phantisma: (Sam Broken)
[personal profile] phantisma
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Scattered, Part Two --A sequel to Splintered and Shattered
Characters/Pairing: John/Dean, Dean/Sam, John/Sam, John/Dean/Sam, Dean/OMC, Sam/OMC
Rating: VERY NC-17
Word Count: 15, 456 (total)

Summary: The harder they try, the deeper the pieces cut on the way down. Dean isn't okay. John isn't okay. Sam is so far beyond not okay. Dean's splintered pieces are shattered and scattered and he can't seem to hold it all together.

A/Ns: This was difficult to write, but the story needed an ending. I didn't have anyone beta this for me. All mistakes and such are my own.

WARNINGS: Character Death. Violent sex, non-con/dub-con, depending on how you read the choices each character makes. This is incest. This is father/son and brother/brother incest. It is violent and ugly. It is also, in the end, about love and sacrifice and the lines that we blur when it's family.



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 punks 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 it 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 hurts 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.
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