Right There, Supernatural, NC-17, Broken!Verse
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Right There
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, John, Ellen, Bobby, Caleb OMC
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3078
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, Taken, Remember, Training, Conflagration, Setting Up, Surviving, Pretending, Rescue, Revelations, Reconciliation, Waking Up, Guilt, Working On It, Effort, The Need to Talk, Please, Family and Wrong
Summary: Ellen and Caleb make a shocking discovery. Dean doesn't want to remember, but can't help it...and John tries...he tries hard.
A/Ns and Warnings: Very dark. Includes memory of torture and rape and very dark violence.
The address for the complex of warehouses and office buildings was easy enough to find, and less than ten minutes from the motel. Ellen and Caleb took a first pass, then headed off to find stake out supplies and to refresh their med kit.
Caleb looked up from the display of first aid supplies and froze. Beside him, Ellen loaded up their cart with bandages and ointment, unaware until Caleb grabbed her arm and turned them both quickly in the other direction.
“Caleb?”
He shushed her with a hand and peered slowly behind them. He could feel the color drain out of his face and his hands shook as he walked them slowly down the aisle to the end. Only once they were out of eyesight of the aisle did he let go.
“What is it?”
Caleb closed his eyes and breathed deeply before looking around the corner one more time. “That man…”
Ellen pulled him back and looked herself. He was tall, maybe 6 inches taller than Caleb, and big, broad shoulders and thick arms. She could see what made Caleb react, from the side he bore a striking resemblance to-then he turned and Ellen gasped, pulling back beside Caleb. “I thought he was dead.” She looked on more time to be sure, then pulled Caleb away, toward the door and the car. “He should be dead.”
“I can fix it.” Caleb said, reaching under the seat for a gun.
“No…not here. Think Caleb. Shooting him will only get us arrested.”
“That man supervised the men that raped Sam.” Caleb closed his eyes. “That man beat me and Sam and Dean. He dies.”
“I’m not arguing that, Caleb. But let’s be reasonable about it. He must have left the facility after turning Sam over to James, before we got there. He must be working here now. If we take him down now, we tip our hand. If we tip our hand, they’re gone. All of them. And we may never get another chance.”
Caleb opened and closed his fist over the gun. She was right. Of course she was right. Very deliberately, he put the gun back in it’s hiding place. “We follow then. Follow and watch, and when the time comes, I’m putting him down.”
Dean helped Sam settle into bed and got him some meds for the pain. Sam looked so small and young as he pulled the blanket up to his chin, his eyes stormy and downcast.
“I’m sorry.” Sam said softly as Dean sat beside him.
Dean frowned and brushed stray hair out of Sam’s eyes. “Why?”
“I didn’t think about…you…I mean, you went through this too…and I…forget sometimes.”
Dean shook his head as if to dismiss it. “I’m okay, Sam.”
Sam took his hand and held it. “I don’t think you are, Dean. I’m scared for you. You…block it all away and you pretend and it bubbles up and you remember and I see the fear and the pain in your eyes…and you need to…talk about it Dean.”
Dean’s jaw clenched. “It’s better not to remember. Easier.”
“I don’t know how to forget.” Sam responded.
“You sure you want this?” Bobby asked, as they stood on the porch.
“No…but I can’t go with you. Not now. And now is probably all we’ve got.” John’s eyes tracked Gabe loading his bags into the car. “Just promise me that son of a bitch doesn’t get away.”
Bobby nodded. “You take care of those boys, John. I’ll call when we get there.”
John stood on the porch and watched them leave, then stood there a while longer. The skies were rumbling with the promise of more rain. He sighed heavily and considered his options.
He had read some of the stuff Gabe had found, psychological studies of victims of rape and brainwashing. He knew it all called for getting them to talk, and that was something he wasn’t very good at.
Dean didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to think. Instead, he sat on the extra bed and stripped down the guns that were in the room. He lost himself in the ritual, soft cloth cleaning bits and laying them out on the towel, gun oil sharp on the air.
He didn’t want to remember, but he did.
”Did you clean the guns?”
Dean looked up. His father wasn’t even looking at him as he asked the question, stumbling out of the bathroom where he’d been hiding for the last hour. “Doing it now,” he said, in a tone that clearly said that his father was an idiot.
“Don’t get smart with me.”
“Yeah, why start now?”
John turned, anger crackling in his eyes. “I’ve had just about enough of you and this attitude.”
Dean slid the last part of the last gun in place and ran a cloth over the finished piece. It was his favorite, the one Sam had given him for his birthday. “Yeah? Maybe I’ve had enough of yours too.”
John growled and paced away. “Maybe you should leave like your brother did.”
Dean stood and tucked the gun and his cleaning kit into his duffle. “Yeah, maybe I will.”
He grabbed his room key and took off, out the door, ignoring his name in his father’s voice, ignoring that his father was following him. He stalked away, past the Impala, headed for the bar. John stopped following him as he passed between the Impala and the truck. Dean didn’t look back.
Dean cleared his throat and refocused on the gun in his hands. He didn’t see his father again for more than a year. That was the night it happened. The night he got drunk, got laid…and was taken by force.
“Go head, bring daddy out here to watch me fuck you. Bet he’d like that wouldn’t he?”
Dean shook his head. He should have yelled. Should have fought harder. He could feel the weight pressing against him, hands pinning him. Nothing. No one. Alone.
They made it so he couldn’t fight. Put something in his drink, made his muscles loose and unresponsive. Pinned him. Made him helpless.
Helpless.
He put the gun down and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to remember. He wanted it to stay down in the dark. “Fuck.”
Sam was restless on the other bed, whimpering lightly as if he too was reliving that first dark day. Dean turned away, putting his feet on the floor, though he didn’t stand.
There were flashes. Men, restraints, a van. Couldn’t move, couldn’t talk. Then dark. And the voice. You are nothing. You are no one. You are alone.
Dean blinked at the tears. Didn’t want to remember, didn’t want to cry.
Pretend. He was supposed to pretend.
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.
He shivered, remembering the way his master’s voice had chilled him, how even then it struck a chord. Even then. When he was still Dean. He rubbed his eyes, forgetting for the moment that they were covered in gun oil. He remembered quickly enough as they started to burn and tear.
“Fuck.”
He staggered to his feet and moved toward where he thought the door was, but he hit the wall first, then stubbed his toe as he got the door open. He tried opening his eyes, but it only made it worse. With his arms out in front of him he stumbled to the opposite wall and felt his way down to the bathroom.
He got the hot water turned on and started with washing his hands.
”Always use water as hot as you can take it and soap. Scrub each finger tip, like this.” The older slave used a small brush and swirled it over the bar of soap, then in a circular motion over first Dean’s fingertips, then up over the nail. He worked slowly and methodically until Dean’s hands were pink from the heat and the scrubbing. “Rinse carefully. No soap should remain.”
“Dean?”
”My son, Dean. Pretty face, might be hard to break.”
“No…its okay…I can make it okay.” Dean splashed the hot water up onto his face bending forward to direct it to his eyes. He felt his father move into the room…move behind him…his hands on Dean’s back. Dean shuddered. “No…no…just…got it in my eyes. Please. Let me make it okay.”
“Let me see.” John pulled him up, back and Dean’s ass brushed over his thigh.
“No!” Dean jumped away, grabbing for a towel. “Just…please.”
“Dean? What’s going on?”
”On your knees, slave.”
“Dean.” He croaked the word, more on principal at this point. He didn’t have the physical stamina to fight much beyond that. He held on to two things; his name and his family. They would find him.
“They aren’t coming for you slave. You are nothing. You are no one. You are alone.”
“Fuck you.”
“Not today, boy. Today it’s all you. On your knees.”
Dean shook his head and reached for a towel. He was panting, the memories firing randomly in his head. “You….I waited for you…I waited…and you never….you never came.”
He scrubbed his eyes with the towel and kept his face buried in the towel long after he’d dried them. “They…they did things to me…and I waited for you….I fought as long as I could…and they hurt me…but you didn’t come.”
His body shook and he was ashamed of what he was saying, but he could feel them…
He’d lost track of the marathon. They came at him two at a time, one at each end, with beatings between. His knees screamed and his shoulders burned from the angle that his hands were bound. He’d been kept in the dark for hours…days…no sound, no light, no contact of any kind. He was never really sure if he was awake or asleep, sitting or laying down…then they were there and the lights were blinding and his body wouldn’t respond…and he felt disgusting, covered in come and slicked with sweat.
“Sam.” It came out of him as the one in his mouth left him…and he couldn’t recall it. He got his face slapped for the trouble.
The last one pulled out and he was dropped to the floor. “Dad. Sam.” He barely breathed the names, but earned a kick in the side that sent him coughing and cringing up against the bars.
“Get used to it slave. No one is coming for you. No one ever does.”
Dean sank slowly to his knees. “You didn’t come….they r-r-raped me, Dad…they took everything and I waited for you….they shoved things inside me…and…told me you would never come…I tried not to believe them….I tried…but I waited so long…”
John was on his knees now too, tears on his face to match Dean’s. His hands hovered inches from Dean’s head as Dean bent forward, holding his sides. “My god, Dean…I…I know….you were so strong. And I…I tried, but I couldn’t find you. Can I…please….I want to touch you.”
Dean shivered, but didn’t flinch as he felt his father’s hands on his head. “I don’t want to remember…I don’t want to…make it go away…make it stop.”
John’s fingers moved through Dean’s hair. “It’s okay Dean. Remembering is good.” It hurt, his words cut into John in a way nothing had. Like razors tearing jagged lines into his heart. “Can you…oh, god…Can you tell me?”
Everything said to get them to talk. Open up and admit what happened. Move through the grief, through the fear. Find the anger.
“Don’t want to think about it…just want to…want to forget…”
“Do you remember at Bobby’s Dean? When you really remembered? You were angry. You tore up that room.” Dean sat up a little and looked at him. “You were angry. Tell me what you remembered then.”
Dean shook his head, but sat up and rubbed at his face. “Robert…when he told me he knew about me and Sam.” Dean sniffled. “I hit him. I hit him because I knew he was right. I’m a bad brother. And…Sam…I remembered…my first….and he was there going through it too. And you…god.” Dean swallowed hard. “I remembered when Sam bought me and what I put him through…what I became there…and how…”
“And now?”
“Sam…he…wanted to tell you to go find Ellen, go hunt…and I was afraid. I remembered hiding at Bobby’s while they raped Sam…while they took Sam away and you…you came, but you were too late…and I can’t lose him again…” He sighed heavily. “I remembered what it was like. At first. I was a smart ass.”
John smiled through his tears. “You always were.”
Dean rolled his eyes and shifted off his knees so that he was sitting with his back to the wall. “It wasn’t appreciated.” His breath caught in his throat as a memory flickered through him. “I thought if I could just…annoy them enough…hold on…Sam would come…you would come…But you didn’t.” He wiped his face on the towel again. “Sometimes they came at me all day…and sometimes they’d leave me sitting in the dark alone for days. Then for a while it was like clockwork, breakfast, fuck, rules, blow job, lunch, rules, fuck, dinner, lights out.”
They were quiet for a minute, then Dean sniffed again. “I was a virgin…in that sense. I’d never…you know. At least Sam didn’t have that.”
John moved so he was sitting to, pulling his flannel shirt closer around him. “Can you…tell me about that?”
Dean’s eyes narrowed and John couldn’t hold the look. “I mean, I’d like to know…how…why…because…I can see how much you two need each other. And Sam…he…was too worried I would blame you…just told me it was his fault. Can you remember that? How it started?”
Dean had to think about it. How does something like that start? “I was 18. Sam was 14…remember when he went out on that hunt with you and I was down with the sprained ankle and staying at Bobby’s? He bagged…what? A black dog?”
John nodded slowly. “I remember you were angry because you had never gotten to go after one…and Sam took it down with one shot.”
Dean smiled vaguely. “Yeah…he…was excited. I was out in the yard. There was an old car there we liked to hang out in…and he…kissed me. I thought he was crazy or something…brushed it off, you know? After hunt energy and all that.”
“But it was more?”
Dean made a face, something like discomfort. “Not for a long time. It was the next summer. I kept catching him watching me…and he kept trying to tell me something. Then I found him out in the car at Bobby’s. He’d stolen a six pack out of Bobby’s fridge and was half way through it. I figured he was safe enough there with me to watch out for him and if he wanted to puke his guts out in the morning I wasn’t going to stop him.”
“You let him get drunk at 15?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Please, I was 14, and it wasn’t beer it was Jack I stole from you.”
John chuckled. “I was twelve. Took a bottle of wine from my grandma’s wine cellar.”
“Sammy, he’s a sloppy, romantic drunk. Started talking about how he loved me…and there was kissing…and he groped me, like he was trying to figure it all out. I was confused, but hell if it didn’t feel incredible.”
“It was almost a week later that I put it all together.” Dean lowered his eyes and drew his knees up to his chin. “I can be a little slow about these things, you know? He was enjoying the inch he had on me…and playing around, then he was kissing me, and the next thing I knew he was hard…It…just felt right.”
“Right?”
Dean shrugged. “It was wrong…it was dirty and perverted and wrong…and nothing has ever felt more right. It took a long time…it was slow. It wasn’t something we just jumped into, and we both tried to have other relationships. Hell, Sam even left because he thought I was only doing it to make him happy and he wanted me to have the choice.”
“And you wanted him?”
Dean nodded. “Why do you think I was such a bitch to you after he left? I couldn’t tell you. You…you wouldn’t have accepted it like this then.”
“Not sure I accept it now, to be honest, Dean.” John held up his hand. “I’ve accepted that you two love one another and that it pales in comparison to the rest of this shit. That’s going to have to be enough for now.”
“Okay. It’s more than we ever expected.”
“And we probably should minimize the number of people who know about it. Right now its you boys and me and Bobby.”
“Believe me, not something we’re advertising.”
“Then I expect you won’t be repeating that performance on the porch?”
Dean ducked his head and blushed. “You saw that?”
“Heard it. The kitchen window was open.”
They sat quietly for a minute, then when Dean spoke again his voice was quiet. “The first night, after we fought and I stormed out…I was right there…I could see the motel door. If I had just yelled a little louder, or walked a little faster, been a little less drunk…You would have known…you could have helped me.”
“I know you feel like you’re to blame, Dean…but you’re not. Okay? I mean…you were overpowered. Gabe’s research shows that their abduction crews are at least five people strong, and bigger when the prize is bigger. They probably had someone in the bar, maybe even two and at least five grabbing you and who knows who else. The planned it carefully. Even sober I don’t think you could have fought your way out of it.” John reached across to Dean’s nearer knee. “And if I’d heard and come out to help you, I’d be dead now…you and Sammy would be…gone…and no one would ever know what happened.”
And as true as that was, it didn’t make him feel any better about saying it. “I noticed you were cleaning guns. You want to go downstairs and work on the rest with your old man? Let Sam sleep?”
Dean nodded slowly. “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”
Title: Right There
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, John, Ellen, Bobby, Caleb OMC
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3078
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, Taken, Remember, Training, Conflagration, Setting Up, Surviving, Pretending, Rescue, Revelations, Reconciliation, Waking Up, Guilt, Working On It, Effort, The Need to Talk, Please, Family and Wrong
Summary: Ellen and Caleb make a shocking discovery. Dean doesn't want to remember, but can't help it...and John tries...he tries hard.
A/Ns and Warnings: Very dark. Includes memory of torture and rape and very dark violence.
The address for the complex of warehouses and office buildings was easy enough to find, and less than ten minutes from the motel. Ellen and Caleb took a first pass, then headed off to find stake out supplies and to refresh their med kit.
Caleb looked up from the display of first aid supplies and froze. Beside him, Ellen loaded up their cart with bandages and ointment, unaware until Caleb grabbed her arm and turned them both quickly in the other direction.
“Caleb?”
He shushed her with a hand and peered slowly behind them. He could feel the color drain out of his face and his hands shook as he walked them slowly down the aisle to the end. Only once they were out of eyesight of the aisle did he let go.
“What is it?”
Caleb closed his eyes and breathed deeply before looking around the corner one more time. “That man…”
Ellen pulled him back and looked herself. He was tall, maybe 6 inches taller than Caleb, and big, broad shoulders and thick arms. She could see what made Caleb react, from the side he bore a striking resemblance to-then he turned and Ellen gasped, pulling back beside Caleb. “I thought he was dead.” She looked on more time to be sure, then pulled Caleb away, toward the door and the car. “He should be dead.”
“I can fix it.” Caleb said, reaching under the seat for a gun.
“No…not here. Think Caleb. Shooting him will only get us arrested.”
“That man supervised the men that raped Sam.” Caleb closed his eyes. “That man beat me and Sam and Dean. He dies.”
“I’m not arguing that, Caleb. But let’s be reasonable about it. He must have left the facility after turning Sam over to James, before we got there. He must be working here now. If we take him down now, we tip our hand. If we tip our hand, they’re gone. All of them. And we may never get another chance.”
Caleb opened and closed his fist over the gun. She was right. Of course she was right. Very deliberately, he put the gun back in it’s hiding place. “We follow then. Follow and watch, and when the time comes, I’m putting him down.”
Dean helped Sam settle into bed and got him some meds for the pain. Sam looked so small and young as he pulled the blanket up to his chin, his eyes stormy and downcast.
“I’m sorry.” Sam said softly as Dean sat beside him.
Dean frowned and brushed stray hair out of Sam’s eyes. “Why?”
“I didn’t think about…you…I mean, you went through this too…and I…forget sometimes.”
Dean shook his head as if to dismiss it. “I’m okay, Sam.”
Sam took his hand and held it. “I don’t think you are, Dean. I’m scared for you. You…block it all away and you pretend and it bubbles up and you remember and I see the fear and the pain in your eyes…and you need to…talk about it Dean.”
Dean’s jaw clenched. “It’s better not to remember. Easier.”
“I don’t know how to forget.” Sam responded.
“You sure you want this?” Bobby asked, as they stood on the porch.
“No…but I can’t go with you. Not now. And now is probably all we’ve got.” John’s eyes tracked Gabe loading his bags into the car. “Just promise me that son of a bitch doesn’t get away.”
Bobby nodded. “You take care of those boys, John. I’ll call when we get there.”
John stood on the porch and watched them leave, then stood there a while longer. The skies were rumbling with the promise of more rain. He sighed heavily and considered his options.
He had read some of the stuff Gabe had found, psychological studies of victims of rape and brainwashing. He knew it all called for getting them to talk, and that was something he wasn’t very good at.
Dean didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to think. Instead, he sat on the extra bed and stripped down the guns that were in the room. He lost himself in the ritual, soft cloth cleaning bits and laying them out on the towel, gun oil sharp on the air.
He didn’t want to remember, but he did.
”Did you clean the guns?”
Dean looked up. His father wasn’t even looking at him as he asked the question, stumbling out of the bathroom where he’d been hiding for the last hour. “Doing it now,” he said, in a tone that clearly said that his father was an idiot.
“Don’t get smart with me.”
“Yeah, why start now?”
John turned, anger crackling in his eyes. “I’ve had just about enough of you and this attitude.”
Dean slid the last part of the last gun in place and ran a cloth over the finished piece. It was his favorite, the one Sam had given him for his birthday. “Yeah? Maybe I’ve had enough of yours too.”
John growled and paced away. “Maybe you should leave like your brother did.”
Dean stood and tucked the gun and his cleaning kit into his duffle. “Yeah, maybe I will.”
He grabbed his room key and took off, out the door, ignoring his name in his father’s voice, ignoring that his father was following him. He stalked away, past the Impala, headed for the bar. John stopped following him as he passed between the Impala and the truck. Dean didn’t look back.
Dean cleared his throat and refocused on the gun in his hands. He didn’t see his father again for more than a year. That was the night it happened. The night he got drunk, got laid…and was taken by force.
“Go head, bring daddy out here to watch me fuck you. Bet he’d like that wouldn’t he?”
Dean shook his head. He should have yelled. Should have fought harder. He could feel the weight pressing against him, hands pinning him. Nothing. No one. Alone.
They made it so he couldn’t fight. Put something in his drink, made his muscles loose and unresponsive. Pinned him. Made him helpless.
Helpless.
He put the gun down and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to remember. He wanted it to stay down in the dark. “Fuck.”
Sam was restless on the other bed, whimpering lightly as if he too was reliving that first dark day. Dean turned away, putting his feet on the floor, though he didn’t stand.
There were flashes. Men, restraints, a van. Couldn’t move, couldn’t talk. Then dark. And the voice. You are nothing. You are no one. You are alone.
Dean blinked at the tears. Didn’t want to remember, didn’t want to cry.
Pretend. He was supposed to pretend.
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.
He shivered, remembering the way his master’s voice had chilled him, how even then it struck a chord. Even then. When he was still Dean. He rubbed his eyes, forgetting for the moment that they were covered in gun oil. He remembered quickly enough as they started to burn and tear.
“Fuck.”
He staggered to his feet and moved toward where he thought the door was, but he hit the wall first, then stubbed his toe as he got the door open. He tried opening his eyes, but it only made it worse. With his arms out in front of him he stumbled to the opposite wall and felt his way down to the bathroom.
He got the hot water turned on and started with washing his hands.
”Always use water as hot as you can take it and soap. Scrub each finger tip, like this.” The older slave used a small brush and swirled it over the bar of soap, then in a circular motion over first Dean’s fingertips, then up over the nail. He worked slowly and methodically until Dean’s hands were pink from the heat and the scrubbing. “Rinse carefully. No soap should remain.”
“Dean?”
”My son, Dean. Pretty face, might be hard to break.”
“No…its okay…I can make it okay.” Dean splashed the hot water up onto his face bending forward to direct it to his eyes. He felt his father move into the room…move behind him…his hands on Dean’s back. Dean shuddered. “No…no…just…got it in my eyes. Please. Let me make it okay.”
“Let me see.” John pulled him up, back and Dean’s ass brushed over his thigh.
“No!” Dean jumped away, grabbing for a towel. “Just…please.”
“Dean? What’s going on?”
”On your knees, slave.”
“Dean.” He croaked the word, more on principal at this point. He didn’t have the physical stamina to fight much beyond that. He held on to two things; his name and his family. They would find him.
“They aren’t coming for you slave. You are nothing. You are no one. You are alone.”
“Fuck you.”
“Not today, boy. Today it’s all you. On your knees.”
Dean shook his head and reached for a towel. He was panting, the memories firing randomly in his head. “You….I waited for you…I waited…and you never….you never came.”
He scrubbed his eyes with the towel and kept his face buried in the towel long after he’d dried them. “They…they did things to me…and I waited for you….I fought as long as I could…and they hurt me…but you didn’t come.”
His body shook and he was ashamed of what he was saying, but he could feel them…
He’d lost track of the marathon. They came at him two at a time, one at each end, with beatings between. His knees screamed and his shoulders burned from the angle that his hands were bound. He’d been kept in the dark for hours…days…no sound, no light, no contact of any kind. He was never really sure if he was awake or asleep, sitting or laying down…then they were there and the lights were blinding and his body wouldn’t respond…and he felt disgusting, covered in come and slicked with sweat.
“Sam.” It came out of him as the one in his mouth left him…and he couldn’t recall it. He got his face slapped for the trouble.
The last one pulled out and he was dropped to the floor. “Dad. Sam.” He barely breathed the names, but earned a kick in the side that sent him coughing and cringing up against the bars.
“Get used to it slave. No one is coming for you. No one ever does.”
Dean sank slowly to his knees. “You didn’t come….they r-r-raped me, Dad…they took everything and I waited for you….they shoved things inside me…and…told me you would never come…I tried not to believe them….I tried…but I waited so long…”
John was on his knees now too, tears on his face to match Dean’s. His hands hovered inches from Dean’s head as Dean bent forward, holding his sides. “My god, Dean…I…I know….you were so strong. And I…I tried, but I couldn’t find you. Can I…please….I want to touch you.”
Dean shivered, but didn’t flinch as he felt his father’s hands on his head. “I don’t want to remember…I don’t want to…make it go away…make it stop.”
John’s fingers moved through Dean’s hair. “It’s okay Dean. Remembering is good.” It hurt, his words cut into John in a way nothing had. Like razors tearing jagged lines into his heart. “Can you…oh, god…Can you tell me?”
Everything said to get them to talk. Open up and admit what happened. Move through the grief, through the fear. Find the anger.
“Don’t want to think about it…just want to…want to forget…”
“Do you remember at Bobby’s Dean? When you really remembered? You were angry. You tore up that room.” Dean sat up a little and looked at him. “You were angry. Tell me what you remembered then.”
Dean shook his head, but sat up and rubbed at his face. “Robert…when he told me he knew about me and Sam.” Dean sniffled. “I hit him. I hit him because I knew he was right. I’m a bad brother. And…Sam…I remembered…my first….and he was there going through it too. And you…god.” Dean swallowed hard. “I remembered when Sam bought me and what I put him through…what I became there…and how…”
“And now?”
“Sam…he…wanted to tell you to go find Ellen, go hunt…and I was afraid. I remembered hiding at Bobby’s while they raped Sam…while they took Sam away and you…you came, but you were too late…and I can’t lose him again…” He sighed heavily. “I remembered what it was like. At first. I was a smart ass.”
John smiled through his tears. “You always were.”
Dean rolled his eyes and shifted off his knees so that he was sitting with his back to the wall. “It wasn’t appreciated.” His breath caught in his throat as a memory flickered through him. “I thought if I could just…annoy them enough…hold on…Sam would come…you would come…But you didn’t.” He wiped his face on the towel again. “Sometimes they came at me all day…and sometimes they’d leave me sitting in the dark alone for days. Then for a while it was like clockwork, breakfast, fuck, rules, blow job, lunch, rules, fuck, dinner, lights out.”
They were quiet for a minute, then Dean sniffed again. “I was a virgin…in that sense. I’d never…you know. At least Sam didn’t have that.”
John moved so he was sitting to, pulling his flannel shirt closer around him. “Can you…tell me about that?”
Dean’s eyes narrowed and John couldn’t hold the look. “I mean, I’d like to know…how…why…because…I can see how much you two need each other. And Sam…he…was too worried I would blame you…just told me it was his fault. Can you remember that? How it started?”
Dean had to think about it. How does something like that start? “I was 18. Sam was 14…remember when he went out on that hunt with you and I was down with the sprained ankle and staying at Bobby’s? He bagged…what? A black dog?”
John nodded slowly. “I remember you were angry because you had never gotten to go after one…and Sam took it down with one shot.”
Dean smiled vaguely. “Yeah…he…was excited. I was out in the yard. There was an old car there we liked to hang out in…and he…kissed me. I thought he was crazy or something…brushed it off, you know? After hunt energy and all that.”
“But it was more?”
Dean made a face, something like discomfort. “Not for a long time. It was the next summer. I kept catching him watching me…and he kept trying to tell me something. Then I found him out in the car at Bobby’s. He’d stolen a six pack out of Bobby’s fridge and was half way through it. I figured he was safe enough there with me to watch out for him and if he wanted to puke his guts out in the morning I wasn’t going to stop him.”
“You let him get drunk at 15?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Please, I was 14, and it wasn’t beer it was Jack I stole from you.”
John chuckled. “I was twelve. Took a bottle of wine from my grandma’s wine cellar.”
“Sammy, he’s a sloppy, romantic drunk. Started talking about how he loved me…and there was kissing…and he groped me, like he was trying to figure it all out. I was confused, but hell if it didn’t feel incredible.”
“It was almost a week later that I put it all together.” Dean lowered his eyes and drew his knees up to his chin. “I can be a little slow about these things, you know? He was enjoying the inch he had on me…and playing around, then he was kissing me, and the next thing I knew he was hard…It…just felt right.”
“Right?”
Dean shrugged. “It was wrong…it was dirty and perverted and wrong…and nothing has ever felt more right. It took a long time…it was slow. It wasn’t something we just jumped into, and we both tried to have other relationships. Hell, Sam even left because he thought I was only doing it to make him happy and he wanted me to have the choice.”
“And you wanted him?”
Dean nodded. “Why do you think I was such a bitch to you after he left? I couldn’t tell you. You…you wouldn’t have accepted it like this then.”
“Not sure I accept it now, to be honest, Dean.” John held up his hand. “I’ve accepted that you two love one another and that it pales in comparison to the rest of this shit. That’s going to have to be enough for now.”
“Okay. It’s more than we ever expected.”
“And we probably should minimize the number of people who know about it. Right now its you boys and me and Bobby.”
“Believe me, not something we’re advertising.”
“Then I expect you won’t be repeating that performance on the porch?”
Dean ducked his head and blushed. “You saw that?”
“Heard it. The kitchen window was open.”
They sat quietly for a minute, then when Dean spoke again his voice was quiet. “The first night, after we fought and I stormed out…I was right there…I could see the motel door. If I had just yelled a little louder, or walked a little faster, been a little less drunk…You would have known…you could have helped me.”
“I know you feel like you’re to blame, Dean…but you’re not. Okay? I mean…you were overpowered. Gabe’s research shows that their abduction crews are at least five people strong, and bigger when the prize is bigger. They probably had someone in the bar, maybe even two and at least five grabbing you and who knows who else. The planned it carefully. Even sober I don’t think you could have fought your way out of it.” John reached across to Dean’s nearer knee. “And if I’d heard and come out to help you, I’d be dead now…you and Sammy would be…gone…and no one would ever know what happened.”
And as true as that was, it didn’t make him feel any better about saying it. “I noticed you were cleaning guns. You want to go downstairs and work on the rest with your old man? Let Sam sleep?”
Dean nodded slowly. “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”