I thought wahwees lived in Australia," Dean said, still casually. "Why come to Oregon?"

There was a soft noise from behind him, like his dad was laughing. "You want to go out there and ask?" There was a muted thump against the back of Dean's arm -- the only movement his dad could make. "There's a group of immigrants in the next town, remember?"

"Immigrants from a hundred years ago," Dean reminded him, even though they'd both done the research. "Why hasn't anyone seen this thing until now?" And why are we seeing it now, at all? Dean thought, but didn't say out loud.

"Must be no one pissed it off until those campers stirred it up."

"So it crawled out of its lake, ran them off, and is now on a rampage against the innocent hunters who came to dispatch something a lot smaller and nicer than a thirty foot frog?"

There was a silence which seemed distinctly amused before his dad said, "Sounds about right."

Dean sighed. "Is it too late to drive down to Palo Alto to check up on Sammy instead of heading north to Oregon?"

This time the silence didn't seem quite as amused. Dad's voice was quieter when he said, "We can't let this thing keep scaring people, Dean." What he didn't say, but Dean could still hear, was that they'd checked on Sam only a month ago, and just about three weeks before that. Sam had been gone a year, but it was still hard sometimes to let him go.

With a sigh, Dean leaned back as much as he could, hoping to soak up a little more warmth. He couldn't hear much over the sound of the torrential rain, but hopefully the wahwee would consider them sufficiently out of the way that it wouldn't bother coming to find them and eat them.

"I thought you said there was no way to dispel a wahwee," Dean said.

Another silence.


"Maybe it'll get bored and go back to its lake."

Dean closed his eyes. Just fucking great.


An hour later, Dean was tired of rain. Still cold, still soaking wet, and he really just wanted to sit down. Or possibly check into a motel in Arizona and have a beer. He said as much out loud.

Dad laughed. "It's the rainy season in the Sonora desert."

"Yeah, but that means it rains for half an hour then stops. And there's no supernatural frogs keeping an eye on us."

They'd caught sight of it at the same time, far enough away that Dean didn't feel like it was just waiting to pounce and eat them. But it was clearly settled in to keep an eye on them -- so Dean and his dad were resigned to waiting it out.

Dean had no idea how stubborn a wahwee could get, but he had a feeling they were going to find out.

"Demons can sit still for years, right?" he asked.

"That isn't helping," his dad replied in a quelling tone.

"But I'm just saying, what if we--"

"If we're here until morning, we'll try out-running it again. Right now, we're staying put." He felt his dad's hand brush his wrist, fingers closing around it as if Dean might have been about to bolt, right then.

Dean could see the two huge, beady black eyes in the foliage. He thought maybe staying where they were was a pretty good idea.


They stood there for a long while, Dean playing a few mental games of football with himself as the quarterback and Sam as a wide receiver, and a bevy of cheerleaders on the sidelines. he also kept an eye on the wahwee, which was still keeping an eye on them.

If the eyes would blink occasionally, it might have helped. Dean tried shifting his weight again from one foot to the other, but there wasn't much room to move. Both of his feet hurt, and there was still the cold, and wet, and now that he'd had the thought about the beer, he was getting hungry.

He shifted back to his other foot and his dad hissed, "Stop it."

Dean froze, eyes snapping over to where the wahwee had last been...and saw that it was still there. Hadn't moved an inch. He frowned. "What's wrong?"

There was no immediate answer, so Dean finished moving his weight to his right foot. He felt, more than heard, the intake of breath from behind him and he froze again. This time he listened for whatever it was his dad was worried about. A snake, creeping up to share their semi-dry shelter? A bear? Another wahwee? A democrat?

He didn't hear anything. "What's up?" he asked, barely opening his mouth and letting the words out, soft and low so the sound wouldn't carry.

Dean felt his dad's fingers tighten on his wrist again and he tried looking around carefully without drawing the attention of whatever the hell Dad had seen. There was nothing, so Dean risked a little movement; turning just a little at the waist to look behind them, pushing against his dad to help hide any sign of movement.

"Stop," Dad hissed again, and Dean froze. Didn't even move back to how he'd been standing, even though damned if he could find any sign of whatever the hell Dad was....

Dean realised he could feel something. Something he hadn't felt before he'd moved the first time, a minute ago. He bit his lip and tried moving back around to stand as he had been, rubbing ever so very slightly, to test his theory.

"Goddamnit, Dean," his dad snapped, almost loud enough for the wahwee to hear.

Dean grinned. The hard-on pressing into his ass was unmistakable, and he realised now that every move he made seemed to be encouraging it. He leaned his upper body backwards, not just because it was still cold and his dad was like a fucking furnace back there. He heard a sucked-in breath of air, then the fingers on his wrist abruptly let go.

"Sorry," Dean said quietly.

His dad didn't answer, and Dean wasn't surprised. What was there to say? It hadn't been all that long ago Dean had turned fourteen and had discovered the sheer joy of inappropriate boners. Somehow, it had been funnier when Sam had turned fourteen and Dean had been able to tease the holy living hell out of him for six months before Sam had figured out how to jerk off enough to keep from constantly popping them in public.

Relaxing now that he knew they weren't being stalked by something deadly, Dean took a deep breath and glanced at the wahwee, still watching them. He knew the lore as well as Dad did; they'd both read up on it just the day before. Dad had made some notes in his journal, but really, other than a story about the two lovers dying to sacrifice themselves for their village there wasn't much to go on.

Clearly his dad was hoping that the wahwee would get tired, or decide they'd suffered enough and just go home. Dean had to admit his dad's plan was the best one they had, other than maybe a passing sun spirit that just happened to notice the trouble and come down to save them because it liked the way they looked. Dean shifted again as his foot began hurting, and he felt his dad stiffen.

Dean grinned. "Sorry," he said, sounding sincere. "My foot's sore."

"We've only been standing here for three hours," his dad said.

"Yeah, after hiking up to the lake for six hours. I'm just glad I took a piss before it started raining."

There was a pause, then, "You're glad?"

"Oh god, tell me you don't need to piss."

Because there really was no room to maneuver, and they'd actually tried taking a step out of the tree, earlier. The wahwee had leapt out from its hiding spot and shown them just how many teeth a giant frog had. Ducking back into their shelter had appeased it enough that it had returned to its spot; since then, neither of them had suggested making a break for it.

With his dad standing right behind him -- point in fact his dad's dick was pressed right up against Dean's ass, and if he had to....

"Think about the desert," Dean hissed.

Dad laughed. "I don't need to piss. I'm fine."

Dean exhaled, relieved. Without meaning to, he shifted again and felt just how not exactly fine his dad was. He felt his dad tensing, but he didn't say anything.

"You know, if you wanna whip that out and take care of it, I won't look." Dean grinned.

There was no response. Dean figured his dad was wishing he could whack Dean on the back of the head, but his arms were pretty much trapped at his sides.

Which... oh. Not that he would have expected his dad to deal with his problem with Dean standing right here -- or at all, with the wahwee still out there. But the fact he couldn't move to even think about doing so, made Dean feel a little bad about having...caused the problem in the first place.

Sort of.

He grinned and very slowly pressed his upper back against his dad. Shivering slightly for effect, as if just to communicate exactly what he was doing -- he felt his dad press forward as much as the space would allow, trying to share the body heat. Dean shivered again, then rubbed his ass slowly, back and forth.

"Dean!" His dad bumped against him and Dean nearly jerked forward. He caught himself, since he'd been expecting something exactly like what his dad had done. But he didn't go anywhere and they were still standing plastered against each other and Dean couldn't help but laugh.

"You think this is funny?" his dad asked, but the brief note of frustration vanished completely, and his dad laughed, himself. "Okay, maybe it's a little... bizarre."

"A perfect story for the Christmas letters this year," Dean said, and he rubbed his ass more blatantly, drawing a distinct reaction from the hard-on still pressed firmly against him.

"Dean, if I come all over your ass, it'll be your own damn fault."

"Unless you unzip, you'll be coming in your jeans," Dean pointed out.

"Christ," his dad breathed. "I'm already wet and cold. You think maybe you could stand still long enough for me to think about...." His dad trailed off.

"Mrs. Murphy dancing naked in the rain?" Dean offered, helpfully. He only knew about the old lady from his dad's stories, terrorising the younger John in school with her screechy voice, huge mole, and wrinkly hands.

"That could do it," his dad agreed.

Dean waited a few minutes before saying, "Or what about that waitress from Sunday?"

There was a growl that made Dean snicker. He fell silent though and sincerely tried to give his dad a chance to think about Mrs. Murphy, or whatever he could imagine that would help the situation. He tried not to move, standing as still as he possibly could. He distracted himself by looking at the trees where the wahwee was. It was still watching them, big, creepy, black frog's eyes through the leaves. Dean reminded himself just how big those teeth had been, and who the hell put teeth on a frog, anyhow?

Thirty-foot long frogs. Jesus.

After about fifteen minutes he said, "You'd think that as cold as it is, it'd shrivel up."

He felt his dad's head fall forward against his own, banging their skulls together with a sharp rap. "My back is cold," his dad said. "The rest...."

Dean's back was warm, warm enough that if the rest of him were that warm, he could curl up and go right to sleep. If he weren't standing, if they weren't being watched by a giant frog, if they weren't out in the middle of the fucking woods.

"You gonna be able to run like that? If we have to book it back to the car?"

There was a chuckle. Dad didn't answer, but...Dean had heard that note of pain. The edge of frustration, when you absolutely had to or die. He'd only had blue balls once in his life -- the real thing, not just a line to pick up a girl or a guy.

They weren't looking to get out of here any time soon.

Dean shifted sideways and moved his hand. Pressed it back, and he heard his dad asking what the hell, protesting Dean's movement as it brushed Dean's body against the straining erection that was trapped between them. It was possible he was...over-reacting, just yet, so he pressed back one last time. The inhalation he heard was choked off fast and there was no amusement, nothing but that feeling Dean could remember. When your whole body was focused on your dick and the feeling of arousal was nothing but pain, and you'd happily fuck anything that moved -- or a few things that didn't move -- if it just meant that feeling would go away.

He squeezed his hand behind his back and inched down.

"What the hell-- Dean!" His dad's voice was sharp, but Dean didn't stop.

He sighed. "Look, you wanna stand there until it starts fucking hurting? Or you wanna accept the fact we're both adults and we aren't going anywhere anytime soon?"

"Dean, don't--" But Dean moved his hand downwards. As soon as his fingers brushed the top of his dad's erection, he felt his dad buck forward into his hand.

"I'll stop if you want me to," Dean said, seriously. "Or you can let me do this without bitching."

"This isn't...." His dad trailed off again as Dean pressed his fingers against the straining, wet fabric.

He concentrated on his dad's words. Listening for that tone that said it was a huge mistake -- he didn't think his dad would just ignore the fact this was his son reaching back to jerk him off. But, seriously, they were going to be stuck out here for hours more, because that wahwee wasn't going anywhere and their only chance was to hope it fell asleep when the sun went down. Or when the sun came back up, or.... There was no way to know. It didn't bother Dean to think about standing here for a day or two, waiting. Not really -- he'd done far worse. Spent half a week camped out in a tiny cabin with nothing but a few cans of beans and a Coleman lamp. Dragged himself half a mile to the car with a broken ankle. Lied to his little brother about being all right if Sam left.

Standing in the rain was no big deal.

And really, neither was this. He pulled at the button of his dad's jeans, moving just slowly enough that if his dad really needed him to stop, he could let Dean know. He felt the tension with the silence in every hot breath on his neck. Dean slipped his fingers down, brushing the tip of his dad's cock.

There was a groan of relief as his dad moved forward. His breath hitched as Dean slipped his fingers down, moving awkwardly to get what he could of a grip. He closed his hand around his dad's erection and pulled, easily, and he felt his dad's head rest on his shoulder. He was panting hard, and Dean took the lack of further protest as permission.

He moved his hand faster, not wasting any more time. Not much room to move, but he could use his grip to make up for what he couldn't do. He pressed his body backwards, letting the heat and the motion help. Dean could feel his dad's breath quicken, grow deeper as he swallowed a groan. He was moving freely now, with what limited space he had, shoving his cock upwards into Dean's grip even as Dean kept his hand moving.

The hitch of breath warned him; Dean suddenly realised that he had no where to go to get out of the way. Dean bit his lip and just kept moving his hand, tightening his grip the way he liked it, twisting his wrist just a little and then, with a choked back cry, his dad came.

All over Dean's back.

Neither of them moved for a long moment, then his dad pushed himself backwards as far as he could. Dean let go, then caught him by the waistband. It was tricky getting the button done up with one hand, but he managed after fumbling a bit. He wiped his hand on his dad's hip -- then leaned back, wiping his back on his dad's front.


"You gonna buy me dinner?" Dean asked, easily.

He felt his dad exhale then, and he leaned his weight forward, ever so slightly. A hand pressed briefly on Dean's hip, the only hug his dad could manage.

The wahwee's eyes blinked, once, and it disappeared into the trees.

Dean and his dad watched it go. After ten minutes of not moving a muscle, Dean risked a half-step forward. The wahwee didn't make an appearance. He took another step, then turned around.

"So. The story about the lovers sacrificing themselves...." The story had involved dead lovers turned into water plants. It occured to Dean that perhaps the legends weren't always meant to be taken exactly literally.

"Let's get out of here," his dad said, not quite meeting Dean's gaze.

Dean waited for only a second, then said, "I'm all sticky."

His dad looked at him, sheer disbelief on his face. He glowered, then, and began, "Who the hell's fault--" Then he stopped, because Dean was laughing at him.

"You're buying me dinner," Dean said, again.

"You're walking to the fucking motel," his dad replied, but there was no heat in it. As they began walking away from their shelter, keeping a watchful -- paranoid -- eye out for the wahwee, Dean felt the last of the tension draining away.

There was no word of thanks, but as they reached the car without any sign of the wahwee, his dad tossed him the keys and headed around to the passenger door.

the end