What's In This Drink?
Title: What's In This Drink?
Characters: Dean, Sam, Other male and female characters
Medium: Fic
Rating: R
Word Count: 2000
Warnings: attempted rape, date rape drugs
Summary: Five times Dean Winchester walked away from being roofied, and the one time he almost didn’t.
A/N: This was written for the 2019 spn_summergen challenge for disneymagics prompt:
Dean once tells a story about being in a bar and his Dad has to come save him when someone slips a drug into his drink. But that’s not the only time something like that has happened. Dean’s too pretty for his own good. This is the story of when Dean gets roofied and Sam comes to save him just in the nick of time.
Admittedly it bummed me out that they never commented on the story, which made me reluctant to repost. I understand that this isn't the "Gen-iest" story I guess, but it's where the prompt took me.
Originally posted here.
AO3
Dean wasn’t exactly what you’d call a drug connoisseur but he knew enough to keep himself safe. And that wasn’t to say that he hadn’t gotten high, because he had. On -very rare- occasion. Recreationally of course. It’d been fun. Mostly. But alcohol was still his poison of choice. But he wasn’t a square.
The thing with drugs of course, was that they were a whole lot less fun when you didn’t know you were taking them. And Dean had had more experience with that kind than he would have liked.
The first time it happened, 1995, New York, CBGB, he was 16. Too young and too cool, and too stupid to really care about the danger he could have gotten himself into. If Dad hadn’t found him…well you already heard that one.
The second time had been when he was 19. Off on his own in some college town. Charmed his way into a group of students in some bar -it didn’t take much- started talking to some girl, hoping to convince her to leave. He’s pretty sure he could have. If someone hadn’t slipped something into his drink. Guy or girl he didn’t know. But he knew he didn’t feel right. Knew he had to get himself out of there. And that time he did. Got back to Baby without anyone following him and he slept it off.
Third time had been after Sam had gone off to Stanford. Dean and John had been working a case in Bakersfield, and not talking about how they were only 4 hours away from his brother. After they’d torched the sucker, they’d gone to a bar together. Dad had had his journal out. Dean had felt a little keyed up. The hunt hadn’t quite satisfied him. He needed more action. Violent or otherwise. And he was leaning more towards the latter. But there weren’t exactly any prospects in the place John had picked. Except for the bartender. Dean followed her when she went to clear up a table. Left his whiskey unattended.
Dean wasn’t too clear on the details after that. He remembered his Dad smashing some dude’s face into the bar, blood had gone everywhere, remembers John shoving him in the car and waking up the morning after and being told You need to be more careful, son. How many times have I told you: never let your guard down? Dean could still hear him say it, clear as a bell.
Fourth, he’d ended up at some party at some chick’s house. They’d really hit it off, one minute he’d been talking to her, the next thing he knew he was regaining consciousness, he was on his back on top of a bed, and she was sat astride him with his dick in her hand. His head was swimming, like there was a thick fog in his brain, “What did you do to me?”
“I just gave you a little something to help you relax.”
“You roofied me?”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“What would you call it?”
“Taking control.”
Dean gave as curt a nod as he could, his head rolling a bit, “Okay,” and he shoved her off, staggering to his feet, falling into the wall, and he somehow managed to tuck himself away without injury, he wasn’t opposed to letting a woman call the shots or be on top, but, “You know. If you’d have asked, I would have been down. But I’m gonna go now.”
How he got out of there and back to the motel in one piece he doesn’t know.
The fifth time, he supposes, didn’t really count, because he’d definitely known there were drugs in that glass before he grabbed it. He and Sam had been on the job, talking to some of the regulars, when Dean had seen it go down. Watched as some asshole in a suit spiked a girl’s drink. Dean had never moved so fast in his life.
Sam giving a, “You’ll have to forgive my partner. Excuse me,” before trailing after him, just in time to watch Dean snatch the martini glass from the server and knock it back in one.
“Hey!” the girl glared at him, but Dean didn’t care.
“Sorry, miss, I had to.”
“Dean. What the hell?” Sam said, when he reached them.
“Some guy put roofies in there.”
“What!?” Sam, the girl and the server all said together.
“I saw him.”
“Where?” the server asked.
“The dick by the bar.”
The asshole looked like he’d cottoned on, but Sam was quicker. Clocked the guy. Flashed his badge, took his stash before the bouncer joined them. Dean blinked, his concentration waning and shifting back to the girl who was hugging him all of a sudden, “Thank you for saving me.”
“Any time,” Dean grinned, and then Sam was back, standing right in front of him.
“Sam-m.”
“Seriously. What the hell, man?”
"There was roofies in it. You saw the guy."
"Uh-huh"
"Well I had to save her," Dean said in a well duh manner, speech slightly slurred and he shook his head a little as he swayed.
Sam took hold of Dean's shoulders to steady him, "That still doesn't explain why you had to drink it."
"Seemed li- thing to do,” Dean’s head lolling to the side, “Don' yell at me."
"I'm not yell-" Sam sighed, getting his arm around Dean to take his weight, "Okay, come on, Sherlock, let's get you out of here."
“You’re the Sherlock. Sherlock.” Dean shook his head, brow scrunched and pout on his lips, but he still let Sammy lead him out to the car, and he only groused a little when Sam took the keys from his pocket.
And then there was the latest. They’d been running low on cash on a job that had turned out to be a bust and Dean was bored, and Sam had agreed to come out. It was always more fun when Sammy came along for the ride. And they had been golden, three chumps all in a row, drunk enough and dumb enough to believe they could beat Dean. They really hadn’t taken much convincing. None of the three seeming to find Dean’s lucky streak to be anything but.
They weren’t the only ones watching his every move though. More than just Sam too. Other, more sober, eyes. Eyes Dean hadn’t given much consideration to.
After winning a second round, Dean had announced that he was, Gonna take a leak, leaving his spoils to Sam.
When he stepped up to the sink to wash his hands, that was when it hit him. He knew right away. All he’d had were 2 beers. He grabbed hold of the basin for purchase as the wooziness kicked in. Shit. He was just about to splash some water on his face when an arm grabbed him from behind squeezing down on his windpipe.
“Hey,” he choked out, pulling at that arm just hard enough to say, “get the fuck off!” but he could feel his strength ebbing, and jerking his head was a mistake, made the room spin.
Fuck.
Dean lost his footing as he was dragged backwards and shoved into a broom closet, letting out a low grunt as he was slammed face first into the wall. Though he wasn’t going to just give up so easily, elbows jabbing back into ready hands, he threw back his head, making a connection with something, “My nose, fuck, you little bitch.”
Earning Dean a blow to the head. Bile rose in his throat when his attacker started undoing Dean’s pants. The drugs settling in, making his arms feel weak, of course it didn’t help they were twisted up behind him either.
“Think you can come into my bar, scam my guys, without giving me my cut? I’m gonna take it out of that pretty little ass you’ve been flaunting all night.”
Dean closed his eyes, teeth clenched, and his ass clenched too. He’d never had anything up there. Not in the physical flesh and blood human world anyway. In hell…?
When his jeans and boxers were down around his thighs the guy wasted no time getting his grubby hands on Dean’s exposed skin. What he assumed were spit-soaked fingers touching -probing- him in ways he didn’t want to think about. And that was sickening enough.
Nothing repulsed him more than the sound of that zipper, it made his skin crawl, hair standing up on end. But he wasn’t about to beg. He bit his lip hard. Everything he had tensing up.
But just then he heard the greatest sound he could ever hear, his name being called in his brother’s voice, relief and humiliation rolling in -not so- equal waves. Fuck. He didn’t want Sam to know, to see him like this, but that didn’t stop him from shouting back, “Sammy!” with every last ounce of strength he had.
The guy hit him again. Harder this time, tried to cover his mouth and Dean bit him, just as the door splintered open. The cock of Sam’s gun so beautifully loud in the small space, “Get the fuck away from my brother.”
The next thing Dean heard was the dull thwack of metal to bone followed by a body hitting the ground. No longer blocking him from sight.
Dean slumped to the wall, shoulders coming up, trying to make himself smaller, invisible, unwilling to turn around. He couldn’t turn around. Shame rising. He flinched as Sam stood in behind him, and fuck he knew it was Sam, but that didn’t make it any better.
“Hey, shh,” Sam said quietly, gently pulling Dean away from the wall enough so that he could hold him upright, let Dean redress himself.
With a bit of a wriggle and not even half a jump, his feet never left the floor, he got his pants and underwear pulled back up, but, “I can’t-” Dean currently lacked the finesse for his fly and belt, they didn’t want to go. So, Sam had to do them for him, which involved Dean allowing himself to relax enough to lean back into Sam’s body.
“I’m sor-”
“Dean. Don’t. Let’s just get you out of here. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Between them, they got Dean out to the car, and somehow, miraculously without Dean having to look Sam in the eye. He couldn’t. Not after…
They hadn’t made it too far down the road. Sam was driving. Dean was staring into nothing, hunched as far away from Sam as possible, “I wanna be sick.” Well he did and he didn’t.
It was only a split second, but Dean felt Sam’s gaze as it flicked to the side of his head, “Are you gonna?”
Dean shook his head.
“You sure?”
Dean nodded. He wasn’t going to do it.
“Okay.”
He was going to do it. Only 600 yards later. But he knew.
“Pull over.”
“Dean-”
“Sammy, pull over. Now.”
Dean opened his door the second they stopped, letting his upper body drop into the space and crawling out the rest of the way until he couldn't hold back any longer, and he threw up. A tremor taking hold of him as he stopped. And Sam was right there again. Helping him to his feet, propping him back against his Baby.
Normally her metal would soothe him. But not tonight. He still couldn't look Sam in the eye.
Sam didn’t care, “I won't ask you to tell me about this,” his voice steady, reassuring.
Dean gave a slight nod, and then a beat or 2 later, “It's different up here. Down there, you expect it, know it's coming. But up here...”
“We're supposed to be safe,” Sam finished.
Dean laughed. He couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop it. Delirium or something like it, taking over, the sound hollow. And echoed by Sam, there was a slither of comfort in that fact, if in nothing else.
Dean let himself look into Sammy's eyes then and Sam took a firm hold of his shoulder.
The End.
Characters: Dean, Sam, Other male and female characters
Medium: Fic
Rating: R
Word Count: 2000
Warnings: attempted rape, date rape drugs
Summary: Five times Dean Winchester walked away from being roofied, and the one time he almost didn’t.
A/N: This was written for the 2019 spn_summergen challenge for disneymagics prompt:
Dean once tells a story about being in a bar and his Dad has to come save him when someone slips a drug into his drink. But that’s not the only time something like that has happened. Dean’s too pretty for his own good. This is the story of when Dean gets roofied and Sam comes to save him just in the nick of time.
Admittedly it bummed me out that they never commented on the story, which made me reluctant to repost. I understand that this isn't the "Gen-iest" story I guess, but it's where the prompt took me.
Originally posted here.
AO3
Dean wasn’t exactly what you’d call a drug connoisseur but he knew enough to keep himself safe. And that wasn’t to say that he hadn’t gotten high, because he had. On -very rare- occasion. Recreationally of course. It’d been fun. Mostly. But alcohol was still his poison of choice. But he wasn’t a square.
The thing with drugs of course, was that they were a whole lot less fun when you didn’t know you were taking them. And Dean had had more experience with that kind than he would have liked.
The first time it happened, 1995, New York, CBGB, he was 16. Too young and too cool, and too stupid to really care about the danger he could have gotten himself into. If Dad hadn’t found him…well you already heard that one.
The second time had been when he was 19. Off on his own in some college town. Charmed his way into a group of students in some bar -it didn’t take much- started talking to some girl, hoping to convince her to leave. He’s pretty sure he could have. If someone hadn’t slipped something into his drink. Guy or girl he didn’t know. But he knew he didn’t feel right. Knew he had to get himself out of there. And that time he did. Got back to Baby without anyone following him and he slept it off.
Third time had been after Sam had gone off to Stanford. Dean and John had been working a case in Bakersfield, and not talking about how they were only 4 hours away from his brother. After they’d torched the sucker, they’d gone to a bar together. Dad had had his journal out. Dean had felt a little keyed up. The hunt hadn’t quite satisfied him. He needed more action. Violent or otherwise. And he was leaning more towards the latter. But there weren’t exactly any prospects in the place John had picked. Except for the bartender. Dean followed her when she went to clear up a table. Left his whiskey unattended.
Dean wasn’t too clear on the details after that. He remembered his Dad smashing some dude’s face into the bar, blood had gone everywhere, remembers John shoving him in the car and waking up the morning after and being told You need to be more careful, son. How many times have I told you: never let your guard down? Dean could still hear him say it, clear as a bell.
Fourth, he’d ended up at some party at some chick’s house. They’d really hit it off, one minute he’d been talking to her, the next thing he knew he was regaining consciousness, he was on his back on top of a bed, and she was sat astride him with his dick in her hand. His head was swimming, like there was a thick fog in his brain, “What did you do to me?”
“I just gave you a little something to help you relax.”
“You roofied me?”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“What would you call it?”
“Taking control.”
Dean gave as curt a nod as he could, his head rolling a bit, “Okay,” and he shoved her off, staggering to his feet, falling into the wall, and he somehow managed to tuck himself away without injury, he wasn’t opposed to letting a woman call the shots or be on top, but, “You know. If you’d have asked, I would have been down. But I’m gonna go now.”
How he got out of there and back to the motel in one piece he doesn’t know.
The fifth time, he supposes, didn’t really count, because he’d definitely known there were drugs in that glass before he grabbed it. He and Sam had been on the job, talking to some of the regulars, when Dean had seen it go down. Watched as some asshole in a suit spiked a girl’s drink. Dean had never moved so fast in his life.
Sam giving a, “You’ll have to forgive my partner. Excuse me,” before trailing after him, just in time to watch Dean snatch the martini glass from the server and knock it back in one.
“Hey!” the girl glared at him, but Dean didn’t care.
“Sorry, miss, I had to.”
“Dean. What the hell?” Sam said, when he reached them.
“Some guy put roofies in there.”
“What!?” Sam, the girl and the server all said together.
“I saw him.”
“Where?” the server asked.
“The dick by the bar.”
The asshole looked like he’d cottoned on, but Sam was quicker. Clocked the guy. Flashed his badge, took his stash before the bouncer joined them. Dean blinked, his concentration waning and shifting back to the girl who was hugging him all of a sudden, “Thank you for saving me.”
“Any time,” Dean grinned, and then Sam was back, standing right in front of him.
“Sam-m.”
“Seriously. What the hell, man?”
"There was roofies in it. You saw the guy."
"Uh-huh"
"Well I had to save her," Dean said in a well duh manner, speech slightly slurred and he shook his head a little as he swayed.
Sam took hold of Dean's shoulders to steady him, "That still doesn't explain why you had to drink it."
"Seemed li- thing to do,” Dean’s head lolling to the side, “Don' yell at me."
"I'm not yell-" Sam sighed, getting his arm around Dean to take his weight, "Okay, come on, Sherlock, let's get you out of here."
“You’re the Sherlock. Sherlock.” Dean shook his head, brow scrunched and pout on his lips, but he still let Sammy lead him out to the car, and he only groused a little when Sam took the keys from his pocket.
And then there was the latest. They’d been running low on cash on a job that had turned out to be a bust and Dean was bored, and Sam had agreed to come out. It was always more fun when Sammy came along for the ride. And they had been golden, three chumps all in a row, drunk enough and dumb enough to believe they could beat Dean. They really hadn’t taken much convincing. None of the three seeming to find Dean’s lucky streak to be anything but.
They weren’t the only ones watching his every move though. More than just Sam too. Other, more sober, eyes. Eyes Dean hadn’t given much consideration to.
After winning a second round, Dean had announced that he was, Gonna take a leak, leaving his spoils to Sam.
When he stepped up to the sink to wash his hands, that was when it hit him. He knew right away. All he’d had were 2 beers. He grabbed hold of the basin for purchase as the wooziness kicked in. Shit. He was just about to splash some water on his face when an arm grabbed him from behind squeezing down on his windpipe.
“Hey,” he choked out, pulling at that arm just hard enough to say, “get the fuck off!” but he could feel his strength ebbing, and jerking his head was a mistake, made the room spin.
Fuck.
Dean lost his footing as he was dragged backwards and shoved into a broom closet, letting out a low grunt as he was slammed face first into the wall. Though he wasn’t going to just give up so easily, elbows jabbing back into ready hands, he threw back his head, making a connection with something, “My nose, fuck, you little bitch.”
Earning Dean a blow to the head. Bile rose in his throat when his attacker started undoing Dean’s pants. The drugs settling in, making his arms feel weak, of course it didn’t help they were twisted up behind him either.
“Think you can come into my bar, scam my guys, without giving me my cut? I’m gonna take it out of that pretty little ass you’ve been flaunting all night.”
Dean closed his eyes, teeth clenched, and his ass clenched too. He’d never had anything up there. Not in the physical flesh and blood human world anyway. In hell…?
When his jeans and boxers were down around his thighs the guy wasted no time getting his grubby hands on Dean’s exposed skin. What he assumed were spit-soaked fingers touching -probing- him in ways he didn’t want to think about. And that was sickening enough.
Nothing repulsed him more than the sound of that zipper, it made his skin crawl, hair standing up on end. But he wasn’t about to beg. He bit his lip hard. Everything he had tensing up.
But just then he heard the greatest sound he could ever hear, his name being called in his brother’s voice, relief and humiliation rolling in -not so- equal waves. Fuck. He didn’t want Sam to know, to see him like this, but that didn’t stop him from shouting back, “Sammy!” with every last ounce of strength he had.
The guy hit him again. Harder this time, tried to cover his mouth and Dean bit him, just as the door splintered open. The cock of Sam’s gun so beautifully loud in the small space, “Get the fuck away from my brother.”
The next thing Dean heard was the dull thwack of metal to bone followed by a body hitting the ground. No longer blocking him from sight.
Dean slumped to the wall, shoulders coming up, trying to make himself smaller, invisible, unwilling to turn around. He couldn’t turn around. Shame rising. He flinched as Sam stood in behind him, and fuck he knew it was Sam, but that didn’t make it any better.
“Hey, shh,” Sam said quietly, gently pulling Dean away from the wall enough so that he could hold him upright, let Dean redress himself.
With a bit of a wriggle and not even half a jump, his feet never left the floor, he got his pants and underwear pulled back up, but, “I can’t-” Dean currently lacked the finesse for his fly and belt, they didn’t want to go. So, Sam had to do them for him, which involved Dean allowing himself to relax enough to lean back into Sam’s body.
“I’m sor-”
“Dean. Don’t. Let’s just get you out of here. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Between them, they got Dean out to the car, and somehow, miraculously without Dean having to look Sam in the eye. He couldn’t. Not after…
They hadn’t made it too far down the road. Sam was driving. Dean was staring into nothing, hunched as far away from Sam as possible, “I wanna be sick.” Well he did and he didn’t.
It was only a split second, but Dean felt Sam’s gaze as it flicked to the side of his head, “Are you gonna?”
Dean shook his head.
“You sure?”
Dean nodded. He wasn’t going to do it.
“Okay.”
He was going to do it. Only 600 yards later. But he knew.
“Pull over.”
“Dean-”
“Sammy, pull over. Now.”
Dean opened his door the second they stopped, letting his upper body drop into the space and crawling out the rest of the way until he couldn't hold back any longer, and he threw up. A tremor taking hold of him as he stopped. And Sam was right there again. Helping him to his feet, propping him back against his Baby.
Normally her metal would soothe him. But not tonight. He still couldn't look Sam in the eye.
Sam didn’t care, “I won't ask you to tell me about this,” his voice steady, reassuring.
Dean gave a slight nod, and then a beat or 2 later, “It's different up here. Down there, you expect it, know it's coming. But up here...”
“We're supposed to be safe,” Sam finished.
Dean laughed. He couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop it. Delirium or something like it, taking over, the sound hollow. And echoed by Sam, there was a slither of comfort in that fact, if in nothing else.
Dean let himself look into Sammy's eyes then and Sam took a firm hold of his shoulder.
The End.