Choice, Supernatural, NC-17

[phantisma]

Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Choice
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, John, Caleb
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4177

Summary: A sequel to Anything which was a Christmas request from nanakomatsu, Nothing, Something, To Be Good, Broken, To Be Strong, Nothing, No One, Alone, Yours, Mine and Better. As Dean starts to remember more of himself in the safe, welcoming environment at Bobby's, memories of the more recent past are closer to the surface, and John has to deal with the fallout.

A/Ns and Warnings: This is the part of the story where things are starting to change, and the previous warnings aren't exactly right anymore...but I'm unsure what I should say...Dark, angsty, masturbation. Yeah...okay...



”A good slave doesn’t have to ask his Master what he wants.” A heavy hand was on the back of his neck. “A good slave knows the rules, lives the rules and confesses freely when he breaks the rules.”

The hand came off his neck. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.” His heart pounded in his chest. He hadn’t broken any rules. He was sure.

“What is it I want, slave?”

He closed his eyes. “An obedient slave.”

“Are you obedient?”

His mind raced over the day so far. He had risen, showered properly, cleaned every inch of his body meticulously. Shaved himself clean. He brushed his teeth, combed his hair. He straightened his cage and cleaned the bathroom. He’d prepped himself carefully. Today was the day he was to earn his collar. Everything had been perfect. “I believe I am Master.”

“Present yourself.”

He stood and went to the apparatus. His feet slipped into the restraints and he bent forward over the curved top, both hands moving to part his ass cheeks. Once in position he raised himself to his tip toes, putting his ass on display.

The cold touch of a gloved finger caressed his skin. He didn’t move. It dipped inside him, testing, exploring. If Master was pleased with his preparation he would take his pleasure with him. He would accept him. He would be good enough. As the cock entered him, he tried hard to hold still, not because of any discomfort or shame, but because it meant he was good. His Master wanted him.

Dean woke in the dark, disoriented. The bed was too comfortable, too warm…the body beside his hot. His eyes opened, sleep heavy and unfocused. His cock was hard against Sam’s thigh, under the sweatpants. Sam’s cock was in a similar state under the sheets, against Dean’s arm.

His breathing came in heavy pants. Each movement rubbed his cock against Sam’s hot skin, heat he could feel even through the material. He had been allowed to come that day, after he was collared. To show his pleasure at being able to serve. Sam moved, waking slowly to the rutting Dean was doing against him. “Dean.” Sam whispered it and Dean shook his head.

Don’t talk. Never talk unless directly asked a question.

“Shh.” Dean said.

Sam kissed him and whispered. “Yours Dean.”

“Sam…can’t…he wouldn’t…”

Sam’s hand closed over Dean’s cock, stroking it slowly while his lips dotted Dean’s face with kisses. “Let me please you.”

Dean’s breath stuttered. He was caught between needing to obey the rules and wanting to be good to Sam…he had to take care of Sam, and Sam needed him. While he vacillated, Sam’s hand stroked him, bringing him closer and closer.

Dean yelled out as he came, pulling away from Sam and tumbling out of the bed. Sam sat up too fast, reaching for Dean, then for his side. “No…” Dean’s hand went to his naked neck. “Wrong. Bad. Not good enough. Never good enough.”

He could see the blood, knew he’d hurt Sam. He closed his eyes and ran from the room, down to the bedroom where his father was asleep on the bed. He should wake him. Sam needed help. He had to take care of Sam first. He was panting.

Dad would want to know. Dean was sure. Dad could fix Sam. His Sam. He hurt his Sam. Dean reached out tentatively and touched his father’s shoulder. “Dad. Please. Sam…I hurt Sam. Dad. Wake up.”

John sat up with a grunt. “What is it?”

Dean held his arms around his stomach. “Sam…bleeding. He’s hurt.”

“Okay, let me up.”

“I’m okay Dad.” Sam called from the hallway and Dean backpedaled away, covering his ears.

“Go to bed, Sam. Go lay down. Can’t get up.” Dean turned toward the wall as Sam stopped in the doorway, leaning against the door frame.

John looked from one son to the other. “Sam? What’s going on?”

“I moved wrong, tore the stitches. It isn’t bad.”

“Blood. Damaged.” Dean muttered, though he didn’t look up.

John tried to clear his head. “Come here and let me see.”

“No!” Dean whirled around. “Bad. Bad. Punish.” His eyes were wide.

“Dean, calm down. No one has been bad. No one’s getting punished.” John pulled up Sam’s bandages and shook his head. “We’ll have to re-stitch it. Dean-“ He turned, but Dean was gone.

“He’s probably in the bathroom. He’ll shower and center and be calmer when he comes out.” Sam said softly. “I’m sorry. This is my fault. He was upset. I was trying to calm him down. Apparently it back fired.”

“I’ll say. Let’s get you taken care of.”

John helped Sam back into bed, ripping the bandage off and pressing him down when he tried to sit up. “What happened?”

Sam shook his head. He wasn’t completely sure himself. “He had a dream, something about his training, but I don’t know what.”

“Why do say it was about the training?” John asked as he threaded a needle.

“He…talks in his sleep, always has.” Sam closed his eyes and laid back, lifting his arm out of his father’s way. He could still hear the sound of Dean’s voice, the sound of submission in his voice. Yes, Master Sam shivered as the cold needle bit into him and murmured, “Sorry.”

“Why does he think he was bad?”

Sam shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

John stopped and looked Sam in the eye. “Damn it Sam. Stop protecting me. I’ve got to go back I there and deal with him. I need to know. I don’t want to know, but I need to.”

Sam swallowed and looked away. “Whatever he was dreaming, he woke up…aroused.” He winced as John’s fingers resumed their sewing. “It was forbidden, even more so than orgasm…only allowed when the Master demanded it. I’m not his master any more, and you…” Sam sighed, watching John tie off the last stitch and cut the thread. “So, he was wrong, bad.”

John’s jaw was tight and Sam wasn’t sure exactly what was going on behind those dark eyes. “Dad?”

John’s eyes closed and his tongue swiped his lower lip. “You can’t…use him…Sam. You can’t…it’s so many kinds of wrong.” He blew out a breath and stood, gathering his supplies. Sam had expected fury, when and if his father ever found out…not this…this quiet numbness. “I’m going to give you more morphine, and go deal with Dean.”

“No.” Sam sat up gingerly. “You can’t think that I…want…that I like this? That I would use him like that?”

“Are you going to tell me that you haven’t…touched him? That you haven’t let him touch you? How dumb do you think I am, Sam?” There was some of the anger…but it was still off, still wrong somehow…not directed at what he was imagining they had done together, but at Sam’s hiding of it.

“What?” Sam got to his feet and followed his father. “What?”

“You would do anything to ease his pain, I know that. I see the pain when he…saw it when he wanted so desperately to please you.” John sighed and sagged a little against the dresser. “You wanted to help him…I get that.”

“Do you?” Sam asked. “God, Dad. This is so fucked up.” In more ways than even his father knew or understood…because Sam wanted Dean so badly sometimes he ached…because denying Dean had never been Sam’s strong suit…because Sam really had given himself to his brother all those years before…right out there, in the crazy playground that was Bobby’s yard.

John snorted. “Yes, Sam, it really is.” Sam felt John’s eyes on him and looked up. “I just don’t think that letting him…live out that training is the best way to handle it.”

Sam agreed on some level. That was why he’d tried so hard to find other ways Dean could please him…ways that kept them from going there, because what he had with Dean was too sacred to lose inside the twisted up dynamic that this had forced onto them.

The problem was, it was all Dean understood. He had been trained to derive his pleasure from pleasing his master. Sam sighed. “He needs to know he’s good, that he’s pleased you. That’s why the collar was so important, why that fuckwad James taking it off of him traumatized him the way it did. You need to make sure he knows he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“How? How do I do that?”

Sam smiled at him and shuffled back toward the bed. “You love him. You’ll find a way.”

”What is this, slave?”

“Blood, Master.”

“Whose blood?”

“Mine.” Dean whispered the word, terrified. The razor had slipped, just a little…just a nick. It wasn’t much blood. Two drops in the sink, the little bit on his hands.

“How did this happen?”

“I did it, sir. I…I wasn’t careful.”

“You damaged my property?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You will be punished for this.”

“Yes, Master.” He shook as he knelt on the bathroom floor.

“Have you finished your preparations?”

“No, Master.”

“Finish, then present yourself.”

When Master was gone, Dean got up off the floor. His hands were shaking as he picked up the razor to finish shaving. It took longer than it should, and when he was done, he knew it wasn’t good enough. It would make the punishment worse, but he couldn’t bring himself to try again, afraid he’d cut himself again. He emerged from the bathroom.

Master was seated at the breakfast table, reading. Dean went to his knees and bent forward, waiting. Master let him wait. “You will present yourself to punishment. You will obey the master and when he has given you your punishment, you will return here so that I may examine your repentance.”

Dean huddled on the floor of the shower. The water had gone cold and he still hadn’t cleaned himself properly. He hurt his Sam. He didn’t deserve his Sam. He was bad. No one wanted him. Master took the collar. Master took his Sam. Master didn’t want him, wouldn’t let him serve him. Two days. Two whole days before Master allowed him to serve again, and then he only used his mouth.

Already his father denied him. Now he’d be punished, sent away. Maybe his father would send him back. Sam said he never would. Dean didn’t want to go back. He wanted to belong. Maybe if he could make his father see how good he could be…

Slowly, Dean got up and turned the water off. He shivered with cold, but got out and dried himself off. He hadn’t heard his father return. Carefully, Dean checked the bedroom. He wasn’t there. Dean walked softly into the bedroom and found John’s belt. He knew the new rules said he should wear clothes, but this was different. This was punishment. He knelt on the bed, facing the door, with the folded belt in his hands, and settled in to wait.

John didn’t go immediately back to Dean. He needed to bolster his strength, so he detoured to the kitchen and pulled out the bottle of Jack that Bobby kept in the cupboard. He poured a shot, then added a little more to the glass before lifting it and draining it. Sam hadn’t admitted anything outright…but he hadn’t denied it either.

That left him with an image burning into his brain…an image of his boys…He poured more of the whiskey into the glass and drained it. Then purposefully put the bottle away. Getting drunk wasn’t the answer. He could be a sloppy drunk and dealing with Dean was going to require a clear head.

Steeling himself with a deep breath, John climbed the stairs again and headed for his room. He almost closed the door immediately upon opening it. Dean knelt on the bed, naked and shaking, brown leather draped over his hands and held up in offering.

John made himself go into the room, close the door and walk to the bed. “What is this?” He made his voice deep, and it rumbled into the corners of the room.

Dean lowered his head a little more. “I am ready for my punishment, sir.”

“What do you need to be punished for, Dean?”

He fidgeted, then stilled. “I let myself be erect without permission and I had an orgasm without permission…and I hurt Sam.”

John almost couldn’t look at him, thinking about Sam touching him. “You didn’t hurt Sam, Dean. Sam hurt himself. It was an accident.”

“Please. I don’t want to be bad. Help me be good. For you.”

John breathed slowly, and reached out to take the belt from Dean, who responded by dropping his face to the comforter, offering his back and ass for the beating he anticipated. “I’m not going to beat you, Dean.”

He thought he heard a sob and Dean rocked back. “Look at me.” Dean sat up slowly. “You didn’t hurt Sam.” He set the belt down on the bed beside Dean. “I can’t punish you for something you didn’t do.”

Confusion registered. “I broke the rules. I came. I…I wanted. I wanted to come. I didn’t…it wasn’t right. Not clean.” Tears threatened to spill from his eyes. “I lost my collar because I wasn’t good enough. I want to be good enough.”

John brushed a big thumb over Dean’s cheek and smiled sadly. “You didn’t lose your collar, Dean. You didn’t need it anymore.”

Dean stiffened. “You’re too good for a collar, Dean. The way you took care of Sam? You made sure he ate, and got his medicine and slept. You came and got me when he started bleeding. That’s so much better than good.”

John was pretty sure Dean didn’t believe him. “In fact, I’ve got something for you.” He went to the duffle bag on the floor by the dresser and pulled out the smaller bag that held his odds and ends of personal items from his life before. It wasn’t much. A few pictures, a barrette that had been Mary’s and still held a few strands of her hair, the handkerchief she had stuck in her sleeve at their wedding, and an old, beat up ring with a W etched on the oval surface.

“You probably don’t know this…but your mother was a pretty progressive woman. She decided right from our very first date that I was going to be her man. She proposed to me before I even got the nerve up to look at rings. Got down on one knee and everything.” He smiled at the memory, savoring the look on her face. “She gave me this.

He held his hand out, the ring resting there on his palm. Dean looked at it, and shook his head. “Not good enough.”

John picked the ring up with his other hand. “Give me your hand, Dean.”

There was no hesitation, Dean’s hand lifted at the order and John had to work not to show the emotion tearing him up inside. He set the ring on the middle finger of Dean’s right hand, hoping it would fit tight enough that it wouldn’t fall off. Dean’s hands were small compared to his own. “There. Not just good enough. Great.”

Dean still looked distressed, but he pulled the hand back to look at the ring, one finger of his left hand tracing the W in the silver. It wasn’t much of a ring, truth be told, but it was as close to an heirloom as the three Winchesters owned.

“Now…I believe we did have a rule about clothes, Dean.” John said. “I’m going into the bathroom. I hope to see you’ve put something on when I come back.”

John exhaled the breath he’d been holding as he closed the door behind him. It was exhausting, reasoning his way past the conditioning that made Dean think he needed punishment…and he hadn’t even tackled the sexual aspect yet. He splashed some water on his face while he considered his options.

No matter what Caleb said, he couldn’t condone what Sam had done…that he had touched his brother. Probably more. John groaned at the thought. The last thing he needed was to think about Dean offering himself up to Sam the way he had offered himself up to John…or that Sam might have…could have…”Fuck!” John cursed into the porcelain of the sink.

If what Sam said was true, and Dean had been trained, god only knew how, to never get aroused…then his arousal and subsequent orgasm was actually progress. John stared at himself in the mirror for a long time. How do you tell your twenty-five year old son that it was okay to feel arousal? That he could masturbate if he needed to? He’d never had to have that kind of talk with either boy. Dean seemed to pick it all up on his own, and anything Dean knew, Sammy found out from Dean.

When he emerged back into the bedroom, Dean was wearing boxers and a t-shirt, kneeling on the floor. John started for the bed, then thought better of having this conversation in this room. “I’m thirsty Dean. Why don’t we go get a midnight snack?”

In the kitchen he rummaged around the refrigerator until he came up with two beers and some salami. “Sit down Dean. We need to talk.” John opened the beers and set them on the table, then dug out a knife to cut the salami.

“I think it’s time we establish a few more rules, Dean. I want to help you.”

“Rules.” Dean nodded, folding his hands on the table.

“We’ve already established the clothes thing. You wear them, unless you’re in the shower or have a good reason not to.”

“How do I know what is a good reason?” Dean asked, his face sincere.

“I trust you to know.” John said. He was not going to tell his son when he should take his clothes off. “And, I told you that you have permission to take care of your body’s needs. That means bathroom, cleaning, eating, anything you need. Okay?”

Dean nodded slowly and John could see him processing. “Okay. I understand all of that.”

“Good.” John downed half his beer, then looked at Dean’s. “You can drink that.”

Dean made a face. “Can I have water?”

“Of course. I just thought you’d like to have a beer with your old man.”

Dean bit his lip and reached tentatively for the bottle. “Dean, you don’t have to. I won’t be angry.”

There was something like fear in his eyes when he looked up. “I never got choices, and sometimes when the drink wasn’t water, it was drugged…or it was…” He stopped and looked away.

John nodded and got up to get him a glass of water from the tap. “Never be afraid to explain things like that to me, Dean. I can’t help you if I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Dean’s voice was small and he sipped on his water before John sighed and moved on.

“That’s true of a lot of things Dean. Sam and I don’t understand everything you’ve been through. If we say or do something that makes you uncomfortable, I want you to tell us.”

“Like when you touched me.”

John’s head swam around the words, trying to figure out what he was referring to, then he nodded. “Yes, like that. You told me and I took my hand away.”

“You can touch me now though.” Dean said. “You don’t…but you’re allowed to, right?”

And there it was, put out on the table for them to stare at while John fumbled the words around in his brain. “Dean.” John reached out for Dean’s hand. “I need to say something that’s very important, and it’s going to hurt you, even though I don’t mean it to. So I want you to listen, and when I’m done you can say anything, you can be sad or angry or whatever. Okay?”

Dean just nodded and John squeezed his hand. “Dean, I’m your father. I am not ever going to hurt you. I am not ever going to…do the things that man did to you.” He took a breath. He could see the affect on Dean’s face already. “Now, it doesn’t mean that you aren’t good, or that you aren’t perfect. It means that I can’t be that for you. I can’t, do you understand?”

“Are you going to send me away?”

John closed his eyes, his heart ripping. “No, Dean. Never sending you away.”

“Am I…still yours?”

John opened his eyes and licked his lips. “You were mine the day you were born Dean. You will be until the day you die.”

Dean blinked and the tears faded. “What about Sam?”

“What about him?”

Dean seemed to think about it for a while before he spoke. “If I’m yours because I’m your son, and Sam is your son…is he yours too?”

John exhaled slowly. “I guess, in a way.”

“But you gave him to me?” Dean cocked his head a little, as if seeing something a ways off. “I remember. You put him in my arms and told me to take him.”

John reached blindly for his beer. “Yes,” he managed before he swallowed to keep from crying. “Yes, Dean. And you’ve taken care of him ever since.”

“Until he left us.” Dean said. He set the water glass down and toyed with the beer bottle. “Then I took care of you.”

“Until I chased you away.” John said, remembering the drunken fighting, the endless driving, chasing ghosts and monsters with shitty motels and greasy spoons the only respite from the road.

“I was coming back.” Dean said into the silence that had lasted longer minutes than John intended. “I was.”

“I know. Sam told me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You really need to stop apologizing Dean. None of this is your fault.”

“No. For before. I didn’t make it easy on you after Sam left.”

John’s breath caught in his throat as Dean lifted the beer bottle and took a swig. This was Dean…still damaged, still broken…but more Dean than he’d seen since they’d gotten out of that place. Then Dean made a face and put the bottle down. “What’s wrong?”

Dean rubbed a finger across his tongue. “I don’t think I actually like beer.”

John couldn’t help himself, he laughed out loud. Dean smiled and John slapped the table. “That’s good Dean.”

“Is that okay?” Dean asked as the laughter died down. “That I tell you, I mean?” He moved his butt around on the chair. “You and Sam both keep asking me about what I want, what I like. I’m not supposed to want and it shouldn’t matter what I like. That’s…the training.”

John reached for his hand again. “I always want to know what you like, Dean, and what you don’t…and if you want something, ask for it. I want you to have things that you want.” Which actually brought them to the next subject. “Like…orgasms.” John closed his eyes.

Dean pulled his hand free and tucked it under the table. Just like that the Dean that spoke a moment before about Sam’s leaving was gone, buried under the façade burned onto him by that bastard James.

John sighed. “It’s natural to be aroused, Dean. It’s natural to express your sexual needs. I don’t want you to repress that.”

“You want me…it’s okay to…”

John nodded. “Let’s call it part of taking care of your body’s needs, okay…just like eating. Can you do that?”

Dean nodded slowly. “I think I can.”

“Good.” John finished off his beer. This whole thing had exhausted him. “I’m going to go back to bed. You can come up whenever you’re ready.”

“Where should I go? Sam’s room or yours?”

“Your choice, Son. Whatever makes you happy.” He kissed Dean’s forehead and left him at the table.

Dean didn’t watch him leave, just stared at the beer bottle and the water glass. Choice. He picked up the beer bottle again. He could remember drinking beer, but he didn’t remember it tasting like this. He took another sip, but it was just as bad. He chased it with the water to wash the taste out of his mouth.

He cleaned up the bottles and the salami, then washed his hands before turning off the kitchen light and climbing the stairs. He hesitated outside the room where Sam lay, then opened the door. Choice.

Sam was awake. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Dean smiled. “Sorry…for earlier.”

Sam yawned and moved over on the bed, patting the space beside him. “Where were you?”

Dean got into bed, his body naturally curving to fit with Sam’s. “Having a beer with the old man.”

Sam looked surprised when he looked at him. “Yeah? How was it?”

“Tasted like ass.” Dean said, then blushed red and buried his head in the crook of Sam’s neck.

“Like ass?” Sam smiled and shook his head. “I always kinda thought so too.”

“Sleep Sammy.” Dean kissed the back of his neck and Sam yawned again.

“Yeah, Dean, yeah.”