It was just something that they did for themselves. It was private. It was always meant to be private.
John bought the camcorder from a pawn shop. He figured it would come in handy on the job, but the first time he used it, it was to capture the way Dean's wet skin glimmered gold as he emerged from a motel pool in the low reaching fingers of sunset. Dean hadn't noticed at first, but when he did, he gave John a coy look and made a show of stretching his long, lean body. He was already growing into an exhibitionist. Hard to avoid, really, when they stole moments together in the car or back alleys or secluded woodland. So many rushed encounters before or after hunts or between Sam leaving for school and coming home. So many times they were so desperate for each other they couldn't wait to touch and kiss and fuck, so many times they risked being caught and somehow never were. If it wasn't so fucked up, Dean might have thought they had a guardian angel, but nothing heavenly had any part in their relationship.
The camcorder got crushed beyond repair during a hunt. They tossed it in the first trash can they found and didn't think about it again. Dean still had a few tapes, their longer ones, but he had never been able to watch them, not after John died. That was... fuck, that was almost ten years ago. Ten years and multiple deaths and he had saved the world a few times for good measure. Ten years and now he shared a bed and an unconventional home with his brother. Sam knew, of course. They didn't talk about it, but he knew. Maybe he always had.
Dean didn't watch gay porn often, but sometimes the urge took him from his usual sites to seedier ones. The ones where the focus was older men with younger boys, the ones where you just had to hope the boys were actually 18 because they sure as hell weren't a day older. He found a playlist titled 'best daddy & boy amateurs EVER!!' and clicked play.
He recognised the motel room before he recognised himself. Whoever had digitised the tape had separated each scene and uploaded the footage in chronological order, starting with South Carolina, Summer 1994. The videos ranged in length from under a minute to thirteen minutes long. All of these clips must have been on the tape in the camcorder when they trashed it. It was recklessly stupid in hindsight, but they were both half-dead from the hunt and didn't think someone would not only fish through trash but salvage the tape left behind. Well, someone did, and they had immortalised them on the internet.
The playlist had over a hundred thousand views.
Dean stared in some sort of numb shock as John swept the camera up the length of his sprawled-out body, stopping on his face. He had a slight sunburn blushing his nose and cheeks. His freckles were a lot bolder back then. His hair was longer, parted in the middle and falling to his cheekbones.
"C'mon, we don't have long 'til he's back," his teenage self said. Christ, he didn't remember his voice being that high.
John's answering rumble of a laugh was as deep as he remembered and it made his heart fucking rip apart. He hadn't heard that sound in so long.
John placed the camcorder somewhere off to the side of the bed and came into view, kneeing up onto the bed and crawling between Dean's legs. He watched his younger self spread them wider and reached for John, who ducked down to kiss him. He forgot how small he felt under him back then. He forgot how much he loved that. It made him feel safe. It made him feel like something precious.
God, but they both looked so young.
Dean was so young. He was sixteen.
He watched his teenage self and his long-dead father progress from kissing to grinding to John pushing inside of him and fuck, he could almost feel the phantom pain of it. It always hurt so good. It always overwhelmed him and made his brain shut off. Nobody else could ever give that to him until Sam.
It was a simple tape, just them fucking frantically, Dean on his back with his legs wrapped around John's waist, John giving it to him good and hard, his big hands roaming Dean's slender body before one covered his mouth when he got too noisy. He loved that. He remembers loving that. There was nothing performative about it, no impressive positions or fake moans, just two people lost in pleasure. Just a father and son stealing a few moments together in a motel room, committing several sins and crimes and not caring one bit.
Tears rolled down his cheeks. He was completely soft in his jeans.
He clicked download on the entire playlist and then reported the site. God only knew how many people had downloaded copies of his sex tapes with his father. He didn't want to know. He didn't want anyone else to see this. It was only ever meant for them.
He scrubbed his search history, saved the videos to a USB, deleted them from his laptop, and took a shower. Sam returned home later with groceries and took one look at Dean before he put the bags down and wrapped him in his arms.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
Dean held on tightly and buried his face in the crook of his shoulder.
"Nothing. Just... thinking about Dad."
Sam pulled back but kept his arms around Dean. He looked him in the eyes, eyebrows doing that concerned scrunch that was so dear to Dean.
"You wanna talk about it?" Sam asked.
"Nothing to talk about. I just miss him sometimes."
Sam pressed a soft kiss to his lips, one hand sliding down low to pull him closer, kissing him again and again until Dean was breathless and his lips were swollen.
"I can make you forget him," Sam murmured.
They didn't talk about it, but Sam knew. Maybe he had always known.
