SPN Fic: Tainted
Title: Tainted
Summary: He'd tell himself that it had to be done, that it didn't hurt that much.
Characters/Pairings: Dean/OMC, Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: language, prostitution, major angst
Author's Note: This is a companion piece to White Clouds because a few people asked about the line "Dean hated the things he had started to do to earn a couple of dollars." Maybe not exactly what ya'll were asking for, but this is what came out... Hopefully you all will like it! :-] [You don't necessarily need to read White Clouds first, but I'd recommend it. Its short and doesn't take long to read.] This is also part of the So Long, Lonesome ‘verse.
There's so much left to learn
And no one left to fight
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain
‘Cause I'm broken when I'm open
And I don't feel like I am strong enough
-Seether
Whenever it happened, Sam was always asleep. Dean made sure of that. He’d park the Impala in a motel parking lot after dark, wait until Sammy could no longer fight to keep his eyelids from closing and slipped out the door, shutting it slowly behind him to keep the old, squeaking hinges from making too much noise.
Whenever it happened, Dean would disconnect his mind from his body. Tell himself it had to be done, that it didn’t hurt that much. It’d be over soon, and he’d walk away with a wad of cash, enough for him and Sammy to buy some food, maybe even check out a room and sleep on a real bed for a night or two.
&&&
Dean bit his lip, his body jarring with each new push inside him.
"Such a good little whore, aren’t you?” the man grunted with a hard thrust. “Say it. Say you’re a good little whore.”
He hated the ones that talked, would rather they just use him and shut the fuck up about it. He took in a deep breath, tried to keep from throwing up. “I’m a good little whore,” he managed to grind out.
A hand smacked his ass, stinging his skin.
“Again.”
Dean closed his eyes. “I’m a good little whore.”
“That’s right. You are a good little whore. God, so fucking tight.” The man’s voice carried on like some kind of sick, twisted song. A few moments later the man’s body tensed, and he felt a familiar stickiness drip down the insides of his thighs.
He didn’t say anything as he pulled his jeans from his ankles, held out his hand and ignored the aching inside him. He felt crisp bills hit his palm, and he folded them and shoved them in his pocket, turned his back on the man and walked away. It didn’t hurt that much. It was worth it.
&&&
“Sammy, wake up,” Dean said, slipping back into the protection of the Impala. “Look what I got.”
Sam slowly opened his eyes, lips twisting into a smile almost immediately. “You got McDonald’s?” His voice was a mixture of sleep and surprise.
Dean smiled, holding the bag of food in the air and shaking it a little. “Yep. Your favorites too: hotcakes and sausage, extra syrup.”
Sam beamed. It’d been so long since they’d had something other than bologna sandwiches or cheese and crackers. Dean had always said they couldn’t afford much else.
Suddenly his smile faltered. “Where’d you get the money from?”
Dean just shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, Sam. We’ve got McDonald’s.” He opened the bag, handed Sam his hotcakes and placed his own food in his lap.
“Dean-“
“Don’t Sam, okay?” he interrupted, eyes sad and pleading. “We’ve got something good to eat. For once. Just enjoy it. Please.”
&&&
Whenever it happened, Sam always knew. Even if he was asleep, he’d wake up with a tightness in his chest, a feeling that something wasn’t right. Eyes still closed, he’d say Dean’s name, and only silence would answer him in return. Whenever he looked to the front seat it was always empty.
Whenever it happened, Dean sometimes wouldn’t get back to the Impala until late afternoon or even nightfall. He’d stumble in, bruised and hurting and mumbling that he was sorry, that he had to do it and everything was okay because they had money now, they could buy some more blankets or gas up the car or eat a little more than normal because Sam was too skinny and he was getting older and he needed to eat more.
“Shh, Dean,” Sam would say, brushing away the tears on his big brother’s face the way he’d done for him so many times. “Mommy’s watching over us, remember? We’ll be okay.”
-END
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