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phantismaFandom: Supernatural
Title: Where It Hurts, Part Four of Five
Characters/Pairing: Sam, John, Dean, Sam/Dean, Sam/OC
Rating: NC-17, for graphic violence and sex, rape
Table: #1
Prompt: 047 Kill
Word Count: 4030
Summary: Six months have passed since Sam's ordeal as the prisoner of Kendall Garrett. While John Winchester hunts for the bastard, Dean tries to hold Sam together while Sam slowly sinks under the pressure
Warnings: Very, very Dark Fic. This is a follow on to "The Good Son". The overall story will involve torture and rape. This is Part Four of Five.
The first part can be found here
The second part can be found here
The third part can be found here
This is my twelth ficlet for my Supernatural claim on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
100_situations. Clicky for table
Sam had done as he was told. He had been left to sit in the wheel chair for what felt like hours. The room around him was silent, but he got the impression it wasn’t big. It took all of his strength not to get up, not to remove the blindfold. He had no doubt Garrett was watching. Any failure to comply could get Dean killed.
It was a while before any other sensory data reached through to him…the dusty smell of the room…the dry touch of the air. Then a sound. Not quite a footstep.
He started when hands touched him, sliding over his shoulders. He fought to hold still as they moved to the buttons of his shirt, slowly and carefully unbuttoning it and pushing it off his shoulders. The hands moved almost lovingly over the marks on his chest, one finger trailing over the lines.
The quiet was disturbing. There was no music, no voice, just the silence and the hands. Then there was nothing. For a long moment he wondered if he was alone again, then the hands returned, removing his shoes, socks, sliding up his legs. The hand on his right thigh paused, hovering over the mark, pressing the denim into it.
Mine.
It wasn’t the voice, not really, just the echo of it in his head. Sam closed his eyes behind the blindfold and breathed through the rising fear. Then the hands were moving again, unbuttoning his jeans, caressing the skin. Effortlessly, they lifted Sam, pulling the pants and boxers off together, leaving Sam naked and alone.
Mine.
Sam shuddered, suddenly cold. The hands petted over his skin, almost as if praising him. He could feel the body heat as Garrett moved around behind him, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Tell me what you want, Sam.”
Sam swallowed and tried not to turn his head toward the voice, mostly succeeding. “I want to see my brother,” he said it without faltering, uncertain whether the admission would bring him punishment or what he wanted.
There was soft laughter. “I’m sure you do.” The hands rested on his shoulders as the voice switched to his other ear. “Be a good boy and maybe I’ll let you. First though…first you need to be punished for disobeying me, and for your insolence.”
The chair jerked underneath him and away, spilling Sam to the floor. He didn’t move, laying where he fell, knowing Garrett would just position him as he wanted him anyway. The floor was dirty, gritty and he could feel granules of sand cut into him as he was moved, his limbs rearranged like a dolls until he was on all fours.
He remembered the pain, but it didn’t prepare him for the bite as the cane dug into the skin of his ass. He bit his tongue until he tasted blood, and dug his fingers into the floor. At ten the blows slowed, ranged upward, over his lower back, less bloody, more welts. He lost count after that, swam on the edge of darkness until he became aware that he was being put back in the chair.
“Not a sound now, Sam. I have to go check on my other guest, see if he’s ready for the next step in his education.”
Dean was aware he wasn’t alone. Fucking mind games. He’d rather Garrett just get on with it. He said as much, though most of it was lost to the gag currently cutting into his cheeks.
“Now, now, watch that temper. It’s going to get you into trouble.”
A hand stoked across Dean’s back, over his ass. “I’ve just come from getting Sam settled into his room. He’s resting.”
Dean chewed on the gag, venting his frustration the only way he could. He had images in his head of his brother as he’d found him in California, bound, gagged, blindfolded…beaten, raped repeatedly, his body a mass of bloody welts, bruises and bite marks.
“I checked in on your father as well. He’s fine…sitting in his truck, waiting.” One hand stroked up between Dean’s cheeks and he jumped forward. “Tell me, do you fuck your father as well, or just your baby brother?”
Dean’s face burned and he twisted himself around, swinging his legs and head in an attempt to connect with Garrett, but he just chuckled, and Dean could feel him moving away. When Dean had settled again, Garrett returned, sweeping his hands over Dean’s chest and down, stopping just above his cock. “Did he tell you how he came for me? How he came all over the place while I fucked his ass?”
A hand grabbed his cock and squeezed. “If I fuck your ass, will you come for me?”
The hand released him and Dean sagged against his bonds. The punch caught him by surprise, a fist slamming into his stomach, leaving him gasping for air as he heard the footsteps walk away.
”You need to get control, Sam. Before you kill someone” The diminutive woman patted Sam’s head, somehow diminishing the pain that radiated from his most recent attempt to engage his gift actively. “Your thoughts are all over the place. You’ll never breakthrough that way. Close your eyes. Try again.”
“Yeah Kreskin, get it together.” Dean called over his shoulder.
Sam sighed and tried to clear his mind as she had taught him, this strange little woman with powers that seemed so much stronger than his own, despite her reassurances that his would dwarf hers quickly, if he only learned to control them. He narrowed his thought down to one thing, the back pocket of Dean’s jeans.
Dean jumped up like something had bit him, turning around to find Sam’s face filled with a triumphant grin, just before he toppled over, holding on to his head.
Sam cowered behind a façade of fear and submission, sitting dully where he’d been put, waiting for the next torment. The harder part was stilling the rest of his mind to match, to concentrate. Every few seconds he could see Dean’s face, hidden behind the blindfold and gag. Every time he’d banish it and start again.
His first thought was just to reach his brother, to touch his mind and know that he was okay. He was nearby, Sam was sure of it. If Dean was okay, Sam could function a little longer. All he had to do was find him in the black.
Low rows of houses, dark and pitiful against the stinging haze of burning cardboard and wood down a dirt road that led over a hill and down, away from the city proper, away from the bright lights of tourist bars where pretty senoritas plied hapless Americans with liquor…a dirt road that ended in a dirty glen, to an old manor house that might have one time belonged to a wealthy, Mexican politician, but had long since been left to ruin.
“Here.”
Sam. John woke with a start, his head banging against the seat behind him. He looked around him. It was late afternoon, the sun was setting behind him and downtown El Paso was growing dark. He turned on the overhead light and picked up the newspaper Sam had left for him.
There were the words Garrett had told him, scribbled and hurried, down the left margin. There was something missing though. Something else. As his eyes scanned the page he realized there were words underlined.
Border. Juarez. Dismal. Grey. House.
Damn that son of his. He could have said something.
John set the newspaper down and started the engine, forgetting for a moment the bomb threat. He only remembered when he was pulling out into traffic and he held his breath for the moment. When the truck didn’t explode in the first few minutes, he decided the bomb had been a bluff. He wondered for a moment if the limo bomb had been a bluff too, then pushed his thoughts off that.
He had to get across the border.
Sam’s body was sore, his ass ached from the long fucking Garrett had subjected him too an hour or more before, but it had given him something. Contact. And with that contact, a picture of where they were. It was something. Small and largely useless, but something. Garrett was washing him, preparing him for something. Sam lay still and let him, responding to direct commands but otherwise unmoving.
“What a very good boy Sam.” Garrett crooned as his hand stroked down his back. “Maybe I’ll let you see your brother now. I owe him some punishment. He’s been very bad.”
I’ll bet he has Sam thought. “Please? May I?” was all he said though, and he could almost feel Garrett’s smile.
Garrett lifted him, setting him back in the chair. “There are conditions. You are not to speak. If you do, I will hurt him more. Do you understand?”
Sam nodded. The chair moved. He couldn’t get a sense of the layout of the house as he was wheeled out into what felt like a hallway, then through one room and into another. Finally he was pulled to a stop and his brother’s presence filled his senses. Dean. The smell. The acid taste of his fury. He didn’t even need the blindfold removed to know exactly where Dean was.
“You have a visitor.” Sam could hear Garrett moving, then could feel Dean’s eyes. He had taken the blindfold off. Sam nodded slowly, for his brother, for assurance. Sam could hear Dean huffing in indignation. Then the slap of leather against his brother’s skin.
Concentrate. Dean.
He reached out, but without skin contact all he could manage was a vague sensation, like a mental hand brushing Dean’s mind. Garrett was talking, and it took Sam a moment to refocus his thoughts to actually understand what was being said.
“Do you see now? How he is mine?” The hand was on his shoulder, squeezing, but the words were directed at Dean. “Shall I show you?”
The hand pulled Sam forward, moving him out of the chair, onto his knees. A sense of panic welled up inside him and he could feel an echo of it from Dean. He breathed carefully, an idea forming. He couldn’t quite put it to words.
“Open your mouth, Sam.” Sam did, knowing instinctively what was coming. Garrett hadn’t used him before that way, but the rules had apparently changed. His cock was semi-hard as it slid into his mouth, and he knew Garrett wanted him to prepare it, tease it to erection. “I want to fuck your brother for you.”
His hand was on Sam’s cheek, as Sam worked his tongue compliantly along Garrett’s cock. He could feel Dean staring into him, feel his anger, his revulsion. Sam blocked him out. He had to concentrate on Garrett. The contact was small, and he wasn’t sure it was enough, but he had to make it be. Letting his body do as he was told, Sam closed his mind to it and gathered himself.
He needed to touch Dean. He needed for Garrett to think he wanted Sam to touch Dean. He reached out, whispering a suggestion, holding on to the tiniest shred of hope.
Dean’s eyes burned as he watched Sam…Sammy, on his knees, willingly opening his mouth…willingly moving his tongue over that bastard’s cock…the same cock that Dean knew had been inside Sam, had violated him…and he realized that very soon it would be doing the same to him. He thrashed around, seeking some purchase for his feet, some weakening of his bonds.
His eyes never left Sam’s head though, watching him work that cock in and out of his mouth. Sam’s head twitched and Dean got the impression he was looking at him, despite the blindfold. Dean
He shook his head, wondering if he was already starting to hallucinate. Garrett stepped back from Sam, his cock glistening and erect. His eyes were slightly glazed as he turned to Dean. Sam sat still, on his knees, waiting. Garrett’s smile was sickening as he approached Dean. His hand slid over Dean’s face, a thumb brushing over his lip. “Come here, Sam.”
Sam stood slowly, his head down, his shaggy hair hiding his expression. He took two steps and was by Dean’s side, and Garrett raised his hand, pressing it to Dean’s chest. “I think maybe I’d rather watch my Sam fuck you.”
Dean twitched, his eyes on Sam’s face. Something in him had calmed as Sam touched him, but it roared back to life as he realized what Garrett had said. Dean
It was Sam’s voice, but his lips never moved. Dean looked down at Sam’s hand, then back up to his brother’s face. It was still passive, his lips slightly parted.
Suddenly Dean was stumbling forward, landing on the floor. Before he could move, Garrett’s boot was on the back of his neck. Sam was kneeling beside him, his hand stroking over his back. Easy Dean. Let me.
Sam’s fingers moved toward Dean’s ass, gentle movements that moved closer and closer to their target. Do you understand, Dean?
Dean was aware that Garrett was talking to Sam, encouraging him. He felt the first finger and tried not to react, forced his body to relax just a little. It’s me or him, Dean. I don’t want him doing this to you. I need you.
Sam was moving, parting his ass cheeks, pressing himself inward, stretching, pushing and Dean bit into the gag. Sam pulled out slowly and pressed inward again, and again, achieving full penetration on his third stroke. Dean felt the weight as Sam lay over him, his chest pressed to Dean’s back, his cock deep inside Dean’s ass, and suddenly he was aware of Sam all around him, inside him, body and mind.
Sam?
There was relief, flooding through him, despite the boot on his neck and the naked and vulnerable state of his body.
Trust me, Dean. I need you. Can’t do it alone.
Do what, exactly? Garrett’s boot moved and Sam’s weight shifted, his body moving, pulling out of Dean before pushing back inside. “That’s it, Sam. Mine. Do you see how he gives himself to me?”
Sam’s rhythm stuttered, his body shuddering against Dean’s as added pressure pushed him harder and deeper and Dean was forced to groan against the gag. Need you. Gonna hurt, but need you..
Sam was pressed against him and Dean somehow knew that Garrett was fucking Sam’s ass just as Sam was fucking his. Dean swallowed and tried to concentrate on Sam. Here, Sammy. Right here.
Sam’s hands held Dean’s shoulders and Dean got the impression that Sam was working some sort of magic as his mind cleared and it was as if they were in some non-descript motel room, sprawled on a bed. Stay here…just you and me…alone…
Dean was acutely aware of Sam’s cock moving against his deepest core, but everything else shimmered, real, but not. Sam?
Kisses on his skin, down his spine. It’s going to hurt, Dean. I can’t help that. Stay here and trust me.
Dean arched back into Sam’s touch, nodding and fisting his hands in the sheets under him. I trust you, Sammy. Trust you with everything.
John raced down dark streets, moving on instinct, on a vague recollection of a dream he wasn’t sure was even real. For a long time, nothing looked familiar, then he turned a corner.
The haze that settled over Juarez as night fell was thicker here, poorer houses, some little more than shacks of cardboard and scrap metal, with thick, odorous smoke curling up out of tiny holes in roofs to add to the pollution. Here.
John turned his truck, moving up over the hill, and down. The lights of Juarez and El Paso faded in his rearview mirror as he followed the pull. “I’m coming Sam. Hold on.”
Sam felt his brother relax under him with relief. The illusion was more than a protection for Dean. He felt the pull of Garrett’s hand in his hair, pulling him back, harder onto his cock, his teeth biting down on Sam’s shoulder. Forcibly, Sam put it from his mind and reached out for Dean.
His emotions roiled, ranging from panic, fear to love to fury. It was the fury Sam wanted. He latched onto it, following it down to it’s purest form, the center of Dean’s anger. There was anger with their father, for his treatment of Sam over the years, somewhat dulled by an understanding of why. There was anger at Sam, images of Sam on his knees, blunted by the simple relief that Sam was still alive. Sam conjured an image of Garrett as he remembered him from school. Big, not quite as tall as Sam, but broader, stronger. He held it out for Dean’s subconscious to wrap around.
There it was. Sam latched on to the fury bubbling through his brother and brought it into himself. His body responded, moving more quickly as the energy of the emotion fueled him and he pressed back into Garrett, connecting as much of himself with Garrett as he could, pouring Dean’s fury through his skin.
Garrett came loudly, yelling as the pain of Sam’s assault slammed into him even as the pleasure of his release filled Sam’s ass. Sam pushed physically, pulling out of and off of Dean, pressing Garrett back, away.
Garrett’s head connected with the wall with a crack and his body went limp. Sam snatched his blindfold off and turned to Dean. Garrett wouldn’t be down long. Dean was still within the illusion, his body slack on the floor. Sam rolled him over, pulling the gag from his mouth before reaching back inside his brother.
This is where it hurts
Sam gathered his brother into the circle of his arms, sitting behind him and pulling him as close as he could get him without hurting him. His chest was against Dean’s back, his legs curled around his waist and tangled in Dean’s legs, his arms held his brother securely. Garrett was stirring. Sam guided Dean’s head onto his shoulder and closed his eyes, inserting himself back into Dean’s mind.
There was a click and Dean was suddenly aware that the motel room was gone. He was in the same dirty room. Sam was surrounding him, half protective, half demanding. His thoughts filled Dean’s mind. Dean’s thoughts were in Sam’s mind. Almost one person. Sam’s arms were around him, tight, almost painful.
Garrett was moving. His anger filled the room as he climbed to his feet and moved toward them. There Sam’s non-words directed, pulling up an emotion Dean recognized as his own. Rage swept through him, multiplied as it swept through Sam, and suddenly Garrett was staggering backwards.
Sam sagged behind him and Dean felt the pain radiating through Sam’s head. He moved his bound hands to touch Sam’s. Sammy.
Sam nodded, gathered himself. His head moved forward to rest on Dean’s shoulder, pulling him still closer. Need more
Dean did everything he could to give himself over to his brother, unsure what exactly was happening, but trusting. The rage returned, but this time it was surrounded with something else. Dean had a split second to recognize the fear he had hidden in the bottom of his soul when Sam had first disappeared, that blinding, numbing fear that he had lost him. Then it was spiraling through them both, lashing out at the oncoming onslaught of Garrett’s approach.
Garrett’s hands were on Dean’s throat, crushing inward. Sam’s growl of concentration grew louder as he pushed against Garrett, mind against broad physical strength. Sam was weakening, Dean could feel it.
Love you Sammy. No matter how this ended. Dean felt his body going limp in his brother’s arms and let go of it, pouring himself into Sam, into keeping Sam alive.
John killed the lights before he reached the broken down house, and loaded his gun with fresh rounds before he got out. The house was mostly dark. The back corner though had a small amount of light leaking out of shaded windows. His eyes scanned the grounds for guards or others. Garrett obviously had some help. Someone had driven the limo while he snatched Dean.
He moved carefully, only slightly surprised to find the door open. Garrett was nothing if not arrogant. He cocked his gun and raised it to eye level as he moved toward the back of the house.
Here.
He felt it, a flutter in his stomach, his only warning before Sam’s voice filled his head. Need
John grabbed the nearest wall and held it as Sam pulled on him. He could suddenly see them, Dean pressed against Sam, Garrett squeezing the life from him. John stumbled forward, grimacing as Sam took from him forcefully. He gripped his gun and fought to keep moving, keep giving him what he needed, get to them both.
Sam felt his father’s presence like a beacon and latched on, barely articulate enough to warn him before he took what he needed. Strong and steady, not as bright and hot as Dean, but more…somehow more. Sam let it wash through him without analyzing, building, bolstering the last of what Dean had offered him, an emotion he hadn’t looked for, searing hotter than the rage or fear, burning as it echoed through him.
Sam opened his eyes, felt Dean’s open in response. One mind, one body. Sam’s hands were on Garrett’s wrists, holding, pulling those hands away from Dean’s throat, his throat. It all blurred together, the three of them spinning as the heat poured through them. Garrett was laughing, screaming, pulling away, but they held fast, Sam and Dean, SamDean, SamDeanJohn.
Sam was vaguely aware of the door opening, of John moving, stumbling into the room, but his attention was all for Garrett. For the first time Sam let his eyes meet those of his captor, dark with madness, with fury, and, Sam noticed, a little bit of fear.
The room was filled with screaming and on some level, Sam recognized the strange, wordless voice as his own. He felt every wound, every touch, every fear, every moment of torment rise up within him, mingling with SamDeanJohn, filling the three of them, filling the room and with every last ounce of himself, Sam shoved it at Garrett.
He could taste blood in his mouth, feel it in his throat as he screamed and screamed and Garrett at last released them, his hands falling useless to his sides as he too screamed. Sam couldn’t see anymore, white light surrounded him and he let go of Dean, of his father, falling into the deep dark of unconsciousness, spent, his body falling limply to the ground.
John felt his way into the room nearly blind. He could see Garrett, but only because Sam saw Garrett. What he saw sickened him in ways he thought he had left behind years ago. His hands shook as he raised the gun again. Garrett’s skin broke open, blood dripped down his arms.
Sam fell, the connection snapped and John had to grab the wall to keep from stumbling as the pull left him. Sam sprawled on the floor, naked and unconscious. John could still feel the pain rolling off of him from the exertion.
Two more steps. Garrett was on the floor, his hand on Dean’s ankle. His face was nearly shredded; John could see bone under his left eye, his lips both split deep and wide.
John kicked him away from his son. The clothes Garrett wore were torn, blood stained. He whimpered…still alive. His cock stood out from the dark black of his pants, and it too was bloody, welted. John kicked it, watching Garrett moan with a sick pleasure he knew he would regret later.
Garrett’s eyes moved. John squatted down beside him, cocking his gun and setting it against Garrett’s gory temple. “Do you know what your mistake was?” He licked his lips. “He was mine first. My son. You could never change that.”
The gun rang out once, twice, three times.
John Winchester wasn’t a murder. But when he had to he could kill.
Next Part Here
Title: Where It Hurts, Part Four of Five
Characters/Pairing: Sam, John, Dean, Sam/Dean, Sam/OC
Rating: NC-17, for graphic violence and sex, rape
Table: #1
Prompt: 047 Kill
Word Count: 4030
Summary: Six months have passed since Sam's ordeal as the prisoner of Kendall Garrett. While John Winchester hunts for the bastard, Dean tries to hold Sam together while Sam slowly sinks under the pressure
Warnings: Very, very Dark Fic. This is a follow on to "The Good Son". The overall story will involve torture and rape. This is Part Four of Five.
The first part can be found here
The second part can be found here
The third part can be found here
This is my twelth ficlet for my Supernatural claim on
100_situations. Clicky for tableSam had done as he was told. He had been left to sit in the wheel chair for what felt like hours. The room around him was silent, but he got the impression it wasn’t big. It took all of his strength not to get up, not to remove the blindfold. He had no doubt Garrett was watching. Any failure to comply could get Dean killed.
It was a while before any other sensory data reached through to him…the dusty smell of the room…the dry touch of the air. Then a sound. Not quite a footstep.
He started when hands touched him, sliding over his shoulders. He fought to hold still as they moved to the buttons of his shirt, slowly and carefully unbuttoning it and pushing it off his shoulders. The hands moved almost lovingly over the marks on his chest, one finger trailing over the lines.
The quiet was disturbing. There was no music, no voice, just the silence and the hands. Then there was nothing. For a long moment he wondered if he was alone again, then the hands returned, removing his shoes, socks, sliding up his legs. The hand on his right thigh paused, hovering over the mark, pressing the denim into it.
Mine.
It wasn’t the voice, not really, just the echo of it in his head. Sam closed his eyes behind the blindfold and breathed through the rising fear. Then the hands were moving again, unbuttoning his jeans, caressing the skin. Effortlessly, they lifted Sam, pulling the pants and boxers off together, leaving Sam naked and alone.
Mine.
Sam shuddered, suddenly cold. The hands petted over his skin, almost as if praising him. He could feel the body heat as Garrett moved around behind him, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Tell me what you want, Sam.”
Sam swallowed and tried not to turn his head toward the voice, mostly succeeding. “I want to see my brother,” he said it without faltering, uncertain whether the admission would bring him punishment or what he wanted.
There was soft laughter. “I’m sure you do.” The hands rested on his shoulders as the voice switched to his other ear. “Be a good boy and maybe I’ll let you. First though…first you need to be punished for disobeying me, and for your insolence.”
The chair jerked underneath him and away, spilling Sam to the floor. He didn’t move, laying where he fell, knowing Garrett would just position him as he wanted him anyway. The floor was dirty, gritty and he could feel granules of sand cut into him as he was moved, his limbs rearranged like a dolls until he was on all fours.
He remembered the pain, but it didn’t prepare him for the bite as the cane dug into the skin of his ass. He bit his tongue until he tasted blood, and dug his fingers into the floor. At ten the blows slowed, ranged upward, over his lower back, less bloody, more welts. He lost count after that, swam on the edge of darkness until he became aware that he was being put back in the chair.
“Not a sound now, Sam. I have to go check on my other guest, see if he’s ready for the next step in his education.”
Dean was aware he wasn’t alone. Fucking mind games. He’d rather Garrett just get on with it. He said as much, though most of it was lost to the gag currently cutting into his cheeks.
“Now, now, watch that temper. It’s going to get you into trouble.”
A hand stoked across Dean’s back, over his ass. “I’ve just come from getting Sam settled into his room. He’s resting.”
Dean chewed on the gag, venting his frustration the only way he could. He had images in his head of his brother as he’d found him in California, bound, gagged, blindfolded…beaten, raped repeatedly, his body a mass of bloody welts, bruises and bite marks.
“I checked in on your father as well. He’s fine…sitting in his truck, waiting.” One hand stroked up between Dean’s cheeks and he jumped forward. “Tell me, do you fuck your father as well, or just your baby brother?”
Dean’s face burned and he twisted himself around, swinging his legs and head in an attempt to connect with Garrett, but he just chuckled, and Dean could feel him moving away. When Dean had settled again, Garrett returned, sweeping his hands over Dean’s chest and down, stopping just above his cock. “Did he tell you how he came for me? How he came all over the place while I fucked his ass?”
A hand grabbed his cock and squeezed. “If I fuck your ass, will you come for me?”
The hand released him and Dean sagged against his bonds. The punch caught him by surprise, a fist slamming into his stomach, leaving him gasping for air as he heard the footsteps walk away.
”You need to get control, Sam. Before you kill someone” The diminutive woman patted Sam’s head, somehow diminishing the pain that radiated from his most recent attempt to engage his gift actively. “Your thoughts are all over the place. You’ll never breakthrough that way. Close your eyes. Try again.”
“Yeah Kreskin, get it together.” Dean called over his shoulder.
Sam sighed and tried to clear his mind as she had taught him, this strange little woman with powers that seemed so much stronger than his own, despite her reassurances that his would dwarf hers quickly, if he only learned to control them. He narrowed his thought down to one thing, the back pocket of Dean’s jeans.
Dean jumped up like something had bit him, turning around to find Sam’s face filled with a triumphant grin, just before he toppled over, holding on to his head.
Sam cowered behind a façade of fear and submission, sitting dully where he’d been put, waiting for the next torment. The harder part was stilling the rest of his mind to match, to concentrate. Every few seconds he could see Dean’s face, hidden behind the blindfold and gag. Every time he’d banish it and start again.
His first thought was just to reach his brother, to touch his mind and know that he was okay. He was nearby, Sam was sure of it. If Dean was okay, Sam could function a little longer. All he had to do was find him in the black.
Low rows of houses, dark and pitiful against the stinging haze of burning cardboard and wood down a dirt road that led over a hill and down, away from the city proper, away from the bright lights of tourist bars where pretty senoritas plied hapless Americans with liquor…a dirt road that ended in a dirty glen, to an old manor house that might have one time belonged to a wealthy, Mexican politician, but had long since been left to ruin.
“Here.”
Sam. John woke with a start, his head banging against the seat behind him. He looked around him. It was late afternoon, the sun was setting behind him and downtown El Paso was growing dark. He turned on the overhead light and picked up the newspaper Sam had left for him.
There were the words Garrett had told him, scribbled and hurried, down the left margin. There was something missing though. Something else. As his eyes scanned the page he realized there were words underlined.
Border. Juarez. Dismal. Grey. House.
Damn that son of his. He could have said something.
John set the newspaper down and started the engine, forgetting for a moment the bomb threat. He only remembered when he was pulling out into traffic and he held his breath for the moment. When the truck didn’t explode in the first few minutes, he decided the bomb had been a bluff. He wondered for a moment if the limo bomb had been a bluff too, then pushed his thoughts off that.
He had to get across the border.
Sam’s body was sore, his ass ached from the long fucking Garrett had subjected him too an hour or more before, but it had given him something. Contact. And with that contact, a picture of where they were. It was something. Small and largely useless, but something. Garrett was washing him, preparing him for something. Sam lay still and let him, responding to direct commands but otherwise unmoving.
“What a very good boy Sam.” Garrett crooned as his hand stroked down his back. “Maybe I’ll let you see your brother now. I owe him some punishment. He’s been very bad.”
I’ll bet he has Sam thought. “Please? May I?” was all he said though, and he could almost feel Garrett’s smile.
Garrett lifted him, setting him back in the chair. “There are conditions. You are not to speak. If you do, I will hurt him more. Do you understand?”
Sam nodded. The chair moved. He couldn’t get a sense of the layout of the house as he was wheeled out into what felt like a hallway, then through one room and into another. Finally he was pulled to a stop and his brother’s presence filled his senses. Dean. The smell. The acid taste of his fury. He didn’t even need the blindfold removed to know exactly where Dean was.
“You have a visitor.” Sam could hear Garrett moving, then could feel Dean’s eyes. He had taken the blindfold off. Sam nodded slowly, for his brother, for assurance. Sam could hear Dean huffing in indignation. Then the slap of leather against his brother’s skin.
Concentrate. Dean.
He reached out, but without skin contact all he could manage was a vague sensation, like a mental hand brushing Dean’s mind. Garrett was talking, and it took Sam a moment to refocus his thoughts to actually understand what was being said.
“Do you see now? How he is mine?” The hand was on his shoulder, squeezing, but the words were directed at Dean. “Shall I show you?”
The hand pulled Sam forward, moving him out of the chair, onto his knees. A sense of panic welled up inside him and he could feel an echo of it from Dean. He breathed carefully, an idea forming. He couldn’t quite put it to words.
“Open your mouth, Sam.” Sam did, knowing instinctively what was coming. Garrett hadn’t used him before that way, but the rules had apparently changed. His cock was semi-hard as it slid into his mouth, and he knew Garrett wanted him to prepare it, tease it to erection. “I want to fuck your brother for you.”
His hand was on Sam’s cheek, as Sam worked his tongue compliantly along Garrett’s cock. He could feel Dean staring into him, feel his anger, his revulsion. Sam blocked him out. He had to concentrate on Garrett. The contact was small, and he wasn’t sure it was enough, but he had to make it be. Letting his body do as he was told, Sam closed his mind to it and gathered himself.
He needed to touch Dean. He needed for Garrett to think he wanted Sam to touch Dean. He reached out, whispering a suggestion, holding on to the tiniest shred of hope.
Dean’s eyes burned as he watched Sam…Sammy, on his knees, willingly opening his mouth…willingly moving his tongue over that bastard’s cock…the same cock that Dean knew had been inside Sam, had violated him…and he realized that very soon it would be doing the same to him. He thrashed around, seeking some purchase for his feet, some weakening of his bonds.
His eyes never left Sam’s head though, watching him work that cock in and out of his mouth. Sam’s head twitched and Dean got the impression he was looking at him, despite the blindfold. Dean
He shook his head, wondering if he was already starting to hallucinate. Garrett stepped back from Sam, his cock glistening and erect. His eyes were slightly glazed as he turned to Dean. Sam sat still, on his knees, waiting. Garrett’s smile was sickening as he approached Dean. His hand slid over Dean’s face, a thumb brushing over his lip. “Come here, Sam.”
Sam stood slowly, his head down, his shaggy hair hiding his expression. He took two steps and was by Dean’s side, and Garrett raised his hand, pressing it to Dean’s chest. “I think maybe I’d rather watch my Sam fuck you.”
Dean twitched, his eyes on Sam’s face. Something in him had calmed as Sam touched him, but it roared back to life as he realized what Garrett had said. Dean
It was Sam’s voice, but his lips never moved. Dean looked down at Sam’s hand, then back up to his brother’s face. It was still passive, his lips slightly parted.
Suddenly Dean was stumbling forward, landing on the floor. Before he could move, Garrett’s boot was on the back of his neck. Sam was kneeling beside him, his hand stroking over his back. Easy Dean. Let me.
Sam’s fingers moved toward Dean’s ass, gentle movements that moved closer and closer to their target. Do you understand, Dean?
Dean was aware that Garrett was talking to Sam, encouraging him. He felt the first finger and tried not to react, forced his body to relax just a little. It’s me or him, Dean. I don’t want him doing this to you. I need you.
Sam was moving, parting his ass cheeks, pressing himself inward, stretching, pushing and Dean bit into the gag. Sam pulled out slowly and pressed inward again, and again, achieving full penetration on his third stroke. Dean felt the weight as Sam lay over him, his chest pressed to Dean’s back, his cock deep inside Dean’s ass, and suddenly he was aware of Sam all around him, inside him, body and mind.
Sam?
There was relief, flooding through him, despite the boot on his neck and the naked and vulnerable state of his body.
Trust me, Dean. I need you. Can’t do it alone.
Do what, exactly? Garrett’s boot moved and Sam’s weight shifted, his body moving, pulling out of Dean before pushing back inside. “That’s it, Sam. Mine. Do you see how he gives himself to me?”
Sam’s rhythm stuttered, his body shuddering against Dean’s as added pressure pushed him harder and deeper and Dean was forced to groan against the gag. Need you. Gonna hurt, but need you..
Sam was pressed against him and Dean somehow knew that Garrett was fucking Sam’s ass just as Sam was fucking his. Dean swallowed and tried to concentrate on Sam. Here, Sammy. Right here.
Sam’s hands held Dean’s shoulders and Dean got the impression that Sam was working some sort of magic as his mind cleared and it was as if they were in some non-descript motel room, sprawled on a bed. Stay here…just you and me…alone…
Dean was acutely aware of Sam’s cock moving against his deepest core, but everything else shimmered, real, but not. Sam?
Kisses on his skin, down his spine. It’s going to hurt, Dean. I can’t help that. Stay here and trust me.
Dean arched back into Sam’s touch, nodding and fisting his hands in the sheets under him. I trust you, Sammy. Trust you with everything.
John raced down dark streets, moving on instinct, on a vague recollection of a dream he wasn’t sure was even real. For a long time, nothing looked familiar, then he turned a corner.
The haze that settled over Juarez as night fell was thicker here, poorer houses, some little more than shacks of cardboard and scrap metal, with thick, odorous smoke curling up out of tiny holes in roofs to add to the pollution. Here.
John turned his truck, moving up over the hill, and down. The lights of Juarez and El Paso faded in his rearview mirror as he followed the pull. “I’m coming Sam. Hold on.”
Sam felt his brother relax under him with relief. The illusion was more than a protection for Dean. He felt the pull of Garrett’s hand in his hair, pulling him back, harder onto his cock, his teeth biting down on Sam’s shoulder. Forcibly, Sam put it from his mind and reached out for Dean.
His emotions roiled, ranging from panic, fear to love to fury. It was the fury Sam wanted. He latched onto it, following it down to it’s purest form, the center of Dean’s anger. There was anger with their father, for his treatment of Sam over the years, somewhat dulled by an understanding of why. There was anger at Sam, images of Sam on his knees, blunted by the simple relief that Sam was still alive. Sam conjured an image of Garrett as he remembered him from school. Big, not quite as tall as Sam, but broader, stronger. He held it out for Dean’s subconscious to wrap around.
There it was. Sam latched on to the fury bubbling through his brother and brought it into himself. His body responded, moving more quickly as the energy of the emotion fueled him and he pressed back into Garrett, connecting as much of himself with Garrett as he could, pouring Dean’s fury through his skin.
Garrett came loudly, yelling as the pain of Sam’s assault slammed into him even as the pleasure of his release filled Sam’s ass. Sam pushed physically, pulling out of and off of Dean, pressing Garrett back, away.
Garrett’s head connected with the wall with a crack and his body went limp. Sam snatched his blindfold off and turned to Dean. Garrett wouldn’t be down long. Dean was still within the illusion, his body slack on the floor. Sam rolled him over, pulling the gag from his mouth before reaching back inside his brother.
This is where it hurts
Sam gathered his brother into the circle of his arms, sitting behind him and pulling him as close as he could get him without hurting him. His chest was against Dean’s back, his legs curled around his waist and tangled in Dean’s legs, his arms held his brother securely. Garrett was stirring. Sam guided Dean’s head onto his shoulder and closed his eyes, inserting himself back into Dean’s mind.
There was a click and Dean was suddenly aware that the motel room was gone. He was in the same dirty room. Sam was surrounding him, half protective, half demanding. His thoughts filled Dean’s mind. Dean’s thoughts were in Sam’s mind. Almost one person. Sam’s arms were around him, tight, almost painful.
Garrett was moving. His anger filled the room as he climbed to his feet and moved toward them. There Sam’s non-words directed, pulling up an emotion Dean recognized as his own. Rage swept through him, multiplied as it swept through Sam, and suddenly Garrett was staggering backwards.
Sam sagged behind him and Dean felt the pain radiating through Sam’s head. He moved his bound hands to touch Sam’s. Sammy.
Sam nodded, gathered himself. His head moved forward to rest on Dean’s shoulder, pulling him still closer. Need more
Dean did everything he could to give himself over to his brother, unsure what exactly was happening, but trusting. The rage returned, but this time it was surrounded with something else. Dean had a split second to recognize the fear he had hidden in the bottom of his soul when Sam had first disappeared, that blinding, numbing fear that he had lost him. Then it was spiraling through them both, lashing out at the oncoming onslaught of Garrett’s approach.
Garrett’s hands were on Dean’s throat, crushing inward. Sam’s growl of concentration grew louder as he pushed against Garrett, mind against broad physical strength. Sam was weakening, Dean could feel it.
Love you Sammy. No matter how this ended. Dean felt his body going limp in his brother’s arms and let go of it, pouring himself into Sam, into keeping Sam alive.
John killed the lights before he reached the broken down house, and loaded his gun with fresh rounds before he got out. The house was mostly dark. The back corner though had a small amount of light leaking out of shaded windows. His eyes scanned the grounds for guards or others. Garrett obviously had some help. Someone had driven the limo while he snatched Dean.
He moved carefully, only slightly surprised to find the door open. Garrett was nothing if not arrogant. He cocked his gun and raised it to eye level as he moved toward the back of the house.
Here.
He felt it, a flutter in his stomach, his only warning before Sam’s voice filled his head. Need
John grabbed the nearest wall and held it as Sam pulled on him. He could suddenly see them, Dean pressed against Sam, Garrett squeezing the life from him. John stumbled forward, grimacing as Sam took from him forcefully. He gripped his gun and fought to keep moving, keep giving him what he needed, get to them both.
Sam felt his father’s presence like a beacon and latched on, barely articulate enough to warn him before he took what he needed. Strong and steady, not as bright and hot as Dean, but more…somehow more. Sam let it wash through him without analyzing, building, bolstering the last of what Dean had offered him, an emotion he hadn’t looked for, searing hotter than the rage or fear, burning as it echoed through him.
Sam opened his eyes, felt Dean’s open in response. One mind, one body. Sam’s hands were on Garrett’s wrists, holding, pulling those hands away from Dean’s throat, his throat. It all blurred together, the three of them spinning as the heat poured through them. Garrett was laughing, screaming, pulling away, but they held fast, Sam and Dean, SamDean, SamDeanJohn.
Sam was vaguely aware of the door opening, of John moving, stumbling into the room, but his attention was all for Garrett. For the first time Sam let his eyes meet those of his captor, dark with madness, with fury, and, Sam noticed, a little bit of fear.
The room was filled with screaming and on some level, Sam recognized the strange, wordless voice as his own. He felt every wound, every touch, every fear, every moment of torment rise up within him, mingling with SamDeanJohn, filling the three of them, filling the room and with every last ounce of himself, Sam shoved it at Garrett.
He could taste blood in his mouth, feel it in his throat as he screamed and screamed and Garrett at last released them, his hands falling useless to his sides as he too screamed. Sam couldn’t see anymore, white light surrounded him and he let go of Dean, of his father, falling into the deep dark of unconsciousness, spent, his body falling limply to the ground.
John felt his way into the room nearly blind. He could see Garrett, but only because Sam saw Garrett. What he saw sickened him in ways he thought he had left behind years ago. His hands shook as he raised the gun again. Garrett’s skin broke open, blood dripped down his arms.
Sam fell, the connection snapped and John had to grab the wall to keep from stumbling as the pull left him. Sam sprawled on the floor, naked and unconscious. John could still feel the pain rolling off of him from the exertion.
Two more steps. Garrett was on the floor, his hand on Dean’s ankle. His face was nearly shredded; John could see bone under his left eye, his lips both split deep and wide.
John kicked him away from his son. The clothes Garrett wore were torn, blood stained. He whimpered…still alive. His cock stood out from the dark black of his pants, and it too was bloody, welted. John kicked it, watching Garrett moan with a sick pleasure he knew he would regret later.
Garrett’s eyes moved. John squatted down beside him, cocking his gun and setting it against Garrett’s gory temple. “Do you know what your mistake was?” He licked his lips. “He was mine first. My son. You could never change that.”
The gun rang out once, twice, three times.
John Winchester wasn’t a murder. But when he had to he could kill.
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