Out of the Dark, Supernatural, Broken!Verse, NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural, Broken!Verse (All of Broken is Here)
Title: Out of the Dark
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17, for ongoing themes and sex
Word Count: 4466
Summary: A year has passed since the ending of Destinations and Dean wakes up one night alone, with nightmares leading to memories...without Sam there to push them back into the dark, Dean has to crawl back into it himself, or finally find his way free of it....
A/Ns & Warnings: This is birthday fic! Written for Stillhere2 whose birthday is tomorrow and twigletmoo whose birthday is Thursday. There is memory of sexual violence and physical violence.
The dreams didn’t come as often anymore. But they did come. Dean shuddered and woke, his eyes wide, his body slicked with sweat, and the imagined feeling of hands and punishment. For a moment he was lost, uncertain.
Alone.
He swallowed and sat up, putting his feet on the floor, trying to ground himself.
Alone.
It reached up out of the black pit of memory and grabbed him in the stomach.
Nothing. No one. Alone.
Dean gulped in air and tried to push it back into the dark, into a place he wouldn’t have to think about it…tried to still the wild stammering of his heart.
It wasn’t letting go that easily.
The room was dark and Sam wasn’t there. It closed in around him, the walls giving way to bars, the shadows becoming men with whips and paddles and chains. Dean staggered to his feet, arms flailing around him as he tried to find his way to the light.
His toe hit the night stand and he yelled, falling back into the bed. He was shaking, and it was ridiculous. He couldn’t even remember what the dream was…just snippets, images…feelings.
He remembered the fucking though. He remembered being held down and forcibly fucked and calling for Sam.
“Fuck.” Dean crawled across the bed and off the other side, feeling his way into the bathroom. He was panting when he got the light on and he blinked at the reflection in the mirror. His face stared back at him…pale, blank….his eyes dull, dead…dark rimmed and flat. Like he wasn’t there.
His eyes traced to the scar on his chest. If he squinted he could still see the “J” under the “S”. He didn’t really remember getting the “J”…not in actual concrete memories, more like vague understanding of what happened with the occasional image or voice to go with it.
He remembered the “S” though. That moment stood out in stark detail next to the dark, inky blackness of much of the rest of his memory. His finger traced over the letter, carved in his skin while Sam cried and fucked him…in a cabin in the middle of nowhere…the cabin Sam brought him to recover…the cabin where Sam begged Dean to end it.
Dean shivered and tore his eyes away. His stomach churned. Slowly the dream was pulling back, letting go. He turned to the shower and started the water. He breathed slowly and peeled off his sweat-soaked boxers before climbing into the shower.
He was always so disoriented when he woke up and Sam wasn’t right there. More so if he had dreamed. He tilted his head back into the water. They were somewhere in Michigan. He knew that. Sam was…he shook his head. He wasn’t sure exactly what Sam was doing, but it kept him out late a lot and Dean wasn’t invited along, so he hung out in the room or hustled pool.
He closed his eyes and let the water rush over him, washing away the sweat and memory.
“Always relieve yourself before showering. This allows you to clean yourself properly.”
Dean shook his head. “No.” He clenched his teeth and reached for the wall of the shower as it unspooled in his head, burning into him.
They were in the shower with the curtain closed and the water on as hard as Dean could make it go. Dean felt the tears coming. “Sam…god, Sam. You okay?”
“Dean?” His voice was raw and broken as he clung to Dean. “I…hurt…and I…”
“Shh…we’ve got time…let’s get you cleaned up.” He leaned Sam back against him and moved them under the water, just letting it run over Sam for a few minutes before starting to move his hands over Sam’s skin to dislodge the come sticking to him. “Can you stand?”
Sam nodded and Dean helped him upright before reaching for the shampoo. “Always begin your shower by cleaning your hair with the shampoo that Master has provided you.” Dean said loudly.
Sam was sobbing, Dean could feel it as he worked the shampoo through his hair. “Come on Sammy…stay with me here…I can’t…I can’t do this without you.”
Sam trembled, but the sobbing stopped as Dean washed him like he had when they were little. Sam whimpered a little as Dean’s hands reached his ass. “Shh…Sammy….it’s okay…just bend forward a little, let me take care of it.”
“No more…please….please.”
Dean’s fist beat against the wall. He had stood there and washed him and when they were done, Dean had given Sam to him.
His stomach twisted and he doubled over, wanting to throw up, but knowing he wouldn’t. It never got this bad when Sam was there. Sam would ease it away, make it better.
And a part of Dean didn’t want to think about that, about the blur of the last year, of Sam’s big hands soothing over Dean’s head and making the memories and dreams fade away. It was almost like being drugged…like living in a haze where only the present moment mattered.
It was dark…or he was blindfolded. He wasn’t sure at first. His hands were tied roughly behind his back. He was naked. “Fuck.” There was sticky come on his ass…or at least that’s what he assumed as he remembered the hands and the truck…only it was a lot more than just one fucking’s worth. His ass burned and gaped.
He shook his head, trying to loosen the blindfold, but it held. His mouth tasted like tequila and his stomach definitely told him he’d had too much to drink. He was going to be sick.
He dragged himself to his knees before it hit and he fell forward, vomiting violently and only just holding his head out of it. He had flashes of memory, vague feelings of hands and cocks…rape. He recognized the word sluggishly. Repeatedly. He groaned and tried to move clear of the puddle but without his eyes or hands he could only move a little.
There was a voice suddenly, filling the space. “You are nothing. You are no one. You are alone.”
The voice was loud, bouncing off the walls. It disguised the approach of the person whose fist was suddenly in his hair. He was pressed forward, his ass invaded by a hand, then water, washing over him, into him. He slid onto his hip from the pressure, cussing as his elbow crashed into the floor.
“On your knees, slave.”
Dean turned his face into the water. He reached for a memory of Sam and him, of some moment when they were happy and together.
Dean heard them move away. He took a deep breath to steady himself. Best to present himself for punishment before he was called. He slipped from the bathroom and moved between the beds. Before Sam turned back from closing the door, Dean was on his knees, hands behind his head, leaning forward so that his back was exposed.
“Dean?”
“I’m ready.”
“For what?”
“My punishment.” He didn’t look up. “I was bad…wrong…I shouldn’t have broken the mirror. You have to punish me.”
“No, Dean. I’m not going to-“
“Please Sam. You have to. So I can be good.” He dared to look up. “I want to be good, Sam.”
Sam shook his head and sat on the bed. “I think you’ve had enough pain for one day.”
Dean closed his eyes. “You have to.” His voice was small. It confused him when Sam didn’t understand.
Sam sank to his knees in front of his brother, his hands rising to hold his face as he leaned in to kiss him. He sighed then, almost sounding defeated. “What is it you need, Dean?”
“I should be whipped.” Dean said, his eyes dropping to Sam’s chest.
Sam’s voice was gentle. “We don’t have a whip, Dean.”
Dean choked on the words, “Belt will do.”
“God, Dean, I’m not taking a belt to you. Not for something like this. Anger is good. I’m proud of you.”
Dean shifted uncomfortably, despair eating at him. He had to make Sam see. He leaned forward, putting his head in Sam’s lap. “I was bad. I damaged property. I damaged me. If you don’t…it means it doesn’t matter…I don’t matter…I’m not good enough to discipline…not worth keeping…nothing…I don’t want to be nothing any more, Sam…” Dean sobbed, his body rocking into Sam’s until Sam’s hands slid down his bare back, soothing, caressing.
“Shh…Dean…it’s okay…it’s okay…I understand…calm down.” Sam’s lips pressed kisses into Dean’s back. “Calm down. Just…give me a minute.” He slipped away, standing and pacing over to the dresser and back. The third trip to the dresser, he came back with a belt. “I don’t know if I can do this Dean.”
“It’s okay, Sammy. You can do it. I trust you.” Somehow that sounded wrong, but Dean couldn’t place why, just bent forward again so his back was exposed. “Three…okay…its enough…so I can be better.”
“God…Dean…” He could hear pain in Sam’s voice, and felt a twinge of guilt. He shouldn’t be causing Sam pain. He was supposed to give him pleasure.
“Please.” Dean whispered. The sound of leather slapping against skin startled him, before he even felt the bite. It wasn’t hard…and he thought he heard Sam sob. “Please.” The second one fell a little more strongly, over his left shoulder. The third barely registered, as Sam dropped the belt before it fully connected and fell to his knees, gathering Dean up in his arms.
“I’m sorry, Dean…I shouldn’t...” He cried as he held Dean and Dean found himself folding his arms around Sam and petting his hair like he had when they were younger.
“It’s okay, Sammy. I’m okay now. I’m better.” He kissed the tears away from Sam’s cheeks and smiled. “Everything’s okay.”
“Fuck.” Dean turned the water off and stumbled out of the bathroom, into the dark of the bedroom. His head hurt. His stomach churned.
A year. A whole fucking year. Dean had let Sam coddle him, let him hide the memory.
He stumbled toward the bed. The clock said it was nearly midnight. He could put clothes on and go to his father’s room…but his father had his own problems, he didn’t need Dean’s too. He could call Sam.
He lifted the phone and stared at it. Sam would come back and sooth it away and they’d go back to their routine. Training, hunting, preparing for whatever it was Sam said was coming.
Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to do that. Maybe it was time he face what he’d done. What had been done to him. Maybe it was time he stopped hiding.
Of course he might just shut down again. He was aware of that.
But he felt so…weak letting Sam take care of him when it came at him. Like he was hiding. Dean didn’t like hiding.
Dean stiffened, holding the trunk mostly closed as footsteps stopped nearby. A cell phone rang and the man who wasn’t Robert cursed. “No sir, we haven’t left yet. We have a problem.” There was a paused. “No sir, the slave is missing.” Another pause. “Yes, Dennis has the new recruit in the van. He’s secure and training has begun.”
Dean swallowed. He knew what that meant. The blond was raping Sam. Right there, in that van. While Dean hid like a coward.
“Yes sir. We’ll leave now.”
“Leave? We can’t leave.” Robert protested.
“Master says we go, we go. He’s sending a full search party to look for the slave. In the meantime, he doesn’t want to lose the new one. Says he wants to get him secured and into training right away to cover the price of the other one.”
“Sam is mine.” Robert blustered, even as they were moving away.
“Only if we recapture the brother. Otherwise, you forfeit your fee. Anything he sells for over and above that will be yours, of course.”
Dean listened to them walk away and for a moment he was paralyzed with fear and indecision. They were going to leave. With Sam. He opened the phone and dialed his father’s number. “They…they’re leaving…with Sam.” His voice trembled and he hated how weak he sounded. “They…they…they’ve hurt him…I have to stop them.”
“Dean, we’re almost there.”
“Too late. You’re too late.” Dean climbed out of the trunk and inched forward. Robert was going into the house and the dark haired one was opening the van. The blond was getting out, zipping up his pants. Dean swallowed. “No. I’m not waiting.” He hung up the phone and shoved it into his pocket, then hefted the gun. He could do this. Stop them. Hold them. Save his Sam.
He had hidden, and Sam was stolen away from him. Dean shivered and climbed into bed, still wet from the shower, still naked. He pulled the blankets up around him.
He had hidden while they did to Sam what they had first done to Dean. While Robert took Sam.
The whole story was choppy and vague. He knew the basics, even if he didn’t really remember. Robert had thought he loved Sam. Dean remembered that.
“Shut up.” Robert said abruptly. “Shut up. I am not…you’re a fucking whore!” Bobby’s hand crashed into the side of Robert’s face. Dean looked up at him, startled.
“He…they took him, were going to…train him.” Dean’s voice sounded broken and weak. He hated it. Hated even more that he was leaning into his father…leaning on his strength.
“Is this true, Robert?” Bobby asked.
Robert looked away and held his tongue, until Bobby’s hand touched the mark, the “J” etched into his skin. “I wasn’t pretty enough though, was I? Never pretty enough next to you.” He spit his words at Dean. “Not for them…not for Sam.” He spit blood out onto the carpet, his eyes flashing angrily.
“He traded information for his freedom.” Dean said, looking up at his father. “There were two girls in Vegas.”
“Liar!” Robert screamed, his eyes wild as he strained at the ropes holding him.
“And me…me for Sam.”
“I love Sam.” Robert wasn’t ready for Dean’s hand to come flying out and hit him, a full fist into his cheek and he bit his lip.
“You are a sick fuck.” Dean said through clenched teeth. “You can sit there and say that, knowing what they did to him? You can look at me and say that?”
“You’re just jealous.” Robert said, soft, but it cut through to Dean, stopped him when he would have hit him again. “Jealous that he gave in for me…that he wanted me…you’ve always been jealous of how much Sam loved me.”
Dean turned away, his fists curled tight against his chest. “No.”
“That’s why you did it….you didn’t want him, you just didn’t want me to have him.” Robert’s voice didn’t lift but it took on a dangerous tone. “You saw how much I loved him and you took him out there to that car and fucked him…to keep him away from me.”
“I’m warning you, Robert.” Bobby said, stepping closer again.
“Yeah, well I’ve fucked him now too…and he liked it…said I was better…said he knew how sick it was to let his brother do those things to him.” His eyes went to John’s, his face a sneer. “Did you know? They’ve been at it for years…since Sammy was fifteen…that summer…I saw them. He knew I wanted Sam and he couldn’t stand to let me have him.”
Dean could feel the anger crackling in his father, but wasn’t sure where it was directed. He backed off a step. “Sam never would have-“ Dean stopped himself, turning away. He’d said what he came to say, gave Bobby the information he needed. He should just go…go back to Sam.
“You deserved it, you fucking pervert…you made such a pretty slave, Dean.”
The fury burned through him and before he could stop himself he had pushed Robert’s chair over and was beating at him.
Dean sat back against the headboard, his knees drawn up to his chest.
Slave.
Nothing.
No one.
Alone.
It was what he became. What he let them make him. What he let them make Sam.
Dean breathed through the panic, through the sense that he’d betrayed his brother, that he was nothing but a slave, a fucking sex slave.
“What is your name?”
“Slave.”
“What are you?”
“Nothing. No one. Alone.”
“And to whom do you belong?”
“You, master.”
The man beside Master smiled and nodded. “I’m impressed, Master James. Took forever to break him, but his training has made up for it.”
Master looked down at him, his face passive. He waited, his chin resting in Master’s hand. “Hmm…I will be sorry to see this one go. He’s a good fuck, and his mouth is heavenly.”
“I take it then that you want the other one?”
Master nodded and let go of him. “A matching pair is always fun.”
They walked away. He waited. The man left and Master returned, a box in his hand. “You have done well, Slave. I always award good performance. This is for you. You may open it.”
Master held the box in front of him and he opened it slowly, carefully. On a soft white pillow, a thick, black collar rested. He felt a rush of relief. He was good enough. He’d learned enough.
“You may speak.”
He nodded, licked his lips. “It is…beautiful, Master.”
Master’s thumb caressed his lip. “I am feeling generous.” He lifted the collar, caressing over it with gentle fingers. When Master moved close, he bowed his head to receive it. Master’s hands settled the collar around his neck, buckling it tightly. He could feel it when he swallowed. “You may return to your cage. I will give you a few hours to adjust to wearing it. We will be entertaining this evening.”
“Thank you, Master.”
When Master’s hand left him, he rose and went to the door that hid his cage. With that door closed, he let one trembling hand rise up to touch it. He let one finger slide along the top edge, up to the buckle, before sliding it down to the bottom and back around the front.
A collar.
His own collar.
He’d tried so hard for so long. His hand fell to the scar on his chest. It was his mark. His Master’s mark. He touched the collar again.
It fit snug against his neck, heavy and yet not unpleasant. It could never be unpleasant because it marked him as complete. Whole. Completely and perfectly pleasing.
He was good. He pleased his Master. He’d learned all the important things; to clean and prepare himself, to kneel properly, all his positions and postures, when to speak and when to hold his tongue. His performance in serving his Master’s needs had been flawless. His body was beautiful and unmarked and built to offer pleasure, and he was trained to submit and accept, to serve and satisfy.
Dean’s head banged lightly against the wall behind him The memory flooded him, not just images, but the feeling…the pride, the humility, the way nothing else existed but Master and collar and serve.
He clung to the knowledge that he wasn’t that person, that he was Dean Winchester, that he’d crawled out of the dark.
The floodgates were open now though and the memories crashed through him, random and disconnected, images and sounds, the feelings of hands and dicks and chains and collars, cold metal floors, the dirt, Sam and Dad and Robert and Bobby…like a wave that kept building momentum and all Dean could do was hold on and hope it wouldn’t drag him under.
Sam knew something was wrong long before he got back to the motel. He’d left Dean alone for the third night in a row. He hadn’t wanted to, but he wasn’t up to the things Sam needed to do.
Now, he had to question the wisdom of it. He climbed the stairs, trying to place what was wrong.
He stopped outside his father’s door. His father was sleeping, though only with the aid of pills. Sam could feel the technology still embedded in him, could feel the despair and anguish even in his sleep. He sighed and moved to the door of the room he shared with his brother.
He could only handle one broken Winchester at a time. His hand on the door went to ice and he couldn’t get the door open fast enough.
The room was a mess. Broken furniture, clothes strewn over the floor. Sam stepped carefully inside. “Dean?” He spoke softly. He could feel him, the anguish and pain and memory spilled out over the debris. “Dean?”
He was huddled in the corner, naked, sweating and when he lifted his head off his knees, Sam knew. He remembered. Everything.
Dean sniffed and wiped his face with hands that were shaking and bleeding. There was no major damage that Sam could sense. “You weren’t here.” Dean said softly, though there was no accusation to the words. “I couldn’t stop it.”
Sam couldn’t get a read on Dean’s emotional state. “You okay?”
Dean looked away and inhaled deeply. “Not sure. Still a little woozy.” He lifted his hand to the back of his head. “I banged my head.”
Sam nodded and moved across the room, picking his way around a broken chair and the pieces of what he assumed had been the bedside lamp. “Okay, let’s get you up off the floor.” He helped Dean stand and move over to the bed. There were marks, bruises and scratches that Sam assumed were part of the destruction of the room. “You’re not catatonic, so that’s a good sign.” He tried to inject humor into it, but it fell kind of flat.
“I’m sorry, Sam.” Dean said as Sam’s fingers moved over his head, looking for lumps.
“For what?” Sam asked, frowning down at him.
“I haven’t…I put a lot on you. I’m sorry.”
Sam brushed his lips over Dean’s not sure if it was in acceptance of the apology or just to stop him from saying more. Dean’s hand snaked up behind Sam’s head, bringing him in for a deeper kiss when Sam would have pulled away. “Not sure now is the time for sex, Dean.” Sam murmured as he stood upright and peeled off his jacket.
Dean stood with him, following him, pressing his body up against Sam’s. “Always time for sex, Sammy.” Dean insisted, grinning.
Sam shook his head. The lust rolling off his brother seemed wrong somehow, all mixed in with grief and pain and need. “I remember a time when I couldn’t keep you off me.” Dean said, kissing Sam gently. “When the sight of me naked was enough to have you ready to pop.”
Dean’s fingers worked at Sam’s buttons, while his lips worked over Sam’s chin and onto his throat. “I remember the first time…when you begged me to put it inside you.”
“Dean.” Sam stepped back, though he finished peeling off the shirt and casting it aside. “You’re trying too hard…and it’s….you just…” But Dean wasn’t getting put off that easy. He was back to kissing, this time over the bare skin of Sam’s chest.
“Need you.’ Dean murmured into his skin and Sam felt his heart skip. Dean’s hands were on his belt, unzipping him.
Sam exhaled slowly and tried one more time. “Dean, you need to-“
“I need to fuck you Sammy.” Dean stopped him, looking up into Sam’s eyes…and Sam had to blink because it was so intensely Dean…Dean who remembered everything…Dean who knew everything and out of all of it he knew Sam, wanted Sam…needed Sam.
Sam nodded jerkily and let Dean pull his jeans down and guide him to the bed. Dean was remembering the first time they weren’t in the car at Bobby’s. When their father had left them alone for a few days and they’d spent two hour making out on the couch before Sam had begged for more.
Dean’s hands moved over Sam’s skin greedy and needy and filled with urgency. There was lube, cold and slick on Dean’s fingers and Sam shifted under him, his legs falling wide and open. Dean grinned down at him as he worked his fingers in.
On the couch Dean had lifted Sam’s inside leg up and over the back to give himself room. Sam lifted his left leg and settled it on Dean’s shoulder as Dean moved up, his cock in his hand.
For a year they had been together, but with Dean only half way there, living with most of three years gone, a memory Sam kept blurred because it seemed the right thing…what he needed to cope.
Sam gasped as Dean sank into him. “Thinking too much Sammy.” Dean whispered, licking up Sam’s abs and chest.
“Thinking about you.” Sam countered, licking his lips, then Dean’s. “About how you always made it so good…”
“Always will.” Dean whispered. “Always Sammy.”
Sam’s cock was hot trapped between them and he reached for it, stroking it time to Dean’s thrusts, tilting his hips to bring Dean’s cock up against his prostate. “Always, Dean.” Sam whispered back. It was yours and mine and everything in one word...Never leaving and never letting you go, and need you…
Memories flickered through Dean as they moved together, random images of fucking Sam and being fucked and for the first time in more than a year, Dean wasn’t devastated by them, just pushed the bad ones aside and focused on the good…on Sam and Dean and Dean and Sam…
Sam opened his eyes when Dean stopped, his cock buried inside Sam. Dean’s eyes burned green and bright in the dark of the room as he stared down at Sam. It was like his brother had finally stepped out of the dark, out of the whole he’d fallen into more than two years before…finally whole…finally himself.
Sam smiled slowly and brushed a hand over Dean’s face. “I love you Dean.”
Dean kissed him, possessively, deeply, tongue and lips and teeth, then thrust twice into him and came. “Love you too Sammy.” Dean murmured as he slid off to the side, his hand closing around Sam’s and pulling it up Sam’s cock. Sam’s hips jerked and when Dean’s thumb stroked over the tip, he came too, spurting over his chest.
Dean smirked and reached for a dirty t-shirt that was hanging off the headboard to wipe it up. He kissed Sam again, not quite as intensely.
“No more coddling.” Dean said, his face set as he looked down at Sam. “I’m done hiding.”
Sam nodded. “You never did like hiding.”
“I’m the big brother.”
“Always were, Dean.” Sam said, pulling him down to lay with him. “Always will be.”
Title: Out of the Dark
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17, for ongoing themes and sex
Word Count: 4466
Summary: A year has passed since the ending of Destinations and Dean wakes up one night alone, with nightmares leading to memories...without Sam there to push them back into the dark, Dean has to crawl back into it himself, or finally find his way free of it....
A/Ns & Warnings: This is birthday fic! Written for Stillhere2 whose birthday is tomorrow and twigletmoo whose birthday is Thursday. There is memory of sexual violence and physical violence.
The dreams didn’t come as often anymore. But they did come. Dean shuddered and woke, his eyes wide, his body slicked with sweat, and the imagined feeling of hands and punishment. For a moment he was lost, uncertain.
Alone.
He swallowed and sat up, putting his feet on the floor, trying to ground himself.
Alone.
It reached up out of the black pit of memory and grabbed him in the stomach.
Nothing. No one. Alone.
Dean gulped in air and tried to push it back into the dark, into a place he wouldn’t have to think about it…tried to still the wild stammering of his heart.
It wasn’t letting go that easily.
The room was dark and Sam wasn’t there. It closed in around him, the walls giving way to bars, the shadows becoming men with whips and paddles and chains. Dean staggered to his feet, arms flailing around him as he tried to find his way to the light.
His toe hit the night stand and he yelled, falling back into the bed. He was shaking, and it was ridiculous. He couldn’t even remember what the dream was…just snippets, images…feelings.
He remembered the fucking though. He remembered being held down and forcibly fucked and calling for Sam.
“Fuck.” Dean crawled across the bed and off the other side, feeling his way into the bathroom. He was panting when he got the light on and he blinked at the reflection in the mirror. His face stared back at him…pale, blank….his eyes dull, dead…dark rimmed and flat. Like he wasn’t there.
His eyes traced to the scar on his chest. If he squinted he could still see the “J” under the “S”. He didn’t really remember getting the “J”…not in actual concrete memories, more like vague understanding of what happened with the occasional image or voice to go with it.
He remembered the “S” though. That moment stood out in stark detail next to the dark, inky blackness of much of the rest of his memory. His finger traced over the letter, carved in his skin while Sam cried and fucked him…in a cabin in the middle of nowhere…the cabin Sam brought him to recover…the cabin where Sam begged Dean to end it.
Dean shivered and tore his eyes away. His stomach churned. Slowly the dream was pulling back, letting go. He turned to the shower and started the water. He breathed slowly and peeled off his sweat-soaked boxers before climbing into the shower.
He was always so disoriented when he woke up and Sam wasn’t right there. More so if he had dreamed. He tilted his head back into the water. They were somewhere in Michigan. He knew that. Sam was…he shook his head. He wasn’t sure exactly what Sam was doing, but it kept him out late a lot and Dean wasn’t invited along, so he hung out in the room or hustled pool.
He closed his eyes and let the water rush over him, washing away the sweat and memory.
“Always relieve yourself before showering. This allows you to clean yourself properly.”
Dean shook his head. “No.” He clenched his teeth and reached for the wall of the shower as it unspooled in his head, burning into him.
They were in the shower with the curtain closed and the water on as hard as Dean could make it go. Dean felt the tears coming. “Sam…god, Sam. You okay?”
“Dean?” His voice was raw and broken as he clung to Dean. “I…hurt…and I…”
“Shh…we’ve got time…let’s get you cleaned up.” He leaned Sam back against him and moved them under the water, just letting it run over Sam for a few minutes before starting to move his hands over Sam’s skin to dislodge the come sticking to him. “Can you stand?”
Sam nodded and Dean helped him upright before reaching for the shampoo. “Always begin your shower by cleaning your hair with the shampoo that Master has provided you.” Dean said loudly.
Sam was sobbing, Dean could feel it as he worked the shampoo through his hair. “Come on Sammy…stay with me here…I can’t…I can’t do this without you.”
Sam trembled, but the sobbing stopped as Dean washed him like he had when they were little. Sam whimpered a little as Dean’s hands reached his ass. “Shh…Sammy….it’s okay…just bend forward a little, let me take care of it.”
“No more…please….please.”
Dean’s fist beat against the wall. He had stood there and washed him and when they were done, Dean had given Sam to him.
His stomach twisted and he doubled over, wanting to throw up, but knowing he wouldn’t. It never got this bad when Sam was there. Sam would ease it away, make it better.
And a part of Dean didn’t want to think about that, about the blur of the last year, of Sam’s big hands soothing over Dean’s head and making the memories and dreams fade away. It was almost like being drugged…like living in a haze where only the present moment mattered.
It was dark…or he was blindfolded. He wasn’t sure at first. His hands were tied roughly behind his back. He was naked. “Fuck.” There was sticky come on his ass…or at least that’s what he assumed as he remembered the hands and the truck…only it was a lot more than just one fucking’s worth. His ass burned and gaped.
He shook his head, trying to loosen the blindfold, but it held. His mouth tasted like tequila and his stomach definitely told him he’d had too much to drink. He was going to be sick.
He dragged himself to his knees before it hit and he fell forward, vomiting violently and only just holding his head out of it. He had flashes of memory, vague feelings of hands and cocks…rape. He recognized the word sluggishly. Repeatedly. He groaned and tried to move clear of the puddle but without his eyes or hands he could only move a little.
There was a voice suddenly, filling the space. “You are nothing. You are no one. You are alone.”
The voice was loud, bouncing off the walls. It disguised the approach of the person whose fist was suddenly in his hair. He was pressed forward, his ass invaded by a hand, then water, washing over him, into him. He slid onto his hip from the pressure, cussing as his elbow crashed into the floor.
“On your knees, slave.”
Dean turned his face into the water. He reached for a memory of Sam and him, of some moment when they were happy and together.
Dean heard them move away. He took a deep breath to steady himself. Best to present himself for punishment before he was called. He slipped from the bathroom and moved between the beds. Before Sam turned back from closing the door, Dean was on his knees, hands behind his head, leaning forward so that his back was exposed.
“Dean?”
“I’m ready.”
“For what?”
“My punishment.” He didn’t look up. “I was bad…wrong…I shouldn’t have broken the mirror. You have to punish me.”
“No, Dean. I’m not going to-“
“Please Sam. You have to. So I can be good.” He dared to look up. “I want to be good, Sam.”
Sam shook his head and sat on the bed. “I think you’ve had enough pain for one day.”
Dean closed his eyes. “You have to.” His voice was small. It confused him when Sam didn’t understand.
Sam sank to his knees in front of his brother, his hands rising to hold his face as he leaned in to kiss him. He sighed then, almost sounding defeated. “What is it you need, Dean?”
“I should be whipped.” Dean said, his eyes dropping to Sam’s chest.
Sam’s voice was gentle. “We don’t have a whip, Dean.”
Dean choked on the words, “Belt will do.”
“God, Dean, I’m not taking a belt to you. Not for something like this. Anger is good. I’m proud of you.”
Dean shifted uncomfortably, despair eating at him. He had to make Sam see. He leaned forward, putting his head in Sam’s lap. “I was bad. I damaged property. I damaged me. If you don’t…it means it doesn’t matter…I don’t matter…I’m not good enough to discipline…not worth keeping…nothing…I don’t want to be nothing any more, Sam…” Dean sobbed, his body rocking into Sam’s until Sam’s hands slid down his bare back, soothing, caressing.
“Shh…Dean…it’s okay…it’s okay…I understand…calm down.” Sam’s lips pressed kisses into Dean’s back. “Calm down. Just…give me a minute.” He slipped away, standing and pacing over to the dresser and back. The third trip to the dresser, he came back with a belt. “I don’t know if I can do this Dean.”
“It’s okay, Sammy. You can do it. I trust you.” Somehow that sounded wrong, but Dean couldn’t place why, just bent forward again so his back was exposed. “Three…okay…its enough…so I can be better.”
“God…Dean…” He could hear pain in Sam’s voice, and felt a twinge of guilt. He shouldn’t be causing Sam pain. He was supposed to give him pleasure.
“Please.” Dean whispered. The sound of leather slapping against skin startled him, before he even felt the bite. It wasn’t hard…and he thought he heard Sam sob. “Please.” The second one fell a little more strongly, over his left shoulder. The third barely registered, as Sam dropped the belt before it fully connected and fell to his knees, gathering Dean up in his arms.
“I’m sorry, Dean…I shouldn’t...” He cried as he held Dean and Dean found himself folding his arms around Sam and petting his hair like he had when they were younger.
“It’s okay, Sammy. I’m okay now. I’m better.” He kissed the tears away from Sam’s cheeks and smiled. “Everything’s okay.”
“Fuck.” Dean turned the water off and stumbled out of the bathroom, into the dark of the bedroom. His head hurt. His stomach churned.
A year. A whole fucking year. Dean had let Sam coddle him, let him hide the memory.
He stumbled toward the bed. The clock said it was nearly midnight. He could put clothes on and go to his father’s room…but his father had his own problems, he didn’t need Dean’s too. He could call Sam.
He lifted the phone and stared at it. Sam would come back and sooth it away and they’d go back to their routine. Training, hunting, preparing for whatever it was Sam said was coming.
Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to do that. Maybe it was time he face what he’d done. What had been done to him. Maybe it was time he stopped hiding.
Of course he might just shut down again. He was aware of that.
But he felt so…weak letting Sam take care of him when it came at him. Like he was hiding. Dean didn’t like hiding.
Dean stiffened, holding the trunk mostly closed as footsteps stopped nearby. A cell phone rang and the man who wasn’t Robert cursed. “No sir, we haven’t left yet. We have a problem.” There was a paused. “No sir, the slave is missing.” Another pause. “Yes, Dennis has the new recruit in the van. He’s secure and training has begun.”
Dean swallowed. He knew what that meant. The blond was raping Sam. Right there, in that van. While Dean hid like a coward.
“Yes sir. We’ll leave now.”
“Leave? We can’t leave.” Robert protested.
“Master says we go, we go. He’s sending a full search party to look for the slave. In the meantime, he doesn’t want to lose the new one. Says he wants to get him secured and into training right away to cover the price of the other one.”
“Sam is mine.” Robert blustered, even as they were moving away.
“Only if we recapture the brother. Otherwise, you forfeit your fee. Anything he sells for over and above that will be yours, of course.”
Dean listened to them walk away and for a moment he was paralyzed with fear and indecision. They were going to leave. With Sam. He opened the phone and dialed his father’s number. “They…they’re leaving…with Sam.” His voice trembled and he hated how weak he sounded. “They…they…they’ve hurt him…I have to stop them.”
“Dean, we’re almost there.”
“Too late. You’re too late.” Dean climbed out of the trunk and inched forward. Robert was going into the house and the dark haired one was opening the van. The blond was getting out, zipping up his pants. Dean swallowed. “No. I’m not waiting.” He hung up the phone and shoved it into his pocket, then hefted the gun. He could do this. Stop them. Hold them. Save his Sam.
He had hidden, and Sam was stolen away from him. Dean shivered and climbed into bed, still wet from the shower, still naked. He pulled the blankets up around him.
He had hidden while they did to Sam what they had first done to Dean. While Robert took Sam.
The whole story was choppy and vague. He knew the basics, even if he didn’t really remember. Robert had thought he loved Sam. Dean remembered that.
“Shut up.” Robert said abruptly. “Shut up. I am not…you’re a fucking whore!” Bobby’s hand crashed into the side of Robert’s face. Dean looked up at him, startled.
“He…they took him, were going to…train him.” Dean’s voice sounded broken and weak. He hated it. Hated even more that he was leaning into his father…leaning on his strength.
“Is this true, Robert?” Bobby asked.
Robert looked away and held his tongue, until Bobby’s hand touched the mark, the “J” etched into his skin. “I wasn’t pretty enough though, was I? Never pretty enough next to you.” He spit his words at Dean. “Not for them…not for Sam.” He spit blood out onto the carpet, his eyes flashing angrily.
“He traded information for his freedom.” Dean said, looking up at his father. “There were two girls in Vegas.”
“Liar!” Robert screamed, his eyes wild as he strained at the ropes holding him.
“And me…me for Sam.”
“I love Sam.” Robert wasn’t ready for Dean’s hand to come flying out and hit him, a full fist into his cheek and he bit his lip.
“You are a sick fuck.” Dean said through clenched teeth. “You can sit there and say that, knowing what they did to him? You can look at me and say that?”
“You’re just jealous.” Robert said, soft, but it cut through to Dean, stopped him when he would have hit him again. “Jealous that he gave in for me…that he wanted me…you’ve always been jealous of how much Sam loved me.”
Dean turned away, his fists curled tight against his chest. “No.”
“That’s why you did it….you didn’t want him, you just didn’t want me to have him.” Robert’s voice didn’t lift but it took on a dangerous tone. “You saw how much I loved him and you took him out there to that car and fucked him…to keep him away from me.”
“I’m warning you, Robert.” Bobby said, stepping closer again.
“Yeah, well I’ve fucked him now too…and he liked it…said I was better…said he knew how sick it was to let his brother do those things to him.” His eyes went to John’s, his face a sneer. “Did you know? They’ve been at it for years…since Sammy was fifteen…that summer…I saw them. He knew I wanted Sam and he couldn’t stand to let me have him.”
Dean could feel the anger crackling in his father, but wasn’t sure where it was directed. He backed off a step. “Sam never would have-“ Dean stopped himself, turning away. He’d said what he came to say, gave Bobby the information he needed. He should just go…go back to Sam.
“You deserved it, you fucking pervert…you made such a pretty slave, Dean.”
The fury burned through him and before he could stop himself he had pushed Robert’s chair over and was beating at him.
Dean sat back against the headboard, his knees drawn up to his chest.
Slave.
Nothing.
No one.
Alone.
It was what he became. What he let them make him. What he let them make Sam.
Dean breathed through the panic, through the sense that he’d betrayed his brother, that he was nothing but a slave, a fucking sex slave.
“What is your name?”
“Slave.”
“What are you?”
“Nothing. No one. Alone.”
“And to whom do you belong?”
“You, master.”
The man beside Master smiled and nodded. “I’m impressed, Master James. Took forever to break him, but his training has made up for it.”
Master looked down at him, his face passive. He waited, his chin resting in Master’s hand. “Hmm…I will be sorry to see this one go. He’s a good fuck, and his mouth is heavenly.”
“I take it then that you want the other one?”
Master nodded and let go of him. “A matching pair is always fun.”
They walked away. He waited. The man left and Master returned, a box in his hand. “You have done well, Slave. I always award good performance. This is for you. You may open it.”
Master held the box in front of him and he opened it slowly, carefully. On a soft white pillow, a thick, black collar rested. He felt a rush of relief. He was good enough. He’d learned enough.
“You may speak.”
He nodded, licked his lips. “It is…beautiful, Master.”
Master’s thumb caressed his lip. “I am feeling generous.” He lifted the collar, caressing over it with gentle fingers. When Master moved close, he bowed his head to receive it. Master’s hands settled the collar around his neck, buckling it tightly. He could feel it when he swallowed. “You may return to your cage. I will give you a few hours to adjust to wearing it. We will be entertaining this evening.”
“Thank you, Master.”
When Master’s hand left him, he rose and went to the door that hid his cage. With that door closed, he let one trembling hand rise up to touch it. He let one finger slide along the top edge, up to the buckle, before sliding it down to the bottom and back around the front.
A collar.
His own collar.
He’d tried so hard for so long. His hand fell to the scar on his chest. It was his mark. His Master’s mark. He touched the collar again.
It fit snug against his neck, heavy and yet not unpleasant. It could never be unpleasant because it marked him as complete. Whole. Completely and perfectly pleasing.
He was good. He pleased his Master. He’d learned all the important things; to clean and prepare himself, to kneel properly, all his positions and postures, when to speak and when to hold his tongue. His performance in serving his Master’s needs had been flawless. His body was beautiful and unmarked and built to offer pleasure, and he was trained to submit and accept, to serve and satisfy.
Dean’s head banged lightly against the wall behind him The memory flooded him, not just images, but the feeling…the pride, the humility, the way nothing else existed but Master and collar and serve.
He clung to the knowledge that he wasn’t that person, that he was Dean Winchester, that he’d crawled out of the dark.
The floodgates were open now though and the memories crashed through him, random and disconnected, images and sounds, the feelings of hands and dicks and chains and collars, cold metal floors, the dirt, Sam and Dad and Robert and Bobby…like a wave that kept building momentum and all Dean could do was hold on and hope it wouldn’t drag him under.
Sam knew something was wrong long before he got back to the motel. He’d left Dean alone for the third night in a row. He hadn’t wanted to, but he wasn’t up to the things Sam needed to do.
Now, he had to question the wisdom of it. He climbed the stairs, trying to place what was wrong.
He stopped outside his father’s door. His father was sleeping, though only with the aid of pills. Sam could feel the technology still embedded in him, could feel the despair and anguish even in his sleep. He sighed and moved to the door of the room he shared with his brother.
He could only handle one broken Winchester at a time. His hand on the door went to ice and he couldn’t get the door open fast enough.
The room was a mess. Broken furniture, clothes strewn over the floor. Sam stepped carefully inside. “Dean?” He spoke softly. He could feel him, the anguish and pain and memory spilled out over the debris. “Dean?”
He was huddled in the corner, naked, sweating and when he lifted his head off his knees, Sam knew. He remembered. Everything.
Dean sniffed and wiped his face with hands that were shaking and bleeding. There was no major damage that Sam could sense. “You weren’t here.” Dean said softly, though there was no accusation to the words. “I couldn’t stop it.”
Sam couldn’t get a read on Dean’s emotional state. “You okay?”
Dean looked away and inhaled deeply. “Not sure. Still a little woozy.” He lifted his hand to the back of his head. “I banged my head.”
Sam nodded and moved across the room, picking his way around a broken chair and the pieces of what he assumed had been the bedside lamp. “Okay, let’s get you up off the floor.” He helped Dean stand and move over to the bed. There were marks, bruises and scratches that Sam assumed were part of the destruction of the room. “You’re not catatonic, so that’s a good sign.” He tried to inject humor into it, but it fell kind of flat.
“I’m sorry, Sam.” Dean said as Sam’s fingers moved over his head, looking for lumps.
“For what?” Sam asked, frowning down at him.
“I haven’t…I put a lot on you. I’m sorry.”
Sam brushed his lips over Dean’s not sure if it was in acceptance of the apology or just to stop him from saying more. Dean’s hand snaked up behind Sam’s head, bringing him in for a deeper kiss when Sam would have pulled away. “Not sure now is the time for sex, Dean.” Sam murmured as he stood upright and peeled off his jacket.
Dean stood with him, following him, pressing his body up against Sam’s. “Always time for sex, Sammy.” Dean insisted, grinning.
Sam shook his head. The lust rolling off his brother seemed wrong somehow, all mixed in with grief and pain and need. “I remember a time when I couldn’t keep you off me.” Dean said, kissing Sam gently. “When the sight of me naked was enough to have you ready to pop.”
Dean’s fingers worked at Sam’s buttons, while his lips worked over Sam’s chin and onto his throat. “I remember the first time…when you begged me to put it inside you.”
“Dean.” Sam stepped back, though he finished peeling off the shirt and casting it aside. “You’re trying too hard…and it’s….you just…” But Dean wasn’t getting put off that easy. He was back to kissing, this time over the bare skin of Sam’s chest.
“Need you.’ Dean murmured into his skin and Sam felt his heart skip. Dean’s hands were on his belt, unzipping him.
Sam exhaled slowly and tried one more time. “Dean, you need to-“
“I need to fuck you Sammy.” Dean stopped him, looking up into Sam’s eyes…and Sam had to blink because it was so intensely Dean…Dean who remembered everything…Dean who knew everything and out of all of it he knew Sam, wanted Sam…needed Sam.
Sam nodded jerkily and let Dean pull his jeans down and guide him to the bed. Dean was remembering the first time they weren’t in the car at Bobby’s. When their father had left them alone for a few days and they’d spent two hour making out on the couch before Sam had begged for more.
Dean’s hands moved over Sam’s skin greedy and needy and filled with urgency. There was lube, cold and slick on Dean’s fingers and Sam shifted under him, his legs falling wide and open. Dean grinned down at him as he worked his fingers in.
On the couch Dean had lifted Sam’s inside leg up and over the back to give himself room. Sam lifted his left leg and settled it on Dean’s shoulder as Dean moved up, his cock in his hand.
For a year they had been together, but with Dean only half way there, living with most of three years gone, a memory Sam kept blurred because it seemed the right thing…what he needed to cope.
Sam gasped as Dean sank into him. “Thinking too much Sammy.” Dean whispered, licking up Sam’s abs and chest.
“Thinking about you.” Sam countered, licking his lips, then Dean’s. “About how you always made it so good…”
“Always will.” Dean whispered. “Always Sammy.”
Sam’s cock was hot trapped between them and he reached for it, stroking it time to Dean’s thrusts, tilting his hips to bring Dean’s cock up against his prostate. “Always, Dean.” Sam whispered back. It was yours and mine and everything in one word...Never leaving and never letting you go, and need you…
Memories flickered through Dean as they moved together, random images of fucking Sam and being fucked and for the first time in more than a year, Dean wasn’t devastated by them, just pushed the bad ones aside and focused on the good…on Sam and Dean and Dean and Sam…
Sam opened his eyes when Dean stopped, his cock buried inside Sam. Dean’s eyes burned green and bright in the dark of the room as he stared down at Sam. It was like his brother had finally stepped out of the dark, out of the whole he’d fallen into more than two years before…finally whole…finally himself.
Sam smiled slowly and brushed a hand over Dean’s face. “I love you Dean.”
Dean kissed him, possessively, deeply, tongue and lips and teeth, then thrust twice into him and came. “Love you too Sammy.” Dean murmured as he slid off to the side, his hand closing around Sam’s and pulling it up Sam’s cock. Sam’s hips jerked and when Dean’s thumb stroked over the tip, he came too, spurting over his chest.
Dean smirked and reached for a dirty t-shirt that was hanging off the headboard to wipe it up. He kissed Sam again, not quite as intensely.
“No more coddling.” Dean said, his face set as he looked down at Sam. “I’m done hiding.”
Sam nodded. “You never did like hiding.”
“I’m the big brother.”
“Always were, Dean.” Sam said, pulling him down to lay with him. “Always will be.”