Remember, Supernatural, NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Remember
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, John, Bobby, Robert
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3287
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, Better, Choice, Gathering, Betrayal and Taken. Dean remembers and it changes everything.
A/Ns and Warnings: Very dark. Includes torture and very dark violence.
”You think I don’t know what it is you two do out there?” Robert asked, stopping Dean.
He was already upset after Sam told him about Stanford, and he wanted to get them out of there and meet up with their father. He didn’t want to deal with this. “I haven’t got any clue what you think about, Robert. I never have.”
“You know Sammy loves me.” Robert said. “He always has.”
Dean sighed. “Sam thought you were fun to hang around, especially cause you didn’t want to work on cars with your old man like I did.”
“No.” Robert stepped closer. “It was more than that. And you know it.” Robert poked Dean in the chest. “That’s why you did it. Why you take him out there and touch him…why you make him touch you. You’re a sick fuck.”
Dean took a step back, and turned away, clenching his teeth. “You’ve lost your mind, Robert.” It wasn’t true. It was Sam who had started it. It was Sam who touched him and begged…but it pegged Dean’s guilt over the whole thing pretty soundly.
“I saw you.” His voice was anything but quiet and he was going to bring his father out to find out what the yelling was about. “I saw you this afternoon. I saw you yesterday. You fuck your own brother, Dean…you think it will make him love you.”
Dean’s hand formed a tight fist. “You don’t know anything.”
“I know that when I tell your father, he’ll never let you near him again. And I’ll be there to comfort him-“
Dean slammed his fist into Robert’s face, knocking him to the ground. His nose was bleeding when he looked up at Dean. “Sam’s already leaving, fuckwad. And he doesn’t want anything to do with you. Stay the hell away from us, or I’ll beat you down so far you’ll have to look up to tie your shoes.”
Dean sat up and the room spun around him. He and Sam had left right after that. They’d never seen Robert again…until…until the night they grabbed Dean. Until Robert told them how to find Dean and how to break him…
” Even his own brother can’t keep his hands off him.” Robert’s face was in front of him, his smile cold. “Be a good boy Dean, and I’ll take good care of Sammy for you.”
It was his fault. Dean got up, despite the sedatives still in his system. He’d provoked Robert…pushed him. He’d thought Robert was soft…a momma’s boy. He’d never thought…and now Sam was there…Sam was going through that cold, dark first day…after having been raped and beaten…alone in the dark.
Dean’s breath came in gasps and gulps of air as he paced the room like a caged animal. He hadn’t saved him…it was his fault…right from the start. He let Sam go to Stanford. He let Sam beg him and seduce him. He let Robert go.
“Sam.” Dean moaned the name through clenched teeth. If he closed his eyes he could imagine where Sam was…the pain…the fear…and Sam knew. Sam knew what to expect. Dean hadn’t. He hadn’t known what was happening. Sam would be lying there expecting it…and Master would know that…use that…Dean swallowed the bile that rose and leaned against the window, staring out into the yard.
The fucking yard. Where he hid and waited while they raped his brother. His Sam. He hit his head against the glass twice, then a third time with more force. He heard it crack and pounded against it with his fists, breaking it and sending glass crashing to the ground. The sounds coming from him were startling…angry, growling moans that grew in volume as he grabbed the curtains and pulled.
Memory flashed through him. Rape. His head held under water while a hand pistoned in and out of his ass. He picked the clock up off the dresser and hurled it across the room. Pictures of Sam, beaten and broken and bloody. The lamp felt heavy in his hands as he threw it out the window. The sound of his father’s voice giving him away.
He screamed wordlessly as he pulled the mirror down and knocked everything else off the dresser…then moved to the bed, upending it and sending the frame skittering in the opposite direction as the mattress.
The moment he stopped being Dean and let himself go…when he willingly knelt and bowed his head…no more tears…no more…he opened his mouth and sucked…he offered his ass on command…he wanted…not to be free…but to belong…
Dean backed into the corner, collapsing to the floor, his knees up to his chest, his face buried in his knees as he sobbed. The whole mess…the whole fucking ordeal…his body shook with the realization that it all stemmed back to the day Sam told him he was leaving…to Robert and his jealousy…to Dean and his need to give Sammy everything…
The door burst open and there were voices. He didn’t look up…he couldn’t face them…not knowing…not remembering…everything…There were hands on his head, familiar hands. “Dean?”
“Make them go away.” Dean pleaded, gripping his knees tighter, pressing his face against his legs. “Can’t…just make them go…”
“He’s okay…give us a few minutes okay?”
“John?”
“Ellen, I’ve got him. He’s okay.”
His father’s voice rumbled around the room and it was comforting. The door closed and John’s hands soothed over Dean’s head. Dean leaned into the touch…until he remembered…”Oh, god…Dad…”
He raised his tear streaked face. “I-God…I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.” He was still shaking as John dropped to his knees. “I can’t…I should never…god…what did I do to you?” He could hear the pain in his father’s voice when he came into the bedroom and he had offered himself…
“Dean…it’s okay…”
“No…no…god…Dad…you don’t…you don’t know…” Dean closed his eyes and licked his lips, but it only reminded him of how they used his mouth…how he let them…He groaned. “Robert…knew…he saw…and I hit him…and it’s my fault…it’s all my fault because I didn’t stop it…I didn’t…stop it when I should have…”
“Dean…this isn’t your fault. Robert…well, he’s a sick fuck and-“
Dean groaned again at the words and covered his face. “He was jealous…because Sam…he thought Sam wanted him…that Sam loved him…but Sam…” He looked up at his father, panic running through him. His father didn’t know about him and Sam. “He thought I was the reason Sam didn’t want him.”
John turned away, his eyes closing as Dean’s reaction and words sank in. “Dean…it…isn’t your fault…none of it.”
Dean reached out for his father’s hand. “I remember. Dad. I remember.”
John looked back at him, at his hand in Dean’s. “What do you remember?”
Dean’s gaze faltered, and his hand squeezed John’s. “All of it.” He choked back more tears. “We have to…we have to get to Sam…before…” He swallowed and pulled himself to his feet. “They’ve already started…they…god, they raped him before they pulled out of here…while I was…hiding.” Dean’s head bowed and his shoulder’s shook. “I was fucking hiding.”
John was behind him. “I told you to.”
“This is so…fucked up…” Dean scrubbed his face and turned to face his father. “The asshole I beat the shit out of…has he talked?”
John nodded slowly. “Starting to. Caleb called too. We have a location. We’re not sure how long they’ll keep him there.”
Dean nodded. “What about the search party they were sending?”
John squinted at him. “Rounding them up now.”
“I-I need a shower and…something to eat…and we need to…” He caught himself on the window sill as a wave of dizziness swept over him.
“You need more sleep.”
Dean shook his head. “No. I want to be part of this.”
“You will be, Son. But that was a pretty powerful sedative I gave you, and it’s only been a few hours.”
“Sam…we have to get there before they go to the third phase.”
“Third?”
Dean nodded, picking his way across the remains of the room. “The first was…the capture and rape and a pretty thorough beating. Then they’ll drug him and lock him up in the dark…then…they’ll start breaking him…” Dean was moving down the hall toward John’s room. “And…Sam…I won’t let him…I won’t let them do that to him.”
He was shaking again as he reached the door to John’s room. John cupped a hand to his face. “Okay. You, sleep for a few hours. Shower. Get yourself ready. I’m going to go downstairs and check on our progress, okay?”
Dean nodded stiffly and tried to keep the images of his interactions with his father in that room at bay. He yawned and let his father support him to the bed. “I promise, we’re not going anywhere without you. Sleep. When you’re ready, we will be too.”
The light was blinding. He had no concept of time, other than the fact that he’d been there long enough to need to relieve himself. He blinked in the light and fought against the bindings as his arms were pulled up over his head and he was slowly pulled up off his knees and then higher, until only his toes were scraping the ground.
“I am Thomas, your handler. I will be the one who gives you food, the one who gives you punishment, I will be the one who decides when you sleep and when you shit and when you get hosed down.”
Sam tried to find the source of the voice, only to be rewarded with a hard slap of something stiff against his ass. “Master James informs me that unlike most recruits, you have an idea what is in store for you. Let me assure you, you have no idea.” He hit Sam again, three hard blows across his ass and lower back. “This is the paddle. It will cause pain and bruising. It also turns your skin a lovely shade of red. It is the first tool of punishment. It is used for general explanation of your position here and minor infractions.” He hit Sam several more times until Sam was yelling into the gag.
He moved in front of Sam and pulled his face down. “The first rule is you are nothing. You get no choice in what happens to you, in what you eat. You are no one. Master James decides who fucks you and how. You are alone. I am the closest thing you have to a friend…and I don’t like you all that much.”
Thomas used the paddle over Sam’s thighs and ass and back until Sam stopped yelling and fell silent, his throat raw and stripped. Then his hands roamed over Sam’s body, two fingers pressing into his ass, then withdrawing. There was an odd popping sound and Sam was crashing to the floor. “I suggest you sleep. The next time someone enters your cage, it will be to fuck you senseless.”
Dean stood under the flow of water in the shower and tried to let it wash away his fear, his revulsion of what he had become. His dreams had been a melee of memory and visions of Sam. He could hear the rumble of voices from down stairs. He was going to have to go down there and face them…knowing that they knew what had happened, what he was…at least in the most generic sense.
He was going to have to face his father, and Bobby. Bobby. Dean squeezed his eyes shut tighter and stuck his head under the water. He tried to not obey the conditioning, not scrub himself as he’d been trained to…but it calmed him…and he didn’t want to think about that. Too much time had passed already. It was dark outside. Sam had been gone for nearly 12 hours.
Twelve hours.
Dean winced and shifted to rinse the soap off of his skin. The sooner he got down there…the sooner he proved to his father that he was strong enough, the sooner they’d be moving toward Sam. He turned off the water and stepped out, drying himself rapidly and turning to the steam fogged mirror. He wiped it with one hand and stared at himself. There was a vague bruise on his forehead, left over from banging his head against the motel room wall, and aggravated by his hitting it against the window.
A day’s growth was on his chin and he felt the compulsion to shave it clean, but resisted. It was a small rebellion. A little taste of not obeying the conditioning. He grimaced and fought picking up the razor. Sam was counting on him. Waiting for him.
He dressed as quickly as he could, despite the fact that he didn’t have anything clean. He pulled on the jeans he’d worn the day before and a t-shirt he took from his father’s bag. He shoved his feet into a pair of his father’s socks and the sneakers Sam had bought for him, trying not to remember that day….
“Hey, I got you some clothes.” Sam put the packages on the bed and crossed to where Dean was huddling in the corner, naked again, the collar around his neck, his head bent forward on his knees. “Dean?”
It had been three days, and Dean was lost inside a haze of confusion and need so thick he wasn’t sure which way was out…or even if he wanted out…let alone who he really was.
“Tell me what’s wrong Dean.”
He’d been so far gone…let himself disappear so much he didn’t know his own name…didn’t recognize Sam as Sam…didn’t realize how scared his brother was for him. He did now. He could look back at those first days and see Sam’s fear, his pain and frustration. Dean took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together. He had to be strong, had to find the Dean he’d been before so that he could save Sam.
That wasn’t as easy as it sounded, and his stomach lurched at the thought of Sam in the hands of those men. But…he found something resembling strength in his determination and opened the bedroom door.
The old clock in the living room downstairs was chiming 4am as he came to the bottom of the stairs. His eyes swept the room, the hunters sleeping in spots on the floor and the couch. He turned into the kitchen and this time eyes swept over him. Bobby…his face drawn, tired and angry and hurt. A woman he didn’t know…her eyes tender, soft. His father. He met John’s eyes and nodded. “I’m okay.” Dean murmured.
It was a façade…and he was fairly certain his father saw through it, but John nodded. “We’re almost ready to move out.”
“Where are they?” Dean asked.
“Out back, in the shed.”
Dean nodded and picked up his father’s gun. He was out the door and nearly to the shed before his father caught up with him. “What are you doing, Dean?”
“Killing the sons of bitches.” Dean moved around his father and continued toward the shed. The hunter standing guard looked familiar, and he stood in Dean’s way.
“Dean, you can’t just kill them.”
“Did you get anything from them?”
“A little. Not much.”
“They aren’t going to talk, and the police can’t hold them. What do you suggest we do? Hold them here in Bobby’s shed forever?”
“Until we get Gorlian.”
Dean shook his head. “We won’t get Gorlian. Not today.”
“These are men, Dean.”
Dean looked up at his father. “No. Dad. They aren’t. They’re monsters. Monsters who did things to me that you can’t even begin to imagine. That did those things to hundreds of others. They would do those things to Sam.” He turned to the hunter. “Move.”
He looked to John who sighed and must have nodded, though Dean wasn’t looking to see. He pulled the door open and stepped inside, letting his eyes adjust to the even dimmer dark inside. Five men knelt on the floor, bound and gagged. The trainer Dean had shot earlier lay on the floor beside them.
He swallowed. He lifted the gun. This time he didn’t close his eyes or turn away. He shot, and shot again…the gun echoing in the tiny space, two bullets each, one in the heart, one in the head. Dead. Quick. Too good for any of them…but it was enough. The last man whimpered, his eyes flashing to Dean’s, begging. He could feel his father behind him, watching.
He looked over his shoulder. John held another gun, leveled at the last man. Dean stepped away and his father shot. One bullet. Right between the eyes. Dean lowered the gun in his hand and turned to his father. “Now, we go get Sam.”
John nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, we do.”
He wasn’t sure how much of Dean’s demeanor was a front, and how much was real. Something had definitely changed, something had snapped him out of the mental state he’d been in, and even if it wasn’t Dean, he certainly wasn’t the same. Broken, hurting, guilty…and yet, able to kill…able to function and understand the complexities of the situation. John glanced aside at him as they loaded up in cars. Four men per car, loaded with guns and ammo and explosives.
The intel they had from Caleb and Joe said that there was a large facility on a ranch outside of Sharon, a three and a half hour drive south. Large and heavily guarded. If Dean was right about the timing, they should get there before…John shook his head. Before Sam was hurt any more than he’d already been…and then…there would be a war.
Nothing. No one. Alone.
Dean’s voice played in his head as he lay there on the cold metal floor. It was a haunting reminder of what was in store for him. His arms were still bound, metal restraints digging into his skin. He pulled them closer to his body, listening to the sound as metal scraped across metal. It was the only thing he’d heard since Thomas left.
His body hurt. Muscles alternately on fire and frozen, joints stiff from cold. His stomach reeled from the drugs and from the pain in his head. His side hurt, the stitches dry and pulling on his skin. He didn’t know how long he’d laid there, but in his stupor he’d defecated all over himself and peed and he lay in it now, unable to move.
Nothing. No one. Alone.
It was easy to see how this worked…how they broke down the sense of self…how they took away everything, even control over something as simple as relieving onself.
Easy to see…and impossible to evade. Just like that cock that had raped him. Impossible to avoid. He was trapped. Sam tried not to let the panic set in, tried to breath through it, but the stench was overwhelming and he found himself throwing up, moving his head enough to not drown in it.
“Dean…” The only image he could find in his head to hold onto was of Dean, naked and broken and waiting…waiting to be owned. “Dean.” He held on to it anyway, because it was Dean, his brother…his everything…and he would be damned if he was going to give in that easily. He was a Winchester after all. He could survive this.
Ever so slowly, he pulled himself away from the mess, blindly groping his way to the walls of his cage. His fingers curled around the bars and he held on while his head swam. Dean’s cage had been unlocked. He had to remember that. Had to remember it when he could stand again. When every movement wasn’t threatening to send him back into unconsciousness.
For now…he welcomed that swallowing dark…folded into it, whispering Dean’s name.
Title: Remember
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, John, Bobby, Robert
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3287
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, Better, Choice, Gathering, Betrayal and Taken. Dean remembers and it changes everything.
A/Ns and Warnings: Very dark. Includes torture and very dark violence.
”You think I don’t know what it is you two do out there?” Robert asked, stopping Dean.
He was already upset after Sam told him about Stanford, and he wanted to get them out of there and meet up with their father. He didn’t want to deal with this. “I haven’t got any clue what you think about, Robert. I never have.”
“You know Sammy loves me.” Robert said. “He always has.”
Dean sighed. “Sam thought you were fun to hang around, especially cause you didn’t want to work on cars with your old man like I did.”
“No.” Robert stepped closer. “It was more than that. And you know it.” Robert poked Dean in the chest. “That’s why you did it. Why you take him out there and touch him…why you make him touch you. You’re a sick fuck.”
Dean took a step back, and turned away, clenching his teeth. “You’ve lost your mind, Robert.” It wasn’t true. It was Sam who had started it. It was Sam who touched him and begged…but it pegged Dean’s guilt over the whole thing pretty soundly.
“I saw you.” His voice was anything but quiet and he was going to bring his father out to find out what the yelling was about. “I saw you this afternoon. I saw you yesterday. You fuck your own brother, Dean…you think it will make him love you.”
Dean’s hand formed a tight fist. “You don’t know anything.”
“I know that when I tell your father, he’ll never let you near him again. And I’ll be there to comfort him-“
Dean slammed his fist into Robert’s face, knocking him to the ground. His nose was bleeding when he looked up at Dean. “Sam’s already leaving, fuckwad. And he doesn’t want anything to do with you. Stay the hell away from us, or I’ll beat you down so far you’ll have to look up to tie your shoes.”
Dean sat up and the room spun around him. He and Sam had left right after that. They’d never seen Robert again…until…until the night they grabbed Dean. Until Robert told them how to find Dean and how to break him…
” Even his own brother can’t keep his hands off him.” Robert’s face was in front of him, his smile cold. “Be a good boy Dean, and I’ll take good care of Sammy for you.”
It was his fault. Dean got up, despite the sedatives still in his system. He’d provoked Robert…pushed him. He’d thought Robert was soft…a momma’s boy. He’d never thought…and now Sam was there…Sam was going through that cold, dark first day…after having been raped and beaten…alone in the dark.
Dean’s breath came in gasps and gulps of air as he paced the room like a caged animal. He hadn’t saved him…it was his fault…right from the start. He let Sam go to Stanford. He let Sam beg him and seduce him. He let Robert go.
“Sam.” Dean moaned the name through clenched teeth. If he closed his eyes he could imagine where Sam was…the pain…the fear…and Sam knew. Sam knew what to expect. Dean hadn’t. He hadn’t known what was happening. Sam would be lying there expecting it…and Master would know that…use that…Dean swallowed the bile that rose and leaned against the window, staring out into the yard.
The fucking yard. Where he hid and waited while they raped his brother. His Sam. He hit his head against the glass twice, then a third time with more force. He heard it crack and pounded against it with his fists, breaking it and sending glass crashing to the ground. The sounds coming from him were startling…angry, growling moans that grew in volume as he grabbed the curtains and pulled.
Memory flashed through him. Rape. His head held under water while a hand pistoned in and out of his ass. He picked the clock up off the dresser and hurled it across the room. Pictures of Sam, beaten and broken and bloody. The lamp felt heavy in his hands as he threw it out the window. The sound of his father’s voice giving him away.
He screamed wordlessly as he pulled the mirror down and knocked everything else off the dresser…then moved to the bed, upending it and sending the frame skittering in the opposite direction as the mattress.
The moment he stopped being Dean and let himself go…when he willingly knelt and bowed his head…no more tears…no more…he opened his mouth and sucked…he offered his ass on command…he wanted…not to be free…but to belong…
Dean backed into the corner, collapsing to the floor, his knees up to his chest, his face buried in his knees as he sobbed. The whole mess…the whole fucking ordeal…his body shook with the realization that it all stemmed back to the day Sam told him he was leaving…to Robert and his jealousy…to Dean and his need to give Sammy everything…
The door burst open and there were voices. He didn’t look up…he couldn’t face them…not knowing…not remembering…everything…There were hands on his head, familiar hands. “Dean?”
“Make them go away.” Dean pleaded, gripping his knees tighter, pressing his face against his legs. “Can’t…just make them go…”
“He’s okay…give us a few minutes okay?”
“John?”
“Ellen, I’ve got him. He’s okay.”
His father’s voice rumbled around the room and it was comforting. The door closed and John’s hands soothed over Dean’s head. Dean leaned into the touch…until he remembered…”Oh, god…Dad…”
He raised his tear streaked face. “I-God…I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.” He was still shaking as John dropped to his knees. “I can’t…I should never…god…what did I do to you?” He could hear the pain in his father’s voice when he came into the bedroom and he had offered himself…
“Dean…it’s okay…”
“No…no…god…Dad…you don’t…you don’t know…” Dean closed his eyes and licked his lips, but it only reminded him of how they used his mouth…how he let them…He groaned. “Robert…knew…he saw…and I hit him…and it’s my fault…it’s all my fault because I didn’t stop it…I didn’t…stop it when I should have…”
“Dean…this isn’t your fault. Robert…well, he’s a sick fuck and-“
Dean groaned again at the words and covered his face. “He was jealous…because Sam…he thought Sam wanted him…that Sam loved him…but Sam…” He looked up at his father, panic running through him. His father didn’t know about him and Sam. “He thought I was the reason Sam didn’t want him.”
John turned away, his eyes closing as Dean’s reaction and words sank in. “Dean…it…isn’t your fault…none of it.”
Dean reached out for his father’s hand. “I remember. Dad. I remember.”
John looked back at him, at his hand in Dean’s. “What do you remember?”
Dean’s gaze faltered, and his hand squeezed John’s. “All of it.” He choked back more tears. “We have to…we have to get to Sam…before…” He swallowed and pulled himself to his feet. “They’ve already started…they…god, they raped him before they pulled out of here…while I was…hiding.” Dean’s head bowed and his shoulder’s shook. “I was fucking hiding.”
John was behind him. “I told you to.”
“This is so…fucked up…” Dean scrubbed his face and turned to face his father. “The asshole I beat the shit out of…has he talked?”
John nodded slowly. “Starting to. Caleb called too. We have a location. We’re not sure how long they’ll keep him there.”
Dean nodded. “What about the search party they were sending?”
John squinted at him. “Rounding them up now.”
“I-I need a shower and…something to eat…and we need to…” He caught himself on the window sill as a wave of dizziness swept over him.
“You need more sleep.”
Dean shook his head. “No. I want to be part of this.”
“You will be, Son. But that was a pretty powerful sedative I gave you, and it’s only been a few hours.”
“Sam…we have to get there before they go to the third phase.”
“Third?”
Dean nodded, picking his way across the remains of the room. “The first was…the capture and rape and a pretty thorough beating. Then they’ll drug him and lock him up in the dark…then…they’ll start breaking him…” Dean was moving down the hall toward John’s room. “And…Sam…I won’t let him…I won’t let them do that to him.”
He was shaking again as he reached the door to John’s room. John cupped a hand to his face. “Okay. You, sleep for a few hours. Shower. Get yourself ready. I’m going to go downstairs and check on our progress, okay?”
Dean nodded stiffly and tried to keep the images of his interactions with his father in that room at bay. He yawned and let his father support him to the bed. “I promise, we’re not going anywhere without you. Sleep. When you’re ready, we will be too.”
The light was blinding. He had no concept of time, other than the fact that he’d been there long enough to need to relieve himself. He blinked in the light and fought against the bindings as his arms were pulled up over his head and he was slowly pulled up off his knees and then higher, until only his toes were scraping the ground.
“I am Thomas, your handler. I will be the one who gives you food, the one who gives you punishment, I will be the one who decides when you sleep and when you shit and when you get hosed down.”
Sam tried to find the source of the voice, only to be rewarded with a hard slap of something stiff against his ass. “Master James informs me that unlike most recruits, you have an idea what is in store for you. Let me assure you, you have no idea.” He hit Sam again, three hard blows across his ass and lower back. “This is the paddle. It will cause pain and bruising. It also turns your skin a lovely shade of red. It is the first tool of punishment. It is used for general explanation of your position here and minor infractions.” He hit Sam several more times until Sam was yelling into the gag.
He moved in front of Sam and pulled his face down. “The first rule is you are nothing. You get no choice in what happens to you, in what you eat. You are no one. Master James decides who fucks you and how. You are alone. I am the closest thing you have to a friend…and I don’t like you all that much.”
Thomas used the paddle over Sam’s thighs and ass and back until Sam stopped yelling and fell silent, his throat raw and stripped. Then his hands roamed over Sam’s body, two fingers pressing into his ass, then withdrawing. There was an odd popping sound and Sam was crashing to the floor. “I suggest you sleep. The next time someone enters your cage, it will be to fuck you senseless.”
Dean stood under the flow of water in the shower and tried to let it wash away his fear, his revulsion of what he had become. His dreams had been a melee of memory and visions of Sam. He could hear the rumble of voices from down stairs. He was going to have to go down there and face them…knowing that they knew what had happened, what he was…at least in the most generic sense.
He was going to have to face his father, and Bobby. Bobby. Dean squeezed his eyes shut tighter and stuck his head under the water. He tried to not obey the conditioning, not scrub himself as he’d been trained to…but it calmed him…and he didn’t want to think about that. Too much time had passed already. It was dark outside. Sam had been gone for nearly 12 hours.
Twelve hours.
Dean winced and shifted to rinse the soap off of his skin. The sooner he got down there…the sooner he proved to his father that he was strong enough, the sooner they’d be moving toward Sam. He turned off the water and stepped out, drying himself rapidly and turning to the steam fogged mirror. He wiped it with one hand and stared at himself. There was a vague bruise on his forehead, left over from banging his head against the motel room wall, and aggravated by his hitting it against the window.
A day’s growth was on his chin and he felt the compulsion to shave it clean, but resisted. It was a small rebellion. A little taste of not obeying the conditioning. He grimaced and fought picking up the razor. Sam was counting on him. Waiting for him.
He dressed as quickly as he could, despite the fact that he didn’t have anything clean. He pulled on the jeans he’d worn the day before and a t-shirt he took from his father’s bag. He shoved his feet into a pair of his father’s socks and the sneakers Sam had bought for him, trying not to remember that day….
“Hey, I got you some clothes.” Sam put the packages on the bed and crossed to where Dean was huddling in the corner, naked again, the collar around his neck, his head bent forward on his knees. “Dean?”
It had been three days, and Dean was lost inside a haze of confusion and need so thick he wasn’t sure which way was out…or even if he wanted out…let alone who he really was.
“Tell me what’s wrong Dean.”
He’d been so far gone…let himself disappear so much he didn’t know his own name…didn’t recognize Sam as Sam…didn’t realize how scared his brother was for him. He did now. He could look back at those first days and see Sam’s fear, his pain and frustration. Dean took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together. He had to be strong, had to find the Dean he’d been before so that he could save Sam.
That wasn’t as easy as it sounded, and his stomach lurched at the thought of Sam in the hands of those men. But…he found something resembling strength in his determination and opened the bedroom door.
The old clock in the living room downstairs was chiming 4am as he came to the bottom of the stairs. His eyes swept the room, the hunters sleeping in spots on the floor and the couch. He turned into the kitchen and this time eyes swept over him. Bobby…his face drawn, tired and angry and hurt. A woman he didn’t know…her eyes tender, soft. His father. He met John’s eyes and nodded. “I’m okay.” Dean murmured.
It was a façade…and he was fairly certain his father saw through it, but John nodded. “We’re almost ready to move out.”
“Where are they?” Dean asked.
“Out back, in the shed.”
Dean nodded and picked up his father’s gun. He was out the door and nearly to the shed before his father caught up with him. “What are you doing, Dean?”
“Killing the sons of bitches.” Dean moved around his father and continued toward the shed. The hunter standing guard looked familiar, and he stood in Dean’s way.
“Dean, you can’t just kill them.”
“Did you get anything from them?”
“A little. Not much.”
“They aren’t going to talk, and the police can’t hold them. What do you suggest we do? Hold them here in Bobby’s shed forever?”
“Until we get Gorlian.”
Dean shook his head. “We won’t get Gorlian. Not today.”
“These are men, Dean.”
Dean looked up at his father. “No. Dad. They aren’t. They’re monsters. Monsters who did things to me that you can’t even begin to imagine. That did those things to hundreds of others. They would do those things to Sam.” He turned to the hunter. “Move.”
He looked to John who sighed and must have nodded, though Dean wasn’t looking to see. He pulled the door open and stepped inside, letting his eyes adjust to the even dimmer dark inside. Five men knelt on the floor, bound and gagged. The trainer Dean had shot earlier lay on the floor beside them.
He swallowed. He lifted the gun. This time he didn’t close his eyes or turn away. He shot, and shot again…the gun echoing in the tiny space, two bullets each, one in the heart, one in the head. Dead. Quick. Too good for any of them…but it was enough. The last man whimpered, his eyes flashing to Dean’s, begging. He could feel his father behind him, watching.
He looked over his shoulder. John held another gun, leveled at the last man. Dean stepped away and his father shot. One bullet. Right between the eyes. Dean lowered the gun in his hand and turned to his father. “Now, we go get Sam.”
John nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, we do.”
He wasn’t sure how much of Dean’s demeanor was a front, and how much was real. Something had definitely changed, something had snapped him out of the mental state he’d been in, and even if it wasn’t Dean, he certainly wasn’t the same. Broken, hurting, guilty…and yet, able to kill…able to function and understand the complexities of the situation. John glanced aside at him as they loaded up in cars. Four men per car, loaded with guns and ammo and explosives.
The intel they had from Caleb and Joe said that there was a large facility on a ranch outside of Sharon, a three and a half hour drive south. Large and heavily guarded. If Dean was right about the timing, they should get there before…John shook his head. Before Sam was hurt any more than he’d already been…and then…there would be a war.
Nothing. No one. Alone.
Dean’s voice played in his head as he lay there on the cold metal floor. It was a haunting reminder of what was in store for him. His arms were still bound, metal restraints digging into his skin. He pulled them closer to his body, listening to the sound as metal scraped across metal. It was the only thing he’d heard since Thomas left.
His body hurt. Muscles alternately on fire and frozen, joints stiff from cold. His stomach reeled from the drugs and from the pain in his head. His side hurt, the stitches dry and pulling on his skin. He didn’t know how long he’d laid there, but in his stupor he’d defecated all over himself and peed and he lay in it now, unable to move.
Nothing. No one. Alone.
It was easy to see how this worked…how they broke down the sense of self…how they took away everything, even control over something as simple as relieving onself.
Easy to see…and impossible to evade. Just like that cock that had raped him. Impossible to avoid. He was trapped. Sam tried not to let the panic set in, tried to breath through it, but the stench was overwhelming and he found himself throwing up, moving his head enough to not drown in it.
“Dean…” The only image he could find in his head to hold onto was of Dean, naked and broken and waiting…waiting to be owned. “Dean.” He held on to it anyway, because it was Dean, his brother…his everything…and he would be damned if he was going to give in that easily. He was a Winchester after all. He could survive this.
Ever so slowly, he pulled himself away from the mess, blindly groping his way to the walls of his cage. His fingers curled around the bars and he held on while his head swam. Dean’s cage had been unlocked. He had to remember that. Had to remember it when he could stand again. When every movement wasn’t threatening to send him back into unconsciousness.
For now…he welcomed that swallowing dark…folded into it, whispering Dean’s name.