This Body Holding Me - SPN
Title: This Body Holding Me
Pairing: Dean/OMC (noncon), Dean/OFC (fully consensual)
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC-17/Adult/Explicit
Word Count: 11k
Alternate Link: AO3
Full List of Kinks and/or Warnings: [Spoiler (click to open)]Non-con, dark fic, mindfuck, kidnapping/captivity, casefic (kinda), fucking/anal sex & vaginal sex, crying, begging
Setting: No specific season.
Summary: The perfect house, the perfect wife, the perfect white picket fence, the perfect loving children who get straight A’s in school. Dean should be happier than he’s ever been, and he could be if it wasn’t for one thing.
A/N: I had this idea when I was half awake one morning, and I couldn’t get it out of my head, but I couldn’t figure out some of the details until the very awesome samanddeaninpanties let me dump this in her lap and she happily gave me some wonderful suggestions. The next day I wrote this entire thing, so this fic wouldn’t have been possible without her because I was about to just forget it and move on. Thank you, Tori!.
The smell of coffee and bacon woke Dean from a sound sleep. He sat up and rubbed his eyes just in time to get pounced on.
"Daddy!" the little girl yelled.
Dean chuckled as he wrapped his arms around the seven-year-old girl and started tickling her sides. "I've been attacked! Nate, get in here and save me!"
The boy came running and launched himself at the bed like he was on a mission, determination on his face that reminded Dean of someone he was trying to forget.
"I'll help, Dad!" Nate said, then started tickling his sister's feet, as any older brother would do when he saw an opportunity like that.
"No! Mommy, help!" the girl squealed, her pajamas twisting around her body as she flailed on Dean's lap, laughing and trying to tickle her daddy back.
"Abbie, I thought I told you to get Daddy up for breakfast," the woman said, tone of voice scolding, but the mischief in her eyes completely ruining it.
"Mommy! Help me!" Abbie screamed.
Dean held the girl up as a shield. "No! Get back! I stopped the tickle torture and I'm getting out of bed. No need to take this any further!" he said, but the woman climbed onto the bed and poked his side. "Franky, no! No-ah!"
The kids laughed and joined in, tickling Daddy until he was breathless from laughter, the pillows having been knocked onto the floor and the sheets tangled around Dean's feet.
"Okay, guys," Franky said, pulling her daughter off Dean. "Time for breakfast. I think Daddy's had enough."
The doorbell rang just then and the kids scrambled off the bed. "Grandma! Grandpa!" they yelled as they ran for the door.
"Good morning," Franky said, leaning down to give her husband a kiss.
Dean gave her a quick kiss, then pulled away. "Haven't brushed my teeth yet."
Franky rolled her eyes. "Like I care. I wanna kiss my husband."
Dean smiled as she straddled his hips and leaned down, her curly brown hair falling around his face as she kissed him, the fruity shampoo she used filling his senses along with a hint of bacon on her lips.
"Come eat," Franky said when she finally pulled away.
Dean scooted to the edge of the bed. "I'm comin'," he said. "Gotta piss and get some clothes on."
"Hurry up, it's getting cold," she said over her shoulder as she walked out of their bedroom.
"I'm up!" he said, already heading for the bathroom.
By the time he made it to the kitchen wearing some loose-fitting sweatpants and a gray T-shirt, his wife, kids, and in-laws were sitting at the table, Nate telling them all about a project he was working on for school.
"Morning," Dean said, smiling at them.
"Hello, sweetie," Francesca said, getting up so she could give her son-in-law a hug.
Dean gave her a good hug, then helped her back into her seat. He leaned over and wrapped his father-in-law in a one-armed hug, chuckling when Ron turned and kissed his chest. His in-laws were very affectionate, and it always made him smile.
"Look, Pop-Pop," Nate said, waving his paper in his grandfather's face.
"Oh, I'm sorry, was I ignoring you?" Ron asked, chuckling as he ruffled the kid's hair.
"Yeah, I didn't finish telling you about the diorama I'm making!" Nate said. "Look at the plans! Dad helped me."
"Daddy's good at that, isn't he," Ron said as he took the paper from Nate.
Dean poured himself a cup of coffee, then set his cup down on the table. Before he could sit down, Franky put a hand on his forearm.
"Would you mind grabbing the creamer?" she asked. "I left it in the garage last night and we're out."
Dean paled. "Oh, uhm, okay."
"Thanks, sweetie," Franky said, giving him a pat on the ass.
"Hey, kiddo," Dean said, leaning down next to Abbie, "wanna help me get the creamer?"
"I'm eating, Daddy," Abbie said with a mouthful of food.
"C'mon, help me get the creamer," Dean said, his heart already pounding in his chest. "Your food will still be there when you get back."
"But it'll be cold," Abbie said, frowning at him.
"Okay, okay," Dean said, straightening up and backing out of the kitchen. Everyone else was busy eating, so he balled his hands into fists and forced himself to walk down the hallway to the garage.
His hand shook as he reached out and turned the doorknob. He flipped on the light, walked down the steps without closing the door behind him, then found the creamer on the bench next to a few other items Franky had picked up at the grocery store on her way home the day before.
Dean's breathing was unsteady, and he held the creamer against his chest, eyes wide as he looked around, then he bolted for the door, closing it behind him. He stood just outside the kitchen for a moment, getting his breathing under control before he walked in.
"Here ya go," he said, setting the container of powder down on the kitchen table.
"Thank you, baby," Franky said, smiling at him.
"You're looking a little pale, there, kid," Ron said. "You know, just because you work from home that doesn't mean you need to become a vampire."
Dean forced a chuckle as he sat down at the table. "Yeah, I know."
"Maybe you and I could go out to the lake one of these weekends," Ron said, rubbing Dean's back with his left hand. "We'll do some fishing and get some color back in those cheeks."
Dean nodded. "Sounds great, Pops."
*
"The kids have a three-day weekend," Franky said as they snuggled in bed together.
"You wanna do something?" Dean asked, smiling at her from across the pillow.
"Well, Nate and Abbie have been excited about that backyard fort you've been talking about," Franky said, reaching over and running her fingers through Dean's hair. "Maybe you could pick up the materials tomorrow."
Dean's chest felt tight and his stomach churned. "Honey, you know I can't...," he said, but trailed off when she covered his lips with gentle fingers.
"I love you so much," Franky said, looking him in the eye. "You do whatever you need to do, and we'll work around it, okay?"
Dean nodded. "Thanks," he said, then closed his eyes as she leaned in and kissed him so softly that it made most of the tension in his body go away. "I love you too."
She smiled, running her fingers down his cheek before snuggling closer and closing her eyes. "I'm so tired."
"Aw, don't go to sleep yet," Dean said, kissing the end of her nose. "Please?"
Franky chuckled. "I'm tired, baby. And I've gotta get up early to help Nate get everything to the school for the presentation."
"Just... not yet," Dean said, pulling her closer even though they were so close he could feel her breath on his chin. "Don't fall asleep yet. Please."
"We'll spend the whole weekend together," Franky said, then yawned. "I'll help with the fort."
"Please," Dean whispered as her breathing evened out. "Don't leave me here, please."
He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing his forehead against hers as if it would save him. It hadn't happened all day and he didn't want to watch the clock as it got closer and closer to midnight and the end of another day.
*
Dean spent the morning and early afternoon cleaning up from breakfast, finishing the laundry he'd started the day before, and wiping down the inside of the fridge and freezer. It didn't really need cleaning, but Dean didn't really have anything else to do.
The phone rang and Dean flinched, dropping the rag onto the floor. He pulled the cell out of his jeans and ignored it, not recognizing the number and assuming it was a sales call.
The chill from the open fridge doors gave him goosebumps as he stood there in nothing but a pair of worn sweatpants. He opened the contacts in his phone and stared at the first three entries, thumb hovering over them. He finally tapped the top one and held the phone up to his ear, running his free hand over the top of his head and down his neck.
"The wireless customer you are calling is not available."
Dean sighed and ended the call before putting the phone back in his pocket and picking up the rag. When he was finished wiping down the fridge and freezer, it was time to change the laundry. He steeled his nerves and walked into the laundry room, breathing a sigh of relief when the only thing that greeted him was a washer and dryer.
*
"Daddy!" Abbie yelled as she ran into the house.
Dean was in the kitchen, pulling dinner out of the oven. "In here, sweetheart."
"Daddy, look at my paper!" she said, waving the paper in his face as she hopped around the kitchen.
Dean took the paper from her and smiled when he saw the big red A+ at the top right corner. "Good job, munchkin!" he said as he lifted her up in the air and peppered her face with kisses.
Abbie giggled, squirming in his grasp until he set her down on the floor again. She pointed at the fridge. "Put it up! Put it up!"
Dean chuckled as he took the paper from her and used one of the magnets to put her paper up on the fridge. "There ya go!"
"Thanks, Daddy!" she said, then ran out of the kitchen.
Dean covered the casserole and set it on the back burners of the stove, appreciating once again that he had a chef's kitchen complete with a six-burner gas stove and double ovens. He wiped the granite counter tops down, then frowned.
"Nate?" he yelled. Usually Nate said hi to him when they got home from school.
Dean headed up the stairs, waving at Abbie as he walked by her room. She was changing the clothes on one of her stuffed animals, and he was sure he'd have to check it out once she was done. He usually had to have a look at any fashion choices the stuffed animals made.
When he got to Nate's room he knocked on the door jamb as he poked his head in. "Nate? You okay, buddy?"
Nate gasped and stood up from his desk, eyes wide. "Don't look, Dad!"
Dean closed his eyes. "Sorry. I didn't see anything."
There was some shuffling of papers before Nate finally said, "Okay, Dad. You can open your eyes now."
Dean walked into the room and sat on the bed. "Everything okay?"
Nate smiled and flopped down on Dean's lap, getting comfortable. Dean wrapped his left arm around the boy's back and rested his right arm on his lap. Even after all this time he was surprised by how affectionate his kids were. Even though Nate was nine years old, he didn't hesitate to climb all over Dean.
"I made you something, but it's not done yet," Nate said.
"Oh, okay," Dean said. "I won't look. Promise."
"Thanks, Dad," Nate said. "So what did you do today?"
"I cleaned the house, did some laundry, and made your favorite dinner," Dean said.
Nate grinned. "Your awesome tuna casserole?" he asked, body nearly vibrating with excitement.
"Yup," Dean said, nodding.
"Thanks!" Nate said. "Is it because I got an A+ on my presentation this morning?"
"You did?" Dean asked, then hugged the boy. "I'm so proud of you! No, I made the tuna casserole just because I wanted to make your favorite dinner, but this is definitely cause for celebration!"
Nate's smile drooped a little. "Abbie got an A+ on her report. Can we make something for her too?"
Dean nodded. "I've got ice cream in the freezer and sprinkles in the pantry," he said softly so Abbie wouldn't overhear them.
"Awesome," Nate said, then wrapped his arms around Dean's neck and hugged him. "Thanks, Dad!"
"You're welcome, kiddo," Dean said, then kissed the side of the boy's head.
"Okay, now you need to leave so I can finish your present," Nate said, sliding off Dean's lap.
Dean chuckled. "I'm going."
"And close the door, please."
Dean closed the door on his way out, then headed downstairs to the office. The house was big. So much bigger than anything he'd lived in over the years. It seemed like a long trek to go from their bedrooms to the office downstairs and at the other end of the house.
He sat down at the desk and stared at the computer. He still hadn't gotten used to all the nice things he had. The desk was new and real wood. The computer was so expensive he didn't even want to think about it. Even the curtains in the window had been more expensive than a month of shitty motel rooms.
Dean's phone rang and he flinched. When he pulled it out of his pocket he saw a number he didn't recognize and ignored it. He hadn't even set up his voicemail account, so calls he didn't answer just got a quick message about calling back later. There was no need for voicemail. Nobody but his wife, kids, and in-laws ever called him.
*
Dinner had been great, as had dessert. Abbie ended up getting ice cream down the front of her shirt, so Franky had taken her upstairs to strip her and get her in the bath while Dean and Nate washed the dishes.
"Thanks for the tuna casserole, Dad," Nate said again.
"You're welcome, buddy," Dean said, handing him another plate.
Franky came up behind Dean and kissed his back. "The garbage is full. Would you mind taking it out? I'll finish up the dishes."
"Oh, no, that's okay," Dean said. "We'll finish them up and then Nate can help me take the garbage out."
Franky gave him another kiss on the back and chuckled. "Go on. I know you hate taking it out, but I can never get that lock to work right."
"Okay, come with me, Nate," Dean said, drying his hands on the towel before he pulled the bag out from under the sink.
"I'm helping Mom," Nate said.
"Did you finish your homework yet?" Franky asked.
Nate sighed. "No."
"You'd better get up there, young man," Franky said. "I'll finish the dishes."
"Okay," Nate said, drying his hands and taking off for his room.
Dean stood there with the bag, stomach churning and his hands shaky. He didn't have an excuse to ask Franky to come with him.
Later that night when Franky climbed into bed with him and started kissing him all over, tugging his sleep pants down, he stopped her.
"I... not tonight," Dean said, wincing as he pushed her hands away. "Sorry, I just... I'm sorry. Not tonight."
Franky slid under the covers beside him and snuggled up close. "It's okay, sweetheart."
"Talk to me," Dean said. "Tell me how your day was."
Franky closed her eyes. "I already told you at dinner."
"I just want to hear your voice," Dean said.
Franky smiled and pulled his head down onto her shoulder. "Well, this morning I filled out the paperwork for all the new orders."
Dean fell asleep only minutes later, her voice comforting and the trauma for the day done and over with. He could relax until the next day.
*
It would be another hour before the kids got home, and Dean had already finished preparing dinner. It was in the oven and would be done just in time for Franky to get home.
He walked into the laundry room and grabbed all the items that couldn't be put in the dryer that he'd left to dry on the rack, then headed for the door.
Just as he was about to flip the light off, something shoved him back into the room and he fell, landing hard on his ass, the clothes covering his face and making him panic even more.
"No! No! No, stop!" Dean yelled, kicking and twisting as the thing turned him over effortlessly. "No!"
Dean fought. He fought every time even though it never worked. He could never stop it as his sweatpants were yanked down, his face shoved against the tile floor, and the thing fucked into him, big and hard and painful even though it happened every day.
"Ah, fuck," Dean growled, caught in some of the clothes and unable to even get any hits in. "Get off me, you son of a bitch!"
It never lasted more than just a few minutes, but it was always the longest part of his days. It came inside him soundlessly, then it was gone again. The only evidence anything had happened was the mess leaking out of his hole.
Dean threw all the clothes back into the washing machine along with his soiled sweatpants, started the load, then walked upstairs naked, jizz running down the backs of his legs. He showered, then changed into another pair of comfortable sweatpants.
He had dinner on the table by the time Franky came home, forcing a smile and asking his family about their day.
*
Everyone was sweaty and tired after a long day building the playhouse in the back yard. Franky had picked up the supplies that morning, and all four of them had worked together, finishing it by the time the sun set.
"Can we sleep out here in the playhouse, Daddy?" Abbie asked.
Dean had been sure to make the thing just right. Nothing but the best for his kids. It had a raised floor to keep it from getting damaged by rain, a little window, a door large enough for adults to get through if they ducked, and it even had a loft area where they piled blankets and pillows.
"You need to sleep in your bed, little girl," Dean said, picking her up and setting her on his left hip.
"Aw, please, Daddy?" Abbie asked.
"If I let you and your brother sleep out here, who's gonna keep me and Mommy safe?" Dean asked.
"Safe from what?" Abbie asked.
Something in Dean's chest tightened. His kids had no clue what was out there. Nothing like the way he'd grown up.
"The tickle monster!" Dean said, lifting her up in the air and blowing a raspberry on her tummy, his little girl squealing with laughter.
"C'mon, Daddy," Franky said, pouting at Dean. "They'll be okay."
Dean felt a sudden and strong urge to wrap his kids up and never let them out of the house again. It was almost overwhelming, and when Abbie squirmed, whining about him holding her too tight, he remembered where he was.
"Sorry, sweetie," Dean said, setting her on the ground.
He didn't need to worry about his family. Nothing ever happened to them. Nothing ever happened to their neighbors. Nothing ever happened in their neighborhood at all. Everyone was happy and oblivious to any danger or evil because there just wasn't any.
Except for Dean.
Dean sighed. "All right," he said, chuckling when the kids cheered. "You're not sleeping out here all the time, but I'll let it slide tonight."
"Thanks, Daddy!" Abbie said, hugging his leg and nearly toppling him over. Only years of hunting allowed his body to move in a way that kept him upright.
*
"I know I'm being silly about it," Franky said, "but I'm worried about them, and I'd feel better if you just went out and peeked in on them."
"Why can't you check on them?" He felt like an ass, but nothing ever happened to her. It was safe for her.
"Because I already have my pajamas on," Franky said, shoving at him.
He sighed, not even bothering to argue that he was in his pajamas too. "Okay, okay, I'm going."
"Thank you, baby," Franky said, blowing him a kiss.
Dean took a cleansing breath before he opened the back door, kitchen knife in his left hand. His heart was pounding as he walked across the grass, soft on the bottoms of his bare feet. He looked around, keeping an eye out as he made his way to the playhouse, but didn't see or hear anything.
He peeked in the window, relieved when his kids were sleeping soundly, Abbie sucking on her thumb and Nate halfway off the bedding just like he did in his own bed.
Dean walked back to the house and hurried inside, breathing a sigh of relief when he made it back. He put the knife away and headed upstairs, where he climbed into bed with his wife.
She was already asleep, and he ignored the clock on the bedside table. He didn't want to see what time it was. He pulled her closer and kissed her, but she was sleeping too soundly.
He closed his eyes, but he couldn't fall asleep. Not when he knew what was coming. He never knew when, but it always happened once within a twenty-four-hour period of time. As the seconds ticked by Dean started to shiver.
"Franky, wake up!" Dean cried out, shaking his wife as the figure in the doorway crept closer. "Franky, please! Baby, please wake up! Wake up!"
It wasn't natural. The way his family slept wasn't normal, and even though Dean knew he couldn't wake her up, he tried anyway. Tried until the thing climbed onto the bed, turned him over, shoved his face into the pillow, and yanked his sleep pants down.
"No! No, stop, please!" Dean yelled as it fucked him.
He squirmed and kicked and pulled at the thing on his back, but it was too heavy, too strong.
It never breathed. It never made any noise. It never explained why he lived a picture-perfect life only to be brutally fucked every day.
Worse yet was when the thing took its time. Fucking him slowly and hitting all the right spots.
"Fuck," Dean sobbed as he came without even touching his own cock. "Get the fuck off me!"
Slow slide in and out. In and out. It never stopped until it was done. Once it came, it slipped out of him and walked away. Dean wiped his face, never admitting even if it was only to himself that his face was wet with tears instead of sweat.
He crawled off the bed and got into the shower, soaping himself up and washing it all down the drain. He put a clean pair of sweatpants on and covered the wet spot on the bed with his wet towel.
He hated when it made him come. It never spoke, so it didn't tell him what a fuck-up he was for enjoying what was happening to him so much he came, but Dean felt it all the same.
Dean was no stranger to torture and the horrible things that happen in the world. He'd done those things himself for a while in Hell. He knew it was his body's reaction to stimulation, nothing more. Coming didn't equal enjoyment.
That didn't stop him from feeling even more disgusting, like he was just asking for it. The thing had to know what it was doing to him, and Dean hated it all the more so because of it.
*
Abbie sat on his lap as they watched a movie together. She'd come home from school determined to get her Daddy to watch 101 Dalmations with her after they read about it.
Nate was up in his room doing his homework, and dinner was in the oven, so Dean sat on the couch with her, relaxing until Franky got home.
"You gotta stay awake for the movie," Dean said, poking her in the side.
"Sorry, Daddy," she said, taking a deep breath and forcing her eyes open.
Her head fell back onto his chest, and he gave her a gentle shake. "Wake up, sweetheart," he said. When she didn't move, he shook her a little harder. "Baby, please wake up for Daddy. Please! Oh, fuck, please don't fall asleep now. Please! Abbie, please!"
He'd never been able to keep his family awake for the full twenty-four hours. He'd tried, but had always failed. It never happened when they were awake.
"Fuck, no!" Dean growled as the thing walked into the living room. "No! No, don't!
Even though the child wasn't really his and the thing had never attacked her, he couldn't bring himself to use her. He couldn't even take the chance that holding onto her would put her in harm's way. As it came closer, his heart pounding in his chest, he slid the girl off his lap and onto the couch.
The thing didn't even look at Abbie. It only had eyes for Dean. When Dean scrambled off the couch and made a run for it, the thing ran too, catching up with him in the hallway just outside the laundry room, tackling him and sending him to the floor.
"No! Get the fuck off'a me!" Dean yelled, sending his elbow back and connecting with something.
The thing didn't grunt with pain, didn't flinch, and it didn't slow down one bit. It reached around and pulled open the button on his jeans, then the zipper came down.
"Why won't you fucking say anything?" Dean asked, still flailing and trying to buck the thing off him. "You never fucking say anything!"
It pushed into him, its dick slick with something that Dean tried not to think about. He didn't want to know if the thing stood outside the house lubing itself up or if it just naturally leaked and didn't need synthetic lube.
Those were among the things Dean didn't think about. He couldn't, not if he wanted to keep what little sanity he had.
His balls were caught between the carpeting on the floor and the teeth of his zipper. Usually he wore sweatpants or sleep pants after the first time his dick had gotten up close and personal with the zipper. How long ago was that? It had taken him a while to get the blood stains out of the carpet and his dick was sore for a week.
"Can you even talk?" Dean asked as it fucked him, his dick getting rubbed raw on the carpet. "Why the fuck do you do this? Why won't you say anything?"
It fucked him harder, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back as it pounded into him. Finally it came, filling him with its jizz and pulling out before leaving him there in the hallway.
Dean didn't move. He considered staying there until one of the kids found him or Franky got home. He didn't know if they even could find him like that. He'd never tried. He always cleaned up and tried to hide the fact that it all was happening.
Maybe if he just fell asleep like that. Maybe if he didn't clean up. Maybe if he just didn't care anymore it would stop.
*
Dean stood at the edge of their property. The sidewalk was inches from his toes as he stood in the grass. The yard was perfect. Their trees were perfect. The house was perfect.
All the neighbors had gorgeous houses like he did. They took walks as a family and rode bikes as a family and walked their dogs as a family. Everyone was happy and healthy. Everyone had nice houses and clothes.
Everything was perfect except Dean.
He reached out, fingers hovering just this side of the property line. He'd been there before. He'd done it lots of times. Hand shaking, holding his breath as he reached out and touched the invisible boundary of his prison cell.
*
"...okay, son? Hey, Dean, you okay, boy?"
Dean opened his eyes, then quickly shut them when the brightness of the outdoors burned. He blinked up at the man leaning over him, gray hair and the sun creating a halo around his head.
"You okay, Dean?" the man asked again, blue eyes concerned as the man looked him over for injuries.
Dean groaned. "Oh, sorry, I must have passed out again, Mr. Reynolds."
"Whoa, slow down," the man said as he helped Dean sit up. "Take it easy."
Dean smiled at the man. "I'm okay. I think I just worked a little too long without getting a drink."
"You're lucky you didn't impale yourself on those pruning sheers," Mr. Reynolds said, gesturing to the tool on the grass beside him. "Maybe you should bring a gallon of water out here with you when you work on the yard."
Dean chuckled. "Yeah, I should. I'm okay now, though."
"Lemme help you inside," Mr. Reynolds said.
Dean accepted the help, letting Mr. Reynolds sit him down on a chair in the kitchen and get him some water and a piece of bread from the loaf on the counter.
"Thank you," Dean said as the man sat down across from him.
"Finish that and I'll get you a piece of cheese," he said, pointing at the bread.
It was Dean's cover story. Hypoglycemia was a much better explanation than 'I touched the invisible force field keeping me prisoner in my own home and it knocked me out, sending me sprawling across my own lawn.'
"You might want to think about hiring somebody to do your lawn for you," Mr. Reynolds said. "I have a guy that comes out and doesn't charge an arm and a leg. He's got a whole crew working for him and they get it done real quick."
Dean smiled. "Thanks, but I enjoy working outside. I just need to learn to eat and drink even when I just want to get things done."
Mr. Reynolds nodded, then stood up and went to the fridge. He set a block of cheddar cheese down on the table, then fished through the drawers until he found a knife.
Dean took the slice of cheese Mr. Reynolds offered him. It wasn't the first time the man had been in his kitchen. It wasn't even the second or third time.
"Thank you," Dean said.
"No problem," Mr. Reynolds said with a smile. "We look out for each other here. That's what friends and neighbors do. I know you'd do the same for me."
Dean smiled. "Yeah, I would," he said.
*
Agoraphobic. That's what his family thought he was. It was a good explanation for why he never left the house. And even though he'd never told them about past traumas, they assumed he'd experienced something that made him jumpy and nervous, something that made it so he never left the security of his own home.
They didn't question it. In fact, if anything Franky was overly accommodating. She'd do anything for him without asking why. She'd remind him she loved him, that it was okay, that one day he might feel like venturing out and until then she'd be the one who took care of things like that. Things he couldn't do.
She was proud of him. She told the neighbors and her parents about what a good man he was. How he'd been promoted time and again even though he was a remote employee, working from home. She said he was an amazing cook and the best stay-at-home husband anyone could ask for.
Dean didn't know where she got the idea he worked from home. He never did. The computer upstairs was good for games and had a word processing program on it, but there was no Internet connection, same as his phone.
Dean was the one who handled all the bills. He wrote checks from an account he didn't remember opening and sealed them in envelopes, sending them off to places he'd never heard of.
If that's what being a good househusband was, then he rocked it. Dean was the best damned househusband ever.
*
Sometimes the thing fucked him face-to-face. It looked him in the eye and shoved its way in, holding his wrists to the floor as it slowly fucked him.
"Do you feed off the energy? The sex?" Dean asked, wincing as it jabbed into him, thick cock filling him.
Dark brown eyes. An average face that would blend into the crowd. A face people would have difficulty describing if they were asked because he was just so average, forgettable. No scars. No distinct moles or birthmarks. It had no hair, but a man that shaved his head wasn't out of the ordinary.
He called it a thing because he refused to acknowledge it was a person. It couldn't be.
"Just fucking talk," Dean snarled. "Say something! Make a noise! Anything!"
Dean didn't see a change in the expression on its face. It was never mad, never excited. Never anything.
"Anything! Do something different! Anything!" Dean yelled in its face.
Its rhythm didn't falter, but one hand slid over his arm, down his chest, and wrapped around his cock.
"You motherfucker," Dean hissed. "You fucking asshole!"
Dean fought harder than he had in a few weeks as the thing stroked him. Hitting its arms, its face, its neck. Bucking and twisting. Nothing stopped it, and it didn't react to anything, didn't seem hurt by the blows.
"Stop," Dean said, panting as he flopped back against the carpet, worn out and his body aroused to the point of nearly pushing him over the edge. "Please stop. I don't know what you want. Just stop!"
Dean cried out as he came all over his own stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut, covering his face with his hands so the thing on top of him wouldn't see how much it affected him.
It just kept fucking him. Slow and deep. Over and over. In and out. His asshole sore because he'd already come and its cock was dragging over his sensitive prostate.
Finally the thing came, thrusting in and staying deep as it unloaded inside him. When it pulled out, Dean felt the jizz leaking out of him and onto the carpet. One more thing for him to clean.
Only after the thing was gone did he allow himself to shed a few tears.
*
Hell wasn't like that. It was torture and pain. Not much humiliation because there wasn't really anything left to humiliate. It was dark and cold and hot and dry and bright in a way Dean never really grasped. It was days that stretched into one and nights that never came.
There was never anything good about it. He was never able to spread a woman out on the bed, push her legs apart, get down on his belly, and eat her out until she said she'd had enough.
Nothing tasted good. Not like her pussy. Nothing was soft like her skin. And the only one who moaned with pleasure had been Alastair. He'd sounded nothing like Franky.
"Yeah, there there there, right there, yeah!" she said, voice breathless.
Fingers in his hair, heels resting on his back as she fucked up against his face, her pussy clenching, clit twitching as she came.
"C'mon up here," she said, sitting up and wrapping her hands around his arms, pulling him up. "Want you inside me."
"Fuck yeah," Dean said, sinking into her, warm and oh-so wet. He didn't even start fucking her right away, just settled on top of her, kissing her as she licked her own taste out of his mouth, his cock deep inside her.
When he started to move, she arched against him, heels digging into his ass cheeks, encouraging him to fuck her harder. More. Deeper. Harder.
It was all perfect, and even though something in Dean's head screamed that he shouldn't like it because it wasn't real, it felt too good to stop. She was the perfect lover. Everything he did to her she loved and everything she did to him he loved.
When he came inside her, wincing and burying his face against her neck, muffling the sound so they wouldn't wake the kids, she came again, clenching around him, pulling him in even deeper.
"Well, that was nice to wake up to," Franky said, eyes half-lidded. "I'm not complaining, but you do realize it's four-thirty and I'm about two seconds away from falling asleep again, right?"
Dean chuckled, then kissed the corner of her mouth, her chin, and the tip of her nose. He didn't want to pull out. He wanted to stay in her forever. It felt safe and warm and perfect in a world that was too good to be true except for the one thing that really, really wasn't perfect.
Franky's eyes closed and her body relaxed beneath his. He smiled as she started to softly snore. Just as he was about to climb off her, something shoved him back down.
"No!" Dean growled, but he couldn't move. "Ah, fuck!"
The thing fucked into him while he was still inside his wife, fucking him so hard the bed rocked and his cock slid back and forth inside her.
"Fucking stop!" Dean yelled. "Don't you fuckin' do this! Stop!"
He was getting hard again, and the warmth of his wife beneath him was so welcoming, a place that had been safe until that thing had invaded it. Dean closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her. If he couldn't even have one safe place, he'd make it for himself.
Dean breathed her in, the sweet smell of her shampoo and that odd hint of new-car smell she always seemed to have from the office she worked at. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, her pussy dripping wet around his cock.
When he came, he didn't even fight it.
After the thing left him alone, he cleaned himself and his wife up. She slept through it all, beautiful spread out on the bed for him. He crawled in and snuggled up with her, ignoring the lump in his throat and the way his eyes burned with unshed tears.
*
"Daddy, are you okay?" Abbie asked, climbing onto his lap and cupping his face with her small hands. She straddled his legs and touched the end of her nose to his.
Dean closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in for a hug. "Yeah, I'm okay."
"The TV's not on," she said.
Dean chuckled. "I know."
"So why are you sitting on the couch watching it?" she asked.
"Daddy's just tired today, sweat pea," he said, scooting down so she had more room and could spread out on him.
She put her head down on his chest and wrapped her arms around him as far as they would go as he kissed the top of her head.
"Mrs. Bloom said when you're sad, it helps to talk to someone about it," Abbie said.
"Your teacher's very smart," Dean said.
"You can talk to me if you want," Abbie said, voice a little hopeful.
Maybe it was all in his head or maybe it was some world made up just for him that the thing plunked him down into, but it didn't matter because she was still an innocent kid. He couldn't put that onto the shoulders of a child no matter how many times he told himself none of it was real.
There was a tiny voice in the back of his mind that said 'what if all these people are real and everyone's stuck here just like you?'
No, he couldn't hurt them. He couldn't tell them what was happening. He couldn't use them to save himself or even as a confidant.
"Sometimes," Dean said, rubbing the girl's back, "people get sad for no reason."
"Why?"
Dean smiled, remembering all the times Sam had asked that when he was young. He shook his head, forcing all thoughts of Sam away. "Sometimes they just do."
"Mommy never gets sad," Abbie said, not so much accusing as just confused and trying to figure out why her daddy was sad.
"That's because Mommy is a really awesome woman," Dean said, smiling.
"Do you love Mommy?"
"Of course I do," Dean said. And he really did. They were wonderful and loving and accepting of all his parts, good and bad. He'd grown to love them. "I love Mommy and you and Nate."
"I love you too, Daddy," she said.
If they were real it was his responsibility to keep them safe. He didn't know how he was going to get out, and the longer he stayed the less hope he had that Sam was going to walk up the driveway and take him away from it all.
But he couldn't give up.
*
The pot roast was burning, and there was nothing he could do about it as he struggled against the thing bending him over the counter top.
The counter top was cold against his bare chest, nipples getting hard as the thing behind him wrenched his right arm around and to the small of his back. Apparently getting a knife shoved into its stomach hadn't made the thing all that happy. It wasn't the first time Dean had hurt it.
Dean kept his mouth shut as it fucked into him, dryer than it had ever been and making him squirm as it dragged against his opening. It wasn't nearly soon enough, but eventually the thing leaked and lubed his hole, the painful drag in and out not as bad.
It fucked him for almost forty-five minutes, and it was the first reaction he'd ever gotten out of the thing other than wrapping its hand around his cock. He'd pissed it off by stabbing it. It had to be why the thing fucked him for so long.
Dean stayed quiet the whole time, keeping his legs spread to ease the way. He was sure he'd have bruises on his hips, chest, and maybe even his stomach from getting fucked so roughly against the counter top.
When it came, it pulled out and shot all over his back before throwing him to the floor, his head hitting one of the kitchen cabinet knobs on the way down.
The pot roast was ruined, the rug needed to be cleaned of blood and other fluids, and the cut above his right eye required some attention, but Dean was so satisfied he'd done something to change the thing's behavior that he didn't really mind.
He fixed a quick dinner of salad and bean dip with tortilla chips. The family loved it and nobody asked him about the bandage on his forehead.
*
Dean was showering the next morning when hands grabbed his hips. "No!" he yelled, pulling away and turning around.
Franky was standing there, eyes wide. She was naked, a bit of fear in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," she said, reaching out and pulling him close. "I should know better than to come up behind you like that."
Dean sighed. "No, it's okay. It's not your fault that your husband's a paranoid freak."
Franky kissed his chest. "You're my paranoid freak."
Dean chuckled as he pushed her under the shower head. He grabbed her shampoo and took his time washing her hair. It was something they both loved, and she made happy noises as he worked over her scalp.
"Stay home with me today," Dean said suddenly.
Franky kept her eyes closed as he rinsed her hair. "You know I can't do that, baby."
"I know," Dean said sadly. "I had to try."
"Why don't you ask Mom and Dad to come over?" she asked, looking up at him with a smile on her face.
Dean nodded. "Maybe I'll do that."
*
Ron loved it when Dean baked, so as soon as they said yes to spending the day with him, Dean got busy baking cookies. It was something to do besides wait for them to come, and he knew Ron would appreciate it.
He pulled two batches of cookies out of the oven and set them on top of the stove to cool, then shut the oven off. He had some steaks marinating in the fridge, and he was planning on making them for dinner along with baked potatoes, but that wasn't until later.
Dean finished cleaning up after himself just as his phone started to ring. He pulled it out of his pocket and answered it when he recognized Don's number.
"Hey, Pops," Dean said, smiling.
"Dean?"
Dean froze. Couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.
"Dean, can you hear me?"
It was Sam. He'd recognize that voice anywhere. He leaned against the counter and forced himself to speak. "S-Sammy?"
"Who's Sammy?" Ron asked on the other end of the line.
Dean flinched, kicking himself because he'd let his imagination get away with him. "Oh, nobody," he said.
"I called to ask if you wanted us to bring anything," Ron said.
"N-no, I've got everything I need," Dean said as he rubbed his face with his free hand.
"Okay, we'll be over in a few minutes."
Dean put the phone back into his pocket with numb fingers. He was losing it. Cracking under the pressure. He needed to snap out of it.
He turned around to go upstairs and change his clothes, but in the doorway was the thing. Just staring at him, face relaxed and unreadable, cock hard and leaking onto his freshly-washed floor.
"Did I do something to you?" Dean asked, heart pounding and his legs shaky like they never were when he was hunting.
The thing started moving toward him, but Dean held up his hands, backing away.
"I'm a hunter. Did I do something to you or somebody in your family?" Dean asked. "Is that why you're doing this?"
Nothing. No change in its facial features. It kept walking toward him as if he hadn't said anything.
Dean moved to the side, putting the kitchen island between him and the thing, his bare feet quiet on the tile floor. Franky said they'd chosen that travertine together years ago, but it was one more memory he didn't have.
The thing got closer. Not breathing. Not making a sound. It wasn't mad or excited. It wasn't anything. If the thing's dripping cock hadn't been so obvious, Dean would think it felt nothing at all.
It lunged for him and Dean ran. Around the island, through the living room, and down the hallway to the laundry room. He was panting by the time he slammed the door shut and shoved a shelving unit in front of the door.
Dean stood back, waiting. He knew he hadn't stopped it. It was too strong. He'd only lured it into the laundry room and bought himself a few seconds.
The thing smashed into the door, and Dean heard the other side of the door splintering. The next hit snapped the door in half, and then the third hit shoved the shelving unit and door out of the way.
It wasn't panting or even breathing, but there was something different in its eyes that thrilled Dean. He'd rattled it. He'd finally done something that rattled it more than the knife in its stomach.
"I thought we'd play in here today," Dean said, backing up one more step.
The thing climbed over the shelving unit and made a grab for him, but Dean watched with satisfaction as it tripped the wire he'd left for it and the bucket of tools and rocks fell down on the thing's head, sending it to the floor with a grunt.
Dean grabbed the baseball bat out from behind the rolling laundry cart and raised it over his head. The thing might have been dead, might not have been, and Dean needed to make sure.
Just as he brought it down, his legs were yanked out from under him and he went down hard on his ass, the bat tumbling across the floor. The back of his head smacked into the wall, then he was being pulled toward the thing.
Dean reached up to jab at its eyes, but it grabbed his wrists and pinned him to the floor, straddling his waist. And yes, there it was. A twitch in the skin just under the thing's left eye.
"Did that hurt?" Dean asked, smirking.
Dean screamed as the thing let go of his wrist and squeezed his balls in a tight grip, Dean's whole body going stiff with the pain. When it finally let go, Dean panted, his balls throbbing. He didn't fight as the thing rolled him over, but just as it pulled his sweatpants down it made a noise.
A pained whimper. Another grunt as it backed away. Dean turned over and saw the thing's face screw up in pain, and then it was climbing over the shelving unit and leaving the laundry room, stumbling down the hallway.
Dean stood up, not really sure what had happened. He hadn't killed it, and sudden terror filled him. He nearly pissed himself in fear as he thought about what the thing would do to him after it recovered from what he'd done. It was going to be furious.
The doorbell rang and Dean froze, eyes wide. It took him a moment to figure out what was going on. "You're here," he whispered. "They're here."
He scrambled over the shelving unit, ignoring the pain as he stepped on broken pieces of the door, and ran for the front of the house. He lunged forward and pulled the front door open so hard it smacked into the wall. His mother and father-in-law were standing there, surprised.
Dean turned around, expecting to see the thing, but there was nothing behind him. Nothing coming for him.
"Come in," he said, waving the in-laws into the house and attempting to control his breathing. "Have a seat and I'll get you some cookies."
"You okay, sweetheart?" Francesca asked, putting her hands on his shoulders and looking him in the eye.
Dean forced a smile. "I'm fine. I'm okay. Everything's okay."
He turned and walked into the kitchen, taking a quick cleansing breath before they followed him in.
"You sure you're all right, dear?" Francesca asked. Franky had her mother's eyes and it always made him feel better when either of the women were in the house. He could get lost in those eyes.
"Yeah, I'm okay," Dean said. "Have a seat."
They sat down at the table, and once he joined them, eating cookies along with them and forcing a few jokes, they calmed down and changed the subject.
After they left, Dean still had time to take the pieces of the door out to the garbage bin at the side of the house. Everything was cleaned up by the time the kids got home and dinner was in the oven.
*
Dean wasn't able to sleep. It hadn't come for him again, and Dean didn't know if or when it would. It was eleven thirty at night and he was on the edge of the bed, waiting for the inevitable.
It always came. Always.
Except it didn't. Dean was panting and shivering by the time the clock changed to midnight.
"What the fuck is happening?" he asked as he stood up.
"Dean?" Franky asked, sitting up in bed.
"Nothing," Dean said, surprised by how easily he'd awakened her. "Go back to sleep. I've just gotta pee."
"Oh, okay," she said, putting her head back down on the pillow and falling asleep almost instantly.
Dean looked around the room, waiting for the thing to come. Three minutes overdue and probably laughing at him because he'd dared to think he could hurt it.
Five after midnight and Dean was a shaking mess. Something was wrong. It was planning something awful for him, and he couldn't stand still any longer. He went downstairs and looked in all the rooms, waiting for the thing to jump out, to pounce on him.
He ended up in the loft of the playhouse they'd built, the blanket wrapped around him, his back to the wall. It was bad. It was really bad. He'd pissed it off. When it came again it would be worse than anything it had done before.
*
The kids and Franky were careful about what they said and gave him his space that morning, and as Franky left she suggested a bath and maybe doing some baking since it seemed to help calm him down.
After they left, he went out to the garage and sat in the minivan. He never used it but apparently it was his vehicle. White and plain and with automatic everything. It was too comfortable and it didn't smell like leather. It also didn't make it through the invisible barrier around the property. Or rather he didn't make it through and would wake up with a neighbor having put the minivan back in the garage for him.
He didn't know how long he had been sitting in the minivan when the phone rang. He answered it with shaky hands, eyes wide open as he waited for the thing to come.
"Dean?"
Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "Sam. Sammy," he breathed, even though he knew it wasn't real. It was good to hear his brother's voice again.
"Dean, can you hear me?"
"Miss you so fuckin' much, Sammy," Dean said, his throat feeling tight as his eyes welled up with tears.
"I'm here, Dean," Sam said, voice urgent. "I'm right here."
"Dean?" He recognized that voice too.
"C-Cas?" Dean said, his bottom lip quivering. "Cas, is that you?"
"We're here, Dean," Cas said.
Dean tried to stop himself, but once he started he couldn't stop, the tears streaming down his face as he panted into the phone. "Miss you guys. So fuckin' much. I don't give a fuck if you're not real, I just... Don't hang up. Please. Just wanna listen to your voice for a while, okay? Please?"
"We're right here," Sam said. "We're not leaving you. Everything's okay. We're right here."
The phone went dead and Dean let out a howl of frustration. "No!" he yelled, nearly falling to the floor as he scrambled out of the minivan and ran inside the house.
He made it to the office and found his charger, plugging the phone in, but when he called back the number that had last come in, all he got was the same message he always did when he tried Sam's number.
"The wireless customer you are calling is not available."
Dean fell to his knees and flopped back against the desk, trying to get a hold of himself. He wiped the tears from his face and forced himself to breathe in a steady rhythm. In and out. In and out.
It wasn't real. Sam and Cas' voices weren't real. It was his mind playing tricks on him and he just needed to calm down. He would be okay. Everything was going to be okay.
*
The kids picked at their food and quickly asked to be excused from the table. Franky let them go, obviously sensing the fear in them.
Dean had tried to stay calm, but he knew his body language was off, his speech was too fast, too high-pitched, and he hadn't been able to eat, which was unusual for him, especially because he loved his own cooking.
"Talk to me?" Franky asked, keeping her voice soft. "Please?"
So beautiful. So perfect. Hair like something from his dreams, eyes warm and caring, lips full and never chapped. She reached out with a well-manicured hand and rubbed his arm.
The house was perfect. The kids were perfect. The neighborhood was perfect. And now that the thing hadn't shown its fugly face in almost three days even that was perfect. It was all fucking perfect.
"I don't think I'm doing very well," Dean said, sniffling as a few tears ran down his face.
"Talk to me about it, sweetheart," Franky said, scooting closer, both hands on his left arm, touching. Touching.
"I think I'm losin' my fuckin' mind," Dean said, wiping his face.
"Why?"
Dean laughed as more tears ran down his face. "Because everything's fucking perfect and I'm still fucking terrified of everything."
Franky gave him a small smile and leaned in to kiss his wet cheek. "It's okay to feel like that."
"No, it's not," Dean said, shaking his head. "None of this is real. None of it."
"What do you mean?" she asked, brow creasing with concern. She was quiet for a moment, then chuckled, cupping his face with her left hand. "Oh, sweetie," she said, then shook her head. "It's okay. You deserve good things. It's okay to enjoy them."
Dean's phone rang and he flinched. Instead of pulling it out of his pocket, he just sat there, looking at Franky.
"Are you going to answer it?" she asked, frowning.
Part of him was surprised she'd heard it, and he nodded shakily, pulling it out. Sam's name was on the screen, and Dean cursed softly before answering it.
"Dean?" Sam said. "Can you hear me? You there?"
"I'm, ah, a little busy right now, Sammy," Dean said.
"It's okay, you can talk to him," Franky said, patting his arm.
"You hear him too?" Dean asked.
Franky nodded. "Yeah. Is he an old friend? Go ahead and talk to him."
"Fuck, Sam, is that really you?" Dean asked.
"It's me," Sam said. "I'm right here, Dean."
"Don't fuckin' leave!" Dean blurted.
"I'm not leaving. Neither is Cas. We're right here, Dean. Right here."
Dean sniffled. "I don't know what you mean. Are you in the neighborhood?"
Sam chuckled. "No, dude. You know what to do. This isn't your first rodeo."
"What do you mean?"
"You've been in Poughkeepsie way too long," Sam said.
Dean's eyes widened, body tensing. "You fuckin' serious?"
"What, you need Cas to say it too? C'mon, Cas."
"Why would I tell him to get out of Poughkeepsie?" Cas asked, confused and most likely frowning at Sam even though Dean couldn't see him. "He's not in Poughkeepsie."
Dean let out a bark of laughter, then choked on his tears and snot. "Okay, I'm coming."
"Hurry up," Sam said. "Cas is getting impatient."
Dean snorted, then grabbed the steak knife from the table and shoved it into his own chest. The last thing he saw was the shocked eyes of his wife as he fell to the floor, her screams echoing in his head.
*
"Whoa, whoa," Sam said, pushing him back down to the bed. "You're in no shape to get up yet."
Dean flopped back, panting and out of breath even though he'd barely moved. The motel room was decorated in bright greens and yellows, and it didn't do good things to his head, which was already throbbing.
But it wasn't perfect. There were stains on the walls and ceiling. The wallpaper was ripped by the door. The sheets beneath him were scratchy and uncomfortable. It wasn't perfect.
"What the fuck happened?" Dean asked, blinking up at Sam, who was sitting next to him on the bed.
Sam leaned in closer and held a penlight up to Dean's left eye, then his right before checking his ears and nose. It felt familiar. Something they'd done many times. Check the pupils to see if they're reactive. Check the ears and nose for blood. Sam's movements weren't perfect, his hands a little too rough just like Sam always was when he was freaked out and thought Dean was a goner. It wasn't perfect.
"You don't remember what happened?" Sam asked as he put a hand on Dean's chest.
"Not really," Dean said, the too-warm feeling of Sam's hand on his chest welcome. He hadn't been too warm in months, and it felt good. "I remember this fugly motel and driving into town, but that's it."
"We split up," Cas said, "each of us taking a list of names so we could cover more ground, but we never heard back from you."
"How long ago was that," Dean asked.
"Five days and four hours ago," Cas said, the fine lines around his eyes telling Dean he'd been worried too.
"We found you about six hours ago," Sam said, "but the Djinn wasn't easy to find or easy to put down."
"Djinn," Dean said, rubbing his eyes. "I had that thought a few times, but I just wasn't sure until the last minute there."
"We don't know what you did," Sam said, then chuckled, shaking his head, "but a while ago something weakened it and we were able to kill it."
Dean let out a huff of laughter. "I set up a little surprise for it," he said, grinning. It had worked, just not the way he thought it had. "So did I walk into his lair or something?"
"No, he was looking for you," Sam said, then handed Dean a photo. "This was in his pocket."
Dean took the photo, staring at it for a moment, stomach clenching as he remembered the woman and her two children, all Djinn and all dangerous. Even the four-year-old. "Last year."
"Nebraska, yeah," Sam said, pain in his eyes and his voice.
"I don't suppose he would've understood had I told him it was really fuckin' hard me to kill his family," Dean said, handing the photo back to Sam.
"You need to rest," Cas said as Dean sat up, his hand heavy on Dean's shoulder as he tried to push him back down.
"I really don't wanna go to sleep right now," Dean said, pushing Cas' hand away.
"I can make sure you don't dream about what happened in the Djinn's world," Cas said, raising two fingers to Dean's forehead.
Dean grabbed Cas' wrist. "Why would I need you to do that when it was a perfect world? Fulfilling every wish and all that." Dean tried for casual, but figured he failed when Cas just blinked at him.
"You were talking in your sleep," Cas said matter-of-factly.
"Cas," Sam said, a warning in his tone of voice.
"What you experienced will most likely lead to nightmares," Cas said.
"Cas, leave it for later," Sam said, lips thinned out in a way that said he knew Dean needed some time.
Dean leaned against the head of the bed. "This is one of those things we'll talk about never."
"Later," Sam said with a tight smile.
Dean rolled his eyes, but he didn't really know what to say. He had no idea what all they had heard, and by the set of Sam's shoulders it was a whole fuck-ton more than Dean had wanted them to hear.
Sitting up against the headboard hurt. He was achy, his muscles sore in a way that said he'd been lying around for days. The left side of his body was too warm where he was leaned up against Sam. The unpleasantness of it all felt good, and soon Dean's eyelids were falling closed. He kept moving, trying to stay awake, but Sam and Cas realized what he was doing.
"You need to rest. I'll help you," Cas said.
Dean's stomach clenched. "Cas? Sam?"
Cas looked down at him, raising his fingers to Dean's forehead. "Sleep."
"Wait," Dean said, pushing Cas' hand away yet again. "Promise me you'll stay awake. Don't fall asleep. I want both of you to tell me you'll stay awake."
"I don't sleep," Cas said, brow furrowing as if he wasn't sure why Dean would need to ask that of him, that of course he'd be there to watch over Dean.
"I know, but just... don't leave and don't fall asleep, okay? Please?" Dean asked, his eyes falling closed even as he tried to force them open.
"You can sleep, Dean," Sam said, his right hand coming to rest on Dean's left thigh like he always did when Dean was hurt and uncomfortable and too tired and in too much pain to sleep. "I won't fall asleep until you're awake again. I promise."
"I promise I won't fall asleep," Cas said, raising his hand to Dean's forehead.
Dean cringed, a strong urge to pull away, to run away and take as many caffeine pills as he could find, drink coffee until it was coming out of his ears, but he stayed still.
Just before Dean fell asleep he heard Sam murmur, "I promise I won't leave you alone. I promise I won't fall asleep. We're right here with you. You're safe."
He crumpled against Sam's side, neck at an uncomfortable angle, the blanket covering his legs too warm and scratchy, the air in the room stale and with a faint hint of vomit from the previous occupants, a gritty feeling covering his skin from days of not showering and only getting wipe-downs from Sam and Cas, the annoying squeaks and groans of the air conditioner that sounded like it was on its last leg, the children screaming obnoxiously out by the pool as they played, the sour taste in his mouth from not brushing.
It was just what he wanted. It wasn't perfect.
End.
Pairing: Dean/OMC (noncon), Dean/OFC (fully consensual)
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC-17/Adult/Explicit
Word Count: 11k
Alternate Link: AO3
Full List of Kinks and/or Warnings: [Spoiler (click to open)]Non-con, dark fic, mindfuck, kidnapping/captivity, casefic (kinda), fucking/anal sex & vaginal sex, crying, begging
Setting: No specific season.
Summary: The perfect house, the perfect wife, the perfect white picket fence, the perfect loving children who get straight A’s in school. Dean should be happier than he’s ever been, and he could be if it wasn’t for one thing.
A/N: I had this idea when I was half awake one morning, and I couldn’t get it out of my head, but I couldn’t figure out some of the details until the very awesome samanddeaninpanties let me dump this in her lap and she happily gave me some wonderful suggestions. The next day I wrote this entire thing, so this fic wouldn’t have been possible without her because I was about to just forget it and move on. Thank you, Tori!.
The smell of coffee and bacon woke Dean from a sound sleep. He sat up and rubbed his eyes just in time to get pounced on.
"Daddy!" the little girl yelled.
Dean chuckled as he wrapped his arms around the seven-year-old girl and started tickling her sides. "I've been attacked! Nate, get in here and save me!"
The boy came running and launched himself at the bed like he was on a mission, determination on his face that reminded Dean of someone he was trying to forget.
"I'll help, Dad!" Nate said, then started tickling his sister's feet, as any older brother would do when he saw an opportunity like that.
"No! Mommy, help!" the girl squealed, her pajamas twisting around her body as she flailed on Dean's lap, laughing and trying to tickle her daddy back.
"Abbie, I thought I told you to get Daddy up for breakfast," the woman said, tone of voice scolding, but the mischief in her eyes completely ruining it.
"Mommy! Help me!" Abbie screamed.
Dean held the girl up as a shield. "No! Get back! I stopped the tickle torture and I'm getting out of bed. No need to take this any further!" he said, but the woman climbed onto the bed and poked his side. "Franky, no! No-ah!"
The kids laughed and joined in, tickling Daddy until he was breathless from laughter, the pillows having been knocked onto the floor and the sheets tangled around Dean's feet.
"Okay, guys," Franky said, pulling her daughter off Dean. "Time for breakfast. I think Daddy's had enough."
The doorbell rang just then and the kids scrambled off the bed. "Grandma! Grandpa!" they yelled as they ran for the door.
"Good morning," Franky said, leaning down to give her husband a kiss.
Dean gave her a quick kiss, then pulled away. "Haven't brushed my teeth yet."
Franky rolled her eyes. "Like I care. I wanna kiss my husband."
Dean smiled as she straddled his hips and leaned down, her curly brown hair falling around his face as she kissed him, the fruity shampoo she used filling his senses along with a hint of bacon on her lips.
"Come eat," Franky said when she finally pulled away.
Dean scooted to the edge of the bed. "I'm comin'," he said. "Gotta piss and get some clothes on."
"Hurry up, it's getting cold," she said over her shoulder as she walked out of their bedroom.
"I'm up!" he said, already heading for the bathroom.
By the time he made it to the kitchen wearing some loose-fitting sweatpants and a gray T-shirt, his wife, kids, and in-laws were sitting at the table, Nate telling them all about a project he was working on for school.
"Morning," Dean said, smiling at them.
"Hello, sweetie," Francesca said, getting up so she could give her son-in-law a hug.
Dean gave her a good hug, then helped her back into her seat. He leaned over and wrapped his father-in-law in a one-armed hug, chuckling when Ron turned and kissed his chest. His in-laws were very affectionate, and it always made him smile.
"Look, Pop-Pop," Nate said, waving his paper in his grandfather's face.
"Oh, I'm sorry, was I ignoring you?" Ron asked, chuckling as he ruffled the kid's hair.
"Yeah, I didn't finish telling you about the diorama I'm making!" Nate said. "Look at the plans! Dad helped me."
"Daddy's good at that, isn't he," Ron said as he took the paper from Nate.
Dean poured himself a cup of coffee, then set his cup down on the table. Before he could sit down, Franky put a hand on his forearm.
"Would you mind grabbing the creamer?" she asked. "I left it in the garage last night and we're out."
Dean paled. "Oh, uhm, okay."
"Thanks, sweetie," Franky said, giving him a pat on the ass.
"Hey, kiddo," Dean said, leaning down next to Abbie, "wanna help me get the creamer?"
"I'm eating, Daddy," Abbie said with a mouthful of food.
"C'mon, help me get the creamer," Dean said, his heart already pounding in his chest. "Your food will still be there when you get back."
"But it'll be cold," Abbie said, frowning at him.
"Okay, okay," Dean said, straightening up and backing out of the kitchen. Everyone else was busy eating, so he balled his hands into fists and forced himself to walk down the hallway to the garage.
His hand shook as he reached out and turned the doorknob. He flipped on the light, walked down the steps without closing the door behind him, then found the creamer on the bench next to a few other items Franky had picked up at the grocery store on her way home the day before.
Dean's breathing was unsteady, and he held the creamer against his chest, eyes wide as he looked around, then he bolted for the door, closing it behind him. He stood just outside the kitchen for a moment, getting his breathing under control before he walked in.
"Here ya go," he said, setting the container of powder down on the kitchen table.
"Thank you, baby," Franky said, smiling at him.
"You're looking a little pale, there, kid," Ron said. "You know, just because you work from home that doesn't mean you need to become a vampire."
Dean forced a chuckle as he sat down at the table. "Yeah, I know."
"Maybe you and I could go out to the lake one of these weekends," Ron said, rubbing Dean's back with his left hand. "We'll do some fishing and get some color back in those cheeks."
Dean nodded. "Sounds great, Pops."
*
"The kids have a three-day weekend," Franky said as they snuggled in bed together.
"You wanna do something?" Dean asked, smiling at her from across the pillow.
"Well, Nate and Abbie have been excited about that backyard fort you've been talking about," Franky said, reaching over and running her fingers through Dean's hair. "Maybe you could pick up the materials tomorrow."
Dean's chest felt tight and his stomach churned. "Honey, you know I can't...," he said, but trailed off when she covered his lips with gentle fingers.
"I love you so much," Franky said, looking him in the eye. "You do whatever you need to do, and we'll work around it, okay?"
Dean nodded. "Thanks," he said, then closed his eyes as she leaned in and kissed him so softly that it made most of the tension in his body go away. "I love you too."
She smiled, running her fingers down his cheek before snuggling closer and closing her eyes. "I'm so tired."
"Aw, don't go to sleep yet," Dean said, kissing the end of her nose. "Please?"
Franky chuckled. "I'm tired, baby. And I've gotta get up early to help Nate get everything to the school for the presentation."
"Just... not yet," Dean said, pulling her closer even though they were so close he could feel her breath on his chin. "Don't fall asleep yet. Please."
"We'll spend the whole weekend together," Franky said, then yawned. "I'll help with the fort."
"Please," Dean whispered as her breathing evened out. "Don't leave me here, please."
He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing his forehead against hers as if it would save him. It hadn't happened all day and he didn't want to watch the clock as it got closer and closer to midnight and the end of another day.
*
Dean spent the morning and early afternoon cleaning up from breakfast, finishing the laundry he'd started the day before, and wiping down the inside of the fridge and freezer. It didn't really need cleaning, but Dean didn't really have anything else to do.
The phone rang and Dean flinched, dropping the rag onto the floor. He pulled the cell out of his jeans and ignored it, not recognizing the number and assuming it was a sales call.
The chill from the open fridge doors gave him goosebumps as he stood there in nothing but a pair of worn sweatpants. He opened the contacts in his phone and stared at the first three entries, thumb hovering over them. He finally tapped the top one and held the phone up to his ear, running his free hand over the top of his head and down his neck.
"The wireless customer you are calling is not available."
Dean sighed and ended the call before putting the phone back in his pocket and picking up the rag. When he was finished wiping down the fridge and freezer, it was time to change the laundry. He steeled his nerves and walked into the laundry room, breathing a sigh of relief when the only thing that greeted him was a washer and dryer.
*
"Daddy!" Abbie yelled as she ran into the house.
Dean was in the kitchen, pulling dinner out of the oven. "In here, sweetheart."
"Daddy, look at my paper!" she said, waving the paper in his face as she hopped around the kitchen.
Dean took the paper from her and smiled when he saw the big red A+ at the top right corner. "Good job, munchkin!" he said as he lifted her up in the air and peppered her face with kisses.
Abbie giggled, squirming in his grasp until he set her down on the floor again. She pointed at the fridge. "Put it up! Put it up!"
Dean chuckled as he took the paper from her and used one of the magnets to put her paper up on the fridge. "There ya go!"
"Thanks, Daddy!" she said, then ran out of the kitchen.
Dean covered the casserole and set it on the back burners of the stove, appreciating once again that he had a chef's kitchen complete with a six-burner gas stove and double ovens. He wiped the granite counter tops down, then frowned.
"Nate?" he yelled. Usually Nate said hi to him when they got home from school.
Dean headed up the stairs, waving at Abbie as he walked by her room. She was changing the clothes on one of her stuffed animals, and he was sure he'd have to check it out once she was done. He usually had to have a look at any fashion choices the stuffed animals made.
When he got to Nate's room he knocked on the door jamb as he poked his head in. "Nate? You okay, buddy?"
Nate gasped and stood up from his desk, eyes wide. "Don't look, Dad!"
Dean closed his eyes. "Sorry. I didn't see anything."
There was some shuffling of papers before Nate finally said, "Okay, Dad. You can open your eyes now."
Dean walked into the room and sat on the bed. "Everything okay?"
Nate smiled and flopped down on Dean's lap, getting comfortable. Dean wrapped his left arm around the boy's back and rested his right arm on his lap. Even after all this time he was surprised by how affectionate his kids were. Even though Nate was nine years old, he didn't hesitate to climb all over Dean.
"I made you something, but it's not done yet," Nate said.
"Oh, okay," Dean said. "I won't look. Promise."
"Thanks, Dad," Nate said. "So what did you do today?"
"I cleaned the house, did some laundry, and made your favorite dinner," Dean said.
Nate grinned. "Your awesome tuna casserole?" he asked, body nearly vibrating with excitement.
"Yup," Dean said, nodding.
"Thanks!" Nate said. "Is it because I got an A+ on my presentation this morning?"
"You did?" Dean asked, then hugged the boy. "I'm so proud of you! No, I made the tuna casserole just because I wanted to make your favorite dinner, but this is definitely cause for celebration!"
Nate's smile drooped a little. "Abbie got an A+ on her report. Can we make something for her too?"
Dean nodded. "I've got ice cream in the freezer and sprinkles in the pantry," he said softly so Abbie wouldn't overhear them.
"Awesome," Nate said, then wrapped his arms around Dean's neck and hugged him. "Thanks, Dad!"
"You're welcome, kiddo," Dean said, then kissed the side of the boy's head.
"Okay, now you need to leave so I can finish your present," Nate said, sliding off Dean's lap.
Dean chuckled. "I'm going."
"And close the door, please."
Dean closed the door on his way out, then headed downstairs to the office. The house was big. So much bigger than anything he'd lived in over the years. It seemed like a long trek to go from their bedrooms to the office downstairs and at the other end of the house.
He sat down at the desk and stared at the computer. He still hadn't gotten used to all the nice things he had. The desk was new and real wood. The computer was so expensive he didn't even want to think about it. Even the curtains in the window had been more expensive than a month of shitty motel rooms.
Dean's phone rang and he flinched. When he pulled it out of his pocket he saw a number he didn't recognize and ignored it. He hadn't even set up his voicemail account, so calls he didn't answer just got a quick message about calling back later. There was no need for voicemail. Nobody but his wife, kids, and in-laws ever called him.
*
Dinner had been great, as had dessert. Abbie ended up getting ice cream down the front of her shirt, so Franky had taken her upstairs to strip her and get her in the bath while Dean and Nate washed the dishes.
"Thanks for the tuna casserole, Dad," Nate said again.
"You're welcome, buddy," Dean said, handing him another plate.
Franky came up behind Dean and kissed his back. "The garbage is full. Would you mind taking it out? I'll finish up the dishes."
"Oh, no, that's okay," Dean said. "We'll finish them up and then Nate can help me take the garbage out."
Franky gave him another kiss on the back and chuckled. "Go on. I know you hate taking it out, but I can never get that lock to work right."
"Okay, come with me, Nate," Dean said, drying his hands on the towel before he pulled the bag out from under the sink.
"I'm helping Mom," Nate said.
"Did you finish your homework yet?" Franky asked.
Nate sighed. "No."
"You'd better get up there, young man," Franky said. "I'll finish the dishes."
"Okay," Nate said, drying his hands and taking off for his room.
Dean stood there with the bag, stomach churning and his hands shaky. He didn't have an excuse to ask Franky to come with him.
Later that night when Franky climbed into bed with him and started kissing him all over, tugging his sleep pants down, he stopped her.
"I... not tonight," Dean said, wincing as he pushed her hands away. "Sorry, I just... I'm sorry. Not tonight."
Franky slid under the covers beside him and snuggled up close. "It's okay, sweetheart."
"Talk to me," Dean said. "Tell me how your day was."
Franky closed her eyes. "I already told you at dinner."
"I just want to hear your voice," Dean said.
Franky smiled and pulled his head down onto her shoulder. "Well, this morning I filled out the paperwork for all the new orders."
Dean fell asleep only minutes later, her voice comforting and the trauma for the day done and over with. He could relax until the next day.
*
It would be another hour before the kids got home, and Dean had already finished preparing dinner. It was in the oven and would be done just in time for Franky to get home.
He walked into the laundry room and grabbed all the items that couldn't be put in the dryer that he'd left to dry on the rack, then headed for the door.
Just as he was about to flip the light off, something shoved him back into the room and he fell, landing hard on his ass, the clothes covering his face and making him panic even more.
"No! No! No, stop!" Dean yelled, kicking and twisting as the thing turned him over effortlessly. "No!"
Dean fought. He fought every time even though it never worked. He could never stop it as his sweatpants were yanked down, his face shoved against the tile floor, and the thing fucked into him, big and hard and painful even though it happened every day.
"Ah, fuck," Dean growled, caught in some of the clothes and unable to even get any hits in. "Get off me, you son of a bitch!"
It never lasted more than just a few minutes, but it was always the longest part of his days. It came inside him soundlessly, then it was gone again. The only evidence anything had happened was the mess leaking out of his hole.
Dean threw all the clothes back into the washing machine along with his soiled sweatpants, started the load, then walked upstairs naked, jizz running down the backs of his legs. He showered, then changed into another pair of comfortable sweatpants.
He had dinner on the table by the time Franky came home, forcing a smile and asking his family about their day.
*
Everyone was sweaty and tired after a long day building the playhouse in the back yard. Franky had picked up the supplies that morning, and all four of them had worked together, finishing it by the time the sun set.
"Can we sleep out here in the playhouse, Daddy?" Abbie asked.
Dean had been sure to make the thing just right. Nothing but the best for his kids. It had a raised floor to keep it from getting damaged by rain, a little window, a door large enough for adults to get through if they ducked, and it even had a loft area where they piled blankets and pillows.
"You need to sleep in your bed, little girl," Dean said, picking her up and setting her on his left hip.
"Aw, please, Daddy?" Abbie asked.
"If I let you and your brother sleep out here, who's gonna keep me and Mommy safe?" Dean asked.
"Safe from what?" Abbie asked.
Something in Dean's chest tightened. His kids had no clue what was out there. Nothing like the way he'd grown up.
"The tickle monster!" Dean said, lifting her up in the air and blowing a raspberry on her tummy, his little girl squealing with laughter.
"C'mon, Daddy," Franky said, pouting at Dean. "They'll be okay."
Dean felt a sudden and strong urge to wrap his kids up and never let them out of the house again. It was almost overwhelming, and when Abbie squirmed, whining about him holding her too tight, he remembered where he was.
"Sorry, sweetie," Dean said, setting her on the ground.
He didn't need to worry about his family. Nothing ever happened to them. Nothing ever happened to their neighbors. Nothing ever happened in their neighborhood at all. Everyone was happy and oblivious to any danger or evil because there just wasn't any.
Except for Dean.
Dean sighed. "All right," he said, chuckling when the kids cheered. "You're not sleeping out here all the time, but I'll let it slide tonight."
"Thanks, Daddy!" Abbie said, hugging his leg and nearly toppling him over. Only years of hunting allowed his body to move in a way that kept him upright.
*
"I know I'm being silly about it," Franky said, "but I'm worried about them, and I'd feel better if you just went out and peeked in on them."
"Why can't you check on them?" He felt like an ass, but nothing ever happened to her. It was safe for her.
"Because I already have my pajamas on," Franky said, shoving at him.
He sighed, not even bothering to argue that he was in his pajamas too. "Okay, okay, I'm going."
"Thank you, baby," Franky said, blowing him a kiss.
Dean took a cleansing breath before he opened the back door, kitchen knife in his left hand. His heart was pounding as he walked across the grass, soft on the bottoms of his bare feet. He looked around, keeping an eye out as he made his way to the playhouse, but didn't see or hear anything.
He peeked in the window, relieved when his kids were sleeping soundly, Abbie sucking on her thumb and Nate halfway off the bedding just like he did in his own bed.
Dean walked back to the house and hurried inside, breathing a sigh of relief when he made it back. He put the knife away and headed upstairs, where he climbed into bed with his wife.
She was already asleep, and he ignored the clock on the bedside table. He didn't want to see what time it was. He pulled her closer and kissed her, but she was sleeping too soundly.
He closed his eyes, but he couldn't fall asleep. Not when he knew what was coming. He never knew when, but it always happened once within a twenty-four-hour period of time. As the seconds ticked by Dean started to shiver.
"Franky, wake up!" Dean cried out, shaking his wife as the figure in the doorway crept closer. "Franky, please! Baby, please wake up! Wake up!"
It wasn't natural. The way his family slept wasn't normal, and even though Dean knew he couldn't wake her up, he tried anyway. Tried until the thing climbed onto the bed, turned him over, shoved his face into the pillow, and yanked his sleep pants down.
"No! No, stop, please!" Dean yelled as it fucked him.
He squirmed and kicked and pulled at the thing on his back, but it was too heavy, too strong.
It never breathed. It never made any noise. It never explained why he lived a picture-perfect life only to be brutally fucked every day.
Worse yet was when the thing took its time. Fucking him slowly and hitting all the right spots.
"Fuck," Dean sobbed as he came without even touching his own cock. "Get the fuck off me!"
Slow slide in and out. In and out. It never stopped until it was done. Once it came, it slipped out of him and walked away. Dean wiped his face, never admitting even if it was only to himself that his face was wet with tears instead of sweat.
He crawled off the bed and got into the shower, soaping himself up and washing it all down the drain. He put a clean pair of sweatpants on and covered the wet spot on the bed with his wet towel.
He hated when it made him come. It never spoke, so it didn't tell him what a fuck-up he was for enjoying what was happening to him so much he came, but Dean felt it all the same.
Dean was no stranger to torture and the horrible things that happen in the world. He'd done those things himself for a while in Hell. He knew it was his body's reaction to stimulation, nothing more. Coming didn't equal enjoyment.
That didn't stop him from feeling even more disgusting, like he was just asking for it. The thing had to know what it was doing to him, and Dean hated it all the more so because of it.
*
Abbie sat on his lap as they watched a movie together. She'd come home from school determined to get her Daddy to watch 101 Dalmations with her after they read about it.
Nate was up in his room doing his homework, and dinner was in the oven, so Dean sat on the couch with her, relaxing until Franky got home.
"You gotta stay awake for the movie," Dean said, poking her in the side.
"Sorry, Daddy," she said, taking a deep breath and forcing her eyes open.
Her head fell back onto his chest, and he gave her a gentle shake. "Wake up, sweetheart," he said. When she didn't move, he shook her a little harder. "Baby, please wake up for Daddy. Please! Oh, fuck, please don't fall asleep now. Please! Abbie, please!"
He'd never been able to keep his family awake for the full twenty-four hours. He'd tried, but had always failed. It never happened when they were awake.
"Fuck, no!" Dean growled as the thing walked into the living room. "No! No, don't!
Even though the child wasn't really his and the thing had never attacked her, he couldn't bring himself to use her. He couldn't even take the chance that holding onto her would put her in harm's way. As it came closer, his heart pounding in his chest, he slid the girl off his lap and onto the couch.
The thing didn't even look at Abbie. It only had eyes for Dean. When Dean scrambled off the couch and made a run for it, the thing ran too, catching up with him in the hallway just outside the laundry room, tackling him and sending him to the floor.
"No! Get the fuck off'a me!" Dean yelled, sending his elbow back and connecting with something.
The thing didn't grunt with pain, didn't flinch, and it didn't slow down one bit. It reached around and pulled open the button on his jeans, then the zipper came down.
"Why won't you fucking say anything?" Dean asked, still flailing and trying to buck the thing off him. "You never fucking say anything!"
It pushed into him, its dick slick with something that Dean tried not to think about. He didn't want to know if the thing stood outside the house lubing itself up or if it just naturally leaked and didn't need synthetic lube.
Those were among the things Dean didn't think about. He couldn't, not if he wanted to keep what little sanity he had.
His balls were caught between the carpeting on the floor and the teeth of his zipper. Usually he wore sweatpants or sleep pants after the first time his dick had gotten up close and personal with the zipper. How long ago was that? It had taken him a while to get the blood stains out of the carpet and his dick was sore for a week.
"Can you even talk?" Dean asked as it fucked him, his dick getting rubbed raw on the carpet. "Why the fuck do you do this? Why won't you say anything?"
It fucked him harder, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back as it pounded into him. Finally it came, filling him with its jizz and pulling out before leaving him there in the hallway.
Dean didn't move. He considered staying there until one of the kids found him or Franky got home. He didn't know if they even could find him like that. He'd never tried. He always cleaned up and tried to hide the fact that it all was happening.
Maybe if he just fell asleep like that. Maybe if he didn't clean up. Maybe if he just didn't care anymore it would stop.
*
Dean stood at the edge of their property. The sidewalk was inches from his toes as he stood in the grass. The yard was perfect. Their trees were perfect. The house was perfect.
All the neighbors had gorgeous houses like he did. They took walks as a family and rode bikes as a family and walked their dogs as a family. Everyone was happy and healthy. Everyone had nice houses and clothes.
Everything was perfect except Dean.
He reached out, fingers hovering just this side of the property line. He'd been there before. He'd done it lots of times. Hand shaking, holding his breath as he reached out and touched the invisible boundary of his prison cell.
*
"...okay, son? Hey, Dean, you okay, boy?"
Dean opened his eyes, then quickly shut them when the brightness of the outdoors burned. He blinked up at the man leaning over him, gray hair and the sun creating a halo around his head.
"You okay, Dean?" the man asked again, blue eyes concerned as the man looked him over for injuries.
Dean groaned. "Oh, sorry, I must have passed out again, Mr. Reynolds."
"Whoa, slow down," the man said as he helped Dean sit up. "Take it easy."
Dean smiled at the man. "I'm okay. I think I just worked a little too long without getting a drink."
"You're lucky you didn't impale yourself on those pruning sheers," Mr. Reynolds said, gesturing to the tool on the grass beside him. "Maybe you should bring a gallon of water out here with you when you work on the yard."
Dean chuckled. "Yeah, I should. I'm okay now, though."
"Lemme help you inside," Mr. Reynolds said.
Dean accepted the help, letting Mr. Reynolds sit him down on a chair in the kitchen and get him some water and a piece of bread from the loaf on the counter.
"Thank you," Dean said as the man sat down across from him.
"Finish that and I'll get you a piece of cheese," he said, pointing at the bread.
It was Dean's cover story. Hypoglycemia was a much better explanation than 'I touched the invisible force field keeping me prisoner in my own home and it knocked me out, sending me sprawling across my own lawn.'
"You might want to think about hiring somebody to do your lawn for you," Mr. Reynolds said. "I have a guy that comes out and doesn't charge an arm and a leg. He's got a whole crew working for him and they get it done real quick."
Dean smiled. "Thanks, but I enjoy working outside. I just need to learn to eat and drink even when I just want to get things done."
Mr. Reynolds nodded, then stood up and went to the fridge. He set a block of cheddar cheese down on the table, then fished through the drawers until he found a knife.
Dean took the slice of cheese Mr. Reynolds offered him. It wasn't the first time the man had been in his kitchen. It wasn't even the second or third time.
"Thank you," Dean said.
"No problem," Mr. Reynolds said with a smile. "We look out for each other here. That's what friends and neighbors do. I know you'd do the same for me."
Dean smiled. "Yeah, I would," he said.
*
Agoraphobic. That's what his family thought he was. It was a good explanation for why he never left the house. And even though he'd never told them about past traumas, they assumed he'd experienced something that made him jumpy and nervous, something that made it so he never left the security of his own home.
They didn't question it. In fact, if anything Franky was overly accommodating. She'd do anything for him without asking why. She'd remind him she loved him, that it was okay, that one day he might feel like venturing out and until then she'd be the one who took care of things like that. Things he couldn't do.
She was proud of him. She told the neighbors and her parents about what a good man he was. How he'd been promoted time and again even though he was a remote employee, working from home. She said he was an amazing cook and the best stay-at-home husband anyone could ask for.
Dean didn't know where she got the idea he worked from home. He never did. The computer upstairs was good for games and had a word processing program on it, but there was no Internet connection, same as his phone.
Dean was the one who handled all the bills. He wrote checks from an account he didn't remember opening and sealed them in envelopes, sending them off to places he'd never heard of.
If that's what being a good househusband was, then he rocked it. Dean was the best damned househusband ever.
*
Sometimes the thing fucked him face-to-face. It looked him in the eye and shoved its way in, holding his wrists to the floor as it slowly fucked him.
"Do you feed off the energy? The sex?" Dean asked, wincing as it jabbed into him, thick cock filling him.
Dark brown eyes. An average face that would blend into the crowd. A face people would have difficulty describing if they were asked because he was just so average, forgettable. No scars. No distinct moles or birthmarks. It had no hair, but a man that shaved his head wasn't out of the ordinary.
He called it a thing because he refused to acknowledge it was a person. It couldn't be.
"Just fucking talk," Dean snarled. "Say something! Make a noise! Anything!"
Dean didn't see a change in the expression on its face. It was never mad, never excited. Never anything.
"Anything! Do something different! Anything!" Dean yelled in its face.
Its rhythm didn't falter, but one hand slid over his arm, down his chest, and wrapped around his cock.
"You motherfucker," Dean hissed. "You fucking asshole!"
Dean fought harder than he had in a few weeks as the thing stroked him. Hitting its arms, its face, its neck. Bucking and twisting. Nothing stopped it, and it didn't react to anything, didn't seem hurt by the blows.
"Stop," Dean said, panting as he flopped back against the carpet, worn out and his body aroused to the point of nearly pushing him over the edge. "Please stop. I don't know what you want. Just stop!"
Dean cried out as he came all over his own stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut, covering his face with his hands so the thing on top of him wouldn't see how much it affected him.
It just kept fucking him. Slow and deep. Over and over. In and out. His asshole sore because he'd already come and its cock was dragging over his sensitive prostate.
Finally the thing came, thrusting in and staying deep as it unloaded inside him. When it pulled out, Dean felt the jizz leaking out of him and onto the carpet. One more thing for him to clean.
Only after the thing was gone did he allow himself to shed a few tears.
*
Hell wasn't like that. It was torture and pain. Not much humiliation because there wasn't really anything left to humiliate. It was dark and cold and hot and dry and bright in a way Dean never really grasped. It was days that stretched into one and nights that never came.
There was never anything good about it. He was never able to spread a woman out on the bed, push her legs apart, get down on his belly, and eat her out until she said she'd had enough.
Nothing tasted good. Not like her pussy. Nothing was soft like her skin. And the only one who moaned with pleasure had been Alastair. He'd sounded nothing like Franky.
"Yeah, there there there, right there, yeah!" she said, voice breathless.
Fingers in his hair, heels resting on his back as she fucked up against his face, her pussy clenching, clit twitching as she came.
"C'mon up here," she said, sitting up and wrapping her hands around his arms, pulling him up. "Want you inside me."
"Fuck yeah," Dean said, sinking into her, warm and oh-so wet. He didn't even start fucking her right away, just settled on top of her, kissing her as she licked her own taste out of his mouth, his cock deep inside her.
When he started to move, she arched against him, heels digging into his ass cheeks, encouraging him to fuck her harder. More. Deeper. Harder.
It was all perfect, and even though something in Dean's head screamed that he shouldn't like it because it wasn't real, it felt too good to stop. She was the perfect lover. Everything he did to her she loved and everything she did to him he loved.
When he came inside her, wincing and burying his face against her neck, muffling the sound so they wouldn't wake the kids, she came again, clenching around him, pulling him in even deeper.
"Well, that was nice to wake up to," Franky said, eyes half-lidded. "I'm not complaining, but you do realize it's four-thirty and I'm about two seconds away from falling asleep again, right?"
Dean chuckled, then kissed the corner of her mouth, her chin, and the tip of her nose. He didn't want to pull out. He wanted to stay in her forever. It felt safe and warm and perfect in a world that was too good to be true except for the one thing that really, really wasn't perfect.
Franky's eyes closed and her body relaxed beneath his. He smiled as she started to softly snore. Just as he was about to climb off her, something shoved him back down.
"No!" Dean growled, but he couldn't move. "Ah, fuck!"
The thing fucked into him while he was still inside his wife, fucking him so hard the bed rocked and his cock slid back and forth inside her.
"Fucking stop!" Dean yelled. "Don't you fuckin' do this! Stop!"
He was getting hard again, and the warmth of his wife beneath him was so welcoming, a place that had been safe until that thing had invaded it. Dean closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her. If he couldn't even have one safe place, he'd make it for himself.
Dean breathed her in, the sweet smell of her shampoo and that odd hint of new-car smell she always seemed to have from the office she worked at. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, her pussy dripping wet around his cock.
When he came, he didn't even fight it.
After the thing left him alone, he cleaned himself and his wife up. She slept through it all, beautiful spread out on the bed for him. He crawled in and snuggled up with her, ignoring the lump in his throat and the way his eyes burned with unshed tears.
*
"Daddy, are you okay?" Abbie asked, climbing onto his lap and cupping his face with her small hands. She straddled his legs and touched the end of her nose to his.
Dean closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in for a hug. "Yeah, I'm okay."
"The TV's not on," she said.
Dean chuckled. "I know."
"So why are you sitting on the couch watching it?" she asked.
"Daddy's just tired today, sweat pea," he said, scooting down so she had more room and could spread out on him.
She put her head down on his chest and wrapped her arms around him as far as they would go as he kissed the top of her head.
"Mrs. Bloom said when you're sad, it helps to talk to someone about it," Abbie said.
"Your teacher's very smart," Dean said.
"You can talk to me if you want," Abbie said, voice a little hopeful.
Maybe it was all in his head or maybe it was some world made up just for him that the thing plunked him down into, but it didn't matter because she was still an innocent kid. He couldn't put that onto the shoulders of a child no matter how many times he told himself none of it was real.
There was a tiny voice in the back of his mind that said 'what if all these people are real and everyone's stuck here just like you?'
No, he couldn't hurt them. He couldn't tell them what was happening. He couldn't use them to save himself or even as a confidant.
"Sometimes," Dean said, rubbing the girl's back, "people get sad for no reason."
"Why?"
Dean smiled, remembering all the times Sam had asked that when he was young. He shook his head, forcing all thoughts of Sam away. "Sometimes they just do."
"Mommy never gets sad," Abbie said, not so much accusing as just confused and trying to figure out why her daddy was sad.
"That's because Mommy is a really awesome woman," Dean said, smiling.
"Do you love Mommy?"
"Of course I do," Dean said. And he really did. They were wonderful and loving and accepting of all his parts, good and bad. He'd grown to love them. "I love Mommy and you and Nate."
"I love you too, Daddy," she said.
If they were real it was his responsibility to keep them safe. He didn't know how he was going to get out, and the longer he stayed the less hope he had that Sam was going to walk up the driveway and take him away from it all.
But he couldn't give up.
*
The pot roast was burning, and there was nothing he could do about it as he struggled against the thing bending him over the counter top.
The counter top was cold against his bare chest, nipples getting hard as the thing behind him wrenched his right arm around and to the small of his back. Apparently getting a knife shoved into its stomach hadn't made the thing all that happy. It wasn't the first time Dean had hurt it.
Dean kept his mouth shut as it fucked into him, dryer than it had ever been and making him squirm as it dragged against his opening. It wasn't nearly soon enough, but eventually the thing leaked and lubed his hole, the painful drag in and out not as bad.
It fucked him for almost forty-five minutes, and it was the first reaction he'd ever gotten out of the thing other than wrapping its hand around his cock. He'd pissed it off by stabbing it. It had to be why the thing fucked him for so long.
Dean stayed quiet the whole time, keeping his legs spread to ease the way. He was sure he'd have bruises on his hips, chest, and maybe even his stomach from getting fucked so roughly against the counter top.
When it came, it pulled out and shot all over his back before throwing him to the floor, his head hitting one of the kitchen cabinet knobs on the way down.
The pot roast was ruined, the rug needed to be cleaned of blood and other fluids, and the cut above his right eye required some attention, but Dean was so satisfied he'd done something to change the thing's behavior that he didn't really mind.
He fixed a quick dinner of salad and bean dip with tortilla chips. The family loved it and nobody asked him about the bandage on his forehead.
*
Dean was showering the next morning when hands grabbed his hips. "No!" he yelled, pulling away and turning around.
Franky was standing there, eyes wide. She was naked, a bit of fear in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," she said, reaching out and pulling him close. "I should know better than to come up behind you like that."
Dean sighed. "No, it's okay. It's not your fault that your husband's a paranoid freak."
Franky kissed his chest. "You're my paranoid freak."
Dean chuckled as he pushed her under the shower head. He grabbed her shampoo and took his time washing her hair. It was something they both loved, and she made happy noises as he worked over her scalp.
"Stay home with me today," Dean said suddenly.
Franky kept her eyes closed as he rinsed her hair. "You know I can't do that, baby."
"I know," Dean said sadly. "I had to try."
"Why don't you ask Mom and Dad to come over?" she asked, looking up at him with a smile on her face.
Dean nodded. "Maybe I'll do that."
*
Ron loved it when Dean baked, so as soon as they said yes to spending the day with him, Dean got busy baking cookies. It was something to do besides wait for them to come, and he knew Ron would appreciate it.
He pulled two batches of cookies out of the oven and set them on top of the stove to cool, then shut the oven off. He had some steaks marinating in the fridge, and he was planning on making them for dinner along with baked potatoes, but that wasn't until later.
Dean finished cleaning up after himself just as his phone started to ring. He pulled it out of his pocket and answered it when he recognized Don's number.
"Hey, Pops," Dean said, smiling.
"Dean?"
Dean froze. Couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.
"Dean, can you hear me?"
It was Sam. He'd recognize that voice anywhere. He leaned against the counter and forced himself to speak. "S-Sammy?"
"Who's Sammy?" Ron asked on the other end of the line.
Dean flinched, kicking himself because he'd let his imagination get away with him. "Oh, nobody," he said.
"I called to ask if you wanted us to bring anything," Ron said.
"N-no, I've got everything I need," Dean said as he rubbed his face with his free hand.
"Okay, we'll be over in a few minutes."
Dean put the phone back into his pocket with numb fingers. He was losing it. Cracking under the pressure. He needed to snap out of it.
He turned around to go upstairs and change his clothes, but in the doorway was the thing. Just staring at him, face relaxed and unreadable, cock hard and leaking onto his freshly-washed floor.
"Did I do something to you?" Dean asked, heart pounding and his legs shaky like they never were when he was hunting.
The thing started moving toward him, but Dean held up his hands, backing away.
"I'm a hunter. Did I do something to you or somebody in your family?" Dean asked. "Is that why you're doing this?"
Nothing. No change in its facial features. It kept walking toward him as if he hadn't said anything.
Dean moved to the side, putting the kitchen island between him and the thing, his bare feet quiet on the tile floor. Franky said they'd chosen that travertine together years ago, but it was one more memory he didn't have.
The thing got closer. Not breathing. Not making a sound. It wasn't mad or excited. It wasn't anything. If the thing's dripping cock hadn't been so obvious, Dean would think it felt nothing at all.
It lunged for him and Dean ran. Around the island, through the living room, and down the hallway to the laundry room. He was panting by the time he slammed the door shut and shoved a shelving unit in front of the door.
Dean stood back, waiting. He knew he hadn't stopped it. It was too strong. He'd only lured it into the laundry room and bought himself a few seconds.
The thing smashed into the door, and Dean heard the other side of the door splintering. The next hit snapped the door in half, and then the third hit shoved the shelving unit and door out of the way.
It wasn't panting or even breathing, but there was something different in its eyes that thrilled Dean. He'd rattled it. He'd finally done something that rattled it more than the knife in its stomach.
"I thought we'd play in here today," Dean said, backing up one more step.
The thing climbed over the shelving unit and made a grab for him, but Dean watched with satisfaction as it tripped the wire he'd left for it and the bucket of tools and rocks fell down on the thing's head, sending it to the floor with a grunt.
Dean grabbed the baseball bat out from behind the rolling laundry cart and raised it over his head. The thing might have been dead, might not have been, and Dean needed to make sure.
Just as he brought it down, his legs were yanked out from under him and he went down hard on his ass, the bat tumbling across the floor. The back of his head smacked into the wall, then he was being pulled toward the thing.
Dean reached up to jab at its eyes, but it grabbed his wrists and pinned him to the floor, straddling his waist. And yes, there it was. A twitch in the skin just under the thing's left eye.
"Did that hurt?" Dean asked, smirking.
Dean screamed as the thing let go of his wrist and squeezed his balls in a tight grip, Dean's whole body going stiff with the pain. When it finally let go, Dean panted, his balls throbbing. He didn't fight as the thing rolled him over, but just as it pulled his sweatpants down it made a noise.
A pained whimper. Another grunt as it backed away. Dean turned over and saw the thing's face screw up in pain, and then it was climbing over the shelving unit and leaving the laundry room, stumbling down the hallway.
Dean stood up, not really sure what had happened. He hadn't killed it, and sudden terror filled him. He nearly pissed himself in fear as he thought about what the thing would do to him after it recovered from what he'd done. It was going to be furious.
The doorbell rang and Dean froze, eyes wide. It took him a moment to figure out what was going on. "You're here," he whispered. "They're here."
He scrambled over the shelving unit, ignoring the pain as he stepped on broken pieces of the door, and ran for the front of the house. He lunged forward and pulled the front door open so hard it smacked into the wall. His mother and father-in-law were standing there, surprised.
Dean turned around, expecting to see the thing, but there was nothing behind him. Nothing coming for him.
"Come in," he said, waving the in-laws into the house and attempting to control his breathing. "Have a seat and I'll get you some cookies."
"You okay, sweetheart?" Francesca asked, putting her hands on his shoulders and looking him in the eye.
Dean forced a smile. "I'm fine. I'm okay. Everything's okay."
He turned and walked into the kitchen, taking a quick cleansing breath before they followed him in.
"You sure you're all right, dear?" Francesca asked. Franky had her mother's eyes and it always made him feel better when either of the women were in the house. He could get lost in those eyes.
"Yeah, I'm okay," Dean said. "Have a seat."
They sat down at the table, and once he joined them, eating cookies along with them and forcing a few jokes, they calmed down and changed the subject.
After they left, Dean still had time to take the pieces of the door out to the garbage bin at the side of the house. Everything was cleaned up by the time the kids got home and dinner was in the oven.
*
Dean wasn't able to sleep. It hadn't come for him again, and Dean didn't know if or when it would. It was eleven thirty at night and he was on the edge of the bed, waiting for the inevitable.
It always came. Always.
Except it didn't. Dean was panting and shivering by the time the clock changed to midnight.
"What the fuck is happening?" he asked as he stood up.
"Dean?" Franky asked, sitting up in bed.
"Nothing," Dean said, surprised by how easily he'd awakened her. "Go back to sleep. I've just gotta pee."
"Oh, okay," she said, putting her head back down on the pillow and falling asleep almost instantly.
Dean looked around the room, waiting for the thing to come. Three minutes overdue and probably laughing at him because he'd dared to think he could hurt it.
Five after midnight and Dean was a shaking mess. Something was wrong. It was planning something awful for him, and he couldn't stand still any longer. He went downstairs and looked in all the rooms, waiting for the thing to jump out, to pounce on him.
He ended up in the loft of the playhouse they'd built, the blanket wrapped around him, his back to the wall. It was bad. It was really bad. He'd pissed it off. When it came again it would be worse than anything it had done before.
*
The kids and Franky were careful about what they said and gave him his space that morning, and as Franky left she suggested a bath and maybe doing some baking since it seemed to help calm him down.
After they left, he went out to the garage and sat in the minivan. He never used it but apparently it was his vehicle. White and plain and with automatic everything. It was too comfortable and it didn't smell like leather. It also didn't make it through the invisible barrier around the property. Or rather he didn't make it through and would wake up with a neighbor having put the minivan back in the garage for him.
He didn't know how long he had been sitting in the minivan when the phone rang. He answered it with shaky hands, eyes wide open as he waited for the thing to come.
"Dean?"
Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "Sam. Sammy," he breathed, even though he knew it wasn't real. It was good to hear his brother's voice again.
"Dean, can you hear me?"
"Miss you so fuckin' much, Sammy," Dean said, his throat feeling tight as his eyes welled up with tears.
"I'm here, Dean," Sam said, voice urgent. "I'm right here."
"Dean?" He recognized that voice too.
"C-Cas?" Dean said, his bottom lip quivering. "Cas, is that you?"
"We're here, Dean," Cas said.
Dean tried to stop himself, but once he started he couldn't stop, the tears streaming down his face as he panted into the phone. "Miss you guys. So fuckin' much. I don't give a fuck if you're not real, I just... Don't hang up. Please. Just wanna listen to your voice for a while, okay? Please?"
"We're right here," Sam said. "We're not leaving you. Everything's okay. We're right here."
The phone went dead and Dean let out a howl of frustration. "No!" he yelled, nearly falling to the floor as he scrambled out of the minivan and ran inside the house.
He made it to the office and found his charger, plugging the phone in, but when he called back the number that had last come in, all he got was the same message he always did when he tried Sam's number.
"The wireless customer you are calling is not available."
Dean fell to his knees and flopped back against the desk, trying to get a hold of himself. He wiped the tears from his face and forced himself to breathe in a steady rhythm. In and out. In and out.
It wasn't real. Sam and Cas' voices weren't real. It was his mind playing tricks on him and he just needed to calm down. He would be okay. Everything was going to be okay.
*
The kids picked at their food and quickly asked to be excused from the table. Franky let them go, obviously sensing the fear in them.
Dean had tried to stay calm, but he knew his body language was off, his speech was too fast, too high-pitched, and he hadn't been able to eat, which was unusual for him, especially because he loved his own cooking.
"Talk to me?" Franky asked, keeping her voice soft. "Please?"
So beautiful. So perfect. Hair like something from his dreams, eyes warm and caring, lips full and never chapped. She reached out with a well-manicured hand and rubbed his arm.
The house was perfect. The kids were perfect. The neighborhood was perfect. And now that the thing hadn't shown its fugly face in almost three days even that was perfect. It was all fucking perfect.
"I don't think I'm doing very well," Dean said, sniffling as a few tears ran down his face.
"Talk to me about it, sweetheart," Franky said, scooting closer, both hands on his left arm, touching. Touching.
"I think I'm losin' my fuckin' mind," Dean said, wiping his face.
"Why?"
Dean laughed as more tears ran down his face. "Because everything's fucking perfect and I'm still fucking terrified of everything."
Franky gave him a small smile and leaned in to kiss his wet cheek. "It's okay to feel like that."
"No, it's not," Dean said, shaking his head. "None of this is real. None of it."
"What do you mean?" she asked, brow creasing with concern. She was quiet for a moment, then chuckled, cupping his face with her left hand. "Oh, sweetie," she said, then shook her head. "It's okay. You deserve good things. It's okay to enjoy them."
Dean's phone rang and he flinched. Instead of pulling it out of his pocket, he just sat there, looking at Franky.
"Are you going to answer it?" she asked, frowning.
Part of him was surprised she'd heard it, and he nodded shakily, pulling it out. Sam's name was on the screen, and Dean cursed softly before answering it.
"Dean?" Sam said. "Can you hear me? You there?"
"I'm, ah, a little busy right now, Sammy," Dean said.
"It's okay, you can talk to him," Franky said, patting his arm.
"You hear him too?" Dean asked.
Franky nodded. "Yeah. Is he an old friend? Go ahead and talk to him."
"Fuck, Sam, is that really you?" Dean asked.
"It's me," Sam said. "I'm right here, Dean."
"Don't fuckin' leave!" Dean blurted.
"I'm not leaving. Neither is Cas. We're right here, Dean. Right here."
Dean sniffled. "I don't know what you mean. Are you in the neighborhood?"
Sam chuckled. "No, dude. You know what to do. This isn't your first rodeo."
"What do you mean?"
"You've been in Poughkeepsie way too long," Sam said.
Dean's eyes widened, body tensing. "You fuckin' serious?"
"What, you need Cas to say it too? C'mon, Cas."
"Why would I tell him to get out of Poughkeepsie?" Cas asked, confused and most likely frowning at Sam even though Dean couldn't see him. "He's not in Poughkeepsie."
Dean let out a bark of laughter, then choked on his tears and snot. "Okay, I'm coming."
"Hurry up," Sam said. "Cas is getting impatient."
Dean snorted, then grabbed the steak knife from the table and shoved it into his own chest. The last thing he saw was the shocked eyes of his wife as he fell to the floor, her screams echoing in his head.
*
"Whoa, whoa," Sam said, pushing him back down to the bed. "You're in no shape to get up yet."
Dean flopped back, panting and out of breath even though he'd barely moved. The motel room was decorated in bright greens and yellows, and it didn't do good things to his head, which was already throbbing.
But it wasn't perfect. There were stains on the walls and ceiling. The wallpaper was ripped by the door. The sheets beneath him were scratchy and uncomfortable. It wasn't perfect.
"What the fuck happened?" Dean asked, blinking up at Sam, who was sitting next to him on the bed.
Sam leaned in closer and held a penlight up to Dean's left eye, then his right before checking his ears and nose. It felt familiar. Something they'd done many times. Check the pupils to see if they're reactive. Check the ears and nose for blood. Sam's movements weren't perfect, his hands a little too rough just like Sam always was when he was freaked out and thought Dean was a goner. It wasn't perfect.
"You don't remember what happened?" Sam asked as he put a hand on Dean's chest.
"Not really," Dean said, the too-warm feeling of Sam's hand on his chest welcome. He hadn't been too warm in months, and it felt good. "I remember this fugly motel and driving into town, but that's it."
"We split up," Cas said, "each of us taking a list of names so we could cover more ground, but we never heard back from you."
"How long ago was that," Dean asked.
"Five days and four hours ago," Cas said, the fine lines around his eyes telling Dean he'd been worried too.
"We found you about six hours ago," Sam said, "but the Djinn wasn't easy to find or easy to put down."
"Djinn," Dean said, rubbing his eyes. "I had that thought a few times, but I just wasn't sure until the last minute there."
"We don't know what you did," Sam said, then chuckled, shaking his head, "but a while ago something weakened it and we were able to kill it."
Dean let out a huff of laughter. "I set up a little surprise for it," he said, grinning. It had worked, just not the way he thought it had. "So did I walk into his lair or something?"
"No, he was looking for you," Sam said, then handed Dean a photo. "This was in his pocket."
Dean took the photo, staring at it for a moment, stomach clenching as he remembered the woman and her two children, all Djinn and all dangerous. Even the four-year-old. "Last year."
"Nebraska, yeah," Sam said, pain in his eyes and his voice.
"I don't suppose he would've understood had I told him it was really fuckin' hard me to kill his family," Dean said, handing the photo back to Sam.
"You need to rest," Cas said as Dean sat up, his hand heavy on Dean's shoulder as he tried to push him back down.
"I really don't wanna go to sleep right now," Dean said, pushing Cas' hand away.
"I can make sure you don't dream about what happened in the Djinn's world," Cas said, raising two fingers to Dean's forehead.
Dean grabbed Cas' wrist. "Why would I need you to do that when it was a perfect world? Fulfilling every wish and all that." Dean tried for casual, but figured he failed when Cas just blinked at him.
"You were talking in your sleep," Cas said matter-of-factly.
"Cas," Sam said, a warning in his tone of voice.
"What you experienced will most likely lead to nightmares," Cas said.
"Cas, leave it for later," Sam said, lips thinned out in a way that said he knew Dean needed some time.
Dean leaned against the head of the bed. "This is one of those things we'll talk about never."
"Later," Sam said with a tight smile.
Dean rolled his eyes, but he didn't really know what to say. He had no idea what all they had heard, and by the set of Sam's shoulders it was a whole fuck-ton more than Dean had wanted them to hear.
Sitting up against the headboard hurt. He was achy, his muscles sore in a way that said he'd been lying around for days. The left side of his body was too warm where he was leaned up against Sam. The unpleasantness of it all felt good, and soon Dean's eyelids were falling closed. He kept moving, trying to stay awake, but Sam and Cas realized what he was doing.
"You need to rest. I'll help you," Cas said.
Dean's stomach clenched. "Cas? Sam?"
Cas looked down at him, raising his fingers to Dean's forehead. "Sleep."
"Wait," Dean said, pushing Cas' hand away yet again. "Promise me you'll stay awake. Don't fall asleep. I want both of you to tell me you'll stay awake."
"I don't sleep," Cas said, brow furrowing as if he wasn't sure why Dean would need to ask that of him, that of course he'd be there to watch over Dean.
"I know, but just... don't leave and don't fall asleep, okay? Please?" Dean asked, his eyes falling closed even as he tried to force them open.
"You can sleep, Dean," Sam said, his right hand coming to rest on Dean's left thigh like he always did when Dean was hurt and uncomfortable and too tired and in too much pain to sleep. "I won't fall asleep until you're awake again. I promise."
"I promise I won't fall asleep," Cas said, raising his hand to Dean's forehead.
Dean cringed, a strong urge to pull away, to run away and take as many caffeine pills as he could find, drink coffee until it was coming out of his ears, but he stayed still.
Just before Dean fell asleep he heard Sam murmur, "I promise I won't leave you alone. I promise I won't fall asleep. We're right here with you. You're safe."
He crumpled against Sam's side, neck at an uncomfortable angle, the blanket covering his legs too warm and scratchy, the air in the room stale and with a faint hint of vomit from the previous occupants, a gritty feeling covering his skin from days of not showering and only getting wipe-downs from Sam and Cas, the annoying squeaks and groans of the air conditioner that sounded like it was on its last leg, the children screaming obnoxiously out by the pool as they played, the sour taste in his mouth from not brushing.
It was just what he wanted. It wasn't perfect.
End.