Gone, Supernatural, NC-17, Broken!Verse
Fandom: Supernatural, Broken!Verse
Title: Gone
Pairing/Characters: OMC/Dean
Word Count: 1285
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Over here I posted a meme. I'm slowly getting around to writing the prompts given. sarlev_vanisa asked for Broken!Verse, the day Dean gets taken. So here it is: Dean and John have had a fight. Dean goes out drinking and hooks up with a trucker named Candace. On his way back to the motel, very drunk, he's grabbed, raped and kidnapped.
A/Ns & Warnings: Can't say this strongly enough. THERE IS A RAPE SCENE IN THIS FIC It is not explicit or drawn out. It is the start of Dean's journey to being the broken bit we find in the opening chapter of Broken!verse, Anything.
”Maybe you should leave like your brother.”
“Yeah, maybe I will.”
The fight echoed through him as he downed his fourth shot in less than forty minutes and he shook his head to clear it. They’d fought for months. When they didn’t fight, they didn’t speak, other than his father barking orders.
“This seat taken, sugar?”
Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t see anyone sitting in it, darling, but I ain’t exactly company.”
“So I see. Roger, set me up.”
Dean glanced aside. The woman was his age, maybe older, with red hair in a simple pony tail and blue eyes that danced with amusement. The bartender set a bottle of Tequila in front of her and a shot glass. She poured a shot and downed it, then smiled at him.
“Wasn’t looking for company, sugar, just a place to park my ass.”
Dean smirked and reached for his next shot. “In that case, be my guest.”
“You don’t look like one of Roger’s regulars.”
Dean scowled at her and sipped on his beer. “No? How so?”
“You’re too pretty. This lot’s all full of old, beaten down farmers.”
“You don’t look like a farmer, old or otherwise.”
She smiled and Dean found himself warming to her, despite his desire to stay grumpy and drink himself into a place where he could crawl back to his father and swallow it all again.
“I drive a truck. I’m Candace, folks round here call me Candy.”
“I’ll bet they do.” Dean muttered, taking a long pull from his beer. “Dean. Just passing through.”
“Pity, wouldn’t mind seeing you waiting here for me every few weeks when I pass through.”
She downed a second shot and poured a third. “So, since you’re just passing through, what do you say to getting shit-faced drunk, I’ll lie to you about my breast size, you can lie to me about the size of your dick…then we can attempt to fuck and go our separate ways never remembering if we managed to or not?”
Dena turned to really look at her and smiled. “Candy, that sounds like my idea of a good night.” He raised his shot and cheered her.
Two hours later, Dean stood unsteadily beside Candy’s truck, buttoning his jeans. She leaned out to blow him a kiss. “You okay getting back?”
Dean nodded. “Got a room at the hotel.” His words slurred as he hitched his thumb toward the motel behind the bar and he knew he was really drunk when the ground seemed to be moving under his feet. His father was going to be pissed.
He was starting to wonder if it was something more than drunk as his vision swam. The music spilling out of the bar was loud and fuzzy and disorienting. He thought he heard someone behind him, but when he looked there was only shadows and pale light from the street lamp.
He could see the door to the room, between his car and the truck. He considered crashing in the Impala…but his back was sore enough already from the hunt, and not helped by the contortions required to have sex this drunk in the cab of a semi. He tripped and caught himself against the truck, then stumbled, again his legs wide, his face against the cool metal.
It wasn’t until he heard voices that he realized there were hands, pushing, holding, pinning him. “Wha’ the fuck?”
Booted feet kicked his legs apart, while disembodied hands were pulling his hands behind him and other hands were touching him, sliding into his still open fly and stroking his soft cock.
He pushed back, but was only rewarded with heavy body weight pressing him into the side of the truck. There were at least three of them, judging by how well he was pinned and the number of hands.
He wasn’t ready for it, hadn’t made the connection yet, but suddenly he knew, as something blunt and hard breached him, invaded him. He yelled and a voice whispered hard and disgusting in his ear. “Go head, bring daddy out here to watch me fuck you. Bet he’d like that wouldn’t he?”
Dean choked as the bigger man behind him made good, fucking into him hard and fast, pressing Dean against the truck while he grunted. “That’s a good little slut.” There were hands around his throat and everything was getting dark. The man behind him was coming, and it burned, then there was laughter and the dark swallowed him
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.”
“The name’s Dean.” The backhand would have knocked him over if not for the hand in his hair.
“You are nothing. No one. Alone. On your knees for your master.”
“Woah, not liking the sound of that.”
The blow was like a line of fire across his back, and he yelped. “Slaves do not speak unless directly instructed to. On your knees.”
The fist in his hair yanked him up, onto his knees. This was not good. His body wasn’t responding to his need to move, his head pounded and his stomach still felt queasy. He was suddenly aware of another presence.
“He’s a strong one, Master.”
“Nothing you can’t handle though, right Thomas?”
“No Sir. He just needs some…special handling.”
There was amusement in the voice of the Master. “Oh, do you have suggestions for me?”
The one called Thomas tightened his fist in Dean’s hair. “I recommend a thorough beating, restriction of food and water, sensory deprivation, all for at least thirty six hours.”
“Hmmm…” There was a hand now on Dean’s chin, turning his face up. “Use the paddle and the riding crop, but I don’t want any blood. Don’t gag him until we’re sure he’s done vomiting. Wouldn’t do to kill him.”
The grip tightened. ”As of this moment, you have no name. As of this moment you have no purpose. You are nothing. You are no one. You are alone. You belong to me. Everything that is about to happen to you is because I wish it to be so.”
The hand in his hair disappeared and a body appeared behind him, pulling him tight against strong legs. There was something sharp, cutting into his chest. It felt like a “J” carved into his skin. “This is my mark, so everyone will know that you belong to me. So that everyone will know that you are nothing, no one, alone.”
The hand released him. “Bring him to me after his beating, I wish to evaluate him properly.”
Title: Gone
Pairing/Characters: OMC/Dean
Word Count: 1285
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Over here I posted a meme. I'm slowly getting around to writing the prompts given. sarlev_vanisa asked for Broken!Verse, the day Dean gets taken. So here it is: Dean and John have had a fight. Dean goes out drinking and hooks up with a trucker named Candace. On his way back to the motel, very drunk, he's grabbed, raped and kidnapped.
A/Ns & Warnings: Can't say this strongly enough. THERE IS A RAPE SCENE IN THIS FIC It is not explicit or drawn out. It is the start of Dean's journey to being the broken bit we find in the opening chapter of Broken!verse, Anything.
”Maybe you should leave like your brother.”
“Yeah, maybe I will.”
The fight echoed through him as he downed his fourth shot in less than forty minutes and he shook his head to clear it. They’d fought for months. When they didn’t fight, they didn’t speak, other than his father barking orders.
“This seat taken, sugar?”
Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t see anyone sitting in it, darling, but I ain’t exactly company.”
“So I see. Roger, set me up.”
Dean glanced aside. The woman was his age, maybe older, with red hair in a simple pony tail and blue eyes that danced with amusement. The bartender set a bottle of Tequila in front of her and a shot glass. She poured a shot and downed it, then smiled at him.
“Wasn’t looking for company, sugar, just a place to park my ass.”
Dean smirked and reached for his next shot. “In that case, be my guest.”
“You don’t look like one of Roger’s regulars.”
Dean scowled at her and sipped on his beer. “No? How so?”
“You’re too pretty. This lot’s all full of old, beaten down farmers.”
“You don’t look like a farmer, old or otherwise.”
She smiled and Dean found himself warming to her, despite his desire to stay grumpy and drink himself into a place where he could crawl back to his father and swallow it all again.
“I drive a truck. I’m Candace, folks round here call me Candy.”
“I’ll bet they do.” Dean muttered, taking a long pull from his beer. “Dean. Just passing through.”
“Pity, wouldn’t mind seeing you waiting here for me every few weeks when I pass through.”
She downed a second shot and poured a third. “So, since you’re just passing through, what do you say to getting shit-faced drunk, I’ll lie to you about my breast size, you can lie to me about the size of your dick…then we can attempt to fuck and go our separate ways never remembering if we managed to or not?”
Dena turned to really look at her and smiled. “Candy, that sounds like my idea of a good night.” He raised his shot and cheered her.
Two hours later, Dean stood unsteadily beside Candy’s truck, buttoning his jeans. She leaned out to blow him a kiss. “You okay getting back?”
Dean nodded. “Got a room at the hotel.” His words slurred as he hitched his thumb toward the motel behind the bar and he knew he was really drunk when the ground seemed to be moving under his feet. His father was going to be pissed.
He was starting to wonder if it was something more than drunk as his vision swam. The music spilling out of the bar was loud and fuzzy and disorienting. He thought he heard someone behind him, but when he looked there was only shadows and pale light from the street lamp.
He could see the door to the room, between his car and the truck. He considered crashing in the Impala…but his back was sore enough already from the hunt, and not helped by the contortions required to have sex this drunk in the cab of a semi. He tripped and caught himself against the truck, then stumbled, again his legs wide, his face against the cool metal.
It wasn’t until he heard voices that he realized there were hands, pushing, holding, pinning him. “Wha’ the fuck?”
Booted feet kicked his legs apart, while disembodied hands were pulling his hands behind him and other hands were touching him, sliding into his still open fly and stroking his soft cock.
He pushed back, but was only rewarded with heavy body weight pressing him into the side of the truck. There were at least three of them, judging by how well he was pinned and the number of hands.
He wasn’t ready for it, hadn’t made the connection yet, but suddenly he knew, as something blunt and hard breached him, invaded him. He yelled and a voice whispered hard and disgusting in his ear. “Go head, bring daddy out here to watch me fuck you. Bet he’d like that wouldn’t he?”
Dean choked as the bigger man behind him made good, fucking into him hard and fast, pressing Dean against the truck while he grunted. “That’s a good little slut.” There were hands around his throat and everything was getting dark. The man behind him was coming, and it burned, then there was laughter and the dark swallowed him
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.”
“The name’s Dean.” The backhand would have knocked him over if not for the hand in his hair.
“You are nothing. No one. Alone. On your knees for your master.”
“Woah, not liking the sound of that.”
The blow was like a line of fire across his back, and he yelped. “Slaves do not speak unless directly instructed to. On your knees.”
The fist in his hair yanked him up, onto his knees. This was not good. His body wasn’t responding to his need to move, his head pounded and his stomach still felt queasy. He was suddenly aware of another presence.
“He’s a strong one, Master.”
“Nothing you can’t handle though, right Thomas?”
“No Sir. He just needs some…special handling.”
There was amusement in the voice of the Master. “Oh, do you have suggestions for me?”
The one called Thomas tightened his fist in Dean’s hair. “I recommend a thorough beating, restriction of food and water, sensory deprivation, all for at least thirty six hours.”
“Hmmm…” There was a hand now on Dean’s chin, turning his face up. “Use the paddle and the riding crop, but I don’t want any blood. Don’t gag him until we’re sure he’s done vomiting. Wouldn’t do to kill him.”
The grip tightened. ”As of this moment, you have no name. As of this moment you have no purpose. You are nothing. You are no one. You are alone. You belong to me. Everything that is about to happen to you is because I wish it to be so.”
The hand in his hair disappeared and a body appeared behind him, pulling him tight against strong legs. There was something sharp, cutting into his chest. It felt like a “J” carved into his skin. “This is my mark, so everyone will know that you belong to me. So that everyone will know that you are nothing, no one, alone.”
The hand released him. “Bring him to me after his beating, I wish to evaluate him properly.”