Fanfic - SPN: Whore Academy - Ch. 3 - Fighting
Title: Whore Academy [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Three: Fighting
[035.Enraged]
Dean puzzled over all the things he'd half-remembered since he became conscious here and all the things he'd said and heard others say. There were pieces starting to fit together, but the whole picture seemed blurry and every time he zoomed in on one thing, something else went out of focus. He was struggling so much that he didn't even notice when Sam's voice stopped its near chanting and those wooden heels were clicking his way again.
"You know …" Dean started at the voice rumbling at his ear, but nearly bolted away at the feel of hands curling at the sides of his waist. "Right now, you're doing much better than I'd thought you'd do, but ... it kind of makes me wonder why you weren't trying harder earlier. I mean … I can tell that you care about him, so … why do you keep fighting this?"
Mr. Winchester's hips rolled against Dean's bare ass with an expectant groan as his fingers sought Dean's cock and Dean didn't even wait to think. He just turned far enough to shove the man away and his eyes went hard as he dipped down to jerk his khakis up and fasten them hastily. "I took your twisted punishments because I had to, but don't fucking touch me like that again."
There was a trace of shock on Mr. Winchester's face, but it quickly became amusement and a smirk set in as he leaned back some, nonchalant, and turned to call over his shoulder. "Sam …"
Dean was still glaring as his eyes moved from Mr. Winchester to Sam, who was getting out of his seat and walking slowly up to the teacher's side. Sam might have been coming to stick up for his brother, to cuss the rude fuck of a teacher out, but … the bow of his head and the lack of eye contact told Dean exactly whose side he was on.
"I know." Sam's voice was soft and weary and just a touch annoyed as if waiting to be subjected to a speech he'd heard a thousand times.
"That remains to be seen." Mr. Winchester's lips slid into a sneer as he looked down at Sam. And he really was looking down at him, now that Dean saw them standing next to one another.
Mr. Winchester was built broader, taller, and Sam, he was … almost folded in on himself, permanently slouching. They were both like Sam in so many ways, one more than the other, but … there were things missing too. Dean wondered if those pieces had been half-lost like his memories or if his memories could tell him where they'd gone.
"Handle your boy." The teacher's voice wasn't angry, but his words were definitely a command and Sam nodded, moving to step toward Dean.
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Winchester stopped him, though, tone tinged with irritation. "Can you really do it this time, or do you need me to handle it?"
Sam's head turned back and his expression was one of frustration and complaint. "You handle everything."
"Yeah, I do. There's a reason for that." Mr. Winchester nodded calmly, eyebrows in a high line across his forehead. "You're fucking soft. Case in point right over there. He's mouthy and noncompliant. I want him bent over my desk again, ASAP." The teacher's eyes turned Dean's way and there was something burning in them that made him want to take a step back, though he fought to stand his ground. "And then I'm gonna fuck him. Make it happen."
Sam was quiet for a moment, mouth agape. "Do you really have to- …"
"You know what he needs as well as me." The eyes Mr. Winchester fixed on Sam seemed to convey so much more than he was saying, so much Dean just couldn't seem to translate. "And don't tell me the little slut won't squirt all over the place, 'cause he will."
Sam glanced Dean's way, catching his eye, then turned away again as he shook his head softly. "He doesn't- … I can't, okay? I can't."
"If you won't do this your way, then I'll do it mine. I don't think either of you really wants that, but … I know it's easier when I just … handle things … so you don't have to think about it." Mr. Winchester's voice slid into something that might have signified understanding and compassion, if his words themselves weren't so edged with disappointment and scorn. "You can just curl up in the corner, pretend it's not happening, and wait for it to all be over, right? A real brave one, you are."
Sam made an aggravated noise at the back of his throat. "It's not like that. It's just- …"
"Hard for you to do what needs to be done." Nodding almost sympathetically, Mr. Winchester tried to calm Sam. "It's okay. I understand. That's why I'm here. I don't mind the dirty work, but … we've still gotta toughen you up or you're never gonna make it out there."
"I know, but- …"
"No buts." Mr. Winchester held Sam's eyes for a long time, ending all further discussion, before nodding in Dean's direction. "Go get your whore ready for a proper public fuck."
Sam seemed to take a deep, bolstering breath, then headed Dean's way, but Dean was already not listening.
"Dean- …"
"No."
"Dean- …"
"No!"
"But- …"
"NO!" There was yelling, but then Dean caught himself, taking a moment to glare at Mr. Winchester and the rest of the apparently mindless idiots populating this fucked up class before turning away. He grabbed Sam by the top of his tie and hauled him deeper into the corner, fuming in quieter tones. "A spanking, like I was some goddamned eight year old, was bad enough, Sam. You want me to just let some … you who's not you … fuck me in front of a room full of people? And don't tell me it could be worse, 'cause that's bullshit."
"You don't know what you're talking about. I thought- … I thought you'd get it by now, but- …" Sam reached for Dean's shirt collar and Dean pulled back some, but relented at Sam's stern look. Loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top of his shirt, Sam reached in, his fingers trailing over something Dean only just started to feel right then.
He brought his hand up to trace the soft leather curved at his throat and felt his heart double-pumping with worry. "What is this?"
"A collar. And if you look under your shirt cuffs you'll find a pair of leather cuffs. The cockring makes it a whole matching set." Sam sighed as he spoke, somber, as if he knew exactly how deeply this kind of thing would affect him. "They're marks of your status, Dean. You're a slave. All those words he had you repeat? They weren't just words. I think you know that."
"Wha- … How?" He wasn't really sure that he exactly wanted to know, but … this was all so fucking crazy.
"I don't have time to explain everything to you, but …" Sam heaved in a long breath like it might be his last, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth as he looked down at some unknown point on Dean's shirt. "Right now you're … owned … by me … and the school … So, Mr. Winchester has the right to do whatever he wants with you … same as I do."
Dean tried to remember that the air rushing in and out of his and his brother's bodies was a necessary thing and nothing would be helped by him screaming himself hoarse or choking Sam blue. He just let his mouth find its way to words that he thought would get his point across in a more moderate way. "Is that why you're not fighting, Sam, because you're the one on top this time?"
"What?! No! Of course not." Sam reared back, taking offense. "I told you before. We're out of options, Dean. This is it."
"Can't be. That's- …" He swallowed thickly, shaking his head because Sam might believe this craziness, but … no. No way. "There's gotta be a better way."
"You don't think I've looked?" Sam voice was beginning to increase in volume and his arms spread in the wide gesture he always did when arguments got intense. "You don't think I've tried to figure this out a million different times in a million different ways? There just isn't any other way."
"You're wrong. You're just wrong. This is- … I'm not gonna live with … whoever … being able to do … whatever the hell they want to me, Sam. I mean, if it were just- …" He took a step back, shaking his head, as his fingers worked to find the latch on his collar. "But … he's not- … I won't do it."
"Dean. Leave … the collar … alone." Sam's words fell out slowly, his eyes moving from Dean's neck to his eyes to some spot off behind him. When Dean kept stepping back and his fingers became more frantic, nails dragging angry scrapes into his skin, Sam's eyes made the rounds faster, darting and fearful, but there was also anger in them and in the flare of his nostrils as he advanced towards him. "Dean. There's nowhere to go. So, drop your hands and do as you're told."
"No." Dean was shaking his head again, pulse racing as he kept moving back and his brother kept approaching.
It was instinct more than malice that made him spin when the back of his body connected with another, his fist swinging up to crash into facial muscle and bone with a deafening crunch, a muffled grunt, and a multi-person gasp.
"Fuck." Sam whispered the word from some distance behind him, but the room was deadly quiet now, so it may as well have been a groan.
Judging from the way Mr. Winchester was leaning awkwardly away from him, face in his hands, Dean could see why Sam was so concerned. He'd probably landed a pretty solid punch and though part of him thought the guy deserved it, or worse, part of him … kind of felt bad about it. It wasn't just that he was sure to have a serious fight on his hands now, but … his violent reaction also just felt wrong somehow. It set up a steady throb at his temples and made his stomach lurch all at once in opposite directions as Mr. Winchester slowly pulled himself back up to standing and wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, tainting the pure white sleeve of his shirt.
Mr. Winchester cracked his neck once on either side and licked the last traces of blood from his lips before letting Dean see the full intensity of his eyes. "You didn't really think that would help anything, did you? That you hurting me wouldn't just make me want to fuck you up beyond repair?" He swiped his tongue over his teeth, then, and they were all intact and gleaming white, though the blood should have suggested otherwise.
It made Dean wonder if he had even really hurt the guy that bad at all.
"Did you think that even after I crushed you bit by bit that I wouldn't still sink my cock in your ass while your limbs are broken in too many places and your stomach is full of your own swallowed blood? Hmm?" He chuckled darkly, smirk hanging heavy on his mouth. "'Cause I think you've still got a lot yet to learn … whore."
Dean's stomach flipped over, almost with every word, until he seriously thought he might throw up, and when Mr. Winchester reached for him, he staggered back as much from nausea as fear. A smirking, spiky-haired student stood up by the teacher's left shoulder then, grey eyes gleaming, and let loose his own twisted laugh, eyeing Dean with disgust before giving a shrug and looking off, nearly over Dean's head.
"He won't even take what's coming to him, man. He's not fit to serve you. Why don't you just put him down, like you should've done in the first place, and get yourself something new?"
Sam didn't say anything for a moment and Dean chilled, wondering if he might actually consider something like that, but there was a deep growl in his brother's voice when he finally spoke. "Don't want something new. And he's plenty trainable. So … why don't you just mind your own business."
"I dunno, Sammy, seems like you might not be the right- …"
Mr. Winchester's hand flew up, halting all speech, and he jutted his chin in Sam's direction, his lips set so flat that it seemed a wonder that they had ever smirked or smiled in the first place. "Try. Again."
Then Dean was being yanked back by his shirt as Sam all but dragged him back into the corner and spun him around, seething enough to heat the hand he had clutched around Dean's arm.
"Why do you always do this?"
"Do what? Defend myself?" He was seriously starting to have a problem with just how much Sam was on everyone else's side but his here, that one comment on his supposed trainability aside.
Sam puffed out an exhale thick with exasperation. "Keep fighting even when there's nothing left for you to win."
"Are you telling me to just give up on everything then?" The lines in Dean's forehead deepened as he stared at his brother, jaw tight. "Including getting to decide who I fuck and when?!"
Sam's grip on his arm tightened as if pain would help him see the light. "I'm telling you to be sensible for shit's sake, Dean! You almost got yourself killed back there."
Dean looked down, shoulder hitching up slightly before dropping again. It wasn't even just about the sex. If Sam wanted him to give in this time, and had apparently been giving in on his own before now, where would things stop? When would they fight? "If I go along with it now, though, do you really think it'll just be this once, Sam?" He lifted his eyes to his brother's and knew his tone was caustic, but he just couldn't understand why Sam was okay with the whole idea, why he wasn't fighting harder. "You say I'm a fucking … slave … Sam. He called me a whore. You don't think he'll ask for more later?"
Sam was silent for a moment, but the quiet, defeated manner of his voice said everything Dean needed to know. "Not if you keep your head together. He'd have no reason to. I mean … he fucks with your head about the sex, but … it's not even about that. He wants you to learn how to behave, how to be good. And … it wouldn't've even gotten this far if you hadn't … freaked out, okay? If you'd just let him … do whatever. It wouldn't even be this bad right now."
"Maybe. But … I did and it is and … I don't know if I can- …" Dean shook his head, dragging his eyes to his brother's with the hint of a challenge. "Would you do this? If I was the one yelling at you about this 'just bend over and count to ten' shit?"
Sam's eyes clouded over, then, and his blinks became slow, his voice stiff with absolute finality. "It's just a fuck. And it's not even like his only other option would be to kill you. He could just … hurt you … and- … and still take whatever the hell he wanted." He paused a moment, breathing deep, and when he started again there was more bite in his tone, more confusion with a bitter edge. "It's just a fuck! And he's practically me anyway, Dean. It's not even really some random guy. So, just … give him what he wants … and you'll be okay."
"This is so fucked up, Sam. I- …" There might have been a part of him that was curious about this other guy, but he was kind of a bastard, a bastard who had warmed his ass with the flat of a wooden ruler, so Dean just wasn't feeling it enough to just smile, nod, and bend over. "I dunno, okay? It's just- …"
"You'd rather be in extreme pain … or dead, than just … fuck … despite how much you fuck all the time anyway? Is that what you're saying?" The look on Sam's face was a wholly unconcealed lack of comprehension.
"I dunno. Okay?" On the one hand, it was just sex, sort of, but … god, Sam was throwing around the word 'fuck' like he just gave some to anyone who happened to pass by. It made something stick in his throat because … Sam, of all people, should know that him fucking around didn't mean he was just free goods or something. "It's just- … These options are shit, Sam. I mean … no, I don't want to die, but- …"
"What about me? Have you ever thought about what your behavior means for me, Dean?" Sam's expression crumpled inward, strain written in the lines of his face and in the shine of his eyes. "It's just a fuck, Dean, and you? You fuck anything! And you let me fuck you whenever I want, so … when some guy who's nearly me says fucking is an option over pain or death? Then I don't really see what your issue is." His voice started as an angry whisper and didn't grow any louder, yet still became more forceful. "Is your nonexistent dignity worth more than me? 'Cause unless you didn't hear them a minute ago. You're about to make me fail too. Do you really want them thinking that I'm not one of them? That I'm no better than you?!" Sam hurled the final words at him like they were flaming arrows he'd burned himself trying to swallow.
Dean blinked at the quiet storm of Sam's rage, understanding yet feeling like he was missing so much of the meaning. Suddenly, he found himself gasping wide-eyed as he felt the air leave the room. His vision blurred for a moment, then cleared, and he saw …
Sam … chapped lips twisted to match the fear and fire in his bloodshot eyes. This wasn't any Sam he'd known, though. He was pale yet flushed in all the wrong ways and so thin, like he hadn't been in years, all made clear by the scraps of too-old clothes clinging precariously to the sick sweat on his skin. A shadowed man was leaning over him, keeping him down against a dingy cot by some method Dean couldn't see, then he slid a finger to his lips.
"Shhh."
"No. No. No, just- … Don't even- … Just you wait, I'll fucking- … " Sam's voice was dry and choked, like his throat was parched and his lungs refused to fill, but then his expression morphed as he cried out with pain and the man moved closer, covering him, his hands touching everywhere before finding their way to cover Sam's mouth.
"Shhh."
Dean knew somehow instinctively that this wasn't like what they wanted from him here. It wasn't just for show … and it wasn't just this one time …and it wasn't just this one guy … and it wouldn't stop if he learned … it wouldn't stop if he was good … it just … kept … going. The scene wasn't even in a classroom anymore, it was more like a cage, a cell, like- …
Sam shook him, teeth bared. "Look at me!"
Dean swam back to the present, but he came back with new eyes, words panting out of him. "Sam, did you- … Did they- … ?"
Sam's eyes swept left then back again, but he only seemed to gnash his teeth together harder as he ground out words Dean understood apart but not together. "No. You don't get to keep that. You don't fucking get to keep that. And don't you get all weepy-eyed on me, you fucking- … Do you see me crying? Huh? No. I learned better. And you- …"
"Time!" Mr. Winchester's voice crashed in Dean's ears and he jolted somewhat, even knowing that the man was deeper in the classroom behind him, among the student desks or near his own. "Didn't I tell you not to coddle him? He's a whore, Sam! All he needs to know for this little lesson is how to spread his legs and open his mouth. I'm sure that if you can't help him remember how to do that, then the whole class would love to take turns jogging his memory."
They laughed, then, whistled and catcalled, teacher, students, and all, but Dean was caught up in Sam, trying to breathe him all in as if he were vanishing in front of him.
A hundred thousand anxious questions swarmed in the green of Sam's eyes, but Dean was already leaning into him even as Sam spoke. "They'll do it. I know that. And we can't stop them. I know that too, so- …" He glanced down, eyes coming up dark and fierce. "Trust me."
Dean bit his lip, not unsure so much as just … scared … for both of them, because Sam was acting so damn tough, but there was something in those eyes that was screaming and didn't know how to stop. Sam needed him, needed to know if he'd shoulder this and so much more, because he couldn't, because he wouldn't, and because he didn't know any other way to live now.
It only took Dean the blink of a moment to answer every single question without even one word. Nodding subtly, just once, he let regrets and hopes and loyalties play across his eyes, and then he forced his gaze down in submission, breathing deep.
He felt Sam's hand rise from his arm to his shoulder, lying heavy and purposeful as he took a shuddery breath but spoke confidently over his head. "He's ready."
"Well, by all means … join us." Mr. Winchester's tone held a hint of darkness alongside the arrogance, but what made Dean's breath catch was the arousal he could feel in his tone, as if it thickened the air by mixing old oil into the humidity before it hit his skin.
Sam went into his pocket then, pulling out something dark that was wrapped tightly in on itself and when he snapped his fist open and it unfurled, Dean felt his stomach sink to his knees. He didn't back away, though, when the latch was brought to his collar and he found himself on a leash. Again, it seemed, not that he could remember when the other time had been, but then there was a tug at his neck and he moved to follow.
Header - One - Two - Three - Four - Five
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Three: Fighting
[035.Enraged]
Dean puzzled over all the things he'd half-remembered since he became conscious here and all the things he'd said and heard others say. There were pieces starting to fit together, but the whole picture seemed blurry and every time he zoomed in on one thing, something else went out of focus. He was struggling so much that he didn't even notice when Sam's voice stopped its near chanting and those wooden heels were clicking his way again.
"You know …" Dean started at the voice rumbling at his ear, but nearly bolted away at the feel of hands curling at the sides of his waist. "Right now, you're doing much better than I'd thought you'd do, but ... it kind of makes me wonder why you weren't trying harder earlier. I mean … I can tell that you care about him, so … why do you keep fighting this?"
Mr. Winchester's hips rolled against Dean's bare ass with an expectant groan as his fingers sought Dean's cock and Dean didn't even wait to think. He just turned far enough to shove the man away and his eyes went hard as he dipped down to jerk his khakis up and fasten them hastily. "I took your twisted punishments because I had to, but don't fucking touch me like that again."
There was a trace of shock on Mr. Winchester's face, but it quickly became amusement and a smirk set in as he leaned back some, nonchalant, and turned to call over his shoulder. "Sam …"
Dean was still glaring as his eyes moved from Mr. Winchester to Sam, who was getting out of his seat and walking slowly up to the teacher's side. Sam might have been coming to stick up for his brother, to cuss the rude fuck of a teacher out, but … the bow of his head and the lack of eye contact told Dean exactly whose side he was on.
"I know." Sam's voice was soft and weary and just a touch annoyed as if waiting to be subjected to a speech he'd heard a thousand times.
"That remains to be seen." Mr. Winchester's lips slid into a sneer as he looked down at Sam. And he really was looking down at him, now that Dean saw them standing next to one another.
Mr. Winchester was built broader, taller, and Sam, he was … almost folded in on himself, permanently slouching. They were both like Sam in so many ways, one more than the other, but … there were things missing too. Dean wondered if those pieces had been half-lost like his memories or if his memories could tell him where they'd gone.
"Handle your boy." The teacher's voice wasn't angry, but his words were definitely a command and Sam nodded, moving to step toward Dean.
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Winchester stopped him, though, tone tinged with irritation. "Can you really do it this time, or do you need me to handle it?"
Sam's head turned back and his expression was one of frustration and complaint. "You handle everything."
"Yeah, I do. There's a reason for that." Mr. Winchester nodded calmly, eyebrows in a high line across his forehead. "You're fucking soft. Case in point right over there. He's mouthy and noncompliant. I want him bent over my desk again, ASAP." The teacher's eyes turned Dean's way and there was something burning in them that made him want to take a step back, though he fought to stand his ground. "And then I'm gonna fuck him. Make it happen."
Sam was quiet for a moment, mouth agape. "Do you really have to- …"
"You know what he needs as well as me." The eyes Mr. Winchester fixed on Sam seemed to convey so much more than he was saying, so much Dean just couldn't seem to translate. "And don't tell me the little slut won't squirt all over the place, 'cause he will."
Sam glanced Dean's way, catching his eye, then turned away again as he shook his head softly. "He doesn't- … I can't, okay? I can't."
"If you won't do this your way, then I'll do it mine. I don't think either of you really wants that, but … I know it's easier when I just … handle things … so you don't have to think about it." Mr. Winchester's voice slid into something that might have signified understanding and compassion, if his words themselves weren't so edged with disappointment and scorn. "You can just curl up in the corner, pretend it's not happening, and wait for it to all be over, right? A real brave one, you are."
Sam made an aggravated noise at the back of his throat. "It's not like that. It's just- …"
"Hard for you to do what needs to be done." Nodding almost sympathetically, Mr. Winchester tried to calm Sam. "It's okay. I understand. That's why I'm here. I don't mind the dirty work, but … we've still gotta toughen you up or you're never gonna make it out there."
"I know, but- …"
"No buts." Mr. Winchester held Sam's eyes for a long time, ending all further discussion, before nodding in Dean's direction. "Go get your whore ready for a proper public fuck."
Sam seemed to take a deep, bolstering breath, then headed Dean's way, but Dean was already not listening.
"Dean- …"
"No."
"Dean- …"
"No!"
"But- …"
"NO!" There was yelling, but then Dean caught himself, taking a moment to glare at Mr. Winchester and the rest of the apparently mindless idiots populating this fucked up class before turning away. He grabbed Sam by the top of his tie and hauled him deeper into the corner, fuming in quieter tones. "A spanking, like I was some goddamned eight year old, was bad enough, Sam. You want me to just let some … you who's not you … fuck me in front of a room full of people? And don't tell me it could be worse, 'cause that's bullshit."
"You don't know what you're talking about. I thought- … I thought you'd get it by now, but- …" Sam reached for Dean's shirt collar and Dean pulled back some, but relented at Sam's stern look. Loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top of his shirt, Sam reached in, his fingers trailing over something Dean only just started to feel right then.
He brought his hand up to trace the soft leather curved at his throat and felt his heart double-pumping with worry. "What is this?"
"A collar. And if you look under your shirt cuffs you'll find a pair of leather cuffs. The cockring makes it a whole matching set." Sam sighed as he spoke, somber, as if he knew exactly how deeply this kind of thing would affect him. "They're marks of your status, Dean. You're a slave. All those words he had you repeat? They weren't just words. I think you know that."
"Wha- … How?" He wasn't really sure that he exactly wanted to know, but … this was all so fucking crazy.
"I don't have time to explain everything to you, but …" Sam heaved in a long breath like it might be his last, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth as he looked down at some unknown point on Dean's shirt. "Right now you're … owned … by me … and the school … So, Mr. Winchester has the right to do whatever he wants with you … same as I do."
Dean tried to remember that the air rushing in and out of his and his brother's bodies was a necessary thing and nothing would be helped by him screaming himself hoarse or choking Sam blue. He just let his mouth find its way to words that he thought would get his point across in a more moderate way. "Is that why you're not fighting, Sam, because you're the one on top this time?"
"What?! No! Of course not." Sam reared back, taking offense. "I told you before. We're out of options, Dean. This is it."
"Can't be. That's- …" He swallowed thickly, shaking his head because Sam might believe this craziness, but … no. No way. "There's gotta be a better way."
"You don't think I've looked?" Sam voice was beginning to increase in volume and his arms spread in the wide gesture he always did when arguments got intense. "You don't think I've tried to figure this out a million different times in a million different ways? There just isn't any other way."
"You're wrong. You're just wrong. This is- … I'm not gonna live with … whoever … being able to do … whatever the hell they want to me, Sam. I mean, if it were just- …" He took a step back, shaking his head, as his fingers worked to find the latch on his collar. "But … he's not- … I won't do it."
"Dean. Leave … the collar … alone." Sam's words fell out slowly, his eyes moving from Dean's neck to his eyes to some spot off behind him. When Dean kept stepping back and his fingers became more frantic, nails dragging angry scrapes into his skin, Sam's eyes made the rounds faster, darting and fearful, but there was also anger in them and in the flare of his nostrils as he advanced towards him. "Dean. There's nowhere to go. So, drop your hands and do as you're told."
"No." Dean was shaking his head again, pulse racing as he kept moving back and his brother kept approaching.
It was instinct more than malice that made him spin when the back of his body connected with another, his fist swinging up to crash into facial muscle and bone with a deafening crunch, a muffled grunt, and a multi-person gasp.
"Fuck." Sam whispered the word from some distance behind him, but the room was deadly quiet now, so it may as well have been a groan.
Judging from the way Mr. Winchester was leaning awkwardly away from him, face in his hands, Dean could see why Sam was so concerned. He'd probably landed a pretty solid punch and though part of him thought the guy deserved it, or worse, part of him … kind of felt bad about it. It wasn't just that he was sure to have a serious fight on his hands now, but … his violent reaction also just felt wrong somehow. It set up a steady throb at his temples and made his stomach lurch all at once in opposite directions as Mr. Winchester slowly pulled himself back up to standing and wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, tainting the pure white sleeve of his shirt.
Mr. Winchester cracked his neck once on either side and licked the last traces of blood from his lips before letting Dean see the full intensity of his eyes. "You didn't really think that would help anything, did you? That you hurting me wouldn't just make me want to fuck you up beyond repair?" He swiped his tongue over his teeth, then, and they were all intact and gleaming white, though the blood should have suggested otherwise.
It made Dean wonder if he had even really hurt the guy that bad at all.
"Did you think that even after I crushed you bit by bit that I wouldn't still sink my cock in your ass while your limbs are broken in too many places and your stomach is full of your own swallowed blood? Hmm?" He chuckled darkly, smirk hanging heavy on his mouth. "'Cause I think you've still got a lot yet to learn … whore."
Dean's stomach flipped over, almost with every word, until he seriously thought he might throw up, and when Mr. Winchester reached for him, he staggered back as much from nausea as fear. A smirking, spiky-haired student stood up by the teacher's left shoulder then, grey eyes gleaming, and let loose his own twisted laugh, eyeing Dean with disgust before giving a shrug and looking off, nearly over Dean's head.
"He won't even take what's coming to him, man. He's not fit to serve you. Why don't you just put him down, like you should've done in the first place, and get yourself something new?"
Sam didn't say anything for a moment and Dean chilled, wondering if he might actually consider something like that, but there was a deep growl in his brother's voice when he finally spoke. "Don't want something new. And he's plenty trainable. So … why don't you just mind your own business."
"I dunno, Sammy, seems like you might not be the right- …"
Mr. Winchester's hand flew up, halting all speech, and he jutted his chin in Sam's direction, his lips set so flat that it seemed a wonder that they had ever smirked or smiled in the first place. "Try. Again."
Then Dean was being yanked back by his shirt as Sam all but dragged him back into the corner and spun him around, seething enough to heat the hand he had clutched around Dean's arm.
"Why do you always do this?"
"Do what? Defend myself?" He was seriously starting to have a problem with just how much Sam was on everyone else's side but his here, that one comment on his supposed trainability aside.
Sam puffed out an exhale thick with exasperation. "Keep fighting even when there's nothing left for you to win."
"Are you telling me to just give up on everything then?" The lines in Dean's forehead deepened as he stared at his brother, jaw tight. "Including getting to decide who I fuck and when?!"
Sam's grip on his arm tightened as if pain would help him see the light. "I'm telling you to be sensible for shit's sake, Dean! You almost got yourself killed back there."
Dean looked down, shoulder hitching up slightly before dropping again. It wasn't even just about the sex. If Sam wanted him to give in this time, and had apparently been giving in on his own before now, where would things stop? When would they fight? "If I go along with it now, though, do you really think it'll just be this once, Sam?" He lifted his eyes to his brother's and knew his tone was caustic, but he just couldn't understand why Sam was okay with the whole idea, why he wasn't fighting harder. "You say I'm a fucking … slave … Sam. He called me a whore. You don't think he'll ask for more later?"
Sam was silent for a moment, but the quiet, defeated manner of his voice said everything Dean needed to know. "Not if you keep your head together. He'd have no reason to. I mean … he fucks with your head about the sex, but … it's not even about that. He wants you to learn how to behave, how to be good. And … it wouldn't've even gotten this far if you hadn't … freaked out, okay? If you'd just let him … do whatever. It wouldn't even be this bad right now."
"Maybe. But … I did and it is and … I don't know if I can- …" Dean shook his head, dragging his eyes to his brother's with the hint of a challenge. "Would you do this? If I was the one yelling at you about this 'just bend over and count to ten' shit?"
Sam's eyes clouded over, then, and his blinks became slow, his voice stiff with absolute finality. "It's just a fuck. And it's not even like his only other option would be to kill you. He could just … hurt you … and- … and still take whatever the hell he wanted." He paused a moment, breathing deep, and when he started again there was more bite in his tone, more confusion with a bitter edge. "It's just a fuck! And he's practically me anyway, Dean. It's not even really some random guy. So, just … give him what he wants … and you'll be okay."
"This is so fucked up, Sam. I- …" There might have been a part of him that was curious about this other guy, but he was kind of a bastard, a bastard who had warmed his ass with the flat of a wooden ruler, so Dean just wasn't feeling it enough to just smile, nod, and bend over. "I dunno, okay? It's just- …"
"You'd rather be in extreme pain … or dead, than just … fuck … despite how much you fuck all the time anyway? Is that what you're saying?" The look on Sam's face was a wholly unconcealed lack of comprehension.
"I dunno. Okay?" On the one hand, it was just sex, sort of, but … god, Sam was throwing around the word 'fuck' like he just gave some to anyone who happened to pass by. It made something stick in his throat because … Sam, of all people, should know that him fucking around didn't mean he was just free goods or something. "It's just- … These options are shit, Sam. I mean … no, I don't want to die, but- …"
"What about me? Have you ever thought about what your behavior means for me, Dean?" Sam's expression crumpled inward, strain written in the lines of his face and in the shine of his eyes. "It's just a fuck, Dean, and you? You fuck anything! And you let me fuck you whenever I want, so … when some guy who's nearly me says fucking is an option over pain or death? Then I don't really see what your issue is." His voice started as an angry whisper and didn't grow any louder, yet still became more forceful. "Is your nonexistent dignity worth more than me? 'Cause unless you didn't hear them a minute ago. You're about to make me fail too. Do you really want them thinking that I'm not one of them? That I'm no better than you?!" Sam hurled the final words at him like they were flaming arrows he'd burned himself trying to swallow.
Dean blinked at the quiet storm of Sam's rage, understanding yet feeling like he was missing so much of the meaning. Suddenly, he found himself gasping wide-eyed as he felt the air leave the room. His vision blurred for a moment, then cleared, and he saw …
Sam … chapped lips twisted to match the fear and fire in his bloodshot eyes. This wasn't any Sam he'd known, though. He was pale yet flushed in all the wrong ways and so thin, like he hadn't been in years, all made clear by the scraps of too-old clothes clinging precariously to the sick sweat on his skin. A shadowed man was leaning over him, keeping him down against a dingy cot by some method Dean couldn't see, then he slid a finger to his lips.
"Shhh."
"No. No. No, just- … Don't even- … Just you wait, I'll fucking- … " Sam's voice was dry and choked, like his throat was parched and his lungs refused to fill, but then his expression morphed as he cried out with pain and the man moved closer, covering him, his hands touching everywhere before finding their way to cover Sam's mouth.
"Shhh."
Dean knew somehow instinctively that this wasn't like what they wanted from him here. It wasn't just for show … and it wasn't just this one time …and it wasn't just this one guy … and it wouldn't stop if he learned … it wouldn't stop if he was good … it just … kept … going. The scene wasn't even in a classroom anymore, it was more like a cage, a cell, like- …
Sam shook him, teeth bared. "Look at me!"
Dean swam back to the present, but he came back with new eyes, words panting out of him. "Sam, did you- … Did they- … ?"
Sam's eyes swept left then back again, but he only seemed to gnash his teeth together harder as he ground out words Dean understood apart but not together. "No. You don't get to keep that. You don't fucking get to keep that. And don't you get all weepy-eyed on me, you fucking- … Do you see me crying? Huh? No. I learned better. And you- …"
"Time!" Mr. Winchester's voice crashed in Dean's ears and he jolted somewhat, even knowing that the man was deeper in the classroom behind him, among the student desks or near his own. "Didn't I tell you not to coddle him? He's a whore, Sam! All he needs to know for this little lesson is how to spread his legs and open his mouth. I'm sure that if you can't help him remember how to do that, then the whole class would love to take turns jogging his memory."
They laughed, then, whistled and catcalled, teacher, students, and all, but Dean was caught up in Sam, trying to breathe him all in as if he were vanishing in front of him.
A hundred thousand anxious questions swarmed in the green of Sam's eyes, but Dean was already leaning into him even as Sam spoke. "They'll do it. I know that. And we can't stop them. I know that too, so- …" He glanced down, eyes coming up dark and fierce. "Trust me."
Dean bit his lip, not unsure so much as just … scared … for both of them, because Sam was acting so damn tough, but there was something in those eyes that was screaming and didn't know how to stop. Sam needed him, needed to know if he'd shoulder this and so much more, because he couldn't, because he wouldn't, and because he didn't know any other way to live now.
It only took Dean the blink of a moment to answer every single question without even one word. Nodding subtly, just once, he let regrets and hopes and loyalties play across his eyes, and then he forced his gaze down in submission, breathing deep.
He felt Sam's hand rise from his arm to his shoulder, lying heavy and purposeful as he took a shuddery breath but spoke confidently over his head. "He's ready."
"Well, by all means … join us." Mr. Winchester's tone held a hint of darkness alongside the arrogance, but what made Dean's breath catch was the arousal he could feel in his tone, as if it thickened the air by mixing old oil into the humidity before it hit his skin.
Sam went into his pocket then, pulling out something dark that was wrapped tightly in on itself and when he snapped his fist open and it unfurled, Dean felt his stomach sink to his knees. He didn't back away, though, when the latch was brought to his collar and he found himself on a leash. Again, it seemed, not that he could remember when the other time had been, but then there was a tug at his neck and he moved to follow.
Header - One - Two - Three - Four - Five