Splintered Part II, Supernatural, NC-17

[phantisma]

Fandom:  Supernatural
Title:  Splintered, Part II (Part I Here)
Characters/Pairing:  John/Dean, Dean/Sam, John/Dean/Sam
Rating:  VERY NC-17
Word Count:  20,787 (total)
Summary:  Dean is always in the middle, struggling to hold his family together, to take care of his father and Sam...no matter what that means...no matter what that costs.

Warnings & A/Ns:  Written for johnsgillygirl who bought me in the Sweet Charity Auction.  Please read the Pairings and understand that this includes father/son incest as well as brother incest.  This is also dubious con/non-con (depending on how you read Dean's choices) and contains under age sex (Dean's 16 when it begins.  Sam is 15 when sexual interaction begins with him).  This is dark and scary and creepy and not a John I'd like to encounter. 

Big thanks to my betas and hand holders:  varkelton, ysbail, and shotofjack

He doesn’t remember, just like the others, just like before…and you’re more grateful than ever that he doesn’t.  More convinced too that it isn’t him…that something’s wrong.  You just can’t figure what it is…what the cycle is, why…you tell him the thing got away and that you hit your head…that’s why there’s blood on the pillow the next day…on the floor because you couldn’t bring yourself to sleep in the bed with him…You don’t tell him he pulled a fist full of your hair out of your head when you tried to get away from him…don’t tell him you splintered around him…that you cracked and broke and before long all you’ll have left is the shell.  The incubus is gone and he’s done with Alabama.

September in Upstate New York.  There was a problem with some spirit released on a murderous rampage after its grave was moved.  Sam settled into the local school system with ease like always, though with less grace than usual.  Sam seemed moody, more moody than ever before. 

“Cheer up Sammy, we’re only here through Christmas.  You’ll get snow this year.”

“Maybe I don’t want snow this year.”  Sam muttered, not even looking up from his history book.

“What’s eating you?”

“Nothing.”  Sam’s feet shuffled under the table.

Dean nodded and sat in the chair opposite him, opening a book of his own.  Sam did look up then.  “You doing homework?”

“Research.”  Dean corrected.  Sam sat forward and peered into the book.

“What on?”

“Incubi.” Dean said flatly.

“Another one?”  Sam frowned.

“Same one.  At least, I think it’s the same one.”

“Where?”

Dean shook his head.  “Don’t worry about it Sammy.  I won’t let it get you and your virgin dick.”

“Jerk.”

“Doesn’t count.”

Dean couldn’t help but grin as Sam’s face scrunched up in confusion…then slowly Dean’s meaning dawned on him.  Sam threw wadded up paper at him.  Dean watched him wade through every insult in his vocabulary, and discard them all for their sexual connotations.   “Piss off,” he finally said.

After a few minutes of quiet, Dean looked up.  “Hey, Sam?”

“Hmmm?”

“Remember Boston last year?”

Sam looked up.  “Yeah?  What of it?”

“Dad’s last hunt before we left.  Do you remember what it was?”

Sam’s forehead crinkled.  “You know I don’t pay attention to that shit, Dean.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Fuck you.”

“Nice, Sammy…real nice. If Dad was here, he’d have you on the floor doing push ups.”

“Good thing he’s not here then.”

Dean closed the book.  It was one of Pastor Jim’s, but it didn’t tell him anything more than he already knew…and it didn’t fit the pattern.  Not at all.

“Something you’re not telling me?” Sam asked and Dean shook his head.

“Do your homework.  I’ll make dinner.”

“You’ve been weird since you and Dad went to Montgomery.”  Sam said.  Dean could feel his eyes following him around.  “Well, weirder anyway.  Did something happen?”

“The bastard got away Sam.”  Dean snapped.  “That’s it.”

He didn’t look at Sam, just opened the can of beef stew and dumped it into a pot.  He’d been tense.  He wished he could forget as blithely as his father seemed to.  It was worse since Montgomery.  More frequent.  And hand jobs just weren’t enough anymore.

In fact, they’d only been in this run down house a week, and his father had come home that way twice. 

“Is something wrong with Dad?”  Sam asked and Dean’s heart sped up.

“What do you mean?”

“I woke up last night and he was standing in the doorway of our room, just staring at you.  Then you got up and were gone a long time.”

“He…needed my help with something.  Don’t worry about it.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

In fact, he had been staring and Dean had been trying to ignore him, pretend he was sleeping.  Guilt got the better of him though and he’d gotten up and dealt with his father’s issue…and brushed his teeth twice and showered before he’d crawled back into bed.  

“Hey Dean?”

“Yeah?”  Dean glanced back, hoping this was a change of topic.

“Can I ask you…never mind.”  Dean turned to face him.  Sam’s face was red.

“Ask whatever you want, Sam.”

Sam squirmed a little under Dean’s stare.  “You’ll tease me.  Forget it.”

“Spit it out.  I won’t tease.”

Sam leveled his stare at Dean, the one that plainly declared that Dean was a liar.  “What?  This about sex?”  Dean grabbed one of his father’s beers out of the fridge and cracked it open.

Sam shook his head and looked back into his book.  Dean crossed to the chair opposite him and straddled it.  “It is my sacred duty, Sam, to educate you in the ways and mysteries of sex.”

He was quiet a minute, then looked up.  “There’s a boy in my math class.”  Sam bit his lip.  He was clearly uncomfortable.  “He says he’s gay.”

Dean wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he waited for more information.  Sam sighed, clearly hoping Dean was reading his mind.  “He’s fourteen.  How does someone know?  I mean, at 14, how do you know?”

This was going to be that kind of conversation.  Dean took a big swallow of the beer.  “Well.  It’s different for everyone, Sam.  I knew a guy back in Barstow who said he knew from the time he was like 6.  Said he just never considered women.”

Sam was biting his lip.  “He’s just so sure.  And the kids pick on him.”

“And you’re not sure?” Dean asked softly.  His heart was loud enough his words didn’t need to be.  Their father should be the one having this conversation with Sam, not him.  But panic rose in his heart at that thought…at the idea of his father talking Sam about anything sexual.

Sam sort of shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I don’t…I don’t really think about it much.”

Dean blew out slowly.  “Only you can know, Sam.  No one can tell you.”

“But you know you’re straight?”

Dean got up to stir the stew.  He wasn’t sure how to answer that question.  “There’s a lot of stops on those tracks, Sam.”

“What does that mean?”

Dean shrugged.  What did it mean?  That Dean was totally straight, except for that guy in Barstow who he’d let suck his dick a few times…and the fact that he was up at night sucking his father’s cock?  “Not everyone is one or the other, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes were wide when he turned back around.  “What are you saying?”

“Not saying nothing, Squirt.”  He turned off the burner and pulled the pan off the stove.  “Just that things aren’t always as black and white as Dad sometimes makes them seem.”

“But Dad’s straight.  Totally straight, right?”

Except for the part where he’s sticking his dick down my throat a couple of times a month, yeah.  Dean dished up the hot stew and brought it to the table.  “You’d have to ask him that, Sam.”

Sam snorted.  “Yeah, like I could talk to him about this shit.”

“I know.”  Dean sat, cradling his bowl to him.  “I know.  But you can always talk to me, okay?  I don’t want you getting bad information.”

 

You almost don’t make it to Christmas before he’s hauling the whole operation west, and there’s a hunting cabin in Montana where you turn 18.  It should be a big deal, but the day is spent tending Sam who’s sick and feverish, while he’s hunting god knows what in the wilds outside the door.  He wakes you in the middle of the night and you’re running again, before Sam’s even made his first complaint about the school.  It’s not the first time it feels like running away.

Bobby’s place was a welcome sight after three weeks on the road.  Sam had spent the whole time moping and withdrawn, upset over missing so much school.  Dean was fine with it.  School never really was his thing, and he only attended enough to keep Social Services off their backs.

John had been quiet.  Well, more quiet than normal.  Dean wonders if maybe his father’s starting to realize that something is wrong with him. 

Not that he’d admit it.  Not John Winchester.  Dean waited until Bobby’d gone to bed and Sam was asleep, waited and watched.  John just stared at the television. 

“Dad?”

John blinked and looked up.

“You okay?”

John nodded and looked back at the TV. 

“Because…you don’t seem okay.”

John sighed.  “Tired.  Long couple of weeks.”

“Sam’s birthday’s coming.  Fourteen.”

“I know how old he is, Dean.”

Dean tried a change of topics.  “So, I was looking through Bobby’s books, and I think I have a theory about that incubus.”

That got John’s attention.  He looked up, his eyes narrowed and staring.  “What?”

“I don’t think it was an incubus.  Not…like a traditional incubus.”  Dean shifted in his seat.  “There’s this old tale about a thing called an incuntabus. It infects its victims with a…venom.  The venom acts like a…drug, makes them aroused.  It only attacks men.  The arousal is very strong, strong enough to make them do anything to relieve it.  And they fixate on the first person they see.”

It had taken two days to find that much.  Dean watched his father closely.  “What about the memory loss?”  John asked, turning away.

Dean shook his head.  “Didn’t find anything on it.”

They were quiet.  “I know something happened Dean.” 

Dean froze, just as he was about to head up to bed.  “What do you mean?”

“In Montgomery.”  John didn’t look at him.  “Just…tell me I didn’t hurt anyone.”

“No, Dad.  I didn’t let you hurt anyone.” 

“You?”  John cleared his throat, and then clarified, “Did I hurt you?”

Dean shook his head.  Swallowed the sudden lump of fear…the memories of all the nights since then...yes, yes…it hurt…it was wrong and some nights it hurt…and some days when it was over he couldn’t think, could only go through the motions…  “No, Dad.  You didn’t hurt me either.  I’m…going to bed.”

Dean left quickly, before it could get any worse.  Sam was asleep in the queen size bed they shared whenever they were at Bobby’s.  Dean shucked his jeans and shirt and crawled into bed with his brother.  Sam rolled toward him, seeking the warmth of his big brother just as if they were both still little.  Dean settled an arm over Sam, drawing him close and kissing his forehead.

“Dean?”  Sam’s eyes didn’t open, and his voice was sleep-filled.  Dean wasn’t even sure he was awake.

“Sleep.”

Sam nodded.  He tilted his head and brushed a light kiss over Dean’s mouth.  Dean froze.  Sam rolled over onto his other side, leaving Dean essentially spooned behind him.  Dean shivered and pulled the sheet up to cover them both.  He’d imagined it, it was an accident.

Because…Dean shook his head and forced his head down onto the pillow. 

He wasn’t going to think about it.  Or acknowledge it. 

It took a long time to sleep though.  Somewhere near dawn he heard Sam get up and get dressed, probably off to study or something.  When the bed was empty, Dean stretched out and finally fell asleep.

John was very obviously uncomfortable, and he and Sam fought at least once a day.  Dean found himself out in Bobby’s yard, fussing with the car every chance he got.  Seven days in, John found a hunt and he took off in the late afternoon.  Sam’s birthday.

Sam didn’t react.  He just watched their father drive off and shrugged before wandering off into the wilds of Bobby’s yard.  Dean followed after a few minutes.  It was his job to ease the pain.  To be the surrogate father. 

“So…fourteen.”  Dean said as he approached Sam in a sort of half circle formed by junked out old cars.

“It’s not a big deal, Dean.”

“Sure it is.  Look at you.”  Sam was nearly as tall as Dean now.  Couple inches away.  If it weren’t for his baby face, he’d pass for 20, easy. 

Sam rolled his eyes. 

“Dad…he…just…”

“Don’t Dean.  Stop making excuses.  Okay?”

“Yeah.  Okay.”  Dean wasn’t sure what to say, or do.  They were going to miss the end of the school year completely and Sam wasn’t happy about it. 

“I don’t need him anyway.”  Sam said, turning to face Dean.  “It’s not like he’s ever really been here.  I’ve got you for that.”

Something in the way he said the words made Dean stiffen.  “Sam, you know he loves you.  He’s just…”

“Obsessed.  With the hunt.  I know.”  Sam was standing close, almost too close. Dean smiled and put his hands on Sam’s shoulders. 

“What do you say we head into town and catch a movie or something?” 

Of course, the local movie theater was only two screens, showing chick flicks even Sam wasn’t willing to be seen walking into, so Dean busted out his fake id and bought a six-pack and drove Sam down to a swimming hole Bobby’d told him about the summer before.

“You’re gift to me, on my fourteenth birthday, is to get me drunk?”  Sam asked incredulously as Dean sat on the hood of the Impala and cracked open two of the beers.

“I’d get you laid too, Sammy, but I’m a little tight on money right now.”

Sam rolled his eyes and took the offered beer.  He sipped at it, made a face and took a few steps away.  “Does it bother you at all?”

“What?”

Sam looked back at him and Dean thought that in that one look he seemed far older than fourteen.  “That you won’t graduate?”

Dean swallowed a good amount of beer and shook his head, though Sam had already turned back toward the water.  “Nah.  School was never my thing, Sam.”

“You could have been good at it.  You’re smart enough.”

“Maybe too smart for my own good.”  Dean said.

“Is that why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you do whatever he says?”

Normally, that kind of question would anger him. Dean took a swig of his beer and actually gave it thought.  “I do what he says because he’s Dad.  And he needs something in his life that isn’t trying to kill him or fight him or possess him.  He needs someone who’s going to be there and take care of him.”

“What about you?”  Sam turned to face him, his cheeks already rosy from the beer, though his was only about half gone.

“Me?”

“Who takes care of you?”

Dean felt a sudden rush of emotion that he hid under drinking.  Sam couldn’t know.  Wouldn’t ever know.  He didn’t need to be taken care of…didn’t need…“I’m fine, Sam.  Don’t need someone to take care of me.”

Sam nodded, but didn’t look convinced.  “Drink your beer Sam.  I’m not taking you back to Bobby’s until you get two of them into you.”

Sam chuckled and lifted his bottle.  “Oh yeah, Happy Birthday to me, eh Dean?”

“Damn straight, pipsqueak.”

 

You figured you were safe at Bobby’s…that it couldn’t happen there, but you wake to the sound of your father’s truck, to the feeling…the impending need that reaches you even before you hear the truck door and you slide out of bed and down the hall, praying you’re wrong…but he’s waiting for you by the truck…waiting because he knew you’d come.  And he smells of whiskey and cigarettes and his jeans are wet with come, but it’s done nothing to alleviate his need.

The scent of sex was strong as his hand curled around the back of Dean’s neck and Dean’s fingers fumbled with his zipper.  “Calm down, Dad…I’m right here.  I’ve got you.”  Dean whispered, as if his father actually heard anything he said on nights like this.  “I’ve got you.”

He growled and shoved forward before Dean was ready.  Dean’s hands grabbed his father’s hips, forcing him back against the side of the truck while he settled into position on one knee in the gravel, his hand curling around the base of John’s dick to hold him.

Dean’s eyes closed and he disconnected, repeated the mantra in his head:  This is nothing. Nothing.

Since Montgomery hand jobs weren’t enough.  Since Montgomery, John was only passive half the time.  The rest of the time it’s like this, with Dean fighting at first to be in control, then slowly letting go, giving in, taking whatever it is his father needs to dish out. 

Big hands tightened in his short hair, tilting his head back so that John’s cock could invade his throat.  Dean gagged, but held on.  It would be over soon.  It was always over soon.  And in the morning they would pretend it never happened.

Dean would pretend.  As long as John didn’t remember, Dean could pretend.

“Dean.”  It was a growl…a barely understood recognition.  Dean choked and pulled back, shaking his head.  No.  He heard wrong.  “Need.”  John’s hands were pulling him forward again, his cock heavy against Dean’s lips.  “Dean.”

He looked up.  His father’s face was dark, slack.  His eyes closed as he tossed his head back and shoved in that much harder.  Dean’s whole body was flushed with embarrassment…with shame…and…something else.

He yelled out as his father came in his mouth, stumbling backwards, Dean’s hands cradling a hardness he wasn’t ready to admit to.  He had never…not like that…not with him…He turned over in the gravel, spitting come out into the stones.  By the time he was done, his father was gone…into the house…out into the yard…he didn’t really care.

He climbed to his feet and dragged himself to the bathroom, climbing into a cold shower.  The cold did nothing for his cock though, and after a few minutes he wrapped his hand around it and gave up trying.  He thought of Jackie Marren, the cheerleader at their last school…and he stroked…but it wasn’t helping…He flashed on the feeling of his father’s cock in his throat and shook it off.

Darla…what’s her name…the blond with the 44DDs…Marilu, the red head with dimples…Dean cried out in frustration and pain as his dick just refused to cooperate.  Then another image came to mind…sun-kissed brown hair and sparkling green eyes…and fuck…but he was coming in jets washed away by cold water…left shivering from more than just the cold.

He was still chattering when he crawled into bed beside his brother, in sweats and a t-shirt, despite the nearly ninety degrees.  It only took seconds for Sam to roll toward him, spooning up behind him and drawing the blanket up and over them both.

“I got you.” Sam whispered, his hands rubbing warmth into Dean’s skin.

Right at that moment, Dean hated himself…for sinking in to the heat that Sam offered, for succumbing to the evil eating his father alive…for not knowing how to end this whole sordid nightmare…

 

You’ve tried everything…holy water in his beer, sigils on his door.  Whatever this is it isn’t a demon…not even the incubus or incuntabus or whatever the hell got away.  It’s time to ask for help.  Or it would be if you could even consider someone in your life to trust with the questions.  So when your father suggests that Sam hang out with Pastor Jim while the two of you hunt in August, you volunteer to drive him down.

The nerves hit an hour out, knowing that the time was short and Sam was always clingy when he knew Dean was leaving him alone.  Not that time with Pastor Jim was alone.  Sam would have time to read and study and whatever else it was Sam did, where Dean didn’t have to worry about him.

Jim was waiting for them as they pulled in.

“Hey boys?  Good drive?”

“More or less.”  Dean said, opening the trunk for Sam to get his bag.  “Dad says thanks.”

“You boys are welcome here anytime.”

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”  Sam growled, storming past Jim and around the church to the parish house.

“He’s a little miffed.  He had a disagreement with a poltergeist last week and he hasn’t gotten past it.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”  Jim said.  “You running off, or do you have time for a drink?”

“Actually, I was hoping to pick your brain.”  Dean licked his lips and tried to pretend he wasn’t as nervous as he was.

“Why don’t you come in, I’ll make coffee.”

 

“So, you’re saying that this thing comes and goes?”

Dean nodded.  “I’m not sure of all the details, needless to say, the kid was pretty embarrassed.”

Pastor Jim nodded.  “And you say it’s escalating?”

Again Dean nodded, lifting his cup of coffee.  “At first I was convinced it was our incuntabus.”

“The thing you went after in Montgomery?”

“Yeah.”  Dean’s ring clanked against the ceramic cup and he put it down, wiping sweaty hands against his jeans.  “But that thing attacks and once the victim has burned through the venom, it’s over.  This keeps coming back…sometimes with no clear provocation.”

Dean wanted to pace, but was sure that any motion would give his secret away. 

“How is this boy dealing with this?”

Dean inhaled sharply.  He hadn’t expected that question.  “I…don’t know.  It’s not like I was going to ask him, you know?”  He went back to cradling his coffee cup.  This may have been a bad idea.  “He’s okay, I think.  He just wants to know how to end it.”

Jim nodded slowly, his eyes on the table.  “Is there anything else I should know?”

“No…that’s all the information I have.”

“Well, it doesn’t ring any bells right now, but I can do some digging.”

“I’d appreciate that.  I’ve exhausted the research material I have, and everything at Bobby’s.”

They were quiet for a minute before Dean felt Jim’s eyes on him.  “What about you, Dean?  How are you doing?”

Dean forced himself to smile, tossed off the last of his coffee.  “Never better, Pastor Jim.  Never better.  I should hit the road though.  Dad’s expecting me.  I’ll be back for Sam in a couple of weeks.”

Jim smiled and stood.  “You’re always welcome here Dean.”  He held out his hand and Dean took it, surprised when Jim used it to leverage him into a hug.  “I mean that.”

“Thanks.”  Dean stepped back and looked at him, his heart pounding.  If Jim knew that Dean had been talking about himself, it didn’t show in his face.  “Tell Sasquach I said goodbye.”

Third Part Here