Family Business, Supernatural, NC-17
Jan. 11th, 2012 06:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phantismaFandom: Supernatural
Title: Family Business
Characters/Pairings: Dean/OMC (sorta), Sam/Dean, implied Dean/OFC, implied Dean/OMCs
Word Count: 6724
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dean wakes up to find himself a prisoner of some sick crack pot who seems to know all of his intimate secrets and is determined to show Dean he's worth something. Takes place before the hellhounds have come for him.
A/Ns & Warnings: This is for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
katbcoll who loves me and is too good to me and who I adore with every fiber of my being. It's a combination of two prompts she's given me, one is over a year old...and I just never found a way to make it work. The other was newer, wanting rope bondage and blindfolds. Consider this a downpayment on what I owe you, darling. WARNINGS: Bondage, dub-con masturbation, angst up the wazzoo, brothers having the sex, spanking.
He wakes slowly, his head throbbing with the leftover booze from the night before. He's not sure where he is, but he's keenly aware of a need to pee. He opens his eyes, but only darkness greets him. He tries to sit up, only to discover he can't.
"Great."
His voice sounds odd, distant. He pulls on his arms, stretched out and up and clearly tied down. The rope cuts into his wrists as he struggles. His heart speeds up as panic rushes through him. He can't remember where he'd been or what he'd been doing, other than the obvious drinking. He struggles against the rope, pulling first one wrist, then the other and back again. His ankles are tied too and he thrashes until he's panting.
"Settle down." The words are odd and metallic in his ears.
"Sam?"
A hand lands on his stomach, low. His bare stomach. Sluggishly he realizes he's naked and he renews his struggle until he's sweating and breathing hard. The hand never leaves him, just waits for him to stop.
"You will not be harmed."
The voice is in his ears, like through headphones, though he can't really feel them.
"Who are you?"
"I am a friend."
"Yeah, well, a friend wouldn't do this. Let me go."
"I'm sorry, Dean. I can not do that. Not until you understand why."
"Why? Why what?"
The hand moves up his chest, settles on his neck. "Why you are a precious thing that needs to be cared for and looked after, not thrown mindlessly from one stranger to another, filled with grease and fat, tossing yourself into danger time and again."
Dean can feel himself blushing and he tries to pull away from the hand. "Bullcrap. Untie me." He's half sure that it has to be Sam. "I swear to you, Sam. Untie me now or I will beat the crap out of you."
"No. Your breakfast is almost ready. I'll be back in a moment."
"Don't you leave me here like this!"
Once he is alone he's reminded that he still needs to pee, and the need is growing. He tries to get a sense of the room, but with his eyes covered by some blindfold and his hearing distorted by the headphones, he has little to go on beyond the bed itself.
He's tied down, though it doesn't feel like there's a headboard, so the ropes probably feed under the mattress, using his own weight as part of the control mechanism, which is effective and leaves him little means to try to get free.
The bed is suddenly moving, lifting his head so that he is sitting up. His captor is back, and he sits beside Dean, one hand sliding onto Dean's thigh. "Now, I have a half a grapefruit, some eggs and whole wheat toast, a glass of milk and some coffee. I want you to eat it all."
Dean tugs on his restrained arms. "Can't eat with no hands."
There's the smallest of chuckles. "Open." Dean can feel something on his lips.
"Are you kidding me?"
"Open." The voice repeats itself. Dean grudgingly opens his mouth and gets a mouthful of sour. "Eat it. It's good for you."
"So help me Sam, when I figure out how to get loose, I'm going to whoop your ass." Dean growls after he swallows. There's another chuckle, and more food. It isn't easy drinking like this, and he feels ludicrous being fed, and the need to pee is getting worse.
He shifts against the bed, trying to find a position that takes the pressure off his bladder. "Do you need something, Dean?"
"No." He answers petulantly, pulling his face away from the last of the coffee.
"Okay, then I'll just go clean up the breakfast dishes."
The bed shifts and Dean can hear the dishes clanking together. He groans and tries to press his legs together. He's not sure how much longer he can hold it. "Fuck."
"If you don't tell me what you need, I can't help you," the voice says in his ear.
Dean squirms, but he knows he needs to tell his captor before he wets himself. "I need to pee, okay?" Dean growls out, irritated by his inability to even deal with something so simple.
"Okay." He feels hands at his ankles, untying him, then his hands. Those hands glide over his skin, rubbing at the places where the ropes have been. He helps Dean stand, which shouldn't be so hard, but everything is all tilting and Dean finds himself clinging to the offered arm when he should be trying to make a break for it. "If you try to remove the blindfold or escape, you will be punished, understood?"
He nods, but his focus is on staying upright. Bastard had to have drugged his food. They shuffle a few feet from the bed and Dean stubs his toe as they cross a threshold, cursing. The man moves behind Dean, hands on his hips squaring him up, and Dean is very aware of his naked state, of the feeling of the man's clothes pressing against him.
"Toilet is directly in front of you."
Normally Dean would protest about peeing with an audience, but his need has gotten bad and his hand drops to hold his cock as he lets loose. He moans in relief as he finishes, unconsciously leaning back against the man holding him.
"Very good Dean. See, it isn't so hard to let someone help you."
"Fuck you." Dean says. The chuckle again. Dean's beginning to wonder if this really is Sam. Because Sam…well, he didn't think Sam would do anything this elaborate. He could be wrong, but…and to be fair, the guy was big enough to be Sam…and there aren't a lot of people in the world as big as Sam.
He's still trying to reason it out, when the toilet flushes and he's being taken back to the bed. "Just…stop, okay? I get it. You want me to take better care of myself. Point made."
"I don't think so." Hands guide him back to the bed, push him down. Dean tries to roll away as his right hand is caught and guided back into position.
"Come on, really?" His left had darts to his face, feels over the blindfold, which seems to be more than just a dark cloth tied around his head, but before he can get an idea of how it worked, or how to get it off, his hand is slapped away hard and both hands are suddenly caught in a vice like grip and pulled up over his head.
"I warned you, Dean." The voice is menacing now, its metallic edge sharper and Dean winces as those hands work to tie his wrists together. Whoever this guy is, he knows what he's doing, and Dean knows before he's done that there won't be any escaping the rope.
The bed is lowered, Dean's arms secured up over his head. The sedative is making him dizzy, making the whole thing seem surreal. The voice is low and dangerous in his ears. “When you wake up, you will be punished.”
Dean wants to fight, to struggle against the rope and the drug, but he can already tell it’s a fight he isn’t going to win.
“Dean.”
The voice is dark, serious and it brings Dean up out of a dreamless sleep fast. He jerks against the ropes before he remembers, flails a little in vain, until that hand lays flat against his stomach.
“It’s time for your punishment.”
“Hell, no.” Dean tries to twist away only to find that his ankles are being pulled up, bound to some bar that held them separated and made it easy for both legs to be lifted. There’s a clicking sound and he’s stuck, his ass bare and exposed, vulnerable.
“Now, this is your first time, so I’ll go easy on you. I realize that this has to be difficult for you.”
“Don’t you fucking touch me.”
That hand soothes over his naked skin. “Breaking the rules can not go unpunished, Dean. You know that.” The hand moves away and Dean braces himself for a blow that doesn’t come. “Now then, your rules are very simple. You do as you are told. You allow me to take care of you. You do not attempt to escape. And you do not attempt to remove your blindfold.”
Something new rubs over his skin, something cool and smooth. “When you disobey, you will be punished.” There was a slap of maybe leather against his ass, the sound sharp despite whatever was blocking most of the ambient sound. Seconds later, Dean felt the heat and sting.
“Son of a bitch!”
There were no words from his captor as Dean’s ass was paddled thoroughly, if not overly hard. He was certain it was bright red before the blows stopped, the skin hot and his whole body flushed with a combination of humiliation and arousal…which was the last thing he needed. This fucking asshole was sick enough without discovering Dean’s mostly well hidden appreciation for a little bit of rough handling.
His cock was clearly not taking notes on the situation though, and Dean could feel it harden against his stomach. It was quiet and Dean slowly realized that the spanking was over, and that hand was soothing over the hot skin.
“There now, that wasn’t too bad.”
Suddenly, Dean’s legs are being lowered and any second now his dirty little secret won’t be secret for long. He fidgets as his feet are returned to the mattress, the weight of the bar holding them down. “Just…fine, okay. I’ll do what you want. Just…”
He shivers when fingers circle his cock.
“Stop.”
“It’s okay, Dean.”
“No. Just…don’t touch me.”
Slowly the whole hand moves up his cock, then back down. “Can you tell me which arouses you more, the pain of the spanking or the humiliation of it?”
“Fuck you.” Dean responds, hissing as that hand keeps working over him. “
“Which means you're not sure.” There’s a small chuckle and the hand leaves him. Dean breathes in relief, but it is short lived. “Don’t worry Dean. I promised I would take care of you. You have needs. Obviously.”
The hand returns, this time slick with some kind of lube and it resumes jacking him. Dean wills his cock not to respond, but it doesn’t seem to be listening to him. In fact, rather than deflating, his cock is twitching and relaying signals that he’s going to come. “Fuck.”
"That's it." The speed increases and Dean can’t keep from fucking up into the hand as his orgasm starts, spilling out onto his stomach. The hand keeps jacking him, milking the orgasm from him and just as Dean’s about to protest that it’s too much, it releases him.
The room is quiet for a long moment, then there’s a warm washcloth wiping up the mess. “Better?”
Dean turns his face away, knowing it’s flushed with embarrassment. “I don’t let anyone use me,” he says finally, when the silence is making him crazy.
“No?” The voice asks. “What about the woman in Roanoke?”
“What?” Dean’s frowning.
“The one who you let tie you up, then let her two friends have their way with you once she was done?”
He frowns all the harder. “How the—“
He gets the feeling that his captor is leaning in very close, as if to whisper in his ear, though with the set up he didn’t need to. “What about that guy in Chicago, the one who fucked you on that dirty mattress in the back alley like you were a two dollar whore?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dean’s grateful for the blindfold to hide the panic he knows is in his eyes. No one knew about that. No one. Not even Sam.
“Yes you do. And he wasn’t the first.”
No. Dean shakes his head. No one ever knew.
A hand pets down his chest. "It's okay. I'm not judging." There's a snort and the hand moves off his chest. "Fuck knows I don't have room for that. But, I'm here to make you realize that what you're doing, the way you're living…it's going to take you places you do not want to go."
Dean shifts his head, the only real movement his current situation allows. "Whatever. Dude, you are one sick fuck."
Again, a snort. "Yeah, you would know."
Muffled footsteps tell Dean that the guy has left the room and he's left to try to figure out who the fuck this guy is. Not Sam. He's pretty much decided that now. Because Sam wouldn't…Dean shakes his head. No, that's pretty much a sick fantasy stuck in his head, one he's never acted on.
Unless he could count those years Sam was at Stanford, and Dean would go out looking for someone that reminded him of his brother. Right, because that's what he wants to be thinking about right now.
Of course, that wasn't entirely true either. There was that time, in that small town in New Hampshire of all places, when Sam was fifteen and their father had been gone for nearly a month and Dean had been restless and needy. Dean had brought home the booze, got Sam drunk. By the morning, Sam didn't remember anything and Dean was so ashamed of himself he'd buried the whole thing until right now.
Dean groans and tries to curl up, roll to his side. He can't though. Can only drag his feet up a little, bend his knees some. He can feel the bile rising. He coughs, tries to lean to one side so he won't choke when it comes.
"Hey!" He manages to get the word out before his throwing up and hands suddenly are there, guiding him to the edge of the bed, holding him while he throws up.
"Okay, easy."
He's eased back, his mouth wiped, then a glass is held to his lips. "Water, sip, don't swallow." The glass moves away after he's sipped and something else is pressed to his mouth. "Good, spit." His mouth is wiped again and the glass is back. "Now drink."
Two big mouthfuls of water later, Dean pulls his face away. "Thanks."
"Gonna tell me what that was about?" he asks. Dean is silent, but that doesn't keep the asshole from talking. "Oh, Sam." There's a long sigh. "You remembered that night in New Hampshire. Yeah. Okay." He moves away. "I was going to ask you if you're hungry, but obviously the whole revelations about your sex life has upset your stomach."
"I could do with a burger." Dean offers, realizing that his hands, while still bound, aren't tied down for the moment. He shifts his shoulders, rolling them and feeling one of them crack.
"Well, we have salad and tuna sandwiches."
"I'll pass."
"The way you eat is disgusting, and it's going to kill you one day."
It's Dean's turn to snort. "You obviously don't know everything smartass. I'm not going to be around for my food to kill me slowly. I've only got a few more days. A week maybe."
"Ah, yes. Hell."
That shouldn't surprise him. After all, this guy knew about things no one else did, of course he'd know about hell.
"But that isn't the reason you treat yourself like you don't matter, you've been doing it way too fucking long."
"Seriously?" Dean asks. "I tell you I've got a week until some hellhound is going to turn me into a Scooby snack and you want to talk about my feelings?"
"Want to? Hell no." The bed dips and Dean is pressed back against the mattress. "But, you won't talk to Sam or Bobby, you're hiding behind that goddamn wall afraid that the people around you will find out you're terrified."
"Fuck you." Dean says again, because it's too close to the truth and he doesn't want to hear it.
"Your answer to everything." He's quiet for a long moment. "Okay, you don't want to talk about it. I get that. But let me tell you, I know." His hand is on Dean's chest again, over his heart. "I know the fear that doesn't let you sleep anymore, that's why I drugged you. I know the terror that haunts every heartbeat in the night…the way the sound of a dog barking nearly makes you lose your lunch…how every time you look at Sam you feel like you're going to lose your shit."
Dean blinks behind the blindfold, tries to deny it, but he can feel the words chipping away at something inside of him. "Stop."
"No. This is the point. You have to stop, Dean. Stop thinking of yourself as second to Sam. Stop living your life as if it doesn't matter what happens to you."
Dean clears his throat. "Easy for you to say, Buddy. You're not about to be kibble for a hellhound."
"Hellhounds," he corrects. "Lilith isn't sending one."
"Oh, gee. Thanks. That's helpful."
"Let me worry about Lilith, okay. You are not going to hell."
"Right. Because you have some magic fairy dust to make it all better? Dude, look at this for a minute. You drugged me, tied me to a bed. This is not helping me find a way out of the deal."
"How's your stomach."
"What?" The change of topic is abrupt, letting Dean know that they're done talking about it for the moment. "Fine."
"Good. I'll go get started on lunch."
There's lunch and a nap, forced on him with more drugs, and when he wakes, it's to music filling his ears, but at least it's decent music. He lays back against the pillow, almost not even minding that he's tied down again. Whoever this guy is, he isn't wrong about the not sleeping.
In fact, Dean can't remember the last time he'd slept more than an hour or two at a time before this. He's almost even relaxed…but that might be whatever drug is in his system, because he shouldn't be relaxed. He's about to die and he's been kidnapped.
He'd wanted to spend those last hours with Sam, to somehow make him understand why.
Except maybe Dean isn't really sure anymore exactly why. He loves his brother. He tells himself that's why. The sight of Sam lying there dead…when everything in Dean's life had been about taking care of Sam, keeping him safe…it destroyed something inside him.
He blinks back tears and inhales. It had been worth it. Dean's deal had given Sam another chance, and okay, so it means he has to die. Well, he wouldn't be the first Winchester to do that, would he.
Which only reminds him of the promise he'd made his father. The one he can't keep now. He's helpless. He can't even take a piss without help.
"You're not helpless." The voice is back, the music fading away. "All you have to do is ask."
"That's pretty fucking useless." Dean grouses.
"How are you feeling?"
"Like I'm a goddamn prisoner of a fucking psycho."
"Better then? Good. You slept long enough."
"What do you mean?" Dean asks, stiffening as hands move over him.
"I only gave you enough to knock you out for a few hours, but you've been asleep for almost twenty four." Hands rub at his ankles, urging life back into them after untying them. "I figure you must have to pee, and I have a bath ready for you."
Hands move up his arms, untying his wrists. "Same rules apply, Dean. You try to escape, or remove the blindfold, you will be punished."
He’s helped up to standing, and he doesn’t feel as dizzy as he did before. Dean’s hand is settled on the guy’s elbow and then they’re moving. He manages not to stub his toe, but his face is flushed and his cock is half hard as he’s squared up and told the toilet is directly in front of him.
“Seriously?” Dean asks. Try as he might it isn’t peeing his cock has in mind though.
“Would it help if I stepped away?”
“Maybe.” Dean responds and the heat behind him is gone instantly. It still takes a minute to convince his dick that it’s okay, and then he’s peeing like an ever loving horse. He’s just finishing and fumbling for the handle to flush when he feels him come back. His hand is firm as it covers Dean’s and pushes the handle down.
“Okay, let’s get you into the tub.”
His hand is on Dean’s hip as he turns Dean and guides him. “Step in.”
“This is ridiculous, you know that?” Dean says as a hand presses on his shoulder to get him to sink into the heated water. “Seriously, just take the fucking blindfold off.”
“Not yet. You’re not ready. Now, your job in this exercise is to sit and relax and let me bathe you.”
“You’re not serious.” Dean almost stands, but for the hand still on his shoulder. “We don’t have time for this.”
“We have time for a bath, Dean.”
“Dude. Remember the whole thing with the hellhounds?”
“Would you rather spend your last hours on earth running after something you won’t find, or being cared for like you were something precious?”
“Precious?” Dean snorts and shakes his head. “I don’t know what drugs you’re on, man, but you should maybe lay off a little.”
“See, that’s exactly the attitude I’m trying to fix here.” He huffs, his hand splashing in the water. “You are not nothing.”
Dean licks his lips and considers, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “Maybe not, but I ain’t anything special either. If I were, Sam wouldn’t have died like that.”
“Holy fucking Christ you are one fucked up bastard.” Hands lift his arm and a washcloth rubs up it. “How is that your fault?”
“I didn’t protect him.” Dean says quietly.
“Dude, he walked into a diner in the middle of nowhere and got snatched by the damn demon. How were you supposed to protect him from that?”
Dean is quiet for a minute while his captor washes him. “I should have taught him better, how to fight better, not to be so fucking trusting, to watch his back.”
The washing stops and there’s a sigh. “Sam wasn’t a child, Dean. He knew how to fight. How to watch his back. And if he hadn’t died that night, things would have been very different. And not necessarily in a better way. Trust me on this.”
“He wouldn’t turn.” Dean insists, shaking his head. “No matter what my father thought, no matter what plans that demon had.”
“You don’t know that.” His voice is quiet, serious. “Hell, you don’t even know that he won’t turn now, your sacrifice notwithstanding. I do.”
“You don’t know.”
Instead of answering, he pulls the plug on the tub and puts his hand on Dean’s elbow. “Up, step out.”
Dean steps out of the tub and onto a towel or rug. He stands while he is towel dried and when his hand is taken, he follows, back to the bed. “Sit.”
“No.” Dean crosses his arms and shakes his head. “This is stupid. I’m done following orders. Let me go.”
His only response is a needle prick in his arm and the world tilting sideways. “Sorry. I’m not done trying.”
“How long are you planning on keeping me?” Dean asks over the music playing in his ears. It’s been going on longer than he can keep track of and his head is buzzing with thoughts.
The music fades some. “Tell me what you want.”
Dean rolls his eyes behind the blindfold. “I want to see my brother before I die.”
“You will. What else?”
Dean cracks his neck. “I want a beer and a burger.”
The bed dips and that now-familiar hand pets over Dean’s bare skin. “I’ll tell you what, you tell me honestly what you want, that desire you hide from everyone, and I’ll get you both.”
He swallows and his breath catches. “You serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
His mouth is suddenly dry, even though he isn’t sure what answer is expected of him. His deepest desire…The image of Sam flashes through his head, but he shakes it off. He can’t have that and he knows it.
“We both know it has to do with Sam.”
“Stop.” He shifts, pulling a little on the restraints. “I just…want…” He huffs and closes his eyes behind the blindfold.
“It’s okay.”
It isn’t okay, and everything in him is screaming at him to shut up. “Dude, just…I just want it to be over.”
“What if I tell you what it is you really want?”
“You don’t know.”
“If I’m right, you have to eat whatever I bring you without complaint.”
“Fine.” Dean huffs, figuring no matter what the guy says he’ll just deny it.
“You want Sam to need you as much as you need him.”
Dean turns his face away, his mouth a hard line, but it doesn’t stop this guy. “You want him to realize how much of your life has been about him, and why. You want him to be the one here right now taking care of you, touching you, telling you that you matter to him.”
That hand travels down Dean’s chest, over his stomach, laying flat just about his groin. “You want him to realize you would do anything for him, that you love him…way more than brothers. You want him to remember than night, when you seduced him and taught him how to fuck you. You want to feel that again, his arms around you, his body hot against yours, his cock moving inside of you.”
Dean’s cock is stirring with his words, with the warm breath ghosting over Dean’s lips. He shakes his head, but they both know he can’t deny it forever.
“And that’s why I deserve what I’m getting.” Dean whispers. “I’m a sick fuck.”
Fingers curl around his cock, and it responds by hardening, despite Dean's desire to deny it. "Believe me when I tell you that there are people far more sick and deserving of hell than you, Dean." The voice is just above a whisper in his ears, and somehow that has the effect of arousing Dean further. "It isn't wrong to need to be wanted…or to want to be needed."
Dean shifts, his legs falling open a little more than they already were, an admission maybe…of wanting this, even if he can't say the words. The hand strokes him slow and lazy and Dean bites his lip. It isn't enough. Isn't nearly enough. "None of those nameless, faceless men can give you what you want Dean. None of them can care for you…love you…not like Sammy."
"No." He knows it's true, knows he's thrown himself in harms way by seeking out a rough fuck in a dark alley more than once, but he can't have what he wants. His hips cant, trying to make the contact more than it is, trying to increase the friction or the pace so he can lose himself inside the physical need and not have to think anymore.
"Tell me what you want."
"Fuck." Dean pants around the word. "I want to come."
"What's stopping you?"
"Not enough…" He thrusts up, but it doesn't help and he curses again.
"Tell me what you need then."
"Fuck." Dean never asks for it. He never has too. The right looks, a few drinks, and somehow he ends up with a cock inside him and his face pressed into a brick wall.
"Tell me."
"Fuck, at least…do it harder."
The fingers tighten a little around him. "Like this?"
It's better, but still not enough. "Faster."
The speed increases, but still, it isn't enough. "Damn it. Fuck. More."
"More what Dean?"
"Pain." Dean freezes as he hears the word and the hand stops moving.
"You want me to hurt you?"
He closes his eyes behind the blindfold and bites his lip. The sharp pain is brief, and blood coats his tongue. "Yes," he responds eventually.
"How?"
He shakes his head because he doesn't want to answer that, doesn't know why he's being so honest about it. "Just…make it hurt."
The hand is moving again, and Dean senses what is coming before it happens, teeth close around one nipple, biting down. Dean thrusts up into the fist with the pain. "Like that?"
"More." Dean gasps. "Fuck…fuck me."
The man is hovering over Dean, so close he can taste the man's breath. "You want me to fuck you? The man who kidnapped you and tied you up?"
He can't believe he's saying out loud, but Dean nods. "Yes. Please. I need it."
The bed moves and hands slide down Dean's legs, bending them at the knees and pushing his ankles back toward his ass, spreading him open and tilting him back.
"I'm not Sam," the voice says.
"I know." Dean responds, because right now it doesn't matter.
A finger breaches his ass, slick and wet with lube. The other hand spills lube over Dean's cock and goes back to slowly jacking him. A second finger joins the first and it isn't anything near enough, but they're both gone fast and in their place is something much larger.
It isn't enough prep, and as the cock penetrates him, Dean's breathing hitches. It moves in slowly, stretching him until Dean makes a noise somewhere between a whimper of pain and a groan of pleasure. It eases out again and there's more lube before it pushes back in.
"Hard." Dean gasps. "Do it hard."
Obliging him, Dean's captor shoves himself in all the way and Dean's cock spills all over his stomach. Fingers drag through the sticky mess, then feed into Dean's mouth. He sucks at the come as hips snap and drive that cock into him over and over, faster and harder until Dean feels him come, pulling out as he finishes.
Dean is panting as the bed shifts and then there's a warm washcloth, wiping his stomach and his ass. Warm lips press to his softly. "Better?"
Dean nods, his breath slowing, his heart rate coming back to normal.
"I have to go out for a while. Do you want to sleep? Or do you want music?"
He licks his lips and considers. "Music."
"Okay. I'll be back soon. I promise. We're almost there."
He wants to ask where, but Led Zepplin fills his ears and he can feel the emptiness of the room telling him he's alone.
His time is almost up. Dean can feel it. Minutes, an hour maybe. The music is still blaring and he doesn't know how long he's been alone. He pulls on the ropes that keep his wrists bound to the bed. He needs to get loose. He needs to find Sam. Tell him….
…tell him what? That he loves him? Sam knows that. That he's sorry he fucked this all up? Sam knows that too.
Suddenly the music stops and hands are on his head, pulling at the blindfold. "Dean?"
"Sam?"
The earphones fall out as the contraption that blinds him and holds them in is removed and Dean blinks up into Sam's face.
"Untie me."
Sam shakes his head, turns toward the door and the sounds of growling coming from the other side.
"Please, Sam. I don't want to go out like this."
"Just…wait a minute."
The growling is closer. "Yeah, come and get me you fucking bitches."
That's his own voice, coming from the other side of the door. "What the fuck is going on?"
"He told me not to untie you until….until it's over…and you can't leave this room until morning."
"Until what's over?"
Sam looks scared, his face white and there's blood on it Dean can see now. In fact, there's blood on his shirt, on his hands. "Are you hurt?"
He shakes his head and looks at his hands as if just seeing the blood. "It isn't mine. Ruby…Ruby's dead."
"Good riddance."
There's a thud and a scream, Sam's name echoing through the room. Sam shivers and turns away from the door. His hands lift, Ruby's knife in them, cutting at the ropes until Dean is free of them. He sits up, rubbing at his wrists.
The room is small, but set up for a siege. Holy water and guns line the nearby table. On the one near the bed is a bottle of lube and the paddle, the washcloth, a half a glass of water.
"You…you talked to him?" Dean asks.
Sam nods, blinking and finally looking Dean in the eye. "He was…you."
"What?"
"Older, but…he said some angel sent him back in time to fix the mess he made."
"An angel? Come on Sam."
"I know…but…he wasn't a shifter or anything. And he knew things."
Dean knew that. He'd known secrets Dean had never told anyone, not even Sam. "He gave me a letter for you. Said you wouldn't believe it, but since he was going to hell instead of you, you should just give him the benefit of the doubt."
"Wait, he what?"
Sam shrugs. "He seemed pretty proud of himself. Said he'd found the one loophole even Lilith wouldn't see coming."
"Because….he's me." Dean nods slowly, easing up off the bed, suddenly very aware of his naked state. He pulls the sheet off the bed and wraps it around himself, moving to the door. "How did he…I mean…"
"He said that's why he had to keep you here, in this room. It's warded so Lilith can't see in. According to him, so that no one can. Angels or demons. He had to hide you, so that when he came out, they would all assume he was you."
"Because…he's me." Dean repeats, shaking his head. "Future me?"
"Here." Sam hands him an envelope and Dean takes it, opening it and pulling out a paper filled with his own handwriting.
Dean lowers the page and looks up at Sam.
"You okay?" Sam asks.
Dean licks his lips and shrugs a little. "Honestly? I don't know."
"Dean, I…" Sam rubs his face. "He told me some things…I don't know if I believe him."
"About me?" Dean asks, looking away. His heart speeds up and he's sure Sam's gonna punch him if he says it, but he can't seem to stop himself. "About what I want you to do to me?"
Sam nods, wiping his face and exhaling. "I mean…he…told me I need to…take care of you, of what you need."
"You don't have to." Dean responds instantly.
"He said you'd say that." Sam's voice is clipped, slightly edged. Before Dean can respond, Sam stalks across the room and crowds Dean into the door, his fingers grabbing Dean's chin. "Do you think I don't care?"
"Sam…"
"No, I need to say this. For my entire life you have been giving yourself to make me happy. And every single time I have tried to repay you, to show you that I love you, to make things right between us, you've shut me down, told me no, pushed me away."
Dean's eyes close and he sags against the door. "It's not important, Sam."
"Bullshit. You are important to me, Dean. You may not give to shits about yourself, but I do. And it's time you let me show you."
"Yeah, and how you gonna do that Sammy?" Dean asks, the trembling in his voice belaying the bravado he was aiming for.
"I thought for starters, I'd rip that sheet off you and fuck your ass, actually." Sam says in his ear. "Been wanting to do that since before Dad died…but you never looked at me again after New Hampshire."
"Wait, you told me you didn't remember that." Dean protests.
Sam smiled. "Yeah, because you seemed so panicked over it. I figured you didn't want me to remember. But I do." Sam leans in, his face closer and closer until suddenly his lips are on Dean's, his tongue skating along his lower lip until it finds its way inside. "Now, he told me you would probably tell me how wrong it is and try to deny that you want it. But he told me what went down the first time around and in the grand scheme of things, fucking your brother just doesn't scratch the surface."
"That don't make it right, Sam." Dean protests, though he makes no move to push his brother away.
"No, it doesn't." Sam agrees, his free hand moving to pull at the sheet. When his hand closes around Dean's cock, he starts a little. "You want me to stop?"
God help him he doesn't. Dean shakes his head and Sam strokes him with more purpose. He's shaking and hard and Sam kisses him again, stealing his breath. His hips shift in time to Sam's stroking.
"Easy, we have all night." Sam whispers.
Dean shakes his head. "Now, Sam…I need you to fuck me now." He pushes Sam, turning off the door and leading the way back to the bed. His hand fumbles for the lube and Sam's hands are tugging at his jeans and it takes too much time but finally, Dean is bending over the bed, and Sam's cock is hard and slick and Dean groans loudly as Sam's cock sinks into him.
He's bigger than Dean, and it takes work…it hurts in all the right ways though and Dean is half way to orgasm by the time Sam is in deep. They rock together, then Sam is reaching around him, stroking Dean in time to the slow fucking of his cock and Dean thinks maybe he could die right then and never regret it, then Sam's coming, his cock deep inside and Dean isn't far behind, spilling onto the bed.
Sam is still mostly dressed and Dean is totally naked and somehow it doesn't matter. Dean stands, still shaking a little. "I'm gonna shower. See if you can find my clothes."
Come morning, Sam unlocks the door. The other Dean lays dead, bloody and ripped to shreds on the floor, his face peaceful. Ruby's body lays nearby. Sam leads Dean to the front door of the house, out into the sunrise.
Bobby is looking at him like he's grown an extra head. Dean pulls his hand out of Sam's and offers him a smile. "Hey, Bobby."
"Dean?"
"Long story." Sam offers.
"I'm starving." Dean says as they turn toward the impala.
"There's a greasy spoon up the road." Sam says.
Dean shakes his head. "How about we stop and get some fruit or something."
"You sure he's Dean?" Bobby asks.
"Funny. Looks like I'm going to be around a while. Time to start taking care of myself."
"Okay." Bobby still looks skeptical. "So…what do we do now?"
Dean looks to Sam who shrugs and nods. "The family business," they answer together.
"I'm driving." Dean says, holding up his hand for the keys. Sam tosses them with a grin. The engine roars to life and Dean turns up the radio as the others get in. The family business. "I hear there's a werewolf hunting some campground in Wisconsin."
Title: Family Business
Characters/Pairings: Dean/OMC (sorta), Sam/Dean, implied Dean/OFC, implied Dean/OMCs
Word Count: 6724
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dean wakes up to find himself a prisoner of some sick crack pot who seems to know all of his intimate secrets and is determined to show Dean he's worth something. Takes place before the hellhounds have come for him.
A/Ns & Warnings: This is for
katbcoll who loves me and is too good to me and who I adore with every fiber of my being. It's a combination of two prompts she's given me, one is over a year old...and I just never found a way to make it work. The other was newer, wanting rope bondage and blindfolds. Consider this a downpayment on what I owe you, darling. WARNINGS: Bondage, dub-con masturbation, angst up the wazzoo, brothers having the sex, spanking.He wakes slowly, his head throbbing with the leftover booze from the night before. He's not sure where he is, but he's keenly aware of a need to pee. He opens his eyes, but only darkness greets him. He tries to sit up, only to discover he can't.
"Great."
His voice sounds odd, distant. He pulls on his arms, stretched out and up and clearly tied down. The rope cuts into his wrists as he struggles. His heart speeds up as panic rushes through him. He can't remember where he'd been or what he'd been doing, other than the obvious drinking. He struggles against the rope, pulling first one wrist, then the other and back again. His ankles are tied too and he thrashes until he's panting.
"Settle down." The words are odd and metallic in his ears.
"Sam?"
A hand lands on his stomach, low. His bare stomach. Sluggishly he realizes he's naked and he renews his struggle until he's sweating and breathing hard. The hand never leaves him, just waits for him to stop.
"You will not be harmed."
The voice is in his ears, like through headphones, though he can't really feel them.
"Who are you?"
"I am a friend."
"Yeah, well, a friend wouldn't do this. Let me go."
"I'm sorry, Dean. I can not do that. Not until you understand why."
"Why? Why what?"
The hand moves up his chest, settles on his neck. "Why you are a precious thing that needs to be cared for and looked after, not thrown mindlessly from one stranger to another, filled with grease and fat, tossing yourself into danger time and again."
Dean can feel himself blushing and he tries to pull away from the hand. "Bullcrap. Untie me." He's half sure that it has to be Sam. "I swear to you, Sam. Untie me now or I will beat the crap out of you."
"No. Your breakfast is almost ready. I'll be back in a moment."
"Don't you leave me here like this!"
Once he is alone he's reminded that he still needs to pee, and the need is growing. He tries to get a sense of the room, but with his eyes covered by some blindfold and his hearing distorted by the headphones, he has little to go on beyond the bed itself.
He's tied down, though it doesn't feel like there's a headboard, so the ropes probably feed under the mattress, using his own weight as part of the control mechanism, which is effective and leaves him little means to try to get free.
The bed is suddenly moving, lifting his head so that he is sitting up. His captor is back, and he sits beside Dean, one hand sliding onto Dean's thigh. "Now, I have a half a grapefruit, some eggs and whole wheat toast, a glass of milk and some coffee. I want you to eat it all."
Dean tugs on his restrained arms. "Can't eat with no hands."
There's the smallest of chuckles. "Open." Dean can feel something on his lips.
"Are you kidding me?"
"Open." The voice repeats itself. Dean grudgingly opens his mouth and gets a mouthful of sour. "Eat it. It's good for you."
"So help me Sam, when I figure out how to get loose, I'm going to whoop your ass." Dean growls after he swallows. There's another chuckle, and more food. It isn't easy drinking like this, and he feels ludicrous being fed, and the need to pee is getting worse.
He shifts against the bed, trying to find a position that takes the pressure off his bladder. "Do you need something, Dean?"
"No." He answers petulantly, pulling his face away from the last of the coffee.
"Okay, then I'll just go clean up the breakfast dishes."
The bed shifts and Dean can hear the dishes clanking together. He groans and tries to press his legs together. He's not sure how much longer he can hold it. "Fuck."
"If you don't tell me what you need, I can't help you," the voice says in his ear.
Dean squirms, but he knows he needs to tell his captor before he wets himself. "I need to pee, okay?" Dean growls out, irritated by his inability to even deal with something so simple.
"Okay." He feels hands at his ankles, untying him, then his hands. Those hands glide over his skin, rubbing at the places where the ropes have been. He helps Dean stand, which shouldn't be so hard, but everything is all tilting and Dean finds himself clinging to the offered arm when he should be trying to make a break for it. "If you try to remove the blindfold or escape, you will be punished, understood?"
He nods, but his focus is on staying upright. Bastard had to have drugged his food. They shuffle a few feet from the bed and Dean stubs his toe as they cross a threshold, cursing. The man moves behind Dean, hands on his hips squaring him up, and Dean is very aware of his naked state, of the feeling of the man's clothes pressing against him.
"Toilet is directly in front of you."
Normally Dean would protest about peeing with an audience, but his need has gotten bad and his hand drops to hold his cock as he lets loose. He moans in relief as he finishes, unconsciously leaning back against the man holding him.
"Very good Dean. See, it isn't so hard to let someone help you."
"Fuck you." Dean says. The chuckle again. Dean's beginning to wonder if this really is Sam. Because Sam…well, he didn't think Sam would do anything this elaborate. He could be wrong, but…and to be fair, the guy was big enough to be Sam…and there aren't a lot of people in the world as big as Sam.
He's still trying to reason it out, when the toilet flushes and he's being taken back to the bed. "Just…stop, okay? I get it. You want me to take better care of myself. Point made."
"I don't think so." Hands guide him back to the bed, push him down. Dean tries to roll away as his right hand is caught and guided back into position.
"Come on, really?" His left had darts to his face, feels over the blindfold, which seems to be more than just a dark cloth tied around his head, but before he can get an idea of how it worked, or how to get it off, his hand is slapped away hard and both hands are suddenly caught in a vice like grip and pulled up over his head.
"I warned you, Dean." The voice is menacing now, its metallic edge sharper and Dean winces as those hands work to tie his wrists together. Whoever this guy is, he knows what he's doing, and Dean knows before he's done that there won't be any escaping the rope.
The bed is lowered, Dean's arms secured up over his head. The sedative is making him dizzy, making the whole thing seem surreal. The voice is low and dangerous in his ears. “When you wake up, you will be punished.”
Dean wants to fight, to struggle against the rope and the drug, but he can already tell it’s a fight he isn’t going to win.
“Dean.”
The voice is dark, serious and it brings Dean up out of a dreamless sleep fast. He jerks against the ropes before he remembers, flails a little in vain, until that hand lays flat against his stomach.
“It’s time for your punishment.”
“Hell, no.” Dean tries to twist away only to find that his ankles are being pulled up, bound to some bar that held them separated and made it easy for both legs to be lifted. There’s a clicking sound and he’s stuck, his ass bare and exposed, vulnerable.
“Now, this is your first time, so I’ll go easy on you. I realize that this has to be difficult for you.”
“Don’t you fucking touch me.”
That hand soothes over his naked skin. “Breaking the rules can not go unpunished, Dean. You know that.” The hand moves away and Dean braces himself for a blow that doesn’t come. “Now then, your rules are very simple. You do as you are told. You allow me to take care of you. You do not attempt to escape. And you do not attempt to remove your blindfold.”
Something new rubs over his skin, something cool and smooth. “When you disobey, you will be punished.” There was a slap of maybe leather against his ass, the sound sharp despite whatever was blocking most of the ambient sound. Seconds later, Dean felt the heat and sting.
“Son of a bitch!”
There were no words from his captor as Dean’s ass was paddled thoroughly, if not overly hard. He was certain it was bright red before the blows stopped, the skin hot and his whole body flushed with a combination of humiliation and arousal…which was the last thing he needed. This fucking asshole was sick enough without discovering Dean’s mostly well hidden appreciation for a little bit of rough handling.
His cock was clearly not taking notes on the situation though, and Dean could feel it harden against his stomach. It was quiet and Dean slowly realized that the spanking was over, and that hand was soothing over the hot skin.
“There now, that wasn’t too bad.”
Suddenly, Dean’s legs are being lowered and any second now his dirty little secret won’t be secret for long. He fidgets as his feet are returned to the mattress, the weight of the bar holding them down. “Just…fine, okay. I’ll do what you want. Just…”
He shivers when fingers circle his cock.
“Stop.”
“It’s okay, Dean.”
“No. Just…don’t touch me.”
Slowly the whole hand moves up his cock, then back down. “Can you tell me which arouses you more, the pain of the spanking or the humiliation of it?”
“Fuck you.” Dean responds, hissing as that hand keeps working over him. “
“Which means you're not sure.” There’s a small chuckle and the hand leaves him. Dean breathes in relief, but it is short lived. “Don’t worry Dean. I promised I would take care of you. You have needs. Obviously.”
The hand returns, this time slick with some kind of lube and it resumes jacking him. Dean wills his cock not to respond, but it doesn’t seem to be listening to him. In fact, rather than deflating, his cock is twitching and relaying signals that he’s going to come. “Fuck.”
"That's it." The speed increases and Dean can’t keep from fucking up into the hand as his orgasm starts, spilling out onto his stomach. The hand keeps jacking him, milking the orgasm from him and just as Dean’s about to protest that it’s too much, it releases him.
The room is quiet for a long moment, then there’s a warm washcloth wiping up the mess. “Better?”
Dean turns his face away, knowing it’s flushed with embarrassment. “I don’t let anyone use me,” he says finally, when the silence is making him crazy.
“No?” The voice asks. “What about the woman in Roanoke?”
“What?” Dean’s frowning.
“The one who you let tie you up, then let her two friends have their way with you once she was done?”
He frowns all the harder. “How the—“
He gets the feeling that his captor is leaning in very close, as if to whisper in his ear, though with the set up he didn’t need to. “What about that guy in Chicago, the one who fucked you on that dirty mattress in the back alley like you were a two dollar whore?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dean’s grateful for the blindfold to hide the panic he knows is in his eyes. No one knew about that. No one. Not even Sam.
“Yes you do. And he wasn’t the first.”
No. Dean shakes his head. No one ever knew.
A hand pets down his chest. "It's okay. I'm not judging." There's a snort and the hand moves off his chest. "Fuck knows I don't have room for that. But, I'm here to make you realize that what you're doing, the way you're living…it's going to take you places you do not want to go."
Dean shifts his head, the only real movement his current situation allows. "Whatever. Dude, you are one sick fuck."
Again, a snort. "Yeah, you would know."
Muffled footsteps tell Dean that the guy has left the room and he's left to try to figure out who the fuck this guy is. Not Sam. He's pretty much decided that now. Because Sam wouldn't…Dean shakes his head. No, that's pretty much a sick fantasy stuck in his head, one he's never acted on.
Unless he could count those years Sam was at Stanford, and Dean would go out looking for someone that reminded him of his brother. Right, because that's what he wants to be thinking about right now.
Of course, that wasn't entirely true either. There was that time, in that small town in New Hampshire of all places, when Sam was fifteen and their father had been gone for nearly a month and Dean had been restless and needy. Dean had brought home the booze, got Sam drunk. By the morning, Sam didn't remember anything and Dean was so ashamed of himself he'd buried the whole thing until right now.
Dean groans and tries to curl up, roll to his side. He can't though. Can only drag his feet up a little, bend his knees some. He can feel the bile rising. He coughs, tries to lean to one side so he won't choke when it comes.
"Hey!" He manages to get the word out before his throwing up and hands suddenly are there, guiding him to the edge of the bed, holding him while he throws up.
"Okay, easy."
He's eased back, his mouth wiped, then a glass is held to his lips. "Water, sip, don't swallow." The glass moves away after he's sipped and something else is pressed to his mouth. "Good, spit." His mouth is wiped again and the glass is back. "Now drink."
Two big mouthfuls of water later, Dean pulls his face away. "Thanks."
"Gonna tell me what that was about?" he asks. Dean is silent, but that doesn't keep the asshole from talking. "Oh, Sam." There's a long sigh. "You remembered that night in New Hampshire. Yeah. Okay." He moves away. "I was going to ask you if you're hungry, but obviously the whole revelations about your sex life has upset your stomach."
"I could do with a burger." Dean offers, realizing that his hands, while still bound, aren't tied down for the moment. He shifts his shoulders, rolling them and feeling one of them crack.
"Well, we have salad and tuna sandwiches."
"I'll pass."
"The way you eat is disgusting, and it's going to kill you one day."
It's Dean's turn to snort. "You obviously don't know everything smartass. I'm not going to be around for my food to kill me slowly. I've only got a few more days. A week maybe."
"Ah, yes. Hell."
That shouldn't surprise him. After all, this guy knew about things no one else did, of course he'd know about hell.
"But that isn't the reason you treat yourself like you don't matter, you've been doing it way too fucking long."
"Seriously?" Dean asks. "I tell you I've got a week until some hellhound is going to turn me into a Scooby snack and you want to talk about my feelings?"
"Want to? Hell no." The bed dips and Dean is pressed back against the mattress. "But, you won't talk to Sam or Bobby, you're hiding behind that goddamn wall afraid that the people around you will find out you're terrified."
"Fuck you." Dean says again, because it's too close to the truth and he doesn't want to hear it.
"Your answer to everything." He's quiet for a long moment. "Okay, you don't want to talk about it. I get that. But let me tell you, I know." His hand is on Dean's chest again, over his heart. "I know the fear that doesn't let you sleep anymore, that's why I drugged you. I know the terror that haunts every heartbeat in the night…the way the sound of a dog barking nearly makes you lose your lunch…how every time you look at Sam you feel like you're going to lose your shit."
Dean blinks behind the blindfold, tries to deny it, but he can feel the words chipping away at something inside of him. "Stop."
"No. This is the point. You have to stop, Dean. Stop thinking of yourself as second to Sam. Stop living your life as if it doesn't matter what happens to you."
Dean clears his throat. "Easy for you to say, Buddy. You're not about to be kibble for a hellhound."
"Hellhounds," he corrects. "Lilith isn't sending one."
"Oh, gee. Thanks. That's helpful."
"Let me worry about Lilith, okay. You are not going to hell."
"Right. Because you have some magic fairy dust to make it all better? Dude, look at this for a minute. You drugged me, tied me to a bed. This is not helping me find a way out of the deal."
"How's your stomach."
"What?" The change of topic is abrupt, letting Dean know that they're done talking about it for the moment. "Fine."
"Good. I'll go get started on lunch."
There's lunch and a nap, forced on him with more drugs, and when he wakes, it's to music filling his ears, but at least it's decent music. He lays back against the pillow, almost not even minding that he's tied down again. Whoever this guy is, he isn't wrong about the not sleeping.
In fact, Dean can't remember the last time he'd slept more than an hour or two at a time before this. He's almost even relaxed…but that might be whatever drug is in his system, because he shouldn't be relaxed. He's about to die and he's been kidnapped.
He'd wanted to spend those last hours with Sam, to somehow make him understand why.
Except maybe Dean isn't really sure anymore exactly why. He loves his brother. He tells himself that's why. The sight of Sam lying there dead…when everything in Dean's life had been about taking care of Sam, keeping him safe…it destroyed something inside him.
He blinks back tears and inhales. It had been worth it. Dean's deal had given Sam another chance, and okay, so it means he has to die. Well, he wouldn't be the first Winchester to do that, would he.
Which only reminds him of the promise he'd made his father. The one he can't keep now. He's helpless. He can't even take a piss without help.
"You're not helpless." The voice is back, the music fading away. "All you have to do is ask."
"That's pretty fucking useless." Dean grouses.
"How are you feeling?"
"Like I'm a goddamn prisoner of a fucking psycho."
"Better then? Good. You slept long enough."
"What do you mean?" Dean asks, stiffening as hands move over him.
"I only gave you enough to knock you out for a few hours, but you've been asleep for almost twenty four." Hands rub at his ankles, urging life back into them after untying them. "I figure you must have to pee, and I have a bath ready for you."
Hands move up his arms, untying his wrists. "Same rules apply, Dean. You try to escape, or remove the blindfold, you will be punished."
He’s helped up to standing, and he doesn’t feel as dizzy as he did before. Dean’s hand is settled on the guy’s elbow and then they’re moving. He manages not to stub his toe, but his face is flushed and his cock is half hard as he’s squared up and told the toilet is directly in front of him.
“Seriously?” Dean asks. Try as he might it isn’t peeing his cock has in mind though.
“Would it help if I stepped away?”
“Maybe.” Dean responds and the heat behind him is gone instantly. It still takes a minute to convince his dick that it’s okay, and then he’s peeing like an ever loving horse. He’s just finishing and fumbling for the handle to flush when he feels him come back. His hand is firm as it covers Dean’s and pushes the handle down.
“Okay, let’s get you into the tub.”
His hand is on Dean’s hip as he turns Dean and guides him. “Step in.”
“This is ridiculous, you know that?” Dean says as a hand presses on his shoulder to get him to sink into the heated water. “Seriously, just take the fucking blindfold off.”
“Not yet. You’re not ready. Now, your job in this exercise is to sit and relax and let me bathe you.”
“You’re not serious.” Dean almost stands, but for the hand still on his shoulder. “We don’t have time for this.”
“We have time for a bath, Dean.”
“Dude. Remember the whole thing with the hellhounds?”
“Would you rather spend your last hours on earth running after something you won’t find, or being cared for like you were something precious?”
“Precious?” Dean snorts and shakes his head. “I don’t know what drugs you’re on, man, but you should maybe lay off a little.”
“See, that’s exactly the attitude I’m trying to fix here.” He huffs, his hand splashing in the water. “You are not nothing.”
Dean licks his lips and considers, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “Maybe not, but I ain’t anything special either. If I were, Sam wouldn’t have died like that.”
“Holy fucking Christ you are one fucked up bastard.” Hands lift his arm and a washcloth rubs up it. “How is that your fault?”
“I didn’t protect him.” Dean says quietly.
“Dude, he walked into a diner in the middle of nowhere and got snatched by the damn demon. How were you supposed to protect him from that?”
Dean is quiet for a minute while his captor washes him. “I should have taught him better, how to fight better, not to be so fucking trusting, to watch his back.”
The washing stops and there’s a sigh. “Sam wasn’t a child, Dean. He knew how to fight. How to watch his back. And if he hadn’t died that night, things would have been very different. And not necessarily in a better way. Trust me on this.”
“He wouldn’t turn.” Dean insists, shaking his head. “No matter what my father thought, no matter what plans that demon had.”
“You don’t know that.” His voice is quiet, serious. “Hell, you don’t even know that he won’t turn now, your sacrifice notwithstanding. I do.”
“You don’t know.”
Instead of answering, he pulls the plug on the tub and puts his hand on Dean’s elbow. “Up, step out.”
Dean steps out of the tub and onto a towel or rug. He stands while he is towel dried and when his hand is taken, he follows, back to the bed. “Sit.”
“No.” Dean crosses his arms and shakes his head. “This is stupid. I’m done following orders. Let me go.”
His only response is a needle prick in his arm and the world tilting sideways. “Sorry. I’m not done trying.”
“How long are you planning on keeping me?” Dean asks over the music playing in his ears. It’s been going on longer than he can keep track of and his head is buzzing with thoughts.
The music fades some. “Tell me what you want.”
Dean rolls his eyes behind the blindfold. “I want to see my brother before I die.”
“You will. What else?”
Dean cracks his neck. “I want a beer and a burger.”
The bed dips and that now-familiar hand pets over Dean’s bare skin. “I’ll tell you what, you tell me honestly what you want, that desire you hide from everyone, and I’ll get you both.”
He swallows and his breath catches. “You serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
His mouth is suddenly dry, even though he isn’t sure what answer is expected of him. His deepest desire…The image of Sam flashes through his head, but he shakes it off. He can’t have that and he knows it.
“We both know it has to do with Sam.”
“Stop.” He shifts, pulling a little on the restraints. “I just…want…” He huffs and closes his eyes behind the blindfold.
“It’s okay.”
It isn’t okay, and everything in him is screaming at him to shut up. “Dude, just…I just want it to be over.”
“What if I tell you what it is you really want?”
“You don’t know.”
“If I’m right, you have to eat whatever I bring you without complaint.”
“Fine.” Dean huffs, figuring no matter what the guy says he’ll just deny it.
“You want Sam to need you as much as you need him.”
Dean turns his face away, his mouth a hard line, but it doesn’t stop this guy. “You want him to realize how much of your life has been about him, and why. You want him to be the one here right now taking care of you, touching you, telling you that you matter to him.”
That hand travels down Dean’s chest, over his stomach, laying flat just about his groin. “You want him to realize you would do anything for him, that you love him…way more than brothers. You want him to remember than night, when you seduced him and taught him how to fuck you. You want to feel that again, his arms around you, his body hot against yours, his cock moving inside of you.”
Dean’s cock is stirring with his words, with the warm breath ghosting over Dean’s lips. He shakes his head, but they both know he can’t deny it forever.
“And that’s why I deserve what I’m getting.” Dean whispers. “I’m a sick fuck.”
Fingers curl around his cock, and it responds by hardening, despite Dean's desire to deny it. "Believe me when I tell you that there are people far more sick and deserving of hell than you, Dean." The voice is just above a whisper in his ears, and somehow that has the effect of arousing Dean further. "It isn't wrong to need to be wanted…or to want to be needed."
Dean shifts, his legs falling open a little more than they already were, an admission maybe…of wanting this, even if he can't say the words. The hand strokes him slow and lazy and Dean bites his lip. It isn't enough. Isn't nearly enough. "None of those nameless, faceless men can give you what you want Dean. None of them can care for you…love you…not like Sammy."
"No." He knows it's true, knows he's thrown himself in harms way by seeking out a rough fuck in a dark alley more than once, but he can't have what he wants. His hips cant, trying to make the contact more than it is, trying to increase the friction or the pace so he can lose himself inside the physical need and not have to think anymore.
"Tell me what you want."
"Fuck." Dean pants around the word. "I want to come."
"What's stopping you?"
"Not enough…" He thrusts up, but it doesn't help and he curses again.
"Tell me what you need then."
"Fuck." Dean never asks for it. He never has too. The right looks, a few drinks, and somehow he ends up with a cock inside him and his face pressed into a brick wall.
"Tell me."
"Fuck, at least…do it harder."
The fingers tighten a little around him. "Like this?"
It's better, but still not enough. "Faster."
The speed increases, but still, it isn't enough. "Damn it. Fuck. More."
"More what Dean?"
"Pain." Dean freezes as he hears the word and the hand stops moving.
"You want me to hurt you?"
He closes his eyes behind the blindfold and bites his lip. The sharp pain is brief, and blood coats his tongue. "Yes," he responds eventually.
"How?"
He shakes his head because he doesn't want to answer that, doesn't know why he's being so honest about it. "Just…make it hurt."
The hand is moving again, and Dean senses what is coming before it happens, teeth close around one nipple, biting down. Dean thrusts up into the fist with the pain. "Like that?"
"More." Dean gasps. "Fuck…fuck me."
The man is hovering over Dean, so close he can taste the man's breath. "You want me to fuck you? The man who kidnapped you and tied you up?"
He can't believe he's saying out loud, but Dean nods. "Yes. Please. I need it."
The bed moves and hands slide down Dean's legs, bending them at the knees and pushing his ankles back toward his ass, spreading him open and tilting him back.
"I'm not Sam," the voice says.
"I know." Dean responds, because right now it doesn't matter.
A finger breaches his ass, slick and wet with lube. The other hand spills lube over Dean's cock and goes back to slowly jacking him. A second finger joins the first and it isn't anything near enough, but they're both gone fast and in their place is something much larger.
It isn't enough prep, and as the cock penetrates him, Dean's breathing hitches. It moves in slowly, stretching him until Dean makes a noise somewhere between a whimper of pain and a groan of pleasure. It eases out again and there's more lube before it pushes back in.
"Hard." Dean gasps. "Do it hard."
Obliging him, Dean's captor shoves himself in all the way and Dean's cock spills all over his stomach. Fingers drag through the sticky mess, then feed into Dean's mouth. He sucks at the come as hips snap and drive that cock into him over and over, faster and harder until Dean feels him come, pulling out as he finishes.
Dean is panting as the bed shifts and then there's a warm washcloth, wiping his stomach and his ass. Warm lips press to his softly. "Better?"
Dean nods, his breath slowing, his heart rate coming back to normal.
"I have to go out for a while. Do you want to sleep? Or do you want music?"
He licks his lips and considers. "Music."
"Okay. I'll be back soon. I promise. We're almost there."
He wants to ask where, but Led Zepplin fills his ears and he can feel the emptiness of the room telling him he's alone.
His time is almost up. Dean can feel it. Minutes, an hour maybe. The music is still blaring and he doesn't know how long he's been alone. He pulls on the ropes that keep his wrists bound to the bed. He needs to get loose. He needs to find Sam. Tell him….
…tell him what? That he loves him? Sam knows that. That he's sorry he fucked this all up? Sam knows that too.
Suddenly the music stops and hands are on his head, pulling at the blindfold. "Dean?"
"Sam?"
The earphones fall out as the contraption that blinds him and holds them in is removed and Dean blinks up into Sam's face.
"Untie me."
Sam shakes his head, turns toward the door and the sounds of growling coming from the other side.
"Please, Sam. I don't want to go out like this."
"Just…wait a minute."
The growling is closer. "Yeah, come and get me you fucking bitches."
That's his own voice, coming from the other side of the door. "What the fuck is going on?"
"He told me not to untie you until….until it's over…and you can't leave this room until morning."
"Until what's over?"
Sam looks scared, his face white and there's blood on it Dean can see now. In fact, there's blood on his shirt, on his hands. "Are you hurt?"
He shakes his head and looks at his hands as if just seeing the blood. "It isn't mine. Ruby…Ruby's dead."
"Good riddance."
There's a thud and a scream, Sam's name echoing through the room. Sam shivers and turns away from the door. His hands lift, Ruby's knife in them, cutting at the ropes until Dean is free of them. He sits up, rubbing at his wrists.
The room is small, but set up for a siege. Holy water and guns line the nearby table. On the one near the bed is a bottle of lube and the paddle, the washcloth, a half a glass of water.
"You…you talked to him?" Dean asks.
Sam nods, blinking and finally looking Dean in the eye. "He was…you."
"What?"
"Older, but…he said some angel sent him back in time to fix the mess he made."
"An angel? Come on Sam."
"I know…but…he wasn't a shifter or anything. And he knew things."
Dean knew that. He'd known secrets Dean had never told anyone, not even Sam. "He gave me a letter for you. Said you wouldn't believe it, but since he was going to hell instead of you, you should just give him the benefit of the doubt."
"Wait, he what?"
Sam shrugs. "He seemed pretty proud of himself. Said he'd found the one loophole even Lilith wouldn't see coming."
"Because….he's me." Dean nods slowly, easing up off the bed, suddenly very aware of his naked state. He pulls the sheet off the bed and wraps it around himself, moving to the door. "How did he…I mean…"
"He said that's why he had to keep you here, in this room. It's warded so Lilith can't see in. According to him, so that no one can. Angels or demons. He had to hide you, so that when he came out, they would all assume he was you."
"Because…he's me." Dean repeats, shaking his head. "Future me?"
"Here." Sam hands him an envelope and Dean takes it, opening it and pulling out a paper filled with his own handwriting.
Dean,
So, if you're reading this, the deed is done and you're free from your deal. I've gone back to hell. If Castiel was right, by morning I will have vanished from the rack and Alistair won't know how.
You have a lot of questions. I gave Sam some of the answers, the rest…well, you're just going to have to trust me. Remember what you learned here. Tell Sam what you told me. He knows, and he wants to give you what you need, but it ain't ever going to be easy.
Look, no more deals with demons. Enough of the self-sacrifice. Take care of yourself and Sam. Let Sam take care of you. I don't know how the rest will play out now that we've spoiled all the fun.
Try not to start the apocalypse, hold tight to that Colt and that knife.
Get back to the family business, will ya? You know, helping people, hunting things? I hear there's a werewolf hunting a campground in Wisconsin. Check into it for me?
Dean
PS: Consider it advanced masturbation. Don't sweat it.
Dean lowers the page and looks up at Sam.
"You okay?" Sam asks.
Dean licks his lips and shrugs a little. "Honestly? I don't know."
"Dean, I…" Sam rubs his face. "He told me some things…I don't know if I believe him."
"About me?" Dean asks, looking away. His heart speeds up and he's sure Sam's gonna punch him if he says it, but he can't seem to stop himself. "About what I want you to do to me?"
Sam nods, wiping his face and exhaling. "I mean…he…told me I need to…take care of you, of what you need."
"You don't have to." Dean responds instantly.
"He said you'd say that." Sam's voice is clipped, slightly edged. Before Dean can respond, Sam stalks across the room and crowds Dean into the door, his fingers grabbing Dean's chin. "Do you think I don't care?"
"Sam…"
"No, I need to say this. For my entire life you have been giving yourself to make me happy. And every single time I have tried to repay you, to show you that I love you, to make things right between us, you've shut me down, told me no, pushed me away."
Dean's eyes close and he sags against the door. "It's not important, Sam."
"Bullshit. You are important to me, Dean. You may not give to shits about yourself, but I do. And it's time you let me show you."
"Yeah, and how you gonna do that Sammy?" Dean asks, the trembling in his voice belaying the bravado he was aiming for.
"I thought for starters, I'd rip that sheet off you and fuck your ass, actually." Sam says in his ear. "Been wanting to do that since before Dad died…but you never looked at me again after New Hampshire."
"Wait, you told me you didn't remember that." Dean protests.
Sam smiled. "Yeah, because you seemed so panicked over it. I figured you didn't want me to remember. But I do." Sam leans in, his face closer and closer until suddenly his lips are on Dean's, his tongue skating along his lower lip until it finds its way inside. "Now, he told me you would probably tell me how wrong it is and try to deny that you want it. But he told me what went down the first time around and in the grand scheme of things, fucking your brother just doesn't scratch the surface."
"That don't make it right, Sam." Dean protests, though he makes no move to push his brother away.
"No, it doesn't." Sam agrees, his free hand moving to pull at the sheet. When his hand closes around Dean's cock, he starts a little. "You want me to stop?"
God help him he doesn't. Dean shakes his head and Sam strokes him with more purpose. He's shaking and hard and Sam kisses him again, stealing his breath. His hips shift in time to Sam's stroking.
"Easy, we have all night." Sam whispers.
Dean shakes his head. "Now, Sam…I need you to fuck me now." He pushes Sam, turning off the door and leading the way back to the bed. His hand fumbles for the lube and Sam's hands are tugging at his jeans and it takes too much time but finally, Dean is bending over the bed, and Sam's cock is hard and slick and Dean groans loudly as Sam's cock sinks into him.
He's bigger than Dean, and it takes work…it hurts in all the right ways though and Dean is half way to orgasm by the time Sam is in deep. They rock together, then Sam is reaching around him, stroking Dean in time to the slow fucking of his cock and Dean thinks maybe he could die right then and never regret it, then Sam's coming, his cock deep inside and Dean isn't far behind, spilling onto the bed.
Sam is still mostly dressed and Dean is totally naked and somehow it doesn't matter. Dean stands, still shaking a little. "I'm gonna shower. See if you can find my clothes."
Come morning, Sam unlocks the door. The other Dean lays dead, bloody and ripped to shreds on the floor, his face peaceful. Ruby's body lays nearby. Sam leads Dean to the front door of the house, out into the sunrise.
Bobby is looking at him like he's grown an extra head. Dean pulls his hand out of Sam's and offers him a smile. "Hey, Bobby."
"Dean?"
"Long story." Sam offers.
"I'm starving." Dean says as they turn toward the impala.
"There's a greasy spoon up the road." Sam says.
Dean shakes his head. "How about we stop and get some fruit or something."
"You sure he's Dean?" Bobby asks.
"Funny. Looks like I'm going to be around a while. Time to start taking care of myself."
"Okay." Bobby still looks skeptical. "So…what do we do now?"
Dean looks to Sam who shrugs and nods. "The family business," they answer together.
"I'm driving." Dean says, holding up his hand for the keys. Sam tosses them with a grin. The engine roars to life and Dean turns up the radio as the others get in. The family business. "I hear there's a werewolf hunting some campground in Wisconsin."
