Archive of Our Own

You keep moving for the next few weeks. You stop in dive motels and you sleep in shitty beds and you hope you heal enough before it comes again. You sleep with Sam in your arms. You kiss and touch and pretend and you get up the next morning and keep driving.

 

Somewhere in Oklahoma, Dean pulled them off the road and sighed. It was nearly midnight and both Sam and his father were sleeping. He was tired. He pulled into a rest stop and left them sleeping, heading off to the restroom to relieve himself and maybe get some soda or coffee from a machine. His phone rang as he zipped himself up.

His heart stopped as he saw who it was, but with chilled fingers, he flipped it open and held it to his ear. “Where are you?”

“Don’t know…just driving.” The last time he’d seen Pastor Jim, he’d promised to take care of things if Dean couldn’t.

“Dean, I need to know.”

Dean shook his head. “I won’t let you take him.” He closed his eyes and sagged against the wall, letting his head fall back.

“Listen to me son, you’re in over your head. You need help.”

“I need my father.”

“Dean, they’re putting together the pieces. That school you left in Fresno, they’ve got the law looking for you, especially after your trip to the hospital. There’s a cop gunning for you.”

“We’ll lay low for a bit. It will go away. It always goes away.”

Jim was quiet for a minute and Dean almost thought he’d given up. “I know you think that, son. But I don’t think it will this time. I think your father is only going to get worse, and he will get caught.”

Dean knew on some level that Jim was right, but he wasn’t ready to give up. He’d fought so hard to keep his family together. “I can’t….you know that.”

“I can. I will. Just tell me where you are.”

“No.” Dean hung up and calmly turned the phone off, setting it on the sink and walking away. He’d get a new one in a few days.

His father was awake as he got back to the car, and Dean felt the pull, the need. He nodded and came around to his father’s side of the car, opening the door and going instantly to one knee beside him. He unzipped his jeans and pulled him out, not even looking up at him as he opened his mouth and took him in.

John grunted and Dean sucked harder. He needed to make this work orally. His ass still wasn’t ready for action. It was better, but they didn’t need another hospital visit. And if Jim was telling the truth they needed to go deep. New names, new phones, new places.

His father’s hand fisted in his hair and then his cock was spewing and Dean could pull back, looking up finally. John blinked, shook his head. “You okay?” he growled.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. You?”

John stared out the window for a minute. “Where are we?”

Dean sighed. “Somewhere in Oklahoma. I was thinking we could head to Dallas.”

John frowned at him as he slid into the drivers seat again. “Dallas?”

Dean nodded and started the car. “We won’t stand out so much in a city…and right now, we need to blend.”

“Are we in trouble?”

“Yeah, Dad. I think we are.”

 

He doesn’t ask, and you don’t offer the information. You stop in some dive truck stop just outside Wichita Falls. You eat and find a motel for the night, but Jim’s words ring in your head as you turn off the lights and you crawl into your father’s bed, wanting to feel his touch, his skin…You can’t tell him why, but you pull him to you and your desperation leaks out through your pores.

 

Sam barely woke up enough to get into the room. Dean tucked blankets around him and crawled into the bathroom to shower. He felt dirty and dusty. The water was only lukewarm, but it was better than nothing.

By the time he came out of the bathroom, Sam was stretched over the bed and snoring. Dean sighed and dropped his dirty clothes in a pile by the chair. His father wasn’t asleep, but he kept his eyes closed and his face turned to the wall as Dean turned off the lights and crawled in beside him.

For a long moment Dean just lay there, his eyes closed, swallowing down the panic that seemed to live in his skin. “Dad.” It was a whisper barely audible in the space between Sam’s snores, but John turned, onto his back, his eyes open now and dark.

Dean shifted, up, looking down into his father’s face. He looked as worn and tired and afraid as Dean felt. “I need…” He couldn’t say the words though.

John didn’t seem to need them. He nodded once, and his hand lifted to cup the back of Dean’s head, drawing him down. The kiss was soft, tender…so much different than what they usually shared. Dean let himself ease into it, opening his lips. His father’s tongue was tentative sliding across and into Dean’s mouth.

Dean let his hand trail down over John’s stomach, under the blanket. His cock was warm and soft and John groaned, pulling out of the kiss. “Dean…”

“Shh…” Dean stroked over his cock and sought out his lips. “Please…let me…” Dean kissed over his lips and jaw while his hand worked his cock, drawing it out and up. It hardened slowly in his hands and Dean could tell John wasn’t entirely comfortable, but he chose to ignore it, sliding lips down his stomach and circling his navel before moving to take his cock into his mouth.

John moaned. Dean stroked his fingers over his stomach and thighs, licking his way around his cock, sucking up the underside then sliding down it. John’s cock thickened in his mouth. He slipped one hand down to fondle his balls.

Dean startled when John’s hand closed over his cock, drawing slow and stuttering. Then John was moving, twisting and encouraging Dean to move closer. Dean opened his eyes just as he felt something warm and wet circle his cock. He groaned at the sight, as his father’s mouth slid over him and it was insane how hard he got. It was unexpected. That was what he got from Sam. Never this.

He turned back to his father’s cock, bobbing over it in a counter rhythm to John’s mouth on him. John’s rhythm stuttered as he came, but his mouth went immediately back to it and soon it was Dean moaning and coming.

John was up and into the bathroom seconds after Dean finished and Dean straightened himself out in the bed, listening to the sounds of his father showering. When he came back he crawled into bed beside Dean and they both lay silently until sleep claimed them.

 

You expect Dallas to be different somehow. You find a run down house in a bad part of town and you bunker down. You get new IDs and apply for new credit cards with the new names you stole off birth records. You figure you can hide. You can hide and make it work.

Dean tossed his father a phone as he came in the front door. “New phones. Freebies, money’s tight.” That was an understatement. Money was more than tight. It was non-existent. He’d hustled pool for two hours to get enough to do the whole pre-paid cell phone thing to get them set up.

“Credit cards should start rolling in soon.” John said, tucking the phone into his pocket.

Dean nodded. “I’m going to see if I can’t get us some paying work. Got a line on a bar that’s maybe hiring. Needs a bouncer.”

John snorted a little. “Right. Just remember you can’t kill the drunks.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna grab a shower and change. You going to be okay if I go out?”

John squinted at him and nodded. “I’m not a baby, Dean. It seems to have backed off some.”

Dean nodded. He and Sam had talked about that. It seemed that since John had started accepting the boys and their attention, the need had come less frequently. Like it was his denial of the thing and the lack of sex made it worse or something.

Not that Dean let Sam do more than kiss and touch. He told himself that Sam didn’t need that baggage…vowed to keep Sam out of it…So Dean took it upon himself to go to his father every few days, and they’d managed to hold it off with blow jobs.

It helped him beat back the fear.

“Where is Sam?”

John sighed. “He said something about basketball.”

Dean shook his head. “In this neighborhood? He must have a death wish.”

He headed up the stairs and into the bathroom. He needed to get some quick cash to get them through for a few days. He was finally healed enough that he wasn’t worried about going out and the possibility of their being trouble. He had a fine line of scar tissue over his cheek, but it was faint and seemed to add to his tough guy image. He showered and chose not to shave, just poured himself into a pair of jeans and a wife beater, followed by the gray t-shirt and a long sleeved shirt.

Sam was coming in the door as he came down the stairs. He grinned and pushed hair out of his eyes, revealing a fresh shiner. “What happened to you?”

He shrugged. “Just getting to know the neighbors.” He flopped onto the couch and turned on the television.

Dean sighed and pulled Sam’s phone out of his pocket. “Here, I got you a new phone. My number’s in it, so is Dad’s. Call me if you need anything.”

“We’ll be fine.”

Dean ducked into the kitchen where John was warming up soup for dinner. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Be careful.”

The bar was only about ten minutes away. Dean parked the Impala and wandered into the place, wanting to get a feel for it before he approached the owner. It was a typical Texas bar, with rockabilly music pouring through the open front door and cowboy hats on almost every head in the joint.

It was early yet, and there were only fifteen or so people in the place, including the bartender. Dean made his way to the bar and ordered a beer, sitting down to watch what he was assuming was the usual crowd, because it wasn’t quite seven and it was a Wednesday.

“Here you go.” The bartender put his beer in front of him. “You don’t look familiar.”

Dean offered a quick smile. “First time here. I’m new in town.”

“Well then, welcome to our dirty little hole in the wall.”

“Thank you, I think.” Dean’s eyes scanned the room, starting to notice that maybe this wasn’t your typical Texas bar at all. There was only one woman in sight…and looking again Dean wasn’t sure she was a woman really.

“It’s always quiet before nine,” the bartender said, wiping the bar, and obviously eyeing Dean up and down. “I’m Kyle.” He smiled and it made Dean a little uncomfortable.

“Um…Daniel. Daniel Macdonald.” He swallowed down a good amount of the beer and took a deep breath. “I was told you might be looking for a bouncer.”

Kyle stood back, his eyes sweeping over Dean meaningfully again. “Oh, honey, you ain’t big enough or bad enough to bounce our guys. Though plenty would pay for the privilege to bounce you.”

Dean felt himself blush bright red and pulled his glass of beer up to cover his cough of surprise.

“Kyle, you hitting on the customers again?”

“Hey Sarge. I was just telling young Daniel here that you already hired a bouncer. Pity too. He’s a pretty thing. He’d class the joint up.”

Dean looked up at the big man Kyle called Sarge. The man looked him over. “You look like you know how to handle yourself in a fight.”

“Yes sir.” Dean said, setting his beer aside and standing to hold out his hand. “Daniel Macdonald. I really need a job. I have a father and a brother to take care of.”

“Family man, I like that. Why don’t you come back to my office, Daniel, and we’ll have us a talk.”

Dean felt like a piece of meat, but he followed Sarge into the office and closed the door. Sarge puffed like it was work walking across the bar and dropped into his chair. “We really do have a bouncer, but you’re very pretty. You ever tend bar?”

“I drink at lots of them, does that count?” Dean asked.

Sarge chuckled. “You know your way around liquor?”

“I can tell my Scotch from my Brandy from my Whiskey, if that’s what you mean.” Dean said. He kind of liked this guy.

“Can’t pay much. But a place like this and a guy as good looking as you…there’s always someone looking for a little more than a beer, if you know what I mean.”

Dean’s heart hammered at him. “Not interested in anything extra, just some work.”

Sarge nodded. “You can double with Kyle Friday and Saturdays for a while. When you get the hang of it you can take Sundays and Mondays so Kyle can stop pissing about not getting any time off.”

“Excellent. Thank you, sir.”

“Sarge, not sir. Used to be in the army. Damn Reds blew off my foot.” He put his foot on the desk in front of him and it clunked. He pulled up his pant leg to show Dean his wooden foot.

“My dad was a Marine.” Dean offered.

“Good man.” Sarge dropped his foot and looked up at him. “So we’ll see you Friday night Daniel.”

“Thank you Sarge.” Dean shook his hand, then headed back to the bar for one more beer and to get a feel for Kyle, since he’d be working with him.

 

 

You don’t tell them what kind of bar it is, and you don’t mention the name. You don’t tell them what Sarge said about extra money. You take the job and you hustle pool in other dives the next night to buy food. You go to the bar and you pour beer and try to ignore the hungry eyes and the pointing fingers and Kyle’s wandering hands. You go home at night and pretend. Everything is okay.

 

Dean crawled home at almost three am with aching feet and a headache from the loud music and yelling, and he was fairly certain his ass was bruised from the pinching. The house was quiet, still.

He sighed in relief and let himself into the house, stopping in his father’s room first. He was asleep, his face more peaceful than Dean could remember seeing it in a long time. It was soothing and Dean felt like the cracks were starting to come back together.

He moved on to Sam’s room. Sam was awake, rolling over and lifting a hand to beckon Dean to him. “You look tired.” His voice was growly and sleep dusted.

Dean nodded and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He took Sam’s hand as he toed off his shoes and slid into bed, still fully clothed. “You smell like beer.” Sam’s kiss was quick, his tongue sliding through Dean’s mouth. “You taste like beer.”

“’M tired Sammy.”

Sam pouted at him. “It’s been days Dean. I miss you.”

Dean tried to keep his eyes open, but exhaustion pulled him under. He woke to Sam’s touch, to Sam’s hands and the cool touch of lube. He opened an eye and closed it quickly. It was probably close to noon, judging just from the sun coming in the open window and Sam almost didn’t realize Dean was even awake. He was concentrating on smothering his brother’s dick with lube and when Dean cleared his throat, Sam grinned. “Morning.”

“What are you doing?”

“You fell asleep on me. I’m horny.”

“Dude, you’re sixteen. You’re always horny.”

Sam didn’t respond, just moved so that Dean’s cock was poised under his ass. “At least tell me you—“ Sam’s mouth dropped open as he sank and Dean could tell he hadn’t prepped. He was hot and tight and the faces ranged from pain to lust and he stopped half way down, holding himself with one hand on Dean’s chest, while his other grabbed at his cock, but not before it emptied itself all over Dean’s stomach. “Dude!”

Sam grinned, once his orgasm was done. “Told you. Horny.” He lifted up and eased back down, taking Dean deeper. Dean cursed and grabbed a fist full of sheets.

“Fuck, Sammy!”

“Working on it Dean.” Sam pulled up again and Dean shook his head. It was too slow and too much and damn but Dean wasn’t going to make it. He growled and sat up, pushing Sam onto his back and snapping his hips in fast and hard. Sam’s cock was still dribbling and he yelled when Dean’s down stroke found his prostate, his ass clenching tight and Dean closed his eyes and tried to hold on, but the grip was hard and the heat was more than he could take. He shot fast and pulled out slow, falling down beside his brother with a half chuckle, half groan.

“Next time, warn a guy, huh?” Dean said, panting a little.

“Didn’t want you to say no.” Sam sat up and reached for a dirty t-shirt, wiping up Dean’s stomach before reaching behind to wipe his ass. “Dad and I are going for a run. Want to come?”

Dean shook his head. “Not this afternoon. I’ve got to find out why the Impala’s being temperamental.”

“It might be because it’s old, Dean.” Sam said, heading out the door of the bedroom for the bathroom, his cock swinging out in front of him. Dean threw a pillow at him and missed, then got up and tucked himself back into the jeans he’d never taken off the night before. He headed down the stairs, thinking coffee sounded good.

He stopped dead in the living room. His father was sitting on the couch, There was a darkness in his eyes, but Dean could see he was trying to hold it back, trying to keep it in check.

“Dad?”

His father looked up, took a slow breath. “Heard you and Sam…felt it coming.”

“Okay, I’m here.”

His father’s teeth were clenched tight. “A blow job isn’t going to be enough, Dean.”

Dean nodded slowly. They knew it would come back, even if they’d pretended that it wouldn’t. They knew it would need more again. “Okay. I’ll get lube.”

“Got some.” John held up one hand. “Can’t hold it, son. You need to be ready.”

Dean took the bottle with one hand while he unzipped his jeans with the other. “I’m okay Dad. I’m here.” He was terrified, truthfully. Terrified that John would hurt him again and that it would drive him over the edge. He squirted lube onto his fingers and nudged his jeans down, working his fingers in. His father’s pants were open, his cock hard.

With a deep breath, Dean kneeled on the couch next to him, offering up his ass.

“Dean.” It was the familiar growl, the one that told him his father wasn’t in control anymore. The couch shifted and Dean pulled his fingers out of himself, reaching his sticky hand to rub over his father’s cock…then guiding him in.

“It’s okay Dad. It’s okay.”

It burned, almost as much as that first time. Dean bit into the arm of the couch and tried to relax. He squeezed his eyes closed and counted slowly. His father’s hands grabbed at his hips, squeezing and bruising until Dean yelled and pushed back. “Finish.” Dean growled.

John growled back and shoved in deep and hard, rocking the couch against the wall.

“Dean?”

Sam was on the stairs, his eyes wide. John bellowed, a roar of emotion Dean couldn’t quite place and shoved in again. Dean’s mouth hit the arm of the chair, splitting his lip. He was about to warn Sam off, send him away when he felt the hot flood and John was falling back, sitting heavy. Sam was suddenly there beside him, reaching for Dean, helping him up. “You okay?”

Dean nodded and wiped his lip. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He looked down at his father whose eyes were on the floor. “Dad?”

John shook his head, covered his face. “What have I become?” John whispered.

“Dad, it’s okay.”

John lurched to his feet, his face red. “No it fucking isn’t Dean. What is this? I raised you better than this.” He started to stalk away then stopped. He turned back to them, but didn’t look at them. “I’m not even a hunter anymore. I’m…just this thing.”

Sam had his arms around Dean, his face nuzzled in Dean’s shoulder as John disappeared into the kitchen. They could hear him rummaging in the cupboards and when he returned, passing through the living room to the stairs, it was with a bottle of whiskey. He didn’t say anything more, just headed to his room with the bottle.

“Sam, I’m fine.” Dean pushed at his brother and finished zipping his jeans. “I need a shower now…but I’m fine.”

“You didn’t see his eyes.” Sam said. “He…scared me.”

Dean frowned at him. “It can get pretty ugly, Sam.”

Sam shook his head. “I’ve never seen it like that Dean.”

Dean sighed and pulled Sam to him, kissing him lightly. “He was trying to control it…that’s all it was…and when he let go, it was intense. It’s okay.”

He pulled free and headed for the stairs himself. “I’m going to shower. You want to help me work on the car after?”

They both knew there would be no running now, not with John tipping into the bottle, and Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah, sure.”

The first time it happens, you let yourself believe it won’t happen again. You need the money, the car needs parts, Sam needs jeans. And you reason that it’s just a quick blow job and nothing more…just like before.

 

Dean stretched above him for the glasses and felt a tender finger trace the fading bruise on his hip where his shirt rode up. He raised an eyebrow at the patron who pulled his hand back and smiled.

“Someone got a little rough.”

Dean put the glasses on the bar and reached for the bottle of wine. He didn’t say anything.

“You like it rough, Daniel?”

“Billy, I am not talking about that with you. Here’s your wine. Why don’t you take it over to that little twinkie I saw you flirting with.”

“Don’t be jealous Daniel, you know you’re prettier than any guy in the room.”

Dean rolled his eyes as Billy took the glasses and headed back to the dark corner where he’d been trolling since he’d come in. Dean chuckled and turned to the next guy, stopping short for a second, thinking he was looking at his father.

“Whiskey, with a beer chaser.”

Dean nodded, swallowed and tore his eyes away. He was his father’s height and build, same gruff voice, but it wasn’t him. The man slipped onto a stool as Dean set the shot of whiskey down. “Here you go. That’ll be ten even.”

The man slapped down a twenty and downed the shot. “You’re new.”

Dean smiled and nodded. “Been here a few weeks. I’m Daniel.”

Dean could feel the way the man’s eyes raked over him, focused on his crotch, then skipped back to his face. “I’m John.”

He nearly choked. “Did you say John?”

The man quirked a smile. “I did…and I could be.”

It took Dean a second to realize what the man meant. He shook his head. “I…I don’t—“

The man reached over the bar, his thumb caressing over his lips. “You should.” He pulled his hand back and pulled out his wallet. He dropped a hundred dollar bill on the bar. Dean stared at it, then looked up at him.

A hundred dollars. He licked his lips, looked around them, half sure the entire bar was watching. He needed the money. No one had to know. John flicked his eyes to the store room door. It was known as the fucking closet. Nothing on it’s shelves had been moved or touched in decades. Nothing except the box of condoms and the box of lube packets.

John picked up his beer and sipped at it, watching Dean. Dean exhaled slowly, his heart racing as his hand slipped up to the bar to swipe the bill and stick it quickly in his pocket. He grabbed Kyle’s arm. “Taking a break.”

Kyle nodded and Dean stepped out from behind the bar. John wasn’t far behind him. Dean started when John pulled the door closed and threw the lock. He couldn’t talk. His eyes skipped around in the dim light of the dirty ceiling lamp and found the only shelf not covered in dust.

John’s hand skimmed down his back and Dean started. “Easy. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Dean nodded tightly and moved toward the wall. There was a railing that stretched from the condom shelf to the corner, at the perfect height for bending over for a good fuck. He licked his lips and closed his eyes. He could do this.

John was reaching for a condom. Dean popped the button on his jeans and let them drop. He exhaled slowly and leaned toward the rail. John’s hand was hot as it caressed over his bare skin then there was the pop of a packet of lube and a slicked up finger and Dean fought the urge to pull away.

His zipper sounded wrong and loud and the rustle of the condom wrapper was even more so. Then he was there, the lubed up head of his cock pressing in. Dean gripped the bar and tried to relax, to open up. John’s fingers pressed in on the fading bruises his father had left behind and Dean was fairly certain he did it on purpose.

His first thrust was fast, deep and Dean couldn’t help but groan. After that he set up a steady rhythm, rocking into Dean quickly. It didn’t take long and he chuckled when he was done, pulling out and tossing the condom toward the trash can in the corner. Before Dean had even stood up, John was leaning over him, pulling his jeans up. “Worth every penny,” he said into Dean’s ear. “What nights you working?”

“F-Friday through Monday.” Dean said hesitantly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night then.” He slapped Dean’s ass and unlocked the door, slipping out while Dean pulled himself together. By the time Dean got back to the bar, John was gone, his beer drained.

 

You tell yourself it’s okay, repeating it like a mantra against the panic and the gut-wrenching sense of wrong that’s begun to fill you. You pull the shattered pieces together and you hold on to them because the frame of Sam and Dad doesn’t seem to be doing the job anymore. You stumble home in the small hours of the morning, the extra cash burning in your pocket and you tell yourself that it’s okay.

Dean was grateful that the house was dark and quiet as he pulled in. He sighed heavily and let his head rest on the back of the seat for a minute. They’d been in the house almost a month. No hunts, no contact from Jim or Bobby or anyone else.

He climbed out of the Impala and headed inside. They would have to move on before school started. Staying anywhere too long would only lead to someone finding them.

He let himself into the house, not bothering with the lights. He wandered to the kitchen, got a glass of water. The table was littered with newspapers, red circles around several stories. His father’s journal lay in the middle of it. Dean shook his head. He didn’t begrudge his father wanting to go back to his old life. He just wasn’t sure it was wise.

Dean sighed and headed up stairs. He wanted a shower and sleep. He could still feel that man inside him. Outside his father’s door he stopped, lifting his hand to the doorknob. There was a muffled moan. He eased open the door and froze.

His father was on the bed, stretched out, his eyes closed, his mouth open. Sam was there on top of him, naked and fucking himself slowly on John’s cock. The moan had come from Sam, who had his head thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut. John’s hands held Sam’s hips, rising and falling with him. Sam was close to coming and John wasn’t far behind.

Dean shook his head. His stomach churned with disgust…with…jealousy. He was the middle. He was the one who fucked Sam. He was the one his father fucked. And yet…

Sam’s body was trembling and he shouted out as he came. John pulled him down hard and shuddered himself. Dean pulled the door shut and pressed his hands against his eyes. He forced himself from the door, into the bathroom.

It was wrong. It was so very wrong.

He shook his head and tried to let it go. It was no more wrong than what they’d been doing…except that it was. It was Sam and his father.

As he climbed in under the hot water he wondered how long it had been going on. If he was just blind. Sam had been so happy. He was convinced he was helping…convinced that he was in love.

Dean put his face in the spray. His stomach clenched and he wanted to throw up. They looked good together. He was hard despite his anger. The way Sam was just so…open and the way he just threw himself into it…and his father…he wanted it…Dean was sure of that. “Fuck.”

And it wasn’t like Dean hadn’t just come home from getting fucked up the ass by a stranger. He leaned into the wall, and felt it all over…that quick hard thrust, the way he had taken the money…the look on Sam’s face as he came…Dean pulled a hand down his cock, pulling and cursing into the tile until he came.

He climbed out of the shower shaking and pulled a towel around himself. He didn’t stop at Sam’s room, just went to his own, collapsing into bed and pulling the blanket up to his face.

“It’s okay, Winchester. It’s okay.” Dean murmured, closing his eyes. Maybe if he said it enough he could make it be true.

 

You watch them. The little touches, the secret smiles. They think you don’t know. He tells you about a hunt. He smiles. Right there in the city. He and Sam are going to take care of it. He doesn’t say what it is. Sam laughs. You don’t say much, just stare into your coffee. You feel lonely and left out.

“If you’re going out, I need some shit for the car.” Dean said, his voice low, his eyes on the table. He slaps the money on the table, nearly three hundred dollars. He tosses the list on top.

Sam grabbed at the money. “Where’d you get this?”

“Tips.” Dean mumbled, but he could feel his father’s eyes.

“Dean.”

He looked up, then at Sam. He sighed. “I refreshed the general kit a week ago. It’s under my bed.” Sam left the room, bounding up the stairs. “Don’t.”

“Where’d you get the money? That ain’t tips.”

Dean shook his head. “What difference does it make.”

John’s hand came down on the table. “Fuck Dean.”

Dean looked up, his face flushing with fury. “Didn’t get enough with Sam?”

“What?”

Dean stood and dumped his coffee in the sink. “Forget it. I’m going for a run.”

John grabbed his arm. “No, you’re going to talk to me.”

“We don’t talk Dad.” Dean pulled his arm free.

“Dean. What’s your problem?”

“He saw us.” Sam said from the doorway. “Last night.”

Dean closed his eyes and turned away. “He’s upset.” Sam’s hand was on his arm. “Jealous.” He moved in close, his body heat eating into Dean’s skin.

“No. No.” Dean moved, pulled away. “I’m not jealous. I’m angry. Jesus Sam. I told you I didn’t want that for you.”

Sam frowned at him. “So it’s okay for you to fuck me and it’s okay for Dad to fuck you, but Dad can’t—“

“Stop!” Dean held up his hand and shook his head. “Just…it’s not supposed to be that way. I’m supposed to protect you.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, good job there.”

“Dean, your brother is right. You’re making more of this than you need to.”

Dean looked at his father. “You barely look at me, Dad. I saw you with Sam. If it weren’t for your little problem, you wouldn’t even need me.” He sighed and cursed to himself. He hadn’t meant to say that. John reached for him, but Dean pulled away, right into Sam who circled his arms around Dean and held him tight.

John shuffled in closer. “We’re in this together, Dean. All of us. I don’t…I need you both or I can’t do this.”

Dean sagged there between them, hanging his head on Sam’s chest. He felt himself falling. Soon there was going to be a crash. And this one, he wasn’t going to survive.

 

You’re pretty sure you can’t do this. Not anymore. They try so hard to make it work. They kiss and touch and before they’re gone to hunt you end up in a pile on his bed and you’re not sure anymore which way is up or what you should do. They leave and you shower and dress for work, walking. You can’t even tell yourself it’s okay…you’re starting to realize that it really isn’t…and never will be.

It was a slow night. Mondays usually were. Sarge tossed him the keys around ten and said he was going home. Two cowboys were playing pool and Billy was sulking in his chardonnay.

The door opened around midnight and four boys rolled in, laughing and joking. Dean knew in a single look that they were trouble. There was no way they were legal. They moved to the bar, pulling out wallets and flashing fake IDs.

Dean smiled and continued wiping down the bar. “Sorry boys, you’ll have to do better than that.”

“Come on man, we just want a beer,” the tallest of them said.

Dean leaned on the bar. “Guys, I’ve seen more convincing IDs on twelve year olds. Hit it.”

The big one, twice as wide as the others leaned in. “Listen queer. Just give us the beer.”

Dean sighed and shook his head. “Get out before I call the cops.”

The two at the pool table stopped playing and came closer. The boys looked at him, then back at Dean.

“We don’t want any trouble,” the youngest of them said, a hand on the big guy’s arm.

“Good. There’s the door.”

Dean watched them go, then thanked the pool guys with a free beer. Around one, he poured Billy into a cab and turned off the signs. No one had come in and the pool guys were gone. He finished closing down and locked the front door, pocketing the keys and heading for home.

He hadn’t reached the end of the parking lot when he realized he’d forgotten to put the cash drawer in the safe. He headed back inside, leaving the door propped open while he pulled the drawer and headed into Sarge’s office.

He froze when he saw that the door was closed and looked quickly around the bar. He wasn’t alone. He could feel them. “Play time’s over. The bar is closed.”

An arm closed around his throat, pulling him off balance. “I think play time is just getting started, fag.”

Dean elbowed the big guy in the gut and yanked free, whirling and raising both fists. Four more hands grabbed him, pulling him backward until he lost his footing and went down. He covered his face as they kicked him. “Fucking fag should have just served us.”

A meaty hand fisted in his hair and pulled him up, holding him while another fist slammed into his face.

Dean’s vision swam. There was more punching. He thought he heard a rib break.

“Get him up. On the pool table.”

“What are you doing?”

“Show him which one of us is the bigger man.”

Dean bucked up as they pushed him face down over the table. He wasn’t letting this punk fuck him. Hands held him down and the big guy had his hands on Dean’s jeans. Then there was a flash of light as someone pulled into the parking lot.

“Fuck. We gotta go!” Dean’s face cracked against the pool table, then they were gone.

He was vaguely aware of the door opening, of someone yelling. His hand moved slowly to his face. His nose was broken. It was bleeding. He stared at his hand as his head throbbed and the dark closed in.

 

You blink at the bright lights and try to remember to say the right name when they ask. You think it’s Sarge who’s running alongside the gurney, but you can’t see for the lights and the blood and you want him to stop, but he keeps moving until the doors swing close and the nurse pushes him away. You count two fingers, but think maybe there’s only one. You lick your lips and taste blood and you wonder if maybe this is the way it feels to die.

 

It hurt everywhere. His fucking eyebrows hurt. He opens his eyes and focuses slowly on the room. Standard hospital room. He was alone.

Dean tried to sit up, groaning and holding his ribs. Definitely something broken. There was a collar around his neck, his nose taped down. His head was pounding. His right arm was bandaged.

The door opened and a man in a lab coat came in. He looked up from his chart and seemed a little surprised that Dean was awake. “Mr. Macdonald?” He smiled then and came close enough to offer his hand.

Dean shook it gingerly with his wrapped up hand.

“Well, you’re one mighty lucky young man.”

“Don’t feel all that lucky dock.”

He smiled again. “Maybe not, but if your boss hadn’t shown up when he did, you might not be here feeling anything.”

“That was Sarge?” He’d thought so, but it was good to know. “So, what’s the damage?”

“Straight to it, eh? I can see this isn’t your first rodeo. Scars like yours mean you’ve lived a pretty rough life.”

“I have a father and little brother waiting at home for me, Doc, so if you don’t mind, could you just fill in the gaps and spring me lose?”

The doctor scowled at him. “Your nose is broken, and you’ve got two broken ribs. Assorted contusions, and your wrist is sprained. Your neck is wrenched pretty good, probably from the force with which you hit the table.”

“So I’m gonna be sore for a while then.”

“I’ll have a nurse come in with something for the pain.”

“No, just write me a prescription. I need to get home.”

“You’re in no shape to go anywhere.”

“I’ve had worse. Where are my things?” Dean forced himself upright, swinging his legs down off the bed. He spotted the closet and headed for it, wincing as his ribs let him know they weren’t happy.

His jacket and jeans were in the closet. He reached for his pocket and pulled out his phone. He’d missed fourteen calls. All from Sam. His stomach twisted. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

He flipped open the phone and hit the call back button. It rang three times and dumped him to voicemail. He tried his father’s number next. It too dumped him to voice mail. “Fuck.” He looked up as if just remembering that the doctor was there. “I really need to go.”

“Young man, you have a serious concussion. You need to get back into that bed.”

Dean pulled his jeans out of the closet and started to pull them on. “I ain’t staying. My brother is in trouble. I need to go.”

He didn’t wait for the doctor to agree, just got himself dressed and pushed his feet into his boots. His heart hammered at his chest. “I’m going to need a cab.”

“Mr. Macdonald—“

“My father is sick, my little brother looks after him when I can’t. They’ve been alone since—“ It occurred to him that he didn’t know how long it had been. “Since I left for work. I have to go.”

Twenty minutes later Dean had a handful of prescriptions and a taxi ride home.

 

You know in your heart that it’s bad. You can feel the need in your gut. You can hear your father’s gruff, dark voice in your head. It gets worse the longer you aren’t there to deal with it. You’re terrified when the cab stops in front of the house at almost 2 in the afternoon. So terrified you almost can’t make yourself go inside.

“Dad?” Dean closed the door and moved into the living room. There was no answer. “Sam?”

The Impala was in the parking lot. He checked the downstairs quickly, then headed up. It was quiet. Frighteningly quiet. He stopped at his father’s door and held his breath. He pushed open the door slowly.

The room reeked of sex. His father was face first down on the bed, apparently out, his naked body bruised and marked. The nightstand was on its side, the dresser leaning into the wall. There were clothes and blankets everywhere. Dean moved in a little closer and he could tell his father was drugged. The needle was still on the bed beside him.

Dean could still feel the need rolling off of him, and knew it would be bad. But for the moment he was out. “Sam?” Dean’s eyes scanned the wreckage of the room for his brother, but he wasn’t there. He eased back into the hallway and headed for Sam’s room. “Sammy?”

At first he thought Sam wasn’t there either, then he heard the whimper. He stepped into the room, turned on the light and found Sam huddled in the corner, every bit as naked and bruised as their father had been. “Sam?”

He crept across the floor, sinking slowly until he was on his knees, reaching a hand for Sam. When Sam lifted his face off his knees Dean gasped. His face was bruised and beat up, both lips cut and crusted with dried blood. “Dean?”

“It’s okay Sammy, I’m here now.” He wanted to hold him, but he could tell that any touch was going to hurt. “What did he do to you?”

Sam drew in a stuttering breath, groaning and moving his arms to hold his ribs. “Tried to hold it off. Wait for you. Called you.”

“How bad Sam?” Dean almost couldn’t bear to look at him. “Can you get up so I can see?”

Sam shook his head miserably. “Don’t think so. It hurts Dean…god, it hurts so much.”

“I know baby, I know. I’m going to make it better okay?” Dean ran his good hand over his face. He couldn’t think. He had to get Sam cleaned up. See how bad it was. Had to deal with his father. Had to make sure his father didn’t realize what he’d done.

“How long ago did you get the drugs into him?”

Sam just stared at him. “Had to make it stop Dean…he wouldn’t stop…I begged him to stop. I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…”

“Shh. It’s okay Sam. Not your fault. Let’s start by getting you cleaned up.” He put Sam’s arms around his neck and saw his eyes widened.

“What happened Dean?”

“Nothing Sammy, just hold on, okay? I’m going to help you to the bed.”

He thought he’d pass out as he pulled up and his neck and ribs screamed in pain. He managed to pull Sam upright and shuffled them closer to the bed. Sam was whimpering and trying to double over. Dean lowered him onto the bed. “Okay Sammy, okay. Just try to relax.”

His stomach and ribs were black and blue. He was covered in come, over his hips and stomach. “Easy.” Dean sat on the bed and slid a hand under him. His ass was gaping and oozing. “Shit. Shit. Okay Sam I’m going to draw a bath. We’ll get you cleaned up and see how bad it is.”

Dean made it to the bathroom before he threw up, reaching to turn the water on so Sam wouldn’t hear him. It was bad. Sam was going to need to go to the hospital. He was bleeding internally if the way he kept clutching at his stomach was any indication. He wasn’t breathing all that well either. Dean needed to make sure he got rid of any signs of their father’s come.

He moved back to the bedroom and got Sam up again. “I know it hurts, Sammy, I know. But I gotta get you to a doctor and we need to make sure they don’t find out it was Dad.”

He got them into the bathroom. “Did he get any in your mouth?”

Sam looked at him dumbly for a minute, then nodded. “Yeah. Tried that first.”

Dean took a deep breath and lowered his brother down by the toilet. “We have to make you throw up Sammy, get it out of your stomach.”

Sam shook his head. He never did like throwing up. “If we don’t, they’ll come for Dad, Sam, they’ll take you both away from me.” Slowly Sam opened his mouth and stuck two fingers into his mouth, gagging twice before lurching forward and spewing into the toilet. There was a lot of blood in what came up, confirming Dean’s suspicion.

“Good. Good boy. Let’s get you into the water, okay?”

By the time he got Sam into the tub, Dean’s body was shaking, the pain intense. He leaned against the door and tried to catch his breath. He could hear his father moving around. He could feel the need.

He opened the medicine chest and found the sedative he’d been hoarding. He filled a syringe and moved to the tub. “Rest. I’m going to take care of Dad, then I’ll get you dressed and in to the hospital.

He grabbed some lube out of the drawer and headed in to his father’s room. He figured if he dealt with it while he still had a good dose of the drugs in his system it wouldn’t be too bad. His father’s eyes were open, tracking him as he came in. Dean kicked off his boots and set the syringe on the night stand.

“I’m here Dad. It’s going to be okay.”

He got his jeans undone and dropped them, already working two fingers into himself as he moved to the bed. “It’s okay.”

John moved, sat up. His cock looked angry, purple and red, bruised. Dean reached for him, slicking him up, then turned, spreading his cheeks and settling over his father’s cock. “See, I’m here. I’ve got you.”

His head rested in the middle of Dean’s back as Dean fucked himself down. “Need. Dean.”

“I know Dad, I know.” He wasn’t going to make it much more. His body was starting to rebel, his aches and pains ripping through him. “Just let me take care of you.”

It seemed to take forever, and Dean had nightmarish thoughts of Sam dying in the bathtub while his father was fucking him, but eventually he felt the hot flush that told him his father was done. He pulled up and off and reached for the syringe. His father was shaking his head, pulling out of the dark place.

“Dean?”

“Lay down Dad. You’re exhausted.”

John did, though confusion was evident on his face. Dean didn’t explain, just plunged the needle into his arm. “You sleep. Sam and I will be back later. Okay?”

“Dean?”

Dean didn’t look back, knowing his father would be out quickly. He went back to the bathroom. Sam was half a sleep in the water. “Okay, Sammy. Let’s get you taken care of.”

It was trickier work getting him up and out of the tub, but he managed and got him shoved into sweat pants and a t-shirt. Harder still was getting him down the stairs and into the car.

 

You’re not sure you can even drive. Your head is buzzing and your ribs hurt. But you turn the key and pray that you can get Sam to help. You yell for help and you nearly pass out from the pain when they finally take Sam from you. You collapse and huddle and you blame yourself. It’s all falling apart and it’s all your fault.

 

It’s easily been hours when Dean felt his pocket vibrate. He pulled out the phone and sighed. His father was awake. Dean stepped out of the ER room doors.

“Where are you?” His father sounded angry and afraid.

“Hospital.” Dean rubbed at his head. He’d gotten his prescriptions filled and the painkiller had taken the edge off, but he was still hurting.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah…well, I got jumped. I’m…beat up.”

“It’s Sam, isn’t it?”

Dean sighed. He didn’t want to answer that. “He’s going to be okay. He’s in surgery.”

“Surgery? Christ, Dean. What did I do?”

“It wasn’t your fault Dad. He…there was some internal bleeding. In his stomach.”

His father was quiet so long Dean almost thought he’d lost the call. “Dad?”

“I can’t…I can’t keep doing this Dean. I could have killed him.”

Dean felt the tears burning down his face. “Dad, please. I’ll be home soon. We can talk about it then.”

“I don’t want to talk about it Dean.”

Dean trembled, pieces of himself shaking loose and clattering down around him. “Dad, please…please…just…wait.”

“Goodbye Dean.”

Dean couldn’t breathe as the call ended, couldn’t move. Goodbye Dean.

No. No. His father wouldn’t…couldn’t…Dean stared at his phone, dialed his father’s number. It dumped him directly to voicemail. “Fuck. Dad. Don’t do anything. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Please Dad. Just…hold on.”

He hung up and raced inside. He couldn’t leave without knowing Sam was okay. He couldn’t stay and let his father do something drastic. He was stuck and he didn’t know what to do.

 

You pace and curse yourself and try to decide which one of them needs you more. Your head hurts and your body is telling you to rest, but you can’t. But the police make the decision for you, asking questions and looking at you the same way they had when it was you in Sam’s place, like they know something. Then the doctors are telling you that Sam is awake and wants you and you can’t help but go to him.

“Dad?” Sam’s voice is sleepy and hoarse and Dean shakes off the fear inside him.

“You just came out of major surgery, and that’s all you can think of?”

“Is he okay?”

Dean nods slowly, hoping the lie is convincing. “Still sleeping off the drugs I gave him.”

“Don’t lie to me. You need to go be with him. When…before, when he hurt you, it was all I could do to keep him from killing himself.”

Dean swallowed and nodded. “I needed to know you were okay.”

“Go.”

Dean kissed his forehead. “I’ll be back, Sammy.”

He was waiting for the elevator when the cops came back with the doctor in tow. “Mr. Macdonald.”

Dean turned. “Yes?”

“Sir, we need you to come with us.”

“Is something wrong?”

“We need to speak to you.”

Dean was only keeping the panic at bay by sheer will. He followed the cops and the doctor into a lounge. The door closed and the cop nearest the door crossed his arms. “Sir, are you aware that your brother was raped?” the other cop asked.

“What?” Dean let some of the fear leak out. “He didn’t say…I found him in the tub…like I said. He was beat up, out of it.”

“Because he bathed, we have no way to collect DNA. He won’t tell us anything. He said he can’t remember what happened.”

Good boy, Dean thought. “I wasn’t home. I had my own assault issue last night.” He pointed to the collar with his bandaged hand.

“Yes, we spoke to the officers handling your case. They say that there isn’t any reason to think it was the work of the same men.”

Dean swallowed. “We live in a rough neighborhood. It could have been—“

“Mr. Macdonald, who attacked your brother?”

“I don’t know. I…I wasn’t there.” Every second he stood there talking with these dumbass cops, his father slipped further away from him.

“Judging from the bruising on his body, this isn’t the first time. There are faded bruises on his hips and buttocks.”

Dean just stared at the doctor. “What are you saying?”

“Is someone abusing your brother?”

Dean switched his eyes to the cop. “What?”

“I spoke with the doctor who examined you, Mr. Macdonald. He stated that you also showed signs of previous bruises of a sexual nature.”

No. No. This couldn’t be happening.

“I—I…no one’s being abused. I…I sometimes take…take tricks. To pay the bills.”

“Is your father abusing you and your brother?”

Dean shook his head, until his neck twinged. He grimaced. “No. No, it isn’t like that.”

“How is it, Mr. Macdonald? Explain it to me.”

“I have to…my father needs me. I need to get home.”

“Not until you’ve explained this to me.”

 

It isn’t a conscious reaction, you just spin inside yourself. You can’t think past the need to save your father, to keep Sam safe, to survive. You don’t even realize you’ve shut down until you feel a hand on your face, a light in your eye. Even then you can’t react. You can’t figure out who they’re talking to or why they’re calling you Daniel. When the cold comes and they urge you to rest, you think that it’s been a long time since you’ve really rested…and it couldn’t hurt to just close your eyes.

 

Dean woke slowly, pulling himself up out of the drugged stupor. He was still drugged, the way his thoughts slugged through his brain was enough to tell him that. He licked thick lips and tried to move a hand to rub at his eyes. His hands didn’t move.

He opened his eyes. He was restrained, padded leather restraints holding him to the bed. He licked his lips again. He swallowed the lump of panic in his throat.

“Hello Dean.”

He turned slowly, the collar making the movement difficult. Pastor Jim. Dean closed his eyes. Breathed. “My father?”

“Let’s not worry about that right now, Son.”

“Don’t son me. Where is my father?”

Jim shook his head. He stood and came closer, rubbing one hand over Dean’s forehead. “You need to concentrate on you Dean. On getting better.”

“Let me up.” Dean pulled on the restraints. “Untie me.”

Jim shook his head. “No, Son. I won’t.”

Dean pulled until the pain in his wrist and neck and ribs was too much. He fell back against the pillow panting. “I don’t belong here. I need to take care of Sam.”

Jim’s face was grim. “You’ve done quite enough to Sam, Dean. He needs to heal too. He needs to get his head screwed on straight and finish school.”

Dean looked away, couldn’t look at him. “I’ve told the doctors what I know Dean. That he’s been abusing you for at least the last four years. I never dreamed you’d get Sam involved.”

The tears burned. He could still see the look of total abandon on Sam’s face that night he’d seen the two of them together. Then all he could see was Sam’s bloody and broken face. “I should have ended it. I’m sorry. You told me you would deal with it. I should have seen you couldn’t.” Jim said. He was at the door. “I’m going to check on Sam. I’ll be back.”

“Tell me he isn’t dead.”

Jim didn’t answer though and when Dean looked he was gone.

 

The drugs don’t dull the ache in your gut. He’s gone. You know he is. Either Jim found him and ended it, or he did it himself and Jim was there to clean up the mess. You pull and pull on the restraints until your wrists are bruised and chaffed and they put you under.

 

His waking thought was that his father was gone. Dead. That everything was for nothing. It burned inside him. He opened his eyes. He was in a different room. He wasn’t restrained.

The collar was gone and his ribs only ached. He moaned as the realization sank in. He’d been out of it for days. Weeks.

Dean put bare feet on the floor and tested his ability to stand. There were drugs in his system. But they’d been dialed back. He took a few steps across the room. There wasn’t much. The bed. A chair. A window that had bars across the outside.

He shuffled to the window and tried to look out. All he could see was a dreary sky that looked like rain. He shuffled to the door. He wasn’t surprised that it was locked. He made his way back to the bed and leaned against it.

When the door opened, Dean half expected it to be Jim, but in his place was a short woman with big glasses and soft brown hair in a blue lab coat. She smiled warmly at him. “Hello Dean. I’m Dr. Daly.”

Dean made a noncommittal grunt and sat on the bed.

“Do you know where you are?”

“Judging from the window and door, I’m guessing a psych ward.”

“Do you know why?”

He made a face. “I’m not much for the touchy feely crap, Doc.” She crossed her arms, but didn’t respond. Dean shrugged. “I assume it’s because someone thought I might hurt myself…or someone else.”

She nodded slowly. “That’s right. You were pretty beat up when you brought your brother in, and it wasn’t the first time one of you was seen for a violent sexual assault.”

Sam. Dean’s gut clenched. “My brother. I need to see my brother.”

“He’ll be here on family day. Pastor Murphy said he’d bring him.”

Jim. The reason their father was dead. He looked at her. “What about my father?” He held his breath. She frowned at him.

“Your father won’t be coming here, Dean.”

“He…he was suicidal and I was trying to get to him, but the police wouldn’t let me.” His head hit the wall. He closed his eyes. “I need to know. He has to be okay. Everything has to be okay. I need them.”

He couldn’t force his lungs to work. His stomach hurt. “Let’s talk about your father Dean. Can you tell me about him?”

Dean watched her pull the chair closer to the bed and sit. “Like what?” He was wary.

“What kind of man is he?”

“Good man. Helps people.”

“Does he help you Dean?”

“I help him. It’s my job.” He made a face and pulled his legs up off the floor. “What drugs do you have me on?”

She cocked her head. “What makes you think I have you on drugs?”

He glared at her. “I’m not stupid, Doctor. I can feel them.”

She smiled lightly. “I don’t think you’re stupid Dean. Your friend told me that you knew a bit about drugs, I was just curious. It’s nothing too strong. I started bringing you down off the heavy stuff as soon as you were brought here.”

“So what are they?”

“Something to help control your anxiety, something for depression.”

“I want names.”

She took a deep breath and shook her head. “Maybe in a few days, once you’ve adjusted.”

Dean scowled and looked at the door. “How long have I been here?”

“You’ve been in my care for a little over a week.” She stood and came closer. “I’m going to do everything I can to help you through this, Dean.”

This. Like she would even understand what this was.

“I’ll let you out into general population tomorrow. For today, I just want you to get used to being here. Okay?” She touched his leg, smiled.

“When can I see Sam?”

“Today is Wednesday. Family day is Sunday.”

Four days. “Is my father dead?”

“I don’t know Dean.”

He squinted at her, trying to determine if she was lying. There was a knock on the door and an intern peeked his head in the room. “Dr. Tay is ready for you.”

She nodded and patted Dean’s leg. “Get some rest, Dean. I’ll come by and check on you later.”

 

You think she’s given you more than just meds for anxiety and depression because you keep saying things you don’t mean to say. You shuffle through the common area filled with the deranged and the wall lickers and you curl up in a ball on your bed at night and hold to the thought that you’ll get to see Sam. You don’t think about your father, because it hurts too much. You do whatever they tell you, just to get through until Sunday, because Sam is coming and Sam won’t leave you in a place like this.

“Okay, Dean. We have some rules for you. This is your first Family Day. Dean, are you listening to me?”

He flicked his eyes to Dr. Daly and nodded. “Okay, now because of the nature of your…issues, there will be no physical contact, aside from one hand, across the table.”

“What?” Dean sat up suddenly. “What? You afraid I’m going to molest him right there in the common room?”

She sighed. “I realize you’re angry, Dean. But this is the rule. If you can’t live with that, you can’t see your brother.”

He growled, but nodded. “Yeah, whatever.”

“No outbursts, or they’ll have to leave.”

“Right. No touching, no outbursts. I’ll just sit there and stare at him. That should go over well, don’t you think?”

She put down her pen and looked at him. “You’re deflecting again.”

He smiled and held up his hands. “It’s what I do.”

“You’ll never get out of here if that’s all you do.” She sighed and gestured to the door. “Go on. They’ll be here soon.”

Dean didn’t want to admit he was scared. He’d finally figured out how long it had been. Almost a month since Sam had come out of surgery and sent him to go save their father. Almost a month since he’d failed.

He sat at his designated table in the common area and waited. He was afraid Sam wouldn’t want to see him, wouldn’t forgive him, would realize it had always been all his fault.

Sam. Dean stood slowly as he came into the room. He seemed taller. His skin was pale and there was a dullness to his red rimmed eyes. His face still wore the vague remnants of bruises. His walk was a little stiff, and he held one arm across his stomach as if protecting it.

He moved across the room slowly, offering Dean a small smile as he sank to a seat in the chair opposite him. For a long moment Dean didn’t even realize Jim was there too.

“Sam.” He wanted to leap over the table and hold him. He settled for sliding his hand onto the table. After a slight hesitation, Sam slid his hand up too and brushed his fingers over Dean’s.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, his voice soft, his eyes on the table.

“I want out of here.” Dean replied. “You?”

Sam flinched. “I’m okay. I start school tomorrow.”

Dean looked up at Jim who was standing behind Sam now, one hand on his shoulder. “Good Sam. You always were the smart one.”

“How are you really Dean?” Jim asked.

Dean looked at him. “I just want out. No one will tell me anything. They treat me like I’m some fragile thing. They’re pumping me full of drugs and I can’t think straight.”

“They’re trying to help you.” Sam said softly.

“I don’t need them, Sam. I need you and Dad.”

Sam flinched again and his hand slid away. Dean was fairly certain he was crying, though his hair was hiding his face. Dean looked at Jim again. “Is he…what did you do?”

Jim shook his head. “Now isn’t the time, Dean.”

Dean slammed his hand on the table. “You tell me. Right this minute.”

“Dean, please.” Sam reached for him again, but Dean was looking at Jim.

“Tell me.”

Jim blinked, dropped his gaze to the top of Sam’s head. “He’s gone, Son. Isn’t that enough?”

Gone. He’d known. He’d known from the words Goodbye Dean. Known it was over. But pain lanced through him at the admission. Dean stood, sending his chair skittering backward. There was a roar in his head…like a million bees. He shook his head. It couldn’t end like that.

“Tell me what you did.” Dean said again, louder than he’d intended. He reached for Jim, fisted a hand in his shirt and yanked him in. “Tell me.”

Jim’s voice was cold, hard in his ear. “He was already dead when I got there Dean.”

 

The frame that held you together is gone and the pieces fall one by one into someplace dark and forgotten inside you. You shatter. The pieces scatter. The reality a little too real, the loss too great. Everything you sacrificed, everything you became was for nothing…and nothing was all you have left.

Time was passing, but Dean had no concept of it. Sam went away and never came back. Jim came by from time to time, but mostly it was just Dean and his pain and Dr. Daly.

Most of the time he didn’t talk. He chewed on his nails. He hid in the corner. “I’m tired,” he said suddenly, sitting in Dr. Daly’s office. He looked up at her. He was tired. He’d waited so long.

She seemed surprised. “I haven’t heard your voice in so long I was beginning to wonder if I needed to re-diagnose you.”

He sighed. “I’m tired.” He took a deep breath and looked around him. “I never thought it was abuse. I just…I took care of him, you know? He came home beat up, I patched him up. In the beginning it was just one more thing.”

“You’re talking about your father, Dean?”

He nodded. Just say it. Get it over with. Make her think you’re better so you can get out. Get out and find Sam. “He was hunting, came home all fucked up.”

“What was he hunting?”

“Incubus.” Dean said without thinking. He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. “That’s what he said.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen, I guess. We were in Massachusetts.” He didn’t look at her. “It was just hand jobs then. I’d patch up his wounds, jerk him off and we’d both just go to bed.”

His stomach hurt. He was betraying the family secret. Betraying him.

“At some point it became more?”

He nodded, huddling deeper into the chair, drawing his feet up. “Blow jobs after…I don’t know…a while. Not often. Sometimes months would go by. He’d get this weird look on his face.”

She was scribbling notes. “I always thought it was my fault.” Dean said. “I stayed home with Sam that night, while he hunted. If I’d been with him maybe he’d be okay.”

She squinted at him, put her pen down. “You know that it wasn’t your fault, right Dean. That he used you?”

Dean squirmed. That made him uncomfortable. He nodded slowly. “Sam was my fault though. He saw…thought he should help me like I helped Dad. And I let him.” He closed his eyes against the longing for Sam, the need. He yawned. He really was tired.

“I think that’s enough for today.” Dr. Daly said. “We can pick this up tomorrow.”

 

You talk and talk and talk. You answer questions. You down your meds. You dream at night of your father and Sam and the way it was just before the end, when the three of you were together and you came over and over again. You wake hard and you jerk off, but you can’t come. You cry, but you don’t know anymore why.

“I brought you a letter from Sam.” Jim said as he sat at the table. He dropped the envelope on the table. It had a California post mark on it. “He’s doing really good Dean.”

Dean ran a hand over the postmark. “California?”

Jim nodded. “Stanford. He’s a smart one.”

“Always was.” Dean said dully.

“Dr. Daly tells me you’re finally talking. I’m glad Dean.”

Dean nodded. He didn’t tell him that it was only so he could get out. He didn’t tell him that he felt abandoned and alone. He didn’t tell him that his father had no right to end it, not after everything he’d done to keep them together and safe. Instead he stared at the envelope, at his name in Sam’s sloppy handwriting.

They talked for a while. Or rather, Jim talked and Dean pretended to listen. When Jim got up to leave, Dean cradled the letter to him, shuffled back to his room to read it, savor it.

Dean,

College is harder than I thought. I miss you. I get a break at Christmas and I’m going to come see you. Jim wouldn’t let me come before. Kept telling me it would only upset you. But now you’re talking to them and he thinks it means you’re getting better. I have a surprise for you. Just hold on, okay. I’ll be there soon. I love you.

Sam

It wasn’t long, but it was really Sam’s handwriting, his words. Sam was coming to see him. All he had to do was wait.

 

You mark the days. You pace your tiny room and try not to do anything that would make them suspect. You know Sam isn’t just coming to visit. You know he’s coming to get you out. He didn’t say so, but you know it anyway. You grab that tiny shard of yourself and hold onto it, never minding the sharp edges that dig into you and make you bleed.

He seemed like a different man when he walked in the room. Broad smile and broader shoulders, at least four inches taller than the last time Dean had seen him. He felt dwarfed as Sam swept him up in a hug, squeezing him until he thought his chest would pop open.

“Come on.” Sam looped an arm around Dean and turned him toward the door.

“Where?”

Sam grinned again. “Told you, I’ve got a surprise.”

Dean nodded and moved with him, alarm growing as they approached the guard station near the elevators. Sam just raised a hand and the guard nodded, smiling.

“Sam?”

“Just act like nothing’s wrong, I need to concentrate.”

He expected they’d get stopped in the lobby…or at the front doors…or as Sam opened the passenger side of the Impala. “Sam?”

“I can’t hold this forever, get in already.”

Sam shut the door behind him and climbed in the driver’s seat, bringing the car to life and roaring out of the hospital parking lot. Dean shivered, the winter air cold through his thin cotton scrubs and barely anything robe. He curled his toes in his slippers and wrapped his arms around himself.

“Sorry, the heater’s been a little temperamental. I brought you a change of clothes. They’re in the bag in the back.”

Sam sighed and his body relaxed. “That’s better,” he murmured.

Dean frowned at him and reached over the seat for the bag. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Sam smiled and settled a hand on Dean’s thigh. “I’m getting you out.”

“How?” Dean pulled a sweater from the bag and settled it over his head, pulling it down over his t-shirt.

“Doesn’t matter. We’re together and I’m going to get us a room so we can fuck each other senseless.”

Dean didn’t argue, didn’t say another word, just held the bag and watched the world whiz by the windows. It had been so long he’d nearly forgotten what it was like.

 

You end up in a shitty motel half a state away and you’re just beginning to shake with the symptoms of withdrawal when Sam rouses you and pulls you into the room. You’re cold and stiff and petrified, but his touch is like fire, burning through the crust of blood and self and fear.

“Sam…Sam…slow down.” Dean dropped the bag as Sam’s fingers yanked at the t-shirt and sweater, yanking up and leaning in to kiss over Dean’s skin.

“Want to taste you. Want to feel you Dean. Want to take care of you.”

Dean melted under him, grabbing the doorknob to keep from falling to the floor. Sam’s hand delved in under the waistband of his pants, palming over his cock, laughing into Dean’s skin as it sprang to life in his hands. “Been so long, Dean.”

Sam slid to one knee, engulfed his cock and sucked hard and fast. It was familiar and easy and Dean let go just a little of the death grip he had on himself, closed his eyes and let the arousal and lust rush through him. He came in record time and Sam grinned up at him in triumph.

He stood, pressing into Dean and kissing him. He licked at the corners of Dean’s mouth until Dean opened and let him in, groaning as Sam’s tongue swept through him, marked him, claimed him.

“Get undressed. You’re going to need your sleep. I’ve got some of your pills to help wean you off…but the detox is going to make you sick.”

Sam moved away and Dean did as he was told, sliding into the bed and closing his eyes. He felt Sam’s side of the bed dip, felt the heat of his body wrap around Dean’s back. It felt safe. Dean closed his eyes and slept.

He woke hours later to kisses over his back, frantic whispers, the feeling of Sam’s hard cock against his ass. “Sam?”

Sam stilled, then his head lifted, his kisses peppering over Dean’s shoulder and up to his ear. “Missed you so much Dean, I need to…I want to fuck you…can I? Will you let me be him?”

Dean didn’t really answer, stunned a little. Sam had never wanted that before. There had been a system…until Sam seduced their father and broke it. Dean lifted his top leg, moved it up and away, giving Sam space to wiggle a finger into him. Sam was murmuring an endless stream of want you and let me touch you and a litany of filthy things. Dean bit into his pillow as Sam’s fingers worked him open, and then his cock was there, thick and hard and too much after so long alone.

It burned and ached but it wasn’t unwanted. Dean closed his eyes and he could almost imagine he had his father back, that John Winchester was in the room, inside him. He groaned and reached for his own hardness. Sam’s hand circled his and pulled it away. “Want you to come inside me Dean.” Sam whispered, squeezing the base of his cock as he sped up his pace, groaning and digging deep into Dean as he came.

Sam moved, rolled Dean onto his back and scooted up, squatted over, and no prep or lube, sank onto him, all the way down in one long motion. “God Dean…it feels so good.” Sam lifted up and sank back down. His hands stroked over Dean’s chest, rubbing over his nipples. Dean made game upward thrusts, feeling Sam’s come leak out of his ass as he clenched it tight.

Dean groaned as he came, Sam grinning down at him like it was some kind of prize before he slipped off and fell down to the mattress beside Dean, snuggling in close, his head on Dean’s shoulder. “Sleep Dean. It’s okay. Everything is okay.”

 

You’re still fairly sure that your brother never really learned the meaning of the word okay. You sit in the passenger seat and he drives. There’s no discernable pattern to the way the world moves outside those windows. It almost doesn’t exist. There’s just you and him. Driving and fucking and sleeping. You’re so happy to have him back that you don’t notice the differences, or pretend not to, and you don’t ask where he goes when he leaves your bed in the middle of the night and comes back smelling of sex and blood. You act like you don’t notice when he talks on his cell phone in strange, hushed voices.

“Are you angry?” Sam asked abruptly as they sat in some motel room eating burgers and fries.

“Angry?”

Sam nodded. “That I didn’t come sooner. About Dad.”

And there it is. They haven’t spoken about it. It was just something they avoided.

Sam looked up, suddenly sixteen again, uncertain, afraid that Dean might not understand, might not want him. Dean shook his head slowly. “Not anymore.” He sighed and put his burger down. He wasn’t hungry.

“I am.” Sam said it quietly. “I found pictures. I lived with Jim my senior year. He fucking took pictures Dean.” Sam looked away. His voice was deep and dark. “Dad called him, told him to come get us, to take care of his body. Told him he should never have let us think we could handle it. Told him he was a fucking monster.”

“Sam. It’s over.”

“Not yet it isn’t.” He dropped his burger back on the wrapper. “Do you know what he did?”

Dean wasn’t’ sure if he meant Jim or their father.

“He cut his dick off, Dean.” Sam looked at him, his eyes alive with fire and fury. “He told Jim he was a monster and he cut his dick off.”

Dean closed his eyes, picturing his father with one of their hunting blades on the bed. He shivered, moaned. “Sammy, please.”

“He cut his arms and his thighs, begged Jim to come for us. There was blood everywhere Dean. Jim couldn’t clean it up. The cops had to find something, he said. But he took pictures before he took the body.”

Sam stood and paced. “Told me that wanting you was perversion. Well, he’s one to talk. He didn’t even try to talk Dad out of it. Told him it was the right thing to do. Fucking told him to kill himself Dean.”

Dean stood and intersected his path, wrapping arms around him and kissing him to stop the flood of words. “It’s over Sammy…we need to let it go…we need to move on.”

“No!” Sam yelled, and the television exploded.

“What the fuck?”

“It’s okay, Dean. It’s okay. It happens sometimes.”

“What does? Televisions explode?”

“Calm down. I just have to calm down.”

Dean turned Sam back to him, pulled his face to his own. “Tell me what’s going on with you Sammy.”

Sam scrunched up his nose. “You’ll make a big thing out of it Dean, and it’s not a big thing. I have…this…ability?”

“Ability?” Dean looked at his brother, trying to make the words make sense.

“Yeah. I can do stuff. With my mind.” Sam shrugged and started cleaning up the glass. Just like that. Like he hadn’t just laid a load of shit down in the middle of the room.

“That shit at the hospital?”

Sam smiled and nodded. “Made them all think you were a doctor. Perfectly normal for you to be walking out.”

Dean sat hard on the bed. “You…I don’t even know what to say.”

“It’s okay, Dean. It’s okay.”

 

You realize that he’s telling you the same thing you told your father. That he’s placating you. You know it isn’t okay. You know he’s messing with something more. You start to recognize the pattern. He’s hunting, only there’s no research, no tracking. Sam just goes out and kills it and comes back and fucks you and tells you it’s okay.

 

Dean recognized the town, the church. “Sam?”

Sam was scrunched behind the wheel as they slowed, but didn’t turn into the parking lot. “Just need to get something Dean. Left it behind.” He wrenched the wheel and pulled them back out into traffic. “Later. I want to eat.”

He was quiet after that. They ate and got a room. Sam showered and stretched out on the bed. Dean joined him and together they drifted off. Dean felt it hours later when Sam got up and dressed quietly. When the door closed, Dean got up, following as quietly as he could.

Sam didn’t get into the car, for which Dean was grateful. Instead, he scuffed along in the dark to a nearby bar. For a while Dean thought maybe he was just there for the beer, but after a while a man joined him at the bar. There was something familiar about him. Dean sat in the shadows and watched him touch Sam, his hand on Sam’s back. He turned, looking into Dean’s corner as if he could see him and Dean started.

He knew that face, those eyes.

The cop. The one in that town where everything went to hell, where Jim discovered the truth, where his father nearly killed him. There was a sick smile on his face and Dean almost believed that he knew Dean was there. Then his eyes flashed yellow.

Demon yellow.

Just like his father had described.

The man tilted his head and Sam tossed back a shot before slipping off the stool. The man put something in Sam’s hand and they headed out the door together. He followed, listening as the spoke softly and headed into the dark. Somewhere ahead of him he heard Sam say, “No, Dean’s there. Here’s fine.”

“Getting kinky on my Sammy?”

Dean inched closer. Sam was bent over some beat up ford, his jeans around his ankles while the man with the yellow eyes stepped in close. The car rocked under his thrust. “Does your brother know how well he taught you to take it up the ass, Sammy?”

Sam grunted. “Don’t really need the commentary. Just do it.”

The man chuckled. “He was like that too. Never got in his ass though.” He pushed in and pulled out. “You though, you’re my boy Sammy. You’re smart and talented and you can have everything you ever wanted.”

“I only want Dean.”

“And he’s yours, isn’t he? I bet when you go back to him you’ll fuck him hard and tell him how he is all you have, how he’s yours.” He groaned loud and the car actually moved forward from his final push as he came. “Do this last job for me, and you’re free until it’s time.”

Dean could see Sam stand, nod. Yellow Eyes was looking his way again. He pulled back into the shadows. “That’s my boy Sammy. You’re Daddy must be so proud.”

Sam was moving away. Dean watched, his eyes slipping back to Yellow Eyes, but he was gone.

Dean pushed out of the shadows and followed his brother. Sam’s head was down, his hands in his pockets. Dean knew where he was going. He didn’t even hesitate. Sam cut through the parking lot and around the side of the church to the parish house. He let himself in. The kitchen light was on. Dean followed, holding his breath.

 

You hear his voice. Light banter. You want to yell out. You want to warn him. But you don’t. You know what Sam will do. You know what he’s become. You know it’s all your fault. You slip through the shadows, slide through the blood and sharp edges of your insides. You can’t tell it from the real blood spilling onto the pristine white linoleum of the kitchen floor…can’t tell what’s glass and what’s a shard of you on that floor.

Sam turned, his hard expression melting as Dean came to him, as Dean wrapped his arms around him and quivered. “Sam…Sammy…”

“Shh. Dean. It’s okay. It’s over now.”

Dean could feel his eyes. Cold, dead eyes. They stared up at him from the table. Accusing. “You did this,” they said. Dean clung to Sam.

Sam was kissing him, touching him. He was starting to breath heavy. His cock was hard. “Don’t be mad Dean. He put you in that place. He kept us apart. He said we were wrong. Don’t be mad. Don’t be mad.”

Dean shook his head, holding Sam’s face as he kissed him. “Not made, Sammy. Not mad.” He was terrified. He was horny. He was devastated. There weren’t enough words for what he was, but mad wasn’t one.

Sam pulled at him, unzipped him. “Need you Dean…need to feel you…make you mine forever. You’re mine Dean…no one can take you away again.”

Dean was numb. Sam dropped Dean’s jeans and bent him forward. Dean braced his hands on the table as Sam pushed inside him. Sam pushed in hard and fast. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and could still feel Jim’s dead eyes staring at him. There was blood under his hands.

Dean gasped, but the air wouldn’t move into him. He couldn’t breathe. He’d turned his brother into a monster…he’d damned them both. Sam fucked into him harder, pulled him in, growled over his back. “It’s okay Dean. It’s okay. I made it okay.”

Sam came and stepped back, breathing heavy and unaware that Dean couldn’t move. “We should go before someone comes.” Sam said, looking out the window. The skies were starting to lighten up. “Dean?”

Dean held up his bloody hands, staring at them. “He’s dead Sam.”

Sam nodded, bending to pull up Dean’s jeans for him. “Wash your hands Dean. We need to get moving.”

Dean shuffled to the sink and did as he was told. Sam guided him out into the early morning, holding his hand as they walked back to the motel. “I’m gonna shower, Dean.”

Dean sank onto the bed, staring at the floor. “I’m so sorry Sam.” He buried his face in his hands. He should have seen. He should have known.

”No one can blame you, Dad. It isn’t really your fault…it’s like a virus…makes you need it. But it was really fucking Dean up…and he needed me.”

The problem was he did. He’d needed Sam so desperately he couldn’t see.

“You should have killed me. Should have fucking killed me, Dean.”

He shook, his father’s despair filling his head.

”I don’t want to be a monster.”

Too late for that. Slowly Dean stood, crossed to the bathroom door. “I’m gonna go get us coffee.”

 

You drag your feet. You watch from a distance as the police cars race into the church parking lot. You breathe the crisp morning air. Finally you get the coffee and head back, knowing he’s waiting…knowing you have to make it okay.

 

Sam smiled that boyish grin that made Dean weak in the knees. He took the cup Dean offered and smiled. “Whatcha wanna do?”

Dean sank onto the chair and sipped at his coffee. “I want to drink my coffee and crawl back into bed with my brother.” He smiled.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “I figured you’d want to hit the road.”

Dean shook his head. “I want to fuck you. I want to hold you and fuck you. We can hit the road later.”

Sam grinned. “Well then, let’s skip the coffee and get to it.”

“I walked six blocks to get you that damn girly coffee.”

Sam chuckled. “And I love you for it.” Sam made a show of taking a big swallow. “Better?”

Dean only laughed and drank from his own cup. Sam down his as fast as he could, tossing the cup into a corner and standing up. “Shall I strip for you?”

“Strip?” Dean snorted. “You’ve only got a towel on Sammy.”

Sam swiveled his hips, turning slowly. “Better hurry Dean or I’ll get started without you.”

“Go on then. I want to see you get started.” Dean kicked off his shoes. He set his coffee aside and pulled off his sweater and t-shirt. Sam was on the bed, on his knees with the lube squirting sloppily over his hole. He tossed the lube and started rubbing it in, slipping two fingers in, then out and dragging through his crack.

Dean tossed back the last of the coffee and set the cup on the table before standing up and dropping his jeans. He crossed to the bed and slowly kissed up Sam’s nearer leg. He didn’t want this to be the frantic fucking of the last weeks, two men desperate for one another. He wanted this to be loving.

He needed Sam to know he was everything. He needed Sam to know how sorry he was for what he had become. He need Sam to feel how much he loved him.

“On your back Sammy. I want to see your face.”

Dean kissed up the front of the other leg, up to his hip, gently spreading his brother’s legs apart before moving between them. With the amount of lube he’d used, Dean slid in without resistance and he held himself there, kissing over Sam’s chest, licking over a nipple. “I love you so much Sammy. Nearly broke me losing you.”

Sam’s hands caressed down his arms as he stroked slowly. They settled on Dean’s hips, moving with his rhythm, Sam’s eyes on Dean’s face. “Love you too Dean. Only ever you.”

“I know Sammy. It’s going to be okay.” He ducked his head so Sam wouldn’t see the tears. He could feel the build up…wondered if Sam felt it too. “I’m going to make it okay. Couldn’t do it for Dad.”

Sam’s eyes closed, his hips tilted, looking for deeper penetration. Dean slid a hand up his chest, covered his heart. “Dean…Dean…” There was a tremor in his voice.

“It’s okay, Sammy…just let go….let me take you there…Love you…need you…”

He kept his rhythm slow, barely moving now as it settled in. His lips sought out Sam’s. “I’m so sorry Sammy…don’t be mad…love you.” He whispered into Sam’s open mouth, kissing and licking the words into his lips.

“Dean…”

Tears dripped from Dean’s nose onto Sam’s skin. “Sammy…never leaving you again. Yours forever Sammy.” Sam’s breath shuddered, hitched…and stopped, his mouth and eyes open. Dean kissed him urgently. Closed his eyes. “Love you…”

Dean laid his head on Sam’s chest and let go of that last shard…of the blood and the fear and the need to make it okay. His lungs constricted and he closed his eyes…

It started when you’re sixteen. It wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t really his either, but you didn’t know that then. It wasn’t even wrong exactly. Not when it started. It took a while, happened a few times, before you made your peace with it. You didn’t realize how you’d started to come undone…unraveled. You never told him that you splintered around him…that you cracked and broke and before long all you had left was the shell. You couldn’t blame him. You knew how to end it. You existed between them…between your father’s taking and your brother’s giving… and it was wrong and so fucking beautiful you couldn’t help yourself. You wanted it to be okay…wanted it so bad you could taste it…and so you just kept moving because when you stopped you knew that all of those splintered pieces were going to come crashing down around you. Told him that he’d be okay…that you’d all be okay. You held on because they needed you. You held it together because you couldn’t fall apart.

But you don’t know how to be alone. You don’t know who you are without them on either side of you. You have nothing left...and it isn’t okay. It was never okay. You deceived yourself. You deceived them. And this can’t make it right, but it’s the only thing you have left to give them.