Fanfic - SPN: Going Down - Ch. 7: Stop
Title: Going Down [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
CHAPTER SEVEN - STOP
Dean lay awake in the dark bathroom for a long time, not thinking, just breathing and trying not to let the smell make him sick. He tongued the tooth that loosened earlier, tasting a little copper but mostly just rewarding himself with pain. It would be easier if Sam hurt him. He'd been hurt plenty his whole fucking life and Sam himself had taught him how to manage even better, how to like it sometimes, how to crave it. This? He didn't want this.
It didn't matter that he ignored Sam's presence entirely when Sam came in later to piss on him again. He couldn't actually go anywhere in his mind. The piss slipping down his cheek was just that, his hips and shoulders, thighs and mouth, no longer wet with clean water, just filth. If he'd thought he was drowning before, he was sure of it now. Even though the drain drank it down, the feel of it never left his skin, it tainted every breath, and it stung his eyes until they watered, as if trying to get him clean when he was impossibly grimy.
Eventually, his mind drifted somewhere grey-dark and fuzzy, somewhere like sleep.
**********
Dean felt the absence of the weight's pull at his neck before he understood that he was being guided upwards, his eyes blinking away the blur as the iron disc floated between him and Sam. Sam's powers pulled him up to kneeling, every inch of Dean creaking, popping, and shivering. Sam had brought no warmth in with him and only the barest sliver of moonlight. But then there was a soft warm cock sliding against his lips and Dean opened for it, wondering distantly if this would be his salvation from this displaced shard of hell.
He curled his tongue around it, tightening the seal of his lips, the pull of his suction. Even groggy, filthy, chained up, and literally weighted down twice over, he remembered how to do this like it was breathing and just tried not to let himself be grateful for the chance.
"No." Sam stopped him with a tug on the collar weight now wrapped in his giant hand.
Dean grunted, but stopped, too tired to wade through his confusion to intuit Sam's needs.
"Just close your mouth around it and swallow."
Which didn't make any sense, but Dean swallowed anyway. And when there was hot bitter liquid running down his tongue and into his throat, he swallowed it down, swallowing again to keep from throwing up. But Sam didn't let him go even when the flow stopped.
"Lick me clean."
Dean couldn't help the way his mouth went slack, even as he forced his tongue to move, to attend to the head of Sam's cock like he'd just swallowed a wad of come and not... something else. He even kept licking until Sam made him stop, just like he'd been taught. The fingers Sam slid into his hair then shouldn't have made him close his eyes, not with desire or fear, but with something that made him want to lean in, something that made his stomach turn not from nausea but just... missing, something like the want to come home.
If his mouth hadn't been full, he might have said what he couldn't say before. But then Sam was pulling away, his hand and his cock and his warmth, and lowering Dean back into the cold piss-streaked tub. Then he was gone and the door was closed behind him all over again.
Dean lay in the bathtub a long while with an ache between his eyes and a mouth he couldn't shut from all the shock and shattering going on inside him. He almost said what needed saying, though he couldn't form the sounds. But maybe he was sorry. Maybe being around other people was just hard. Maybe he'd gotten overwhelmed and there was a pretty girl stripping away what had been left of his illusions. Maybe he'd overreacted about Dad, about the Marine, because... yeah, of course, Sam was brainwashed, what the fuck did you expect? Maybe Sam had taken him outside the room for the first time in what must have been months and he had just completely fucked it up.
His breath caught as he remembered his father yanking the gun out of his hand when he'd gone hunting the first time and been too quick on the trigger, scaring away the prey. Do you remember anything I taught you, Dean? Or was that just a waste of my time?
By the time Sam came in the next morning, Dean wasn't sure whether to fight, give in, or try to do what he'd been refusing for days. It didn't seem to matter either way, though. Sam didn't even ask if he had anything to say.
Again he was moved without Sam having to dirty his hands, Sam's fingers already digging out his cock and putting it against Dean's lips.
"Sam- ..." Dean started to say something, but Sam pushed his cock in anyway, grabbing a fistful of Dean's hair before Dean could pull away.
"Urinals don't talk. They drink piss."
Dean grunted, eyes wide, on the edge of a word despite the cock in his mouth, but then there was warmth sloshing into his mouth and he had to cough and swallow and swallow some more, even as his stomach flipped and rolled thinking this would be its new role in the world. And as Sam filled him up with more piss, Dean could feel the glass of his barely taped together mind splinter into new irregular pieces. Then when Sam said "suck me clean," Dean felt those pieces grind to dust.
When Sam finally pulled out, stuffing his cock back into his shorts, Dean felt stuck unable to even just close his mouth or to look up or to do much of anything at all. He breathed and his heart beat and when Sam wanted to use him as whatever seemed useful, that's what Dean would do and be. The view of Sam's dick was the same, the ache in his knees was the same. He just smelled like a restroom floor and Sam's hand had been the one to hold him down to lick the taste into his mouth.
He felt a ripple rise up from his stomach and turned his head toward the drain just in case, but Sam's hand jerked him back by his hair, forcing him to look up at the giant holding him hostage.
"If you throw that up, then I'm just going to have to get some help filling you back up again. I want to make sure you remember this taste all day and know that you weren't good enough to drink my come instead."
Dean's lips had parted with a gasp of pain, but stayed open as Sam spoke, and when he finally processed all the words, Dean didn't even know what was falling out of his mouth. "I'm sorry." Once it was out, though, he was breathing hard and too fast, because he couldn't- ... "I can't- ..." This. He couldn't do this and he shook his head despite Sam's hold. "I'm sorry, okay? S-sir?"
Sam laughed, but his eyes were so hard and his smile so sharp that Dean was surprised there was no blood yet, Sam's skin pristine and his own not yet sliced open. "I'll believe it when I see it."
Dean almost said more, but felt the cuffs and collar unlock, the chains climbing into the air and away from him, along with the weights. Sam pooled them on a towel on the floor and when he let go of Dean's hair, the only thing in the tub was Dean, bare-skinned and scummy with piss.
"You're going to be a perfect little piece of nothing furniture today, aren't you? Because if you're not, you're going to end up right back here tonight, isn't that right?"
Dean could feel his air begin to heave and rush even worse than before, but he couldn't do anything about it, didn't know how to cope with this, wasn't sure that he could.
"Tell me. Tell me that you're going to be a perfect little piece of nothing furniture for me today."
Dean slowly nodded his head, voice lodged in his throat, knowing that even words wouldn't save him.
Sam's fingers darted out, catching and grinding against his jawbone and Dean opened his mouth. His brother's words hissed with venom that would empty his once-full skull if his reply was less than immediate. "Say it. Now."
"I'm-- I'm gonna- …" He was going to fuck it up and he knew it, but he had to try, had to try something. "I'm gonna be a perfect-- a perfect little piece of- …" Please? He watched Sam's tightly pressed lips, remembering how much Sam hated lies and liars. Sam bruised liars, bled liars, and he would wash away these lies with his piss in the morning again. "I'll be a piece of nothing furniture for you." It spun in his head. He would be there, on his knees in the bathtub, again the next morning. Even shaking, he couldn't lie to himself.
"You'd better." Sam let Dean go and stepped back again, though Dean couldn't lift his eyes to follow the movement.
"You stink. Clean yourself up." Dean flinched, quick and hard and too much, when his brother all but spat out his disdain. "I don't want filthy furniture on my good carpet." Sam flicked on the shower and pulled the curtain between them.
For a moment, Dean wondered if Sam would hear the sound of his skull cracking on the faucet with the water running like this. He fantasized about pressing his head against its cool metal surface and then slamming down twice, once to make the world spin and the last to make it end.
"I don't hear you washing." Sam couldn't have been that far away, even now, his voice emanating from somewhere in the direction of the door. "If I have to get in there and wash you myself, we'll see how well you double as a mop."
Dean pushed away the horror, wrapped himself in numbness, and ate every groan of pain it took to stand. Then washed himself as clean as he could, staying in the tub no longer than he absolutely had to, even though the heat of the shower made him want to crawl into the wall beside the pipes and stay.
When he re-entered the bedroom, clean and dry, at least on the outside, Dean did it on his knees. Furniture didn't walk, didn't speak, didn't think, didn't feel, and it either worked or it didn't with its only reward being to continue to be present and used as its owner saw fit. He knew that and knew what he had to do when he started crawling toward the couch. But he didn't end up there.
Dean found himself beside the bed, climbing onto it and pressing his forehead into the pillows, knees bent and spread, waiting, needing.
"What are you doing?" Sam's voice was dangerously quiet with just enough coaxing richness to feel like a silk noose around Dean's neck.
His exhales shook, but this had to be done. "My job, sir. I-- I fucked up and... I really am sorry."
There was a long pause and the warmth of the room grew as the pause stretched on longer and longer. Dean almost wanted to slip back down to the floor again, knowing Sam would have no qualms about throwing him down there if that was where he wanted him, but he had to try this, had to wait and hear Sam's verdict.
"You should be." Sam's voice, when he spoke, was a calm, steady, quiet thing. Strange and shifting between terrifying and comforting. "Do you know why?"
Dean's tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth with a substance he'd prefer to forget, but he shook his head and forced himself to breathe, to settle into the heat surrounding him like a dry sauna. He hadn't forgotten this, hadn't missed it exactly, but the familiarity of it with the pain coming just around the corner seemed... normal now, at least. Common and survivable even when it didn't always seem bearable.
A single pair of fingertips from Sam's hand began to trace their way from Dean's heel, up the back of his ankle, the curve of his calf, the dip behind his knee, and Dean shuddered in the quiet, listening to Sam's slow steps as he moved along the side of the bed, closing in on the headboard. "I was nice, wasn't I?"
The climb of those two barely there fingers brushing up the back of Dean's thigh at far too slow a speed to let him think of anything but them had Dean's mind churning and his body tightening, anticipating, maybe even wanting... something. "Yes, sir." He knew not to speak of later in the meal, of the way Sam had- ... No, that didn't matter now. He'd started nice. Sure.
"And I was patient with you, wasn't I?" Sam's fingers spread and became a whole hand, cupping and curving over the roundness of Dean's ass, and Dean wasn't sure whether to wish those fingers were already fingering him open, pulling him apart, or if this sick-sweet flutter in his stomach was really what he needed.
"Yes, sir." How Sam's hand, rubbing circles in the small of his back could make his breathing just as challenged, as labored, as a ceramic plate full of food, Dean didn't know. He just knew that he could not mess up Sam's flow.
Sam's hand blended circles into sweeps back and forth in gentle tactile waves across Dean's back until Dean's cock was as hard as his nerves were trembling. "I even let you wear clothes and sit at the table with me and eat good food and drink new beer and... I introduced you to my friends."
Dean swallowed as Sam's hand began to sweep across his shoulders, the back and forth slowing until Sam's fingers were sliding up his neck and trailing through his hair with tenderness that felt like blood. "I'm- ..."
"Shhh." Sam stood beside him at the head of the bed combing his hair with the casual gentleness of a parent with a child trying to sleep. "I introduced you to my friends. I introduced you to my coworkers, to my lieutenants, to the head of my staff, to the people who matter. Because I thought- ..." He huffed with laughter that sounded strained and distant, surreal. "I thought I could trust you. Because I thought you understood."
"I- ..." Dean wanted to say that he did understand, that Sam could trust him. But both of those statements would probably be lies and he shivered as Sam continued to fingercomb his hair as if lulling him to sleep. Dean knew the pain was coming, but he would choose it over where he'd been half an hour before. "I... want to."
"You want to understand?" Sam's fingers never stopped moving, but there was a little flourish added in, a rapid brief drumming that came and went as Sam posed the question.
"Yes, please, sir. I- ..." The drumming came and went again, each tap harder against Dean's skull. "I want to understand, so I can... be better for you." Liking it wasn't the question. The question was which words in his mouth would pull Sam back from the worst of his ideas for lessons right then.
Sam's fingers stopped threading through his hair and instead took up the drumming full time, as steady as a military march. "So you can be better? Are you sure you can be better? Are you sure you're not just deluding yourself?" Each strike to the back of Dean's head was enough to make him blink involuntarily, his breath becoming a rapid shallow thing he couldn't control anymore. "Your life could be so simple as furniture. No real self-discipline required at all. I could bind you and gag you and use you and you would never have to understand anything, say anything, or actively participate in anything ever again. Doesn't that... sound... better?" The feel of Sam knocking on his skull with the full band of four knuckles, emphasizing the last three words made Dean hunch further down, pressing his ass further up and his legs further out like a counteroffer.
"No, sir." The knocking didn't stop, its rhythm an eerie half-speed when compared to the drumming, and Dean couldn't help the way he flinched and cringed as he worked to find the right words. "I can be better. Please let me learn to be better. Okay? Can- ... Please."
The knocking stopped, but then Sam was right there, his hand gripping the back of Dean's head like a robotic clamp, impossibly steel-tight and strong, his mouth breathing hot air against Dean's ear. "And you're going to show me this just by offering your ass like any good whore should, just as easy as they breathe?"
Dean controlled his shudder but wasn't sure what to say. "I- ... I don't know what else to do."
Sam pulled back a little ways and even with his eyes closed, Dean could feel Sam's shift from bending over to squatting beside the bed, something too deceptively casual in his voice. "Be creative. I was. It was for your birthday after all."
Dean's eyes snapped open and the small tight smile on Sam's face looked all wrong until Dean's brain could process that Sam - this Sam - actually looked, at least in that specific moment, like he did every time Dean took Dad's side in an argument. And it took every ounce of his supposedly nonexistent self-discipline to keep from saying the name on the back of his tongue. Instead, he just said: "What?" But even to his own ears he already sounded wrecked.
Sam's exhale came with a broader smile and a bit of laughter that almost seemed fond when combined with the tender tracing of Dean's ear with Sam's thumb."Not the exact day, but close enough." His smile turned somehow, tighter at its edges, but his eyes were what held Dean and spun his stomach like a top on a string. "Not that you deserved any of it anyway. Obviously." Sam was... hurt?
Dean was straightening up before he'd even really thought about it, holding eye contact even as Sam's hand fell away, but he wasn't stupid. He didn't sit on the edge of the bed as if they were equals, but, instead, tucked his legs under him, kneeling facing his brother. "You could have told me." He made his voice as soft as possible, leeching the accusation from it.
Sam lifted his chin and then rocked back on his heels, sliding down to sit, legs outstretched, with his back to the side of the couch some feet away. "You could have been grateful for the gift regardless." The quirk of his lips was a smirk Dean couldn't decipher, but the comment had Dean nodding slowly anyway.
"You're right." And even though it was far too late and far too little, he said, "Thank you. I'm sorry I... messed it up."
Sam just shrugged one shoulder. "Doesn't matter. It was a learning experience. I've lowered my expectations."
It was a strange deja-vu to watch Sam's expression take on parallels of years long gone, when Dad would say he would be there for something and wouldn't come. Dean felt his heart twist in his chest, knowing that he saw something in Sam right then that both hurt him and gave him the barest, strangest hope. Even Sam's slow dark smile almost wasn't enough to snuff out that hope.
"But you'll still have to make it up to me."
"I know." Dean tried not to let his internal shiver show. "What--" He lowered his eyes, shame heating him in a way almost worse than Sam's own invasive heat. "How would you like me to do that, sir?"
For a moment there was just breath between them. Then Sam laughed and Dean cringed. "You tell me."
"What?" Dean's eyes snapped up to his brother's, unsure if he had heard that correctly.
Sam's eyes held a sharp dark mix of amusement and barely contained violence. "You publicly disrespected me multiple times. You were ungrateful when I had gone to lengths to share something unusually nice with you. You refused to apologize for multiple days. You resisted every chance I offered you to make things right between us. And you practically attacked me when I'd done nothing to hurt you at all. For what?"
The last word was bitten out between Sam's teeth and Dean could tell more was sitting on Sam's tongue, but Sam just gave a slow hard smile that made Dean shudder and not think not think about blood and glass, drowning with weight on his neck and piss on his tongue. "I--" He tried to consider an answer because he could feel in Sam's pause that one was supposedly necessary even if he didn't know what. "I don't know."
"Pride. Your pride." Sam lengthened the word like it was some hateful enemy Dean had been sleeping with, one Sam was going to gut the next time Dean closed his eyes.
"I--" Dean started to shake his head, because... what pride did he really have left here? Not when he did what he had to, let Sam do what he felt the need for, let people he didn't know much beyond their names see him naked every fucking day, and--
"Dean." Sam's voice, soft though it was, cut through the litany in Dean's mind even if his chest only tightened further. "It's okay. We're going to fix it."
Dean's stomach curled in on itself. He didn't want that to be fixed. He didn't think he could manage more of the... anything here.
"We're going to fix it - or at least start to fix it now - and that should make things easier for you. Don't you want things to be easier?" Sam made it sound like he was doing him a favor, like a haircut or added vegetables on his burger for his health.
Dean knew that tone, though, and knew the question was irrelevant. He didn't have a choice. He never had a choice. He was just glad Sam wasn't already touching him, fixing him, stripping out the last remnants of a pride Dean barely knew were even there. "Yes, sir."
"Of course you do." Sam played along with a pleased smile coloring his voice, even if they both knew it wasn't really true. "So you're going to tell me some of the things that you most want to avoid, the things that would hurt your useless pride, and we'll work together to determine some good next steps. Alright?"
Dean's exhale was a gush of air, his eyes widening as he looked at his brother. Sam couldn't be serious. "I don't--"
Sam laughed as literally in Dean's face right then as if he'd been only a half of a foot in front of him. "You're going to tell me there's nothing you want to avoid? That you, who could barely shut up at a dinner without a gag in your mouth and who chose to crawl back up the stairs instead of let me fuck you at the dining room table, have nothing you would rather I not do to you or make you do? Please tell me what the punch line is."
Dean shut his hung-open mouth. It wasn't funny. Nothing he could force out of his mouth in response to Sam's original request was going to be funny. And Sam was going to use one or more of whatever ideas he suggested to humiliate him publicly. Dean said "no" before he'd really thought about it.
The change in Sam was immediate, as if the man Dean almost thought he knew blinked out of existence at the exact moment that the monster in Sam's skin stepped back in through some hell gate in the floor. He tilted his head, eyes dark and considering Dean thoughtfully, and Dean had the sense, once again, of looking at a very large, quick, and deadly predator who was trying to determine whether he was prey worth attacking or just a bug, a curiosity not worth his interest and energy. "Excuse me? I thought you were up there to apologize, to make it up to me, to make things right.
Even refusing to let his breathing speed, Dean couldn't look away from Sam's shine-hard eyes. "I, uh..." There was no response to that, though, no response but to give Sam what he wanted, what he'd asked for, and Dean pressed his mouth shut for a moment while tension pulled at his shoulders. "Public use. I-- I don't want you to use me downstairs."
Sam's head straightened and he nodded, but it was slow and Dean still didn't feel safe. Would he ever feel safe? "I understand why you want to avoid that, but it will be a reward one day. The only reason you don't see it that way now is because your pride is clouding your judgment."
Dean blinked through Sam's careful explanation and ignored the way his shoulders had tethered to his back, tightening the muscles there all the way down to his ass. The fact that his cock twitched slightly, though, made him close his eyes for a moment and just breathe. "If you say so, sir." Please don't. He could already imagine Sam's hand on his shoulder, pushing him to bend down, feel the wide open spaces of the dining room or the lounge or- ... or the bright front room with the door.
"Something else." Sam said it simply, like he was flipping through a rolodex of shame-inducing options. Next.
"I--" Dean shook his head, because even with his eyes closed, the first thing that came to mind after that he couldn't say. Sam had threatened him with it, but Dean couldn't put it back on the table himself. He had barely pulled himself back together from the morning they'd already had.
"Say it."
"I can't. I'm--"
Sam's anger tore through his patience. "You will. Or you're a liar and you'll get off my fucking bed because this is not an apology unless you make it up to me. Do you understand me?"
Glass and blood and water and piss. Dean couldn't keep the misery out of his voice. "Yes, sir." He closed his eyes, trying to think about the words as just meanings mashed together and not as a plank he was laying to walk himself out across violent waters. "You said you'd... get others to..." It was hard not throwing up at the thought and he felt dizzy, but forced himself to keep going. "To use me as-- like you did this morning."
"Like I did this morning?" Sam's anger had gained an edge of amusement that made Dean grit his teeth, eyes shifting open to glare at his brother.
"Yes," Dean bit out.
Sam smiled, slow and cruel. "You don't want me to chain you in the public bathroom downstairs with a sign hanging around your neck?"
"No, sir." Dean continued to glare, unsure if he was making this choice more attractive to Sam or not, but not being able to hold his building anger back.
"I know you'd get a lot of use down there." Sam tipped his head, a measure of mock thoughtfulness. Then he carefully asked, his eyes watching Dean's as if nothing else mattered. "You don't want to be useful? To earn your keep around here?"
Dean would have been perfectly happy not to earn his keep and, thereby, not to be kept, but he knew that wasn't how this worked. He was useful and kept or he was useless and probably dead. The questions cooled his anger and forced him to think rationally as he continued to watch Sam watch him. "I want to be useful. Just not in that way." Then he added, to clarify, though it pricked something in his chest and made eye contact harder. "More like a whore. That's... what you want, isn't it?"
Sam just watched him silently for a moment and Dean wondered if he'd said something wrong, but waited and finally released the exhale he'd been holding when Sam slowly nodded. "So then tell me, whore, what more you can do for me to show that you're willing to put me before your pride? To do whatever it takes to make sure there's no confusion about your place here or the effectiveness of your training?"
At first, Dean could think of nothing but what he'd been doing for Sam, opening his mouth, spreading his legs, enduring the pain, and begging for more of all of it. But Sam had said public use would be a reward, so he couldn't perform all of that and call it an apology even if he wanted to. Or-... His thoughts crunched together like a line of cars too close together to stop properly. He didn't like what his mind mashed together. He didn't want to do it, didn't even want to say it. But he saw the glint of sadistic hunger light in Sam's eyes as soon as Sam saw something shift in Dean's own eyes, expression, or posture.
"Tell me what you fear." Sam's words were heavy with breath, like an animal panting before it devours live food, and Dean wondered, with a shiver, how it was that he ever had moments when he wasn't afraid, when he thought this was his Sam and not a stranger in a mask.
"Record it," Dean found himself saying. He'd had reckless moments with polaroids in his youth and if he'd had a cell phone with a camera back in the day he would've been in a hell of a lot more trouble than he could've talked his way out of. But he knew this would be different. And he knew what it would mean for more than just his pride.
Sam's smile was triumphant and wild. "Video. Yes. I can put a copy in your file, in case I decide to sell you later or rent you out. I can send a copy to Mel. She'd like that, watch it with Danny. They could have a screening in the TV room on the second floor some night. I could give copies as gifts for personal favors, let them taste what I get every night. Yes. I like that."
The fact that even with the litany of fucked up outcomes, Sam's eyes actually seemed softer and more genuinely pleased than they'd been before, should have seemed bizarre. But to Dean, that was just... how Sam was now. Maybe it meant he was on the right track or maybe there was no right track anymore.
"Very good, whore." Sam pushed up to standing then and began to shove down the waistband of his shorts, pulling out his cock as he reached for Dean's head, still smiling. "Now remind me what I like about that mouth of yours and then I'm going to fuck you like you asked when you climbed up there."
Dean blinked and contained his shudder, not pulling away, but instead rubbing his head against Sam's hand as Sam pulled him forward and down, forcing Dean to reposition himself on hands and knees on the bed as he took Sam's cock in his mouth.
"Good boy," Sam said over him and Dean closed his eyes and tried to forget why this made his stomach twist and his chest ache. There were worse things he could be, worse things he could have to do. So when Sam pulled out and shoved him up toward the head of the bed, Dean tried to be grateful for what he had, for what he'd get. And when Sam fucked into him, spit shoved in rough with the length of his cock, Dean just breathed through the friction and heat, accepting it.
"Tomorrow," Sam murmured against Dean's ear as he slammed into him, once and then again, fucking him deep enough to make Dean's insides shiver. "Tomorrow, we'll work on your debut."
Chapters: Prologue - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7
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Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
CHAPTER SEVEN - STOP
Dean lay awake in the dark bathroom for a long time, not thinking, just breathing and trying not to let the smell make him sick. He tongued the tooth that loosened earlier, tasting a little copper but mostly just rewarding himself with pain. It would be easier if Sam hurt him. He'd been hurt plenty his whole fucking life and Sam himself had taught him how to manage even better, how to like it sometimes, how to crave it. This? He didn't want this.
It didn't matter that he ignored Sam's presence entirely when Sam came in later to piss on him again. He couldn't actually go anywhere in his mind. The piss slipping down his cheek was just that, his hips and shoulders, thighs and mouth, no longer wet with clean water, just filth. If he'd thought he was drowning before, he was sure of it now. Even though the drain drank it down, the feel of it never left his skin, it tainted every breath, and it stung his eyes until they watered, as if trying to get him clean when he was impossibly grimy.
Eventually, his mind drifted somewhere grey-dark and fuzzy, somewhere like sleep.
**********
Dean felt the absence of the weight's pull at his neck before he understood that he was being guided upwards, his eyes blinking away the blur as the iron disc floated between him and Sam. Sam's powers pulled him up to kneeling, every inch of Dean creaking, popping, and shivering. Sam had brought no warmth in with him and only the barest sliver of moonlight. But then there was a soft warm cock sliding against his lips and Dean opened for it, wondering distantly if this would be his salvation from this displaced shard of hell.
He curled his tongue around it, tightening the seal of his lips, the pull of his suction. Even groggy, filthy, chained up, and literally weighted down twice over, he remembered how to do this like it was breathing and just tried not to let himself be grateful for the chance.
"No." Sam stopped him with a tug on the collar weight now wrapped in his giant hand.
Dean grunted, but stopped, too tired to wade through his confusion to intuit Sam's needs.
"Just close your mouth around it and swallow."
Which didn't make any sense, but Dean swallowed anyway. And when there was hot bitter liquid running down his tongue and into his throat, he swallowed it down, swallowing again to keep from throwing up. But Sam didn't let him go even when the flow stopped.
"Lick me clean."
Dean couldn't help the way his mouth went slack, even as he forced his tongue to move, to attend to the head of Sam's cock like he'd just swallowed a wad of come and not... something else. He even kept licking until Sam made him stop, just like he'd been taught. The fingers Sam slid into his hair then shouldn't have made him close his eyes, not with desire or fear, but with something that made him want to lean in, something that made his stomach turn not from nausea but just... missing, something like the want to come home.
If his mouth hadn't been full, he might have said what he couldn't say before. But then Sam was pulling away, his hand and his cock and his warmth, and lowering Dean back into the cold piss-streaked tub. Then he was gone and the door was closed behind him all over again.
Dean lay in the bathtub a long while with an ache between his eyes and a mouth he couldn't shut from all the shock and shattering going on inside him. He almost said what needed saying, though he couldn't form the sounds. But maybe he was sorry. Maybe being around other people was just hard. Maybe he'd gotten overwhelmed and there was a pretty girl stripping away what had been left of his illusions. Maybe he'd overreacted about Dad, about the Marine, because... yeah, of course, Sam was brainwashed, what the fuck did you expect? Maybe Sam had taken him outside the room for the first time in what must have been months and he had just completely fucked it up.
His breath caught as he remembered his father yanking the gun out of his hand when he'd gone hunting the first time and been too quick on the trigger, scaring away the prey. Do you remember anything I taught you, Dean? Or was that just a waste of my time?
By the time Sam came in the next morning, Dean wasn't sure whether to fight, give in, or try to do what he'd been refusing for days. It didn't seem to matter either way, though. Sam didn't even ask if he had anything to say.
Again he was moved without Sam having to dirty his hands, Sam's fingers already digging out his cock and putting it against Dean's lips.
"Sam- ..." Dean started to say something, but Sam pushed his cock in anyway, grabbing a fistful of Dean's hair before Dean could pull away.
"Urinals don't talk. They drink piss."
Dean grunted, eyes wide, on the edge of a word despite the cock in his mouth, but then there was warmth sloshing into his mouth and he had to cough and swallow and swallow some more, even as his stomach flipped and rolled thinking this would be its new role in the world. And as Sam filled him up with more piss, Dean could feel the glass of his barely taped together mind splinter into new irregular pieces. Then when Sam said "suck me clean," Dean felt those pieces grind to dust.
When Sam finally pulled out, stuffing his cock back into his shorts, Dean felt stuck unable to even just close his mouth or to look up or to do much of anything at all. He breathed and his heart beat and when Sam wanted to use him as whatever seemed useful, that's what Dean would do and be. The view of Sam's dick was the same, the ache in his knees was the same. He just smelled like a restroom floor and Sam's hand had been the one to hold him down to lick the taste into his mouth.
He felt a ripple rise up from his stomach and turned his head toward the drain just in case, but Sam's hand jerked him back by his hair, forcing him to look up at the giant holding him hostage.
"If you throw that up, then I'm just going to have to get some help filling you back up again. I want to make sure you remember this taste all day and know that you weren't good enough to drink my come instead."
Dean's lips had parted with a gasp of pain, but stayed open as Sam spoke, and when he finally processed all the words, Dean didn't even know what was falling out of his mouth. "I'm sorry." Once it was out, though, he was breathing hard and too fast, because he couldn't- ... "I can't- ..." This. He couldn't do this and he shook his head despite Sam's hold. "I'm sorry, okay? S-sir?"
Sam laughed, but his eyes were so hard and his smile so sharp that Dean was surprised there was no blood yet, Sam's skin pristine and his own not yet sliced open. "I'll believe it when I see it."
Dean almost said more, but felt the cuffs and collar unlock, the chains climbing into the air and away from him, along with the weights. Sam pooled them on a towel on the floor and when he let go of Dean's hair, the only thing in the tub was Dean, bare-skinned and scummy with piss.
"You're going to be a perfect little piece of nothing furniture today, aren't you? Because if you're not, you're going to end up right back here tonight, isn't that right?"
Dean could feel his air begin to heave and rush even worse than before, but he couldn't do anything about it, didn't know how to cope with this, wasn't sure that he could.
"Tell me. Tell me that you're going to be a perfect little piece of nothing furniture for me today."
Dean slowly nodded his head, voice lodged in his throat, knowing that even words wouldn't save him.
Sam's fingers darted out, catching and grinding against his jawbone and Dean opened his mouth. His brother's words hissed with venom that would empty his once-full skull if his reply was less than immediate. "Say it. Now."
"I'm-- I'm gonna- …" He was going to fuck it up and he knew it, but he had to try, had to try something. "I'm gonna be a perfect-- a perfect little piece of- …" Please? He watched Sam's tightly pressed lips, remembering how much Sam hated lies and liars. Sam bruised liars, bled liars, and he would wash away these lies with his piss in the morning again. "I'll be a piece of nothing furniture for you." It spun in his head. He would be there, on his knees in the bathtub, again the next morning. Even shaking, he couldn't lie to himself.
"You'd better." Sam let Dean go and stepped back again, though Dean couldn't lift his eyes to follow the movement.
"You stink. Clean yourself up." Dean flinched, quick and hard and too much, when his brother all but spat out his disdain. "I don't want filthy furniture on my good carpet." Sam flicked on the shower and pulled the curtain between them.
For a moment, Dean wondered if Sam would hear the sound of his skull cracking on the faucet with the water running like this. He fantasized about pressing his head against its cool metal surface and then slamming down twice, once to make the world spin and the last to make it end.
"I don't hear you washing." Sam couldn't have been that far away, even now, his voice emanating from somewhere in the direction of the door. "If I have to get in there and wash you myself, we'll see how well you double as a mop."
Dean pushed away the horror, wrapped himself in numbness, and ate every groan of pain it took to stand. Then washed himself as clean as he could, staying in the tub no longer than he absolutely had to, even though the heat of the shower made him want to crawl into the wall beside the pipes and stay.
When he re-entered the bedroom, clean and dry, at least on the outside, Dean did it on his knees. Furniture didn't walk, didn't speak, didn't think, didn't feel, and it either worked or it didn't with its only reward being to continue to be present and used as its owner saw fit. He knew that and knew what he had to do when he started crawling toward the couch. But he didn't end up there.
Dean found himself beside the bed, climbing onto it and pressing his forehead into the pillows, knees bent and spread, waiting, needing.
"What are you doing?" Sam's voice was dangerously quiet with just enough coaxing richness to feel like a silk noose around Dean's neck.
His exhales shook, but this had to be done. "My job, sir. I-- I fucked up and... I really am sorry."
There was a long pause and the warmth of the room grew as the pause stretched on longer and longer. Dean almost wanted to slip back down to the floor again, knowing Sam would have no qualms about throwing him down there if that was where he wanted him, but he had to try this, had to wait and hear Sam's verdict.
"You should be." Sam's voice, when he spoke, was a calm, steady, quiet thing. Strange and shifting between terrifying and comforting. "Do you know why?"
Dean's tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth with a substance he'd prefer to forget, but he shook his head and forced himself to breathe, to settle into the heat surrounding him like a dry sauna. He hadn't forgotten this, hadn't missed it exactly, but the familiarity of it with the pain coming just around the corner seemed... normal now, at least. Common and survivable even when it didn't always seem bearable.
A single pair of fingertips from Sam's hand began to trace their way from Dean's heel, up the back of his ankle, the curve of his calf, the dip behind his knee, and Dean shuddered in the quiet, listening to Sam's slow steps as he moved along the side of the bed, closing in on the headboard. "I was nice, wasn't I?"
The climb of those two barely there fingers brushing up the back of Dean's thigh at far too slow a speed to let him think of anything but them had Dean's mind churning and his body tightening, anticipating, maybe even wanting... something. "Yes, sir." He knew not to speak of later in the meal, of the way Sam had- ... No, that didn't matter now. He'd started nice. Sure.
"And I was patient with you, wasn't I?" Sam's fingers spread and became a whole hand, cupping and curving over the roundness of Dean's ass, and Dean wasn't sure whether to wish those fingers were already fingering him open, pulling him apart, or if this sick-sweet flutter in his stomach was really what he needed.
"Yes, sir." How Sam's hand, rubbing circles in the small of his back could make his breathing just as challenged, as labored, as a ceramic plate full of food, Dean didn't know. He just knew that he could not mess up Sam's flow.
Sam's hand blended circles into sweeps back and forth in gentle tactile waves across Dean's back until Dean's cock was as hard as his nerves were trembling. "I even let you wear clothes and sit at the table with me and eat good food and drink new beer and... I introduced you to my friends."
Dean swallowed as Sam's hand began to sweep across his shoulders, the back and forth slowing until Sam's fingers were sliding up his neck and trailing through his hair with tenderness that felt like blood. "I'm- ..."
"Shhh." Sam stood beside him at the head of the bed combing his hair with the casual gentleness of a parent with a child trying to sleep. "I introduced you to my friends. I introduced you to my coworkers, to my lieutenants, to the head of my staff, to the people who matter. Because I thought- ..." He huffed with laughter that sounded strained and distant, surreal. "I thought I could trust you. Because I thought you understood."
"I- ..." Dean wanted to say that he did understand, that Sam could trust him. But both of those statements would probably be lies and he shivered as Sam continued to fingercomb his hair as if lulling him to sleep. Dean knew the pain was coming, but he would choose it over where he'd been half an hour before. "I... want to."
"You want to understand?" Sam's fingers never stopped moving, but there was a little flourish added in, a rapid brief drumming that came and went as Sam posed the question.
"Yes, please, sir. I- ..." The drumming came and went again, each tap harder against Dean's skull. "I want to understand, so I can... be better for you." Liking it wasn't the question. The question was which words in his mouth would pull Sam back from the worst of his ideas for lessons right then.
Sam's fingers stopped threading through his hair and instead took up the drumming full time, as steady as a military march. "So you can be better? Are you sure you can be better? Are you sure you're not just deluding yourself?" Each strike to the back of Dean's head was enough to make him blink involuntarily, his breath becoming a rapid shallow thing he couldn't control anymore. "Your life could be so simple as furniture. No real self-discipline required at all. I could bind you and gag you and use you and you would never have to understand anything, say anything, or actively participate in anything ever again. Doesn't that... sound... better?" The feel of Sam knocking on his skull with the full band of four knuckles, emphasizing the last three words made Dean hunch further down, pressing his ass further up and his legs further out like a counteroffer.
"No, sir." The knocking didn't stop, its rhythm an eerie half-speed when compared to the drumming, and Dean couldn't help the way he flinched and cringed as he worked to find the right words. "I can be better. Please let me learn to be better. Okay? Can- ... Please."
The knocking stopped, but then Sam was right there, his hand gripping the back of Dean's head like a robotic clamp, impossibly steel-tight and strong, his mouth breathing hot air against Dean's ear. "And you're going to show me this just by offering your ass like any good whore should, just as easy as they breathe?"
Dean controlled his shudder but wasn't sure what to say. "I- ... I don't know what else to do."
Sam pulled back a little ways and even with his eyes closed, Dean could feel Sam's shift from bending over to squatting beside the bed, something too deceptively casual in his voice. "Be creative. I was. It was for your birthday after all."
Dean's eyes snapped open and the small tight smile on Sam's face looked all wrong until Dean's brain could process that Sam - this Sam - actually looked, at least in that specific moment, like he did every time Dean took Dad's side in an argument. And it took every ounce of his supposedly nonexistent self-discipline to keep from saying the name on the back of his tongue. Instead, he just said: "What?" But even to his own ears he already sounded wrecked.
Sam's exhale came with a broader smile and a bit of laughter that almost seemed fond when combined with the tender tracing of Dean's ear with Sam's thumb."Not the exact day, but close enough." His smile turned somehow, tighter at its edges, but his eyes were what held Dean and spun his stomach like a top on a string. "Not that you deserved any of it anyway. Obviously." Sam was... hurt?
Dean was straightening up before he'd even really thought about it, holding eye contact even as Sam's hand fell away, but he wasn't stupid. He didn't sit on the edge of the bed as if they were equals, but, instead, tucked his legs under him, kneeling facing his brother. "You could have told me." He made his voice as soft as possible, leeching the accusation from it.
Sam lifted his chin and then rocked back on his heels, sliding down to sit, legs outstretched, with his back to the side of the couch some feet away. "You could have been grateful for the gift regardless." The quirk of his lips was a smirk Dean couldn't decipher, but the comment had Dean nodding slowly anyway.
"You're right." And even though it was far too late and far too little, he said, "Thank you. I'm sorry I... messed it up."
Sam just shrugged one shoulder. "Doesn't matter. It was a learning experience. I've lowered my expectations."
It was a strange deja-vu to watch Sam's expression take on parallels of years long gone, when Dad would say he would be there for something and wouldn't come. Dean felt his heart twist in his chest, knowing that he saw something in Sam right then that both hurt him and gave him the barest, strangest hope. Even Sam's slow dark smile almost wasn't enough to snuff out that hope.
"But you'll still have to make it up to me."
"I know." Dean tried not to let his internal shiver show. "What--" He lowered his eyes, shame heating him in a way almost worse than Sam's own invasive heat. "How would you like me to do that, sir?"
For a moment there was just breath between them. Then Sam laughed and Dean cringed. "You tell me."
"What?" Dean's eyes snapped up to his brother's, unsure if he had heard that correctly.
Sam's eyes held a sharp dark mix of amusement and barely contained violence. "You publicly disrespected me multiple times. You were ungrateful when I had gone to lengths to share something unusually nice with you. You refused to apologize for multiple days. You resisted every chance I offered you to make things right between us. And you practically attacked me when I'd done nothing to hurt you at all. For what?"
The last word was bitten out between Sam's teeth and Dean could tell more was sitting on Sam's tongue, but Sam just gave a slow hard smile that made Dean shudder and not think not think about blood and glass, drowning with weight on his neck and piss on his tongue. "I--" He tried to consider an answer because he could feel in Sam's pause that one was supposedly necessary even if he didn't know what. "I don't know."
"Pride. Your pride." Sam lengthened the word like it was some hateful enemy Dean had been sleeping with, one Sam was going to gut the next time Dean closed his eyes.
"I--" Dean started to shake his head, because... what pride did he really have left here? Not when he did what he had to, let Sam do what he felt the need for, let people he didn't know much beyond their names see him naked every fucking day, and--
"Dean." Sam's voice, soft though it was, cut through the litany in Dean's mind even if his chest only tightened further. "It's okay. We're going to fix it."
Dean's stomach curled in on itself. He didn't want that to be fixed. He didn't think he could manage more of the... anything here.
"We're going to fix it - or at least start to fix it now - and that should make things easier for you. Don't you want things to be easier?" Sam made it sound like he was doing him a favor, like a haircut or added vegetables on his burger for his health.
Dean knew that tone, though, and knew the question was irrelevant. He didn't have a choice. He never had a choice. He was just glad Sam wasn't already touching him, fixing him, stripping out the last remnants of a pride Dean barely knew were even there. "Yes, sir."
"Of course you do." Sam played along with a pleased smile coloring his voice, even if they both knew it wasn't really true. "So you're going to tell me some of the things that you most want to avoid, the things that would hurt your useless pride, and we'll work together to determine some good next steps. Alright?"
Dean's exhale was a gush of air, his eyes widening as he looked at his brother. Sam couldn't be serious. "I don't--"
Sam laughed as literally in Dean's face right then as if he'd been only a half of a foot in front of him. "You're going to tell me there's nothing you want to avoid? That you, who could barely shut up at a dinner without a gag in your mouth and who chose to crawl back up the stairs instead of let me fuck you at the dining room table, have nothing you would rather I not do to you or make you do? Please tell me what the punch line is."
Dean shut his hung-open mouth. It wasn't funny. Nothing he could force out of his mouth in response to Sam's original request was going to be funny. And Sam was going to use one or more of whatever ideas he suggested to humiliate him publicly. Dean said "no" before he'd really thought about it.
The change in Sam was immediate, as if the man Dean almost thought he knew blinked out of existence at the exact moment that the monster in Sam's skin stepped back in through some hell gate in the floor. He tilted his head, eyes dark and considering Dean thoughtfully, and Dean had the sense, once again, of looking at a very large, quick, and deadly predator who was trying to determine whether he was prey worth attacking or just a bug, a curiosity not worth his interest and energy. "Excuse me? I thought you were up there to apologize, to make it up to me, to make things right.
Even refusing to let his breathing speed, Dean couldn't look away from Sam's shine-hard eyes. "I, uh..." There was no response to that, though, no response but to give Sam what he wanted, what he'd asked for, and Dean pressed his mouth shut for a moment while tension pulled at his shoulders. "Public use. I-- I don't want you to use me downstairs."
Sam's head straightened and he nodded, but it was slow and Dean still didn't feel safe. Would he ever feel safe? "I understand why you want to avoid that, but it will be a reward one day. The only reason you don't see it that way now is because your pride is clouding your judgment."
Dean blinked through Sam's careful explanation and ignored the way his shoulders had tethered to his back, tightening the muscles there all the way down to his ass. The fact that his cock twitched slightly, though, made him close his eyes for a moment and just breathe. "If you say so, sir." Please don't. He could already imagine Sam's hand on his shoulder, pushing him to bend down, feel the wide open spaces of the dining room or the lounge or- ... or the bright front room with the door.
"Something else." Sam said it simply, like he was flipping through a rolodex of shame-inducing options. Next.
"I--" Dean shook his head, because even with his eyes closed, the first thing that came to mind after that he couldn't say. Sam had threatened him with it, but Dean couldn't put it back on the table himself. He had barely pulled himself back together from the morning they'd already had.
"Say it."
"I can't. I'm--"
Sam's anger tore through his patience. "You will. Or you're a liar and you'll get off my fucking bed because this is not an apology unless you make it up to me. Do you understand me?"
Glass and blood and water and piss. Dean couldn't keep the misery out of his voice. "Yes, sir." He closed his eyes, trying to think about the words as just meanings mashed together and not as a plank he was laying to walk himself out across violent waters. "You said you'd... get others to..." It was hard not throwing up at the thought and he felt dizzy, but forced himself to keep going. "To use me as-- like you did this morning."
"Like I did this morning?" Sam's anger had gained an edge of amusement that made Dean grit his teeth, eyes shifting open to glare at his brother.
"Yes," Dean bit out.
Sam smiled, slow and cruel. "You don't want me to chain you in the public bathroom downstairs with a sign hanging around your neck?"
"No, sir." Dean continued to glare, unsure if he was making this choice more attractive to Sam or not, but not being able to hold his building anger back.
"I know you'd get a lot of use down there." Sam tipped his head, a measure of mock thoughtfulness. Then he carefully asked, his eyes watching Dean's as if nothing else mattered. "You don't want to be useful? To earn your keep around here?"
Dean would have been perfectly happy not to earn his keep and, thereby, not to be kept, but he knew that wasn't how this worked. He was useful and kept or he was useless and probably dead. The questions cooled his anger and forced him to think rationally as he continued to watch Sam watch him. "I want to be useful. Just not in that way." Then he added, to clarify, though it pricked something in his chest and made eye contact harder. "More like a whore. That's... what you want, isn't it?"
Sam just watched him silently for a moment and Dean wondered if he'd said something wrong, but waited and finally released the exhale he'd been holding when Sam slowly nodded. "So then tell me, whore, what more you can do for me to show that you're willing to put me before your pride? To do whatever it takes to make sure there's no confusion about your place here or the effectiveness of your training?"
At first, Dean could think of nothing but what he'd been doing for Sam, opening his mouth, spreading his legs, enduring the pain, and begging for more of all of it. But Sam had said public use would be a reward, so he couldn't perform all of that and call it an apology even if he wanted to. Or-... His thoughts crunched together like a line of cars too close together to stop properly. He didn't like what his mind mashed together. He didn't want to do it, didn't even want to say it. But he saw the glint of sadistic hunger light in Sam's eyes as soon as Sam saw something shift in Dean's own eyes, expression, or posture.
"Tell me what you fear." Sam's words were heavy with breath, like an animal panting before it devours live food, and Dean wondered, with a shiver, how it was that he ever had moments when he wasn't afraid, when he thought this was his Sam and not a stranger in a mask.
"Record it," Dean found himself saying. He'd had reckless moments with polaroids in his youth and if he'd had a cell phone with a camera back in the day he would've been in a hell of a lot more trouble than he could've talked his way out of. But he knew this would be different. And he knew what it would mean for more than just his pride.
Sam's smile was triumphant and wild. "Video. Yes. I can put a copy in your file, in case I decide to sell you later or rent you out. I can send a copy to Mel. She'd like that, watch it with Danny. They could have a screening in the TV room on the second floor some night. I could give copies as gifts for personal favors, let them taste what I get every night. Yes. I like that."
The fact that even with the litany of fucked up outcomes, Sam's eyes actually seemed softer and more genuinely pleased than they'd been before, should have seemed bizarre. But to Dean, that was just... how Sam was now. Maybe it meant he was on the right track or maybe there was no right track anymore.
"Very good, whore." Sam pushed up to standing then and began to shove down the waistband of his shorts, pulling out his cock as he reached for Dean's head, still smiling. "Now remind me what I like about that mouth of yours and then I'm going to fuck you like you asked when you climbed up there."
Dean blinked and contained his shudder, not pulling away, but instead rubbing his head against Sam's hand as Sam pulled him forward and down, forcing Dean to reposition himself on hands and knees on the bed as he took Sam's cock in his mouth.
"Good boy," Sam said over him and Dean closed his eyes and tried to forget why this made his stomach twist and his chest ache. There were worse things he could be, worse things he could have to do. So when Sam pulled out and shoved him up toward the head of the bed, Dean tried to be grateful for what he had, for what he'd get. And when Sam fucked into him, spit shoved in rough with the length of his cock, Dean just breathed through the friction and heat, accepting it.
"Tomorrow," Sam murmured against Dean's ear as he slammed into him, once and then again, fucking him deep enough to make Dean's insides shiver. "Tomorrow, we'll work on your debut."
Chapters: Prologue - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7
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