The Brightness of Stars [2/3]
Chapter-2
“Keys,” Sam demanded once they were standing in front of the Impala again, courtesy of a young couple who had given them a lift when they found the Winchesters wandering in front of the warehouse.
“I’m not giving Baby up,” Dean answered, voice still raspy and struggling to hide a tremor. “You can keep the bunker, hell; all the cars in the bunker, everything; but you’re not keeping Baby.”
A cold pit grew in Sam’s stomach at the words and he hoped he’d misunderstood: “Dean... what’re you talking ‘bout?”
“I know it’s different.” His brother whispered, avoiding his eyes.
“What is?”
“Knowing your brother is a whore objectively and watching him in the act. I’d hoped you’d never learn that bit about me... ‘bout my past, but I guess truth always finds a way, huh? So yeah, I’m not going to make you say it. I- I’ll leave. Just- just leave me the Impala.”
“The Impala’s yours. Always has been.” Sam assured, unable to address the rest of what Dean had said. “Dad gave it to you, remember?”
Dean shook his head, “And I left it to you when I went to Hell. ... but, since I came back-” He shrugged, “I guess that makes it ours. ... but thank you for not taking it from me. Would you let me drop you off at the bunker or -”
“What’re you on ‘bout again?”
“I was stupid to think I could ever deserve someone like you. ...I- I’d thought that since it’s been years, and Cas rebuilt me from the ground up... maybe- maybe I was.... but I can see my mistake. I’m not going to force you, Sammy. I may be a whore, but I’m not a rapist, okay? I’ll never hurt you- at least, not like that.”
“Dean...” Sam whispered, heart sore and horrified by the litany of self-loathing spewing from Dean’s lips.
“So I can drive you back... if you’d let me, I’ll drive you back. I-I-I promise to keep my hands to myself-” His brother continued, oblivious to the interruption.
“Dean, ple-please.”
Enormous green eyes blinked up at him as the flood of words came to a grinding stop at the crack in his voice.
“You want me to leave now?” A small voice enquired.
“Is that what you think?” Sam burst out, “Oh God, Dean... is that what you really think I’m going to do? Turn you out on your ear after you sacrificed yourself to protect me? Do you really think that low of me?”
“Sam-”
Sam shook his head, wiping angrily at the tears streaming down his face before coming to a decision. Without further warning, he cupped his right palm around Dean’s jaw and leaned in for a kiss.
Dean turned his face away so that his lips grazed the stubble on his cheeks instead of his lips as had been Sam’s intent, “Please don’t,”
Sam bit his lip as he pulled back, looking away briefly before meeting the familiar green gaze, his hand slipping off Dean’s face to fall limply at his side again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to... force you.”
And the smallest of smiles bloomed on Dean’s face, “I know. You’ll never force me, Sammy.”
“But-”
“I’m dirty,”
“Dean-”
But his brother was already shaking his head and tossing him the Impalas’ keys, opening the passenger door and sliding in. “I mean it in the literal sense, Sam. I just... and I stink. Can’t wait to wash off the filth... And then sleep.”
“Motel?”
“Bunker, I’d rather not hang around in this town anymore.”
Sam smiled grimly, “Yeah, me too... we’ll stop at a clinic on the way. Or would you prefer a hospital?”
“No hospitals. Or clinics.” Dean vetoed predictably.
“But-”
“Not saying no to meds, Sam.” Dean told him tiredly, “The docs can’t help me beyond prescribing meds ... And I already know what I require.”
“You require more than simple painkillers, Dean.”
“Yeah,” His brother agreed, head tilted back against the bench. “Think I saw a pharmacy on the main.”
Dean rattled off a list of drugs as Sam pulled the car out of the lot and it turned out, he wasn’t wrong about the twenty-four hour pharmacy’s address either.
Sam went to the pharmacy and procured the items Dean had asked for and it was only when he noticed the pitying smile on the cashier’s face that the full import of the events hit him. He had been so overwhelmed by the abuse he had witnessed that he had totally overlooked the fact that this was not the first time something like this had happened to Dean. In fact it was so not a first time that Dean already knew which medications he would require.
Later, when he thought back on it, Sam was not sure how he managed to keep his composure and walk out of the pharmacy; but he managed to complete his purchase and get back to the car, hand over the green cloth bag the medicines came in to Dean and walk around to the driver’s side and get in before he crumpled over the steering, silent gasping sobs shaking his entire frame. There was a muted hiss and then a warm palm rubbed over his back, trying to soothe him and he sobbed harder: Dean was the one to endure the abuse and Sam couldn’t even keep it together enough to support him. He wasn’t sure how long they remained like that: him folded over the steering as Dean rubbed his back wordlessly, but eventually his tears dried and he drove them to the bunker.
Dean’s abused muscles had stiffened over the five hour drive and the older Winchester was in too much pain to even make it out of the Impala without support. Small whimpers escaped pursed lips as he helped his brother down the stairs and through the hallways to the large bathroom at the corner of the corridor where both Winchesters had claimed rooms for themselves. He helped his sibling down onto the wide marble ledge of the bathtub and set about adjusting the water temperature to fill the tub. By the time he turned, Dean had managed to work off his jacket and over-shirt but was pale-as-spoilt-milk and grimacing as he struggled to bend over and undo his boots and jeans.
“Allow me,” He whispered, kneeling before his older brother and carefully undoing the laces and attempting to pull off the boots; attempting because with his feet swollen from a combination of the bastinado and the long drive, it was a far more difficult task than he had first presumed. Not wanting to jostle the injured appendages anymore than necessary, Sam readjusted himself to sit cross-legged and used his left hand to support Dean’s calf and ankle while carefully tugging at the boot with his right. Both Winchesters bit back gasps as Sam slowly worked the boots off. Once Dean’s swollen feet were bare, he could not resist stroking over them gently; watching the muscles jump as he traced the red welts left behind by the cruel cane. Hot tears dripped down his cheeks and on the tender skin as he sat cradling his older brother’s abused feet in his lap, the moment only breaking when Dean leaned forward to cup a hand over the back of his head and brush a kiss on the top of his head.
“Let me stay,” He whispered once Dean was down to his boxers.
“Sam-”
“I’m not going to do anything, Dean. Just please-”
“It’ll not be a pretty sight-” Dean began.
“Can’t be worse than what my imagination is coming up with,” He shot back.
Dean sighed but shook his head.
“Dean, please...”
“I- I need to do this alone, Sammy... please?”
Sam bit his lip, he understood Dean’s need to re-establish autonomy over his body and was loath to deny Dean that basic right; but at the same time, every time he closed his eyes he saw the men taking his brother repeatedly. He needed to see with his own eyes that Dean was whole and alright.
Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face because Dean added: “You can help me with the ointments once I’m clean, but-”
And reluctantly, he gave his consent.
He hovered outside the door, unable to simply leave. After hesitating for a bit, he sank down with his back to the door and closed his eyes. He jumped when he heard gagging, a pained moan and then the sound of Dean throwing up. Sam had the door open and his hand on Dean’s trembling back before he considered his actions.
Dean shook him off, wiping at his mouth and pulling the lever to flush away the puke.
“I- I... I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to-” Sam stammered, trying to ignore the glimpse of the whitish fluid disappearing down the toilet bowl. “Do you need anything? Water?”
Dean shook his head and shakily got to his feet. His face went pale as he put pressure on his abused feet. Sam reached out and wrapped an arm around his brother before the older man could collapse. Dean’s lips thinned but he allowed Sam to help him to and then into the- by now filled - bathtub. He grabbed the shampoo and a wash cloth, almost reaching out to help lather Dean before he caught sight of his brother’s expression: Dean’s lips were pursed and his eyes looked angry and horrified and humiliated all at once.
“Here,” Sam put down the items he had grabbed within Dean’s reach and stood up. “Please don’t try to stand... I’ll leave you a towel and some clothes. Holler when you’re done.”
He left before Dean could respond or he changed his mind himself. He headed to Dean’s room to rummage through his stuff for some soft sweatpants and a tee; found the first-aid kit first and placed that next to Dean’s bed. Then got the supplies Dean had asked for from the bag he had dropped on the library table on their way in and set everything up before heading back towards the bathroom at the end of the hallway.
The shower was running by the time he got back and Sam knocked once before pushing the door and walking in. He blushed when he caught a glimpse of Dean on his hand and knees, with his right hand disappearing between his legs. Hoping his brother didn’t notice him, he hurried out of the bathroom.
---
“Sam!”
The younger Winchester clambered to his feet hurriedly at the call, bursting through the door; terrified that Dean was mortally wounded somehow. Instead he found his brother- some colour back on his skin after that long shower/bath- perched on the tub’s ledge, white terry towel wrapped tightly around hips that still bore faint pink fingerprints as a reminder of what had transpired a few hours earlier.
“Dean! What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“I’m good,” His brother reassured, “Just didn’t want to risk cracking my skull for a tee. Can you pass it to me?”
“Oh, yeah... yeah. Sure.” Sam answered, still jittery from the adrenalin rush that Dean’s call had brought. He handed over the worn-in Henley, and waited with the sweats.
“Don’t need ‘em right now.” Dean mumbled, a blush painting his cheeks, “not if you still want to check me out.”
“Oh,... umm... yeah. Yeah, okay.”
“Sam.” Dean interrupted, “You don’t have to, alright? I’ve already made sure I’m not going to bleed out on you or anything.”
“I still want to,” Sam whispered- he wouldn’t if Dean was really set against it, wouldn’t force the man; but he knew he would be unable to calm himself till he had ascertained Dean’s well-being for himself.
“Okay then,” Dean nodded, gritting his teeth and heaving himself to his feet.
“Dammit! Would it kill you to ask for help?!” Sam grumbled as Dean’s already pale face went milk-white the moment he put weight on his abused soles. He swept up the older male in a fireman’s hold and carried him back to the room. Dean’s towel slipped when he settled him on the bed but the older Winchester simply sighed and crawled further in till he was at the centre.
“Alright, do your stuff,” Dean announced, turning and lying on his stomach.
Sam hesitated briefly, eyes drinking in the strong, clean lines of hard-earned muscle on Dean’s body- none of it the excessive bulk of a gym-bunny... but as he stared, he suddenly became aware of just how tense Dean was.
“Hey,” He whispered, climbing on the bed himself, “It’s okay, it’s just me.”
“Just get on with it,” Dean grumbled. Then, in a sharp jerking movement, he pulled his legs under him; the position making his ass stick up and proceeded pull apart the bruised globes of his rear to bare the sensitive opening in between.
Sam gasped, taken aback by the vehemence of the action and peered at the reddened skin of Dean’s channel and the puffy pink opening. They both jumped at the click of the camera going off and Sam hastened to grab at Dean before he rolled away.
“Sshh...” He whispered, knee-walking up the mattress till he was next to Dean’s face. “I-... I don’t have any idea of how a normal hole looks like, Dean... Just- Just wanted to get your opinion.”
His brother’s face heated up as Sam watched but Dean forced himself to look at the picture displayed on Sam’s phone-screen.
“Don’t have any idea either; the last butt I saw was yours when I was still changing your diapers.”
And it was Sam’s turn to go beet-red.
“But- ... based on how it feels, I can promise you that a normal hole looks nothing like that.”
Sam choked at the obtuse allusion to the pain Dean was still in and hurried to bring him two of the strong pain-killers from their stash. Once Dean had swallowed them, he turned his attention back on the bared body before him.
“Can I touch you?” He asked, not wanting to startle or trigger the older man.
“Mmm,” Dean’s response was muffled.
Squeezing out a dollop of the pleasantly cool ointment onto his fingers, he carefully lowered them to the chafed skin. Dean’s muscles twitched at the contact, but didn’t draw away. He carefully massaged the tiny pucker which opened easily under his fingers, having not tightened back up yet from the abuse it had endured.
“I’m sorry,”
Sam jumped at the words, about to question why Dean was apologising before he noticed the half-hard length.
“Dean... are-are you apologising because of...”
“Mmhmm,” His brother murmured, then in a barely audible whisper: “I promise I’m not going to take advantage of you,”
“Why would I think you would... oh! ...Dean, do you- do you think this is arousal?”
“Isn’t it? Raul noticed it as well... what - what a slut I am.”
“Stop! Stop talking about yourself like that!”
“It’s the truth,” Dean answered miserably.
Sam watched Dean fist the sheet tightly enough that it was a miracle that it did not tear and felt his heart break for this tortured man who had always -always -taken care of him and never even allowed him to know what the cost of that care was. He was sure that even today, if he had not intercepted; Dean would have slipped away with Raul and hidden what had transpired... Nearly two decades (at the minimum) had passed since Dean had been forced to put a price-tag on his body and he had never breathed a word about the abuse.
He bent forward and pressed his lips against the cotton covering his brother’s sweaty back, wanting to comfort and hold him somehow but unable to do as he wanted because of the fingers he had inside Dean.
“It’s not your fault, Dean. Nor does it mean you wanted it. ... Pressure against your prostate is bound to affect your umm... your dick. It’s a simple physiological reaction.” Sam explained softly, crouching awkwardly over the prone man and continuing to slather the ointment.
“Yeah, right.” Dean scoffed.
“Alright, fine. So get this- if someone forces a finger down your throat, you gag, right? If they still keep pressing, you throw up. It’s physiology-”
“You can train out a gag reflex.” Dean interrupted.
Sam froze, “You...?”
“Got over my gag-reflex long ago, Sammy.” Dean confirmed.
“H-How?” Was this another thing Dad had taught Dean but not him?
Dean chuckled wryly, “Well, once people begin using your ears like jug-handles and enjoy the way your throat flutters when you are choking; you learn to get over your gag pretty quick.”
Oh. Oh. Sam felt his eyes water at what was not being said, and remembered their original topic. Expressing pity or empathy would have Dean clamming up tighter than an oyster shell, so he chose a different route: He harrumphed. “Okay. How about this, someone brings something towards your eye, you blink.”
“Yes,” Dean admitted grudgingly.
“This is exactly like that!”
“No, it’s not!”
Sam hesitated briefly before crowding up behind Dean’s back, “It is.” He pressed a kiss against one tee-shirt covered shoulder. “If I let you finger me right now, no lube... Nothing. ... And- And I get hard from it...Would- Would you call me a slut?”
“Sam!” Dean’s voice was strangled.
“You don’t like me saying that?” He taunted.
“No. ... Because you’re not! You’re not a slut. C’mon!”
“Then why would you say you are, hmmm?”
“Sam-” And Dean’s voice sounded defeated.
“I’ve always wanted to be like my big brother, Dean. So if you’re a slut; I’m very well going to be one too.”
Dean chuckled. It didn’t sound happy. “Fine- you win, okay? I- I’m not. I’m not a slut. Happy?”
“Very.” Sam retorted, and then sighed. He glanced down to where his fingers were buried in Dean’s hole... he had always pictured pressing his fingers into his brother’s initially cringing flesh, gradually working him open carefully and lovingly till Dean’s reluctance melted into eagerness. He had wanted Dean to push back onto his fingers, eager for more; but now he quietly drizzled more of the ointment over his fingers and continued carefully coating Dean’s abused insides. ... The rare occasions he had allowed himself to picture this, he had always imagined Dean to be virgin tight and hesitant- making Sam work to even get in his pinkie into that clenching heat; but now Dean was swollen and puffy... and he barely had to work to push in two fingers.
Dean sighed when Sam withdrew his fingers and he wiped off his hands slowly, giving Dean the opportunity to pull on boxers if he desired, and finding himself elated at the trust displayed when he didn’t. Turning his attention to Dean’s feet, Sam felt his tears return. There was no blood, but the tender skin on the underside of Dean’s feet was striped evenly with raised purple-pink welts from heel to finger-tips, the only place to have escaped the abuse being the curved arch on the in-sole... but even that had not been spared completely judging from the light bruise on the left feet. The worst of the welts were concentrated on the balls of his feet with barely any space between the individual stripes. A teardrop splashed down and Dean twitched, twisting to look behind himself.
“Hey-hey-hey... what’s wrong?”
Sam shook his head, unable to speak.
“C’mere,” Dean invited, one hand extended palm up.
Sam slipped his hand in that familiar callused grip and allowed himself to be cradled.
“I’m okay. I promise.” Dean whispered, voice still slightly raspy, but recovering from all the water Sam had plied him with, “Just let me get a couple of hours in and I’ll be good as new.”
Sam managed a tremulous smile, “I know, just let me finish bandaging and you can sleep.”
It took some effort, but Sam eventually succeeded in coating the welts with the medicated pain-relieving ointment he had bought and bandaging them lightly so that they didn’t accidentally rub against the bed.
Dean gratefully accepted the sweatpants once he was done and Sam cleared away the medical supplies. Once done, he placed more of the pain-meds on the table along with some water and Gatorade. After a brief deliberation, he added a packet of pre-packaged pudding and another of jello and pulled up a chair.
“You planning to sleep on that?”
Sam debated denying but then he was too exhausted for a charade and nodded tiredly. Dean grumbled incoherently, but shuffled until half the bed was free: “Get in.”
---
Sam woke with a scream trapped in his throat and burning eyes. His breathing was still laboured and his chest heaved as he tried to draw in enough oxygen. Shuddering as he tried to find his equilibrium, he became aware of a warm palm on his chest.
And suddenly everything came back.
He glanced to his right and found a pair of familiar eyes watching him.
“Dean...” He breathed.
A tiny smile ghosted over his brother’s lips at his call but the worry was ever-present: Sam wondered if Dean had ever stopped worrying about/over him for even a few moments in the thirty -five years that had passed since he’d been handed Sam at four. ... He felt his lips twitch in an answering smile... He had not even been in single digits when he’d been handed over to his brother’s arms for safe-keeping and he was still safe there, all these years later.
“Nightmare?” His brother asked, the hand on his cheat absently tracing invisible doodles over the warm cotton. “Clowns or midgets?”
“You,”
Dean’s hand stilled and Sam instantly missed the comforting motion.
“I’m sorry,”
“I-I...I couldn’t move and they were- they were... and you were so young and I- I couldn’t reach you. Couldn’t save you-” Sam babbled, hurrying to explain as he caught sight of the swiftly concealed flash of hurt on his brother’s face.
“I’m okay,” Dean assured, reaching out to pat his chest once.
“You- you... when did you start, Dean? You were so young in my dream-”
“My first time?”
“Yeah-”
“I told you about my first time, remember? With what’s her name- uh Sally Bradshaw,”
“Not-not that first time, Dean. You know what I mean.”
“Sam-” Dean sighed tiredly.
“I- I’ll not force you to tell me, if you don’t want to; but I keep picturing you as a kid as these men-”
“It was an year or two after Wisconsin, so I must’ve been uh... twelve.” Dean evaluated the time line mentally before nodding and confirming, “Yeah, twelve.”
“Twelve?!” Sam gasped. He’d pictured a sixteen- a seventeen year old and here Dean was telling him that he had been twelve! Even though four years was not a huge difference, when he’d been a kid, Dean had seemed almost an adult- a larger-than-life superman-esq figure who was invincible and never got hurt... it was obvious that that version of his brother had never actually existed outside of Sam’s mind, but Dean had always been bigger than him in his memories and even now he found it hard to picture a twelve year old Dean. He saw him as he was now and couldn’t picture anyone taking advantage of him, but they had! They had hurt Sam’s brother so terribly...
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Never wanted you to know...” Dean whispered, “And I’m sorry you found out today- yesterday...”
“But Dean...”
His brother shook his head, “It wasn’t- it isn’t a big deal Sammy. And besides, it was just trade- they wanted something and were willing to pay for I had to offer. It’s not like it was any hardship.”
“If it isn’t a big deal, then why didn’t Dad ever ask me, huh?”
“First, I’d have shot anybody- Dad included, who dared to suggest prostituting you, and B, you and I are not the same, Sammy; never have been. ... I- I enjoy sex. It’s not a chore or something for me... okay, umm, that came out wrong- I’m not suggesting that it’s a chore for you; but - but it means something to you... but most importantly, the only reason I ever went through it was so that you could stay unblemished just a little while more. The life had stolen everything else from you: Mom, bedtime stories, normal childhood, a stable home... I wasn’t letting it take away your innocence too.”
“Thanks,” Sam whispered even as he fought to control the tremble in his lips despite the way he was chewing them. “Dean...How could Dad... how could he just pimp you out like that? When you were- when you were twelve!”
“It wasn’t like that, Sammy...” Dean sighed tiredly.
“You can’t tell me it wasn’t like that after everything that Raul said!” Sam protested.
Dean shook his head, chuckling lightly, “He didn’t know-”
“But Raul said-”
“Not at first-” Dean finished, glaring at him for interrupting. “No one pimped me out when I was twelve, Sam. I did it all on my own.”
“What?!”
Dean shrugged, “Dad had been gone longer than he’d said, and we needed food.”
“So you just...?”
“No,” Dean shook his head, “Got caught lifting... the guy immediately realized something was not right- I was twelve and I was trying to steal bread and instant soup and children’s’ Tylenol. He threatened to call the CPS and I begged him not to- promised to work the cost off. He countered by telling me that he would let me take whatever I needed if I spent an hour with him-”
“An hour?!” Sam repeated, mind working over-time as he tried to imagine what all could have been done to a minor in that span.
“I bargained for 30 minutes.” Dean cut off his panicking, “Guy agreed without further debate. ... He- he didn’t keep me for an extra second, Sammy. And I got to go home with a grocery bag’s worth of stuff. ... It happened on and off after that... it wasn’t anything I couldn’t give-”
Sam swallowed down his gorge at the easy way Dean seemed to accept using his body as a source of income and asked the question haunting his mind since he’d found out about their father’s involvement, “How did Dad find out?”
“I must’ve been fourteen or fifteen at the time. He’d sent me to book a room: you had the beginnings of a fever and Dad had a dislocated shoulder from the hunt; the rooms were more expensive that he’d anticipated. I ended up sucking the guy off out back in lieu of making up the difference... Dad went in next week to extend our booking. ... He never said anything, but I always thought that was when he’d figured out that his son was a whore... He looked so disgusted with me for weeks...” The last was a barely audible whisper.
“Dean, please...”
“Sorry.”
“And...” Sam hesitated, “How did Dad know Raul?”
“Raul runs a cartel... he- he’s bad news, Sammy. Promise me you’re not going to meddle with him?”
“Dean-”
“Please, Sam.”
He nodded, but refused to verbally make the commitment...
“Thank you. Anyway... what did you ask? Oh, right; Dad and Raul... Dunno how they first met, but Raul was listed as one of Dad’s contacts...Dad bought a few guns off him.”
“How’d you get involved?”
“Raul’s ammo is good, but expensive. He offered to trade with Dad, if he would let me make some money for him...”
“And Dad agreed?”
Dean shrugged.
“Dad never asked? What you had to do to earn for Raul?”
Dean shook his head, “He was always an ends justify the means type of guy, Sam.”
“How much business did Dad do with him?” Sam asked urgently, hoping the answer was just ‘once’...
“Not a lot,” Dean answered evasively, “A few times, maybe...”
“And you never told him?”
“Told him what?”
“What Raul did to you?”
“Like I said Sammy, it wasn’t anything I wasn’t willing to give.”
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