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phantismaFandom: Supernatural
Title: Shattered, Part Two (A follow on to Splintered)
Characters/Pairing: John/Dean, Dean/Sam, John/Sam, John/Dean/Sam
Rating: VERY NC-17
Word Count: 11,127 (total)
Summary: Dean is splintered and cracking and held together only by his need to make it okay, to help his father accept what has happened and make sure Sam is happy…but the pressure keeps multiplying and the fight may be more than any of them can stand.
A/Ns: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
johnsgillygirl who purchased me in the last Sweet Charity auction. This is darkness (no real surprise there, coming from me) that goes darker than most of my stuff. It is a follow on to Splintered. It is not the end of this story. That will come before too long. You really need to read "Splintered" before reading this.
Warnings: Please read the warnings. There is incest involving all three Winchesters. It is not pretty. This is dub to non-con, depending on how you read Dean's choices and how they all play out. There is also consensual sexual activity. There is angst (which may be the biggest damn understatement in the world). Also, under-age (Sam is 16)
You drive south and east. You watch your father in the rear view as he cycles through anger and denial, through depression and vague acceptance. You feel Sam beside you; end up with his head on your shoulder. You hold on because they need you. You hold it together because you can’t fall apart. And you go in search of normal, safe.
“You have to go to school, Sam.” Dean said, looking at Sam with what he hoped was a meaningful stare.
“Since when do you care about school?” Sam countered, sitting next to their father and shoving a bowl of cereal in front of him.
“Because it’s how you get out of this shit.” Dean responded, taking his own seat with a half a glass of Johnny Walker. He sipped at it, hoping it would take the edge off.
“Nice, whiskey for breakfast, Dean?” Sam shook his head. “You really are messed up.”
“Whatever. Just…go to school. Learn. One day you’ll be a doctor or a lawyer or something.”
“Right.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Dad, eat your breakfast.”
John’s eyes met Dean’s across the table.
“Your brother’s right, Sam. Go to school.”
They both looked at John. It was more than he’d said in days, the first time the words coming out of him haven’t been a variation on “kill me”. He picked up his spoon, shoveling cereal into his mouth.
Dean watched his father closely. Sam looked at Dean and Dean could only shrug. He didn’t know what changed or why. “Dad? You…okay?”
John drained the milk from the bowl and looked at him. “Do I have a choice?”
“I’m not going.” Sam said suddenly.
John’s big hand came down onto the table with a thump and both of them jumped. “Get your ass to school. And be prepared to do some training when you get home,” he growled.
“Yes sir.” Sam pushed his chair back and left the room. Dean heard the front door shut and turned to look at his father.
“Neither one of you have been training properly.” John said, standing to clear his dishes. “That ends today.”
Dean nodded, not really sure how to react. “Yeah, Dad. Whatever you say.”
“That’s damn right, Dean. I may be fucked up and fucked over, but I’m still your father.”
Dean stood. “You think I don’t know that?”
“The way you’ve been acting, I have to wonder.”
“What is that supposed to mean, Dad?”
John grabbed his glass, dumped it in the sink. “Lay off the booze.”
“Whatever.” Dean started to walk away, but John’s hand caught his arm and hauled him back.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“We’re out of money. I figured I’d go find a job while we wait for the new credit cards.”
John shook his head. “No. I’ll do that. You take care of your brother.”
Dean felt his stomach clench. “Dad, you can’t. What if…what if it happens while you’re out there? You could hurt someone.”
His father’s face got hard, his eyes dark. “I do hurt someone Dean. Every fucking time.”
Dean shook his head. “No. No you don’t.”
John dragged a hand over his haggard face. “You can’t expect me to just sit here Dean.”
He reached a hand for his father’s arm. “No, I know. I just…I want to make it okay.”
John’s voice lost some of its passion. “It won’t ever be okay.”
“I know.”
They stood there for a long time before John shuddered. “Go on. I’ll stay here and set up some training for when Sam gets home.”
Dean wasn’t sure he should actually leave him, but he wasn’t kidding about the money. They had a few bucks and not much else, and the food they had wasn’t going to last but a day or two.
It was the kind of town that didn’t have much in the way of pool halls and the bars were rough and tumble. Honest labor wasn’t his strong suit, but he’d done it before.
By the end of the day he hadn’t found much. He could hear his father putting Sam through his paces in the back yard. It sounded real. Normal. He left the bag with bread and a few necessities on the table and let himself out the back door, minding the rotting boards on the one side of the porch. He’d left himself five bucks to start playing with that night at the bar.
Sam was running an obstacle course, carrying something heavy, with their father barking orders at him. Dean smiled watching. Sam stumbled, fell to the ground and rolled clear, coming up cussing. He spotted Dean and held up a hand. Dean could tell they’d been at it a while. Sam was sweating, his clothes dark with it., muddy and grass stained.
John turned and threw a towel at Sam’s face, barking at him to go get cleaned up. Sam wiped his face and they both started toward Dean. “I got some stuff for dinner.” Dean offered as they got close enough. “Not much, but I’m going to go back out, shoot some pool.”
“Go on, shower your scrawny ass.” John said to Sam. “I got the water on. Won’t be hot, but we’ve had worse.”
Dean nodded. He followed Sam into the house, with his father behind him. He emptied the bag while Sam went to shower, and John sat in the chair watching him.
Everything seemed okay. Sam came back and they ate dinner together. John smiled fleetingly and Sam laughed like there was nothing wrong. Dean wolfed down two peanut butter sandwiches and went to change his clothes.
He grabbed the keys on his way to the door. “I’ll be a few hours.”
“Mind if I tag along?” John asked, his expression hopeful.
Dean stared at him for a minute then nodded. “Get some sleep Sammy, we’ll be home later.”
Sam waved tiredly at them without moving from where he was trying to read by candlelight. “I saw a bar that looked good. There’s poker and a pool table,” Dean said as they got moving.
“You got stakes money?”
“A little.” Dean said.
“Drop me at the bank. I think I got one card left that isn’t maxed. I’ll get us what I can.” He pointed at the walk up ATM a few doors down from the bar. Dean stopped long enough for his father to get out, then drove down to the signal light and turned around, parking the car near the bar.
Led Zepplin leaked out the door as he approached, a good sign as far as he was concerned. He paused a moment in the door, his eyes sweeping over the scene. Two tables of poker, two pool tables, a few dart boards in the back, and a sizeable crowd for a Tuesday night.
Dean moved through the place, marking a spot near a pool table. He leaned against the wall, watching the current players, getting the lay of the land. He was just about to step in and join the fun when his father’s shadow fell over him. He could feel him coming.
Dean’s eyes moved from the pool table to his father. John’s thick fingers shoved money into Dean’s front pocket even as he leaned forward, his face flushed. “Need.”
It hadn’t hit him yet…but it was coming. Dean nodded and looked around. “Alley.”
His fingers lingered in Dean’s pocket as Dean pulled off the wall and headed for the side door. As soon as they were outside, Dean maneuvered them so that John was against the wall and went to one knee. He made quick work of the zipper and his cock was already hard. He looked up and watched it settle over him. “Okay, easy. Let’s do this fast.”
Dean took him in his mouth, hoping that it would be enough. A few minutes later John grunted and came. Dean turned and spit onto the concrete. “Better?” he asked as he looked up.
John was blushing but he nodded.
“It’s easier when we catch it fast,” Dean said, getting to his feet.
John nodded again. “I’m going to see if I can get in on a poker game.”
“Okay. I’ll work the pool tables.”
John finished tucking himself in and moved ahead of Dean. Inside they separated again, John off to the front, Dean up to the bar. “Shot of tequila…and a beer.”
He threw the shot back, letting it wash the taste of come out of his mouth before grabbing the beer and tossing some money on the bar. He turned to the nearer table, watching a young kid getting his ass handed to him by some guy who had hands that made his pool cue look like a toothpick.
A quick glance showed his father seated at a table. He looked okay. Dean didn’t think he’d ever recovered so fast from a flare up.
“Hey.”
He blinked back to his immediate surroundings. There was a man very much too close and stepping closer. Dean held up his hand to stop him. The man had a small wad of money between two fingers. He reached for Dean’s pocket with an eyebrow raised.
“I think you maybe you have the wrong idea.” Dean swallowed as the guy leaned in close.
“Saw you. Want what he got.”
“I’m sorry. It isn’t what you think.”
“I think he slipped some money in your pocket so that you’d suck his cock in the alley.” The man smelled of whiskey and cigarettes. He was his father’s age, maybe older, built hard like he’d worked his whole life with his body. “Now I think I get the same, or I take you for a little ride.”
The hand not holding the money poked at Dean’s hip and he looked down. Fuck. The bastard was a fucking cop. “It…he just owed me some money, dude.” Dean shifted on his feet, reached for his beer. “I’m not a whore.”
“Bullshit.” Those fingers dug into Dean’s pocket, shoving the money in and yanking him away from the bar. Dean staggered toward the side door, following helplessly. He shook his head, trying to clear the buzzing. This wasn’t happening. He grabbed at the doorframe, looking back at his father, hoping he didn’t see, and yet all the same, hoping he would. John Winchester wouldn’t let his son go to his knees for anyone.
Except that he did.
It was fairly obvious he wasn’t getting a choice. The cop tugged and Dean let go of the door, stepped out into the alley, just like he had moments before. He could do this. It wasn’t all that different.
His heart was racing and his stomach hurt. The man opened his fly and pulled his cock out. Dean took a deep breath as he went back down to his knees. He licked his lips. “Do a good job and maybe I’ll tell my friends.”
Dean shivered and tried to put the thought out of his head. Tried not to think at all. Just do it. Just get it over with. He opened his mouth and willed himself not to throw up as he sucked the cock into his mouth. It was nothing like Sam’s or his father’s. Smaller, thicker.
Stop thinking. Dean closed his eyes and licked over it, then closed his lips around it. The man’s hips snapped forward and Dean let him take control, let him fuck into his mouth. He made a strangled, strange cry as he came, and Dean turned and spit, watching the sticky mess land beside him.
The man patted his head as he tucked himself in. “Not bad. See you around.”
Dean stayed there on his knees in the alley while the stranger went back inside. With a shaky hand, he pulled out the wad of bills the many had shoved into his pocket. Fifty dollars. He tried to shake it off. Told himself it was nothing. He was okay. It was over and he was fine.
He slowly pulled himself back up, went back to the bar, got another shot, finished his beer. Moved to the table before anyone else got the idea that he was some whore who’d go to his knees for a few bucks.
By the time the night is over, you’re up almost $300 between the two of you. You try to tell yourself it’s okay, that he doesn’t know, that he didn’t see. You try to pretend you aren’t some whore who went to his knees in an alley behind a bar for some strange man with a badge. Try to deny that a part of you thinks you could do it again if you had to.
Sam wasn’t happy in the school. He got into fights and complained. John wasn’t happy sitting home with nothing to do. Between them Dean was miserable. Days crawled by. Sam went to school, Dean cleaned their weapons and hid them away again. John poured over newspapers and planned training.
At night Dean went out. Most of the time he went alone. He moved around the town and the neighboring ones, into the city even, dive bars and nightclubs. He hustled pool, played poker. When those wells dried up, he sat at the bar and drank.
Once or twice the cop showed up. Once or twice Dean found himself up a few extra bucks for a few minutes of pretending he was someone he wasn’t.
He didn’t even fight it anymore. It was easier to just nod, take the money, suck the cock and down tequila to kill the taste. It was easy enough money, and as long as no one knew he could take it. It was almost easy.
He rested his head on the back of the seat, watching the house, wondering if Sam was still awake. The cop had brought a friend that night and Dean had a pocket full of cash after a good run at the pool table and two quick blow jobs in the alley.
Problem was the tequila and the smell of sex had him horny. He shifted and climbed out of the car, yawning as he made his way over the dirt that pretended to be a lawn. He was surprised to find his father sitting up with a bottle. It didn’t feel like it was one of those nights.
One look told him it was something else entirely. “Is this what I’ve turned you into?”
Dean looked at him, staring. “What?”
“I saw you Dean.”
His head was ringing, shards of himself were falling all around him. “No…I just…”
John shook his head. He was otherwise still, that scary stillness that only came when he was so far beyond angry and he’d boiled it all down inside of him. “Sam told me why we left Fresno Dean.”
Dean couldn’t think, couldn’t make words meet up in coherent phrases. “He thought…he thought someone knew.”
“He told me his counselor though he was being sexually abused. And we ran. And now we’re here and you’re turning fucking tricks.”
“No…just…this cop, Dad. He saw me…with you. He threatened to take me in.” Dean closed his eyes, but he only saw the dicks he’d sucked in that alley.
“But you still take his money.” John said, standing slowly. He put his hand in Dean’s pocket, pulled him close. His breath was whiskey-tainted. His fingers came out with the wad of bills and he held it between them.
“You take his money and you bring it home and feed your brother with it. You come home from sucking his cock and you go upstairs and make your brother suck yours.”
“I don’t make Sam do anything.“ Dean was scrambling, trying to catch up. He sucked in air and forced himself to look at his father, at the pain etched in every line on his face. He didn’t understand the anger, couldn’t reconcile it, couldn’t figure out where it was coming from and where to go to appease it. Make it okay.
“You did this to Sam, just as sure as I did it to you.” John said. “I thought we could find something normal in all this. I thought you were okay, Dean.”
Dean shifted closer. “I am okay. See, I’m right here. I’m okay.”
John’s hand moved and Dean saw the gun for the first time. His breath caught in his throat. It was worse than he thought. His mind raced over their weapon inventory, trying to figure out where the gun came from.
His father knew he was a whore, knew he took money for something that he’d only done for his father before now. His father knew he was falling apart and if Dean couldn’t keep himself together, he had no hope of holding the family in one piece.
“You’re not okay Dean. You’re a fucking mess. Look at you...just look. Every time you walk out that door you give away a little more of who you are.”
Dean shook his head. No. He couldn’t let it fall apart now. His stomach was acid and hot pokers. He moved so that his hand could slide down his father’s arm to the gun. He was barely breathing, could hardly remember how.
“I’m right here, Dad. I’m okay. You’re okay. Just give me the gun.” He could do this. All of this. Hold it together. Make it okay. “Please, Dad.”
They both looked down at the gun. “End it.”
“No.”
“If you don’t, I will.”
Dean pressed his body in close to his father’s. “No. We need you.”
There was a quiet struggle, but slowly John let go of the gun, let it slide into Dean’s hand. He sagged and turned away. “Wash that mouth before you go kissing your brother.”
Dean sighed as his father’s bedroom door closed. The gun was heavy and he pulled the clip, breathing a sigh of relief to find it empty. He lifted the bottle of whiskey and poured some in his mouth before he headed up the stairs to the room he was sharing with Sam.
He wasn’t surprised when Sam sat up in the dark, reaching for him as he put the bottle on the dresser. Instead, Dean dropped the gun into Sam’s hand. “What’s this?”
“You tell me. Dad had it.”
Sam rubbed at sleepy eyes. “I don’t recognize it.”
Dean’s skin felt tight, pulled and stretched over bones so brittle they might break from the pressure. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. His chest hurt, his stomach churned. It was all so wrong. No matter what he did it was wrong.
“Come to bed.” Sam said softly, shifting the blankets to make room.
Dean shook his head. “No. Don’t want to.” He took a step toward the window, then stopped, holding his stomach.
“Dean, you need sleep. You don’t sleep enough.” Sam’s voice was gentle as he climbed out of bed, padding on the cold floor to where Dean stood. “Let me help you.”
“It’s all falling apart Sammy.” Dean’s words slurred a little on the alcohol and fading fear. “Can’t hold it together without you.”
“Right here, Dean. I’m right here.”
“Have to hide them, can’t let Dad leave us.”
“Dad’s not going anywhere, Dean.” Sam guided him down into the bed and laid beside him, one hand stroking lightly down Dean’s face. “Sleep, baby, everything will be better in the morning.”
Dean was alone when he woke, the bed cold. The sun coming in the window told him it was well past the time he would normally be up. He could smell coffee and bacon. He moved cautiously through the house, as if he expected someone to jump out at him. His father stood at the camp stove on the counter, pushing bacon around in a pan.
Wordlessly, John handed Dean a cup of coffee. “Got tired of not getting my caffeine.”
Dean took the cup and perched on the chair by the table. They were squatting, hadn’t intended to stay. Figured they’d have an apartment or something by now. “Sorry,” he muttered, sipping at his cup. It was dark and strong, like his father preferred it.
A few minutes later John set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him. “Eat.”
Dean picked at the eggs, feeling as though his entire life was shattering around him.
“Found a hunt.” John said quietly. “Next town. Spirit takes out truckers on a stretch of road.”
“Dad—“ Dean shook his head, not really sure what he was objecting to. “Are you—you can’t go alone.”
John held up his hands. “We go together. Sam’s fine on his own.”
Dean licked his lips. It was what they did. What they were. Despite everything.
“I need to do this.” John said. “I’m going. It’s time we get back to doing what we do.”
Dean nodded. “Wait until Friday, and I’ll come with you.”
“I’ll pull our kits together, restock them. There’s a Catholic church in town?”
“Yeah.” Dean lifted his fork, forced the food into his mouth. His father seemed so normal. Dean shivered. It was okay. He swallowed the words with his eggs and washed it down with coffee.
Title: Shattered, Part Two (A follow on to Splintered)
Characters/Pairing: John/Dean, Dean/Sam, John/Sam, John/Dean/Sam
Rating: VERY NC-17
Word Count: 11,127 (total)
Summary: Dean is splintered and cracking and held together only by his need to make it okay, to help his father accept what has happened and make sure Sam is happy…but the pressure keeps multiplying and the fight may be more than any of them can stand.
A/Ns: For
johnsgillygirl who purchased me in the last Sweet Charity auction. This is darkness (no real surprise there, coming from me) that goes darker than most of my stuff. It is a follow on to Splintered. It is not the end of this story. That will come before too long. You really need to read "Splintered" before reading this.Warnings: Please read the warnings. There is incest involving all three Winchesters. It is not pretty. This is dub to non-con, depending on how you read Dean's choices and how they all play out. There is also consensual sexual activity. There is angst (which may be the biggest damn understatement in the world). Also, under-age (Sam is 16)
You drive south and east. You watch your father in the rear view as he cycles through anger and denial, through depression and vague acceptance. You feel Sam beside you; end up with his head on your shoulder. You hold on because they need you. You hold it together because you can’t fall apart. And you go in search of normal, safe.
“You have to go to school, Sam.” Dean said, looking at Sam with what he hoped was a meaningful stare.
“Since when do you care about school?” Sam countered, sitting next to their father and shoving a bowl of cereal in front of him.
“Because it’s how you get out of this shit.” Dean responded, taking his own seat with a half a glass of Johnny Walker. He sipped at it, hoping it would take the edge off.
“Nice, whiskey for breakfast, Dean?” Sam shook his head. “You really are messed up.”
“Whatever. Just…go to school. Learn. One day you’ll be a doctor or a lawyer or something.”
“Right.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Dad, eat your breakfast.”
John’s eyes met Dean’s across the table.
“Your brother’s right, Sam. Go to school.”
They both looked at John. It was more than he’d said in days, the first time the words coming out of him haven’t been a variation on “kill me”. He picked up his spoon, shoveling cereal into his mouth.
Dean watched his father closely. Sam looked at Dean and Dean could only shrug. He didn’t know what changed or why. “Dad? You…okay?”
John drained the milk from the bowl and looked at him. “Do I have a choice?”
“I’m not going.” Sam said suddenly.
John’s big hand came down onto the table with a thump and both of them jumped. “Get your ass to school. And be prepared to do some training when you get home,” he growled.
“Yes sir.” Sam pushed his chair back and left the room. Dean heard the front door shut and turned to look at his father.
“Neither one of you have been training properly.” John said, standing to clear his dishes. “That ends today.”
Dean nodded, not really sure how to react. “Yeah, Dad. Whatever you say.”
“That’s damn right, Dean. I may be fucked up and fucked over, but I’m still your father.”
Dean stood. “You think I don’t know that?”
“The way you’ve been acting, I have to wonder.”
“What is that supposed to mean, Dad?”
John grabbed his glass, dumped it in the sink. “Lay off the booze.”
“Whatever.” Dean started to walk away, but John’s hand caught his arm and hauled him back.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“We’re out of money. I figured I’d go find a job while we wait for the new credit cards.”
John shook his head. “No. I’ll do that. You take care of your brother.”
Dean felt his stomach clench. “Dad, you can’t. What if…what if it happens while you’re out there? You could hurt someone.”
His father’s face got hard, his eyes dark. “I do hurt someone Dean. Every fucking time.”
Dean shook his head. “No. No you don’t.”
John dragged a hand over his haggard face. “You can’t expect me to just sit here Dean.”
He reached a hand for his father’s arm. “No, I know. I just…I want to make it okay.”
John’s voice lost some of its passion. “It won’t ever be okay.”
“I know.”
They stood there for a long time before John shuddered. “Go on. I’ll stay here and set up some training for when Sam gets home.”
Dean wasn’t sure he should actually leave him, but he wasn’t kidding about the money. They had a few bucks and not much else, and the food they had wasn’t going to last but a day or two.
It was the kind of town that didn’t have much in the way of pool halls and the bars were rough and tumble. Honest labor wasn’t his strong suit, but he’d done it before.
By the end of the day he hadn’t found much. He could hear his father putting Sam through his paces in the back yard. It sounded real. Normal. He left the bag with bread and a few necessities on the table and let himself out the back door, minding the rotting boards on the one side of the porch. He’d left himself five bucks to start playing with that night at the bar.
Sam was running an obstacle course, carrying something heavy, with their father barking orders at him. Dean smiled watching. Sam stumbled, fell to the ground and rolled clear, coming up cussing. He spotted Dean and held up a hand. Dean could tell they’d been at it a while. Sam was sweating, his clothes dark with it., muddy and grass stained.
John turned and threw a towel at Sam’s face, barking at him to go get cleaned up. Sam wiped his face and they both started toward Dean. “I got some stuff for dinner.” Dean offered as they got close enough. “Not much, but I’m going to go back out, shoot some pool.”
“Go on, shower your scrawny ass.” John said to Sam. “I got the water on. Won’t be hot, but we’ve had worse.”
Dean nodded. He followed Sam into the house, with his father behind him. He emptied the bag while Sam went to shower, and John sat in the chair watching him.
Everything seemed okay. Sam came back and they ate dinner together. John smiled fleetingly and Sam laughed like there was nothing wrong. Dean wolfed down two peanut butter sandwiches and went to change his clothes.
He grabbed the keys on his way to the door. “I’ll be a few hours.”
“Mind if I tag along?” John asked, his expression hopeful.
Dean stared at him for a minute then nodded. “Get some sleep Sammy, we’ll be home later.”
Sam waved tiredly at them without moving from where he was trying to read by candlelight. “I saw a bar that looked good. There’s poker and a pool table,” Dean said as they got moving.
“You got stakes money?”
“A little.” Dean said.
“Drop me at the bank. I think I got one card left that isn’t maxed. I’ll get us what I can.” He pointed at the walk up ATM a few doors down from the bar. Dean stopped long enough for his father to get out, then drove down to the signal light and turned around, parking the car near the bar.
Led Zepplin leaked out the door as he approached, a good sign as far as he was concerned. He paused a moment in the door, his eyes sweeping over the scene. Two tables of poker, two pool tables, a few dart boards in the back, and a sizeable crowd for a Tuesday night.
Dean moved through the place, marking a spot near a pool table. He leaned against the wall, watching the current players, getting the lay of the land. He was just about to step in and join the fun when his father’s shadow fell over him. He could feel him coming.
Dean’s eyes moved from the pool table to his father. John’s thick fingers shoved money into Dean’s front pocket even as he leaned forward, his face flushed. “Need.”
It hadn’t hit him yet…but it was coming. Dean nodded and looked around. “Alley.”
His fingers lingered in Dean’s pocket as Dean pulled off the wall and headed for the side door. As soon as they were outside, Dean maneuvered them so that John was against the wall and went to one knee. He made quick work of the zipper and his cock was already hard. He looked up and watched it settle over him. “Okay, easy. Let’s do this fast.”
Dean took him in his mouth, hoping that it would be enough. A few minutes later John grunted and came. Dean turned and spit onto the concrete. “Better?” he asked as he looked up.
John was blushing but he nodded.
“It’s easier when we catch it fast,” Dean said, getting to his feet.
John nodded again. “I’m going to see if I can get in on a poker game.”
“Okay. I’ll work the pool tables.”
John finished tucking himself in and moved ahead of Dean. Inside they separated again, John off to the front, Dean up to the bar. “Shot of tequila…and a beer.”
He threw the shot back, letting it wash the taste of come out of his mouth before grabbing the beer and tossing some money on the bar. He turned to the nearer table, watching a young kid getting his ass handed to him by some guy who had hands that made his pool cue look like a toothpick.
A quick glance showed his father seated at a table. He looked okay. Dean didn’t think he’d ever recovered so fast from a flare up.
“Hey.”
He blinked back to his immediate surroundings. There was a man very much too close and stepping closer. Dean held up his hand to stop him. The man had a small wad of money between two fingers. He reached for Dean’s pocket with an eyebrow raised.
“I think you maybe you have the wrong idea.” Dean swallowed as the guy leaned in close.
“Saw you. Want what he got.”
“I’m sorry. It isn’t what you think.”
“I think he slipped some money in your pocket so that you’d suck his cock in the alley.” The man smelled of whiskey and cigarettes. He was his father’s age, maybe older, built hard like he’d worked his whole life with his body. “Now I think I get the same, or I take you for a little ride.”
The hand not holding the money poked at Dean’s hip and he looked down. Fuck. The bastard was a fucking cop. “It…he just owed me some money, dude.” Dean shifted on his feet, reached for his beer. “I’m not a whore.”
“Bullshit.” Those fingers dug into Dean’s pocket, shoving the money in and yanking him away from the bar. Dean staggered toward the side door, following helplessly. He shook his head, trying to clear the buzzing. This wasn’t happening. He grabbed at the doorframe, looking back at his father, hoping he didn’t see, and yet all the same, hoping he would. John Winchester wouldn’t let his son go to his knees for anyone.
Except that he did.
It was fairly obvious he wasn’t getting a choice. The cop tugged and Dean let go of the door, stepped out into the alley, just like he had moments before. He could do this. It wasn’t all that different.
His heart was racing and his stomach hurt. The man opened his fly and pulled his cock out. Dean took a deep breath as he went back down to his knees. He licked his lips. “Do a good job and maybe I’ll tell my friends.”
Dean shivered and tried to put the thought out of his head. Tried not to think at all. Just do it. Just get it over with. He opened his mouth and willed himself not to throw up as he sucked the cock into his mouth. It was nothing like Sam’s or his father’s. Smaller, thicker.
Stop thinking. Dean closed his eyes and licked over it, then closed his lips around it. The man’s hips snapped forward and Dean let him take control, let him fuck into his mouth. He made a strangled, strange cry as he came, and Dean turned and spit, watching the sticky mess land beside him.
The man patted his head as he tucked himself in. “Not bad. See you around.”
Dean stayed there on his knees in the alley while the stranger went back inside. With a shaky hand, he pulled out the wad of bills the many had shoved into his pocket. Fifty dollars. He tried to shake it off. Told himself it was nothing. He was okay. It was over and he was fine.
He slowly pulled himself back up, went back to the bar, got another shot, finished his beer. Moved to the table before anyone else got the idea that he was some whore who’d go to his knees for a few bucks.
By the time the night is over, you’re up almost $300 between the two of you. You try to tell yourself it’s okay, that he doesn’t know, that he didn’t see. You try to pretend you aren’t some whore who went to his knees in an alley behind a bar for some strange man with a badge. Try to deny that a part of you thinks you could do it again if you had to.
Sam wasn’t happy in the school. He got into fights and complained. John wasn’t happy sitting home with nothing to do. Between them Dean was miserable. Days crawled by. Sam went to school, Dean cleaned their weapons and hid them away again. John poured over newspapers and planned training.
At night Dean went out. Most of the time he went alone. He moved around the town and the neighboring ones, into the city even, dive bars and nightclubs. He hustled pool, played poker. When those wells dried up, he sat at the bar and drank.
Once or twice the cop showed up. Once or twice Dean found himself up a few extra bucks for a few minutes of pretending he was someone he wasn’t.
He didn’t even fight it anymore. It was easier to just nod, take the money, suck the cock and down tequila to kill the taste. It was easy enough money, and as long as no one knew he could take it. It was almost easy.
He rested his head on the back of the seat, watching the house, wondering if Sam was still awake. The cop had brought a friend that night and Dean had a pocket full of cash after a good run at the pool table and two quick blow jobs in the alley.
Problem was the tequila and the smell of sex had him horny. He shifted and climbed out of the car, yawning as he made his way over the dirt that pretended to be a lawn. He was surprised to find his father sitting up with a bottle. It didn’t feel like it was one of those nights.
One look told him it was something else entirely. “Is this what I’ve turned you into?”
Dean looked at him, staring. “What?”
“I saw you Dean.”
His head was ringing, shards of himself were falling all around him. “No…I just…”
John shook his head. He was otherwise still, that scary stillness that only came when he was so far beyond angry and he’d boiled it all down inside of him. “Sam told me why we left Fresno Dean.”
Dean couldn’t think, couldn’t make words meet up in coherent phrases. “He thought…he thought someone knew.”
“He told me his counselor though he was being sexually abused. And we ran. And now we’re here and you’re turning fucking tricks.”
“No…just…this cop, Dad. He saw me…with you. He threatened to take me in.” Dean closed his eyes, but he only saw the dicks he’d sucked in that alley.
“But you still take his money.” John said, standing slowly. He put his hand in Dean’s pocket, pulled him close. His breath was whiskey-tainted. His fingers came out with the wad of bills and he held it between them.
“You take his money and you bring it home and feed your brother with it. You come home from sucking his cock and you go upstairs and make your brother suck yours.”
“I don’t make Sam do anything.“ Dean was scrambling, trying to catch up. He sucked in air and forced himself to look at his father, at the pain etched in every line on his face. He didn’t understand the anger, couldn’t reconcile it, couldn’t figure out where it was coming from and where to go to appease it. Make it okay.
“You did this to Sam, just as sure as I did it to you.” John said. “I thought we could find something normal in all this. I thought you were okay, Dean.”
Dean shifted closer. “I am okay. See, I’m right here. I’m okay.”
John’s hand moved and Dean saw the gun for the first time. His breath caught in his throat. It was worse than he thought. His mind raced over their weapon inventory, trying to figure out where the gun came from.
His father knew he was a whore, knew he took money for something that he’d only done for his father before now. His father knew he was falling apart and if Dean couldn’t keep himself together, he had no hope of holding the family in one piece.
“You’re not okay Dean. You’re a fucking mess. Look at you...just look. Every time you walk out that door you give away a little more of who you are.”
Dean shook his head. No. He couldn’t let it fall apart now. His stomach was acid and hot pokers. He moved so that his hand could slide down his father’s arm to the gun. He was barely breathing, could hardly remember how.
“I’m right here, Dad. I’m okay. You’re okay. Just give me the gun.” He could do this. All of this. Hold it together. Make it okay. “Please, Dad.”
They both looked down at the gun. “End it.”
“No.”
“If you don’t, I will.”
Dean pressed his body in close to his father’s. “No. We need you.”
There was a quiet struggle, but slowly John let go of the gun, let it slide into Dean’s hand. He sagged and turned away. “Wash that mouth before you go kissing your brother.”
Dean sighed as his father’s bedroom door closed. The gun was heavy and he pulled the clip, breathing a sigh of relief to find it empty. He lifted the bottle of whiskey and poured some in his mouth before he headed up the stairs to the room he was sharing with Sam.
He wasn’t surprised when Sam sat up in the dark, reaching for him as he put the bottle on the dresser. Instead, Dean dropped the gun into Sam’s hand. “What’s this?”
“You tell me. Dad had it.”
Sam rubbed at sleepy eyes. “I don’t recognize it.”
Dean’s skin felt tight, pulled and stretched over bones so brittle they might break from the pressure. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. His chest hurt, his stomach churned. It was all so wrong. No matter what he did it was wrong.
“Come to bed.” Sam said softly, shifting the blankets to make room.
Dean shook his head. “No. Don’t want to.” He took a step toward the window, then stopped, holding his stomach.
“Dean, you need sleep. You don’t sleep enough.” Sam’s voice was gentle as he climbed out of bed, padding on the cold floor to where Dean stood. “Let me help you.”
“It’s all falling apart Sammy.” Dean’s words slurred a little on the alcohol and fading fear. “Can’t hold it together without you.”
“Right here, Dean. I’m right here.”
“Have to hide them, can’t let Dad leave us.”
“Dad’s not going anywhere, Dean.” Sam guided him down into the bed and laid beside him, one hand stroking lightly down Dean’s face. “Sleep, baby, everything will be better in the morning.”
Dean was alone when he woke, the bed cold. The sun coming in the window told him it was well past the time he would normally be up. He could smell coffee and bacon. He moved cautiously through the house, as if he expected someone to jump out at him. His father stood at the camp stove on the counter, pushing bacon around in a pan.
Wordlessly, John handed Dean a cup of coffee. “Got tired of not getting my caffeine.”
Dean took the cup and perched on the chair by the table. They were squatting, hadn’t intended to stay. Figured they’d have an apartment or something by now. “Sorry,” he muttered, sipping at his cup. It was dark and strong, like his father preferred it.
A few minutes later John set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him. “Eat.”
Dean picked at the eggs, feeling as though his entire life was shattering around him.
“Found a hunt.” John said quietly. “Next town. Spirit takes out truckers on a stretch of road.”
“Dad—“ Dean shook his head, not really sure what he was objecting to. “Are you—you can’t go alone.”
John held up his hands. “We go together. Sam’s fine on his own.”
Dean licked his lips. It was what they did. What they were. Despite everything.
“I need to do this.” John said. “I’m going. It’s time we get back to doing what we do.”
Dean nodded. “Wait until Friday, and I’ll come with you.”
“I’ll pull our kits together, restock them. There’s a Catholic church in town?”
“Yeah.” Dean lifted his fork, forced the food into his mouth. His father seemed so normal. Dean shivered. It was okay. He swallowed the words with his eggs and washed it down with coffee.
