Obedience, Part One, Supernatural, NC-17

[phantisma]

Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Obedience (Part One of Two)
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Sam, OMC/Dean, OMC/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~17000 for total fic
Summary: Someone from the boys' past resurfaces with a plan to keep Sam for himself, but when he catches Dean in his trap instead, his plans change, and he uses one brother to catch and break the other.

A/Ns & Warnings: This is not pretty, happy, sexy fic. Herein lies slave fic of a sort; serious rape, violence, non-con drug use, forced incest and CHARACTER DEATH. This began while I was beta reading for meus_venator, based on a small comment in part of her fic, which she in-turn lays at the feet of another, whose name escapes me at the moment. At least now it is out of my head.




"Okay, it looks like I might be a few days here." Dean said into the phone, his eyes scanning the street. "No one's talking."

"Alright, I'll finish up here and meet you at Bobby's in a few days." Sam replied.

"Right. A few days." Dean closed the phone and sighed. The whole job was starting to smell a little fishy. They had separated the day before when it became obvious that they couldn't get to both jobs fast enough together. Sam had gone north to deal with an angry spirit and Dean had come east to track down what at first glance should have been a pretty simple haunting.

Only problem was, no one in town seemed to be willing to talk about it. He frowned down at his phone before shoving it in his pocket. It was clearly going to take him longer than he'd planned. He looked up at the old hotel in front of him and sighed.

He was tired, he'd been driving most of the night and got straight to work as soon as he'd gotten into town. He needed to get a room and sleep.

Dean opened the door of the hotel and smiled at the clerk. "Afternoon, I'd like a room." He picked through IDs and matching credit cards in his wallet, handing them over. He drummed his fingers on the counter as the man took his information. Something had him on edge. His eyes scanned the worn and dingy lobby, but nothing stood out.

Eventually, he got his room key and nodded to the clerk. Something wasn't quite right…but he could figure out after some sleep.


***


Sam looked up from his research as Dean thudded into the room and dropped his duffle bags on Bobby's kitchen table. Dean didn't say a word, just stomped to the fridge and came out with a beer.

"So?"

"So…what Sammy?"

"How'd it go?"

"There was a ghost, now there isn't." He dragged a chair out and sat, though he seemed on edge, uncomfortable, and he stood almost instantly to pace. "What's next?"

"Still looking." Sam replied. "There's a case in Montana, looks like it could be vampires, but I'm still looking."

"Sounds good. Let's go." He reached for his bag, then stopped as if remembering something. "After I do some laundry. Everything I own is covered in mud."

Sam shook his head as Dean headed to Bobby's basement with his clothes and turned his attention back to his computer.

"I hear Dean come in?" Bobby asked as he came in from the study.

"Yeah, he went down to start some laundry." Sam replied.

"Everything all right?"

Sam shrugged. "Other than how amped up he seems, yeah I guess. Said it went okay."

"Just got off the phone with a friend near the town you're looking at. She's convinced you're looking at a single vampire, probably one who's pretty young and without a pack, it's just tearing shit up."

"She? Close enough to deal with it?"

Bobby snorted and pulled a beer from the fridge for himself. "Close enough, sure, but she's wheelchair bound after her eighteen wheeler did cartwheels a few years back."

"So I guess we're up."

"It's you or me." Bobby replied.

"No, we'll go." Sam sighed. "As soon as Princess Dean is done with his laundry."

"I heard that." Dean appeared at the basement door, swallowing the last of his beer. "So vampires? We can do that."


***

The vampire in question turned out to be a fifteen year old kid that was harder to corner than they'd expected, and harder still to put down. At least for Sam.

In the end, it was Dean who did the deed, taking the kid's head with a guillotine of sorts in a window in an old abandoned building.

"Pizza?" Dean asked as they closed the hotel room door behind them.

"Nah, not hungry." Sam said, shaking his head. He collapsed onto the nearest bed.

Dean paced. "I'm gonna go grab a beer or something."

"Yeah, okay." Sam responded. He wasn't going to tell Dean he didn't need booze, hell maybe he'd get lucky, get laid, and burn off whatever energy had been riding him since he'd gotten back from the ghost job in Iowa.

Sam was half asleep as the door closed, kicking off his shoes and pulling the cheap motel comforter over him.

Somewhere in the small hours of the night, he heard Dean come in, smelled cheap booze and sex, and Dean mumbled "love you Sammy" before crashing into the other bed.

It was unsurprising that Sam was up first the next morning, or that he got in a run and a stop for breakfast and coffee before Dean had even opened his eyes. He put the take out on the small table as Dean squinted up at him.

"Fuck. What time is it?"

"Almost nine, sleeping beauty. Coffee?"

Dean reached for it blindly. Sam put the cup in his hand and went back for his own. "I got you pancakes."

Dean shook his head lightly. "Just the coffee."

"Suit yourself." Sam opened the Styrofoam container and lifted one of the pancakes. "You got back late."

Dean sort of grinned. "Was having fun. You should have come along."

"One of us has to sleep." Sam countered around his mouthful of pancake. "We should probably hit the road."

"I'm not getting in a car with you until you shower. You smell like gym socks."

Sam smirked. "You're one to talk, you smell like hooker."

Dean threw a pillow at him. "She wasn't a hooker." He frowned a little bit. "At least, I don't think she was." His face brightened and he grinned. "And if she was, she didn't charge me, so I'm good."

Sam threw the pillow back at him. "You may be good, Romeo, but you still stink. Hit the showers."

Dean pulled the sheets off of him and stood and Sam blinked, then looked away. His brother was stark naked and sporting serious morning wood. Dean didn't seemed phased by it though and just strolled through the room into the bathroom.

"Wow." Sam mouthed to himself, trying to shake the image. He hadn't seen his brother fully naked since…well, he couldn't remember the last time. He pulled clean clothes from his bag and set about packing them up. By the time Dean was out of the shower, Sam had them ready to hit the road.

Dean came out of the bathroom on a plume of steam, cheap motel towel covering him. “Leave any hot water for me?”

Dean slapped his ass as he passed, chuckling as he went to get dressed. Sam shook his head. Obviously Dean was feeling better, though that meant a long drive with his mullet rock blaring ahead of him.

Sam showered off the now dried sweat from his run quickly and dressed before coming out of the bathroom.

“Got us a job south of here, Sammy, lets go.”



***

Dean dropped his brother on the bed, furious. He left him there and went back to the car for their bags, grabbing their emergency med kit and slamming back into the room.

He was more angry than he probably needed to be, and Sam was hurt, but damn it all it was his own fucking fault.

“Take your pants off.” Dean growled.

“Dean—“

“Or so help me Sam I’ll tear them off.” Dean dropped the kit on the bed beside his brother and went to wash his hands in the bathroom sink.

“Dean, I said I was sorry.” Sam said as he came back out.

“Stop. Back up.” He pulled the rickety chair away from the table and sat, lifting Sam’s bloody leg up to look at the gash. “You were sloppy. You were slow. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I…” Sam shook his head. “It just came at me so fast.”

Dean reached for the med kit, unrolling it. He didn’t want to hear excuses. “I’m gonna have to stitch it. You want something?” Sam didn’t answer and Dean looked up at him, exasperated. “You want to suffer through it Sam, fine.” He wasn’t sure why he was so upset. It wasn’t that serious a wound, and Sam had killed the fucking thing, but the anger coursed through him hot and heavy.

He clenched his jaw and set about cleaning and stitching and bandaging his brother’s leg, ignoring the hissing and sharp intakes of air as Sam rode out the pain.

When he was done he pulled Sam’s boot off and leaned down for the other one. “Get some sleep.”

“Dean—“

He held up a hand to stop him. Somehow the sound of his name on Sam’s lips was enough to make him want to punch him in the face. “Sleep. We’ll head for Dayton tomorrow. By the time the lunar cycle hits you should be up to hunting again, and we missed that son of a bitch last month.”

Sam looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. He wriggled around until he was under the sheets and comforter and closed his eyes. They’d been on a tear for almost six months, racing from one hunt to the next with hardly any downtime. Maybe Sam just needed a break.

Maybe after the werewolf in Dayton they’d head back to Bobby’s, take a few weeks off.

Dean shook his head and fished a bottle of Jack out of his duffle. The anger cooled a little as he watched Sam sleep, or at least pretend to. He’d been off for the last few weeks, since the dislocated shoulder and concussion in Provost. Sluggish and slow, hard to get moving in the morning.

His research had been less than accurate and took him longer. He disappeared a couple of times with no word, gone for hours and when he came back he wouldn’t say where he’d been.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think his brother was hiding something. Dean took a swig from the bottle. His phone buzzed and he pulled it out to look at the text message, nodding to himself. He needed more than a drink if he was going to face a long silent drive with his moody brother the next day.

He grabbed the hotel room key and headed across the parking lot to the bar. Maybe he’d get lucky, find some pretty thing with a warm bed to share.


***


Dean let himself into the room, already irritated when it was clear Sam was still sleeping. His body was pleasantly sore from a night of animated fun with two girls he could barely keep up with. He’d woken up alone in a room a few doors down, showered and he’d even stopped in the little diner next to the bar for coffee.

He put the coffee down on the table and moved to wake Sam, stopping short, his hand hovering over Sam’s shoulder. The bottle of pain pills that had been in the med kit was open on the nightstand. Open and empty.

Alarmed, Dean shook Sam hard. “Sammy? Wake up.”

Sam rolled over, his eyes opening slowly, rolling up until they sort of focused on Dean’s face. “Dean? What…what time…” He rubbed at his eyes with one hand and struggled to sit up.

“How many of these did you take, Sam?” Dean asked sternly, frowning hard enough his forehead hurt.

“What?” He looked at the bottle now in Dean’s hand. “I…” He shook his head. “One. Around midnight. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Sam, the bottle is empty. How many did you take?”

“I told you. I took one.”

Dean fumed, pacing away to the end of the bed then coming back. “There were at least ten pills in this bottle last week.”

Sam was frowning as he swung his legs to the floor. “There were…I don’t remember…” He stared at the bottle, then shook his head. “I took one. Just one.” He reached for the bottle of water that had been on the night stand, taking a big swallow.

That would explain a few things. Dean turned away, throwing the bottle toward the trash can. If Sam had been taking pain pills behind his back.

“Dean-“

“Don’t Sam. Just get dressed.”

Sam limped into the bathroom after grabbing a pair of jeans out of his duffle bag. Once the door was closed, Dean grabbed his brother’s bag, rummaging around the rolled up socks and underwear until his hand found a plastic baggie.

He closed his eyes as he pulled it out, not really wanting to know…but needing to. His hand closed around the bag and he held it for a second before exhaling and opening his hand and his eyes.

Blue pills and white pills and little pink pills half filled the bag. Dean shoved the bag into his own pocket. He had to admit, it was surprising given the way that they lived that either of them had reached adulthood without a problem with drugs. They knew how and where to score them, kept a supply on them for emergencies, and they certainly got hurt often enough to legitimately need them.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t drink too much.

But this was different. This could get one of them killed.



***


Sam knew his brother was pissed. They'd hardly spoke the entire drive into Dayton and Dean had disappeared as soon as he'd gotten them a motel room and made sure Sam was in it, his leg elevated on a couple of pillows, two bottles of water and the TV remote on the nightstand.

Dean pointedly left him nothing else. He didn't even bring in the duffle bags.

Sam was half surprised Dean didn't take his shoes to make sure he couldn't leave the room. Not that he planned to. His leg wasn't really up to much more walking than to the Impala and back…though Sam could already hear the engine of the Impala as Dean took off.

He wasn't sure what was going on, and honestly, it was starting to scare him. He was dizzy and tired all the time, he couldn't focus, he was clumsy.

He knew what Dean was thinking…especially with the pain pills disappearing…and Sam had to admit, he'd think the same thing in Dean's shoes. The problem Sam was having was that he knew he hadn't taken them.

Or at least, he was pretty sure.

Except, he distinctly remembered that there were at least two or three left in the bottle when he'd taken one to dull the pain in his leg…and he'd been alone in the room…and if he hadn't taken them, where had they gone.

And, as they drove, Sam had gotten more and more sick, like a junkie who couldn't get a hit. He'd done his best to hide it, but he was sure it showed. He was clammy and sweaty and shaking when they'd pulled off at a rest stop, and Dean had let him struggle to the bathroom on his own.

When he made it out, Dean was asleep in the back seat.

Sam didn't sleep though. He'd wanted to…but his stomach was all twisted and his head was pounding and what he really, really wanted was something for the pain.

Instead, he pounded down the bottle of water Dean had given him…and he paced as much as he could on his leg. He laid down in the front seat, with his head on the passenger side and his leg up on the steering wheel, but he was too damn big and it was too uncomfortable and so he'd gotten back up and had gone to lay on one of the tables, staring up into the sky while Dean slept.

The next day was much the same. Sam dozed a little in the car in the hours just before Dayton, but it wasn't really sleep as it much finding a zone where he wasn't thinking and couldn't feel anything but the steady drone of the car.

And now, here he sat, exhausted and yet wired.

He turned the TV on and flipped through the channels, trying to focus enough and finally just leaving it on some dumb infomercial. He turned the volume down to almost nothing to ease the pounding in his head and hoped the flickering of the screen would be enough to lull him to sleep.

He cracked open one of the bottles of water, apparently Dean's solution to the problem was to properly hydrate him…or possibly make him have to pee, meaning he'd have to walk on the leg…but his brother was angry, not cruel.

He was thirsty though, and the water was cold. It felt good, soothing almost…and within minutes he'd drained both bottles. He flipped channels again, ending up on some movie that was nearly soft-core porn.

Sam drifted off to the sounds of two girls moaning.

Even in his dreams he couldn't escape fighting with his brother, bickering and slamming doors, with Dean walking around naked, his dick hard and bouncing when he walked…but then his dream turned strange and there were sounds like sex…like someone getting a blow job…and then that someone was him and he was naked on a bed and he couldn't move anything but his head…and when he lifted his head to see, it was Dean who was sucking his dick and not being very gentle about it either.

Sam tried to reach for him, to stop him, but his arms were too heavy to move and his cock was thick and hard and ready to blow, and then he was coming, Dean's hand milking him, his come spilling onto his groin and stomach and even after Dean let go it kept leaking streams of heavy fluid.

He tossed and turned and finally woke, dizzy and unfocused, but clearly aroused. Dean was asleep in the next bed. Sam pulled a hand through his hair and sat up, frowning as he realized he was naked and under the sheets. He didn't remember getting undressed.

Glancing at Dean's bed, Sam peeled back the sheet. His dick was more than half hard and his stomach was sticky with come.

As if he wasn't fucked up enough already.

He pushed himself upright, hobbling to the bathroom to clean up. It had to be a part of whatever was wrong with him. That and Dean's sudden need to walk around naked.

Sam shut the bathroom door and started the shower. None of that was comforting though. Something was seriously wrong with him. It was starting to scare him. The full moon was only days away, and Dean needed back up…not a fucked up little brother who dreams about…the fucked up shit he was dreaming about.

He pulled the bandage off his stitched up wound. It was still angry looking, red and slightly swollen, but not hot to the touch. He should cover it before getting in the shower, keep the stitches dry.

Obviously, Dean had thought of that. On the counter by the sink was a plastic bag and the roll of adhesive tape from the med kit. With a sigh, Sam sat on the toilet and wrapped his leg in plastic and tape before easing into the shower.

He scrubbed himself clean, purposefully not thinking about what could be wrong, or what Dean was thinking, or why, despite everything, he was still hard. That was harder than the rest as his hand brushed over his cock. It had been ages since he’d been with anyone, and even just taking himself in hand had been a while. It wasn’t easy to do when you lived in the same space as your brother and alone time was seldom really spent alone.

His soapy hand curled around his cock and he bit his lip to keep the moan from escaping. The water beat down over his head as he stroked himself…and maybe he’d come in his sleep, but that didn’t seem to be keeping him from getting close again. He closed his eyes and kept sliding his hand up and down, trying to get to the end before his brother wondered what he was up to.

Dean’s face filled his mind…the face he’d seen in his dream, his brother’s lips stretched around Sam’s dick, his eyes pinning Sam down, filled with anger as he dragged his mouth up and slid down again.

Sam came explosively, the stream slapping against the tile wall as Sam panted. He was shaking as he washed the evidence away, disgusted at himself.

Dean was right. There was something very wrong with him.



***

“You all right?” Dean asked as he caught up with Sam.

Sam nodded, but didn’t speak. The werewolf was dead at his feet, blood from his latest victim still covering his face and hands.

Dean grinned at Sam and clapped a hand to his brother’s shoulder. Sam shuddered and pulled away. “Don’t.”

Dean buried the growl. Things had been better. Sam was almost back to himself, except for the sudden prudish streak and the way he didn’t want Dean to touch him…and the way he said less than usual. But more normal in the research and functional ways.

Not that he was forgetting the pills. Sam had denied that they were his. There were secrets being kept and eventually they’d have to drag the whole mess out into the open, but none of it was anything Dean really wanted to face as long as Sam was functioning.

“Let’s go before the cops show up.” Sam said, already climbing into the car.

He couldn’t argue with that. He started up the car and headed them toward the hotel. The tension on the air was annoying him more than he wanted to admit. They should be celebrating. The fucking werewolf had been a nasty one, and it was the last night of the cycle. Dean flushed it from its latest kill, and Sam and dropped it with a single gunshot.

Instead, Sam sulked as he headed into the room, dropping onto his bed and kicking his shoes off.

“You going to tell me what’s got your panties in a wad?” Dean asked as he flipped open the lid on the box of pizza leftover from the night before.

“I’m tired.” Sam responded. It had become his standard response to almost any question any more.

“Okay, I get that. You should be for all the dreaming you’ve been doing.”

Sam stiffened, his eyes darting to Dean. “W-what?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sam said, getting up from the bed. He grabbed the bottle of water by his side of the nightstand and moved as far away from Dean as he could get and still be in the room.

“Whatever it is that’s got you all worked up, it’s fucking with your head…and you talk in your sleep. You always have.” First Sam would be awake for days, then he'd sleep like the dead until the dreams started. Dean had laid awake and listened every night all week as Sam fought with him in his dreams, and by the sound of it, the Dean in his head was kicking the shit out of him. "So out with it. Obviously you're upset with me. What is it?"

Sam shook his head and gulped down more water. "No. Just. Dreams, Dean. Just dreams. Don't mean anything."

Dean took a bite of a slice of pizza, then pulled his shirts off and tossed them on the end of the bed. "Dreams like that usually mean something, Sammy." Dean replied, unzipping his jeans and dropping them. "Is it because I got angry about the pills?"

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again. "No. I don't know." He finished off the water and paced the few steps between the wall and the bed and back. "I mean…" He licked his lips and looked up at Dean. "I don't know…I think something's wrong. With me."

Dean turned to look at him, scowling. "That's what I'm getting at. What's eating you?"

"No." Sam shook his head. "Not like that." His hand pressed to one side of his head. "I'm…I'm fucked up. I think I might need…hell, I don't know what I need."

Dean took another bite of cold pizza and finished undressing, intending to head into the shower.

"God, Dean, seriously?" Sam turned away and Dean looked down at his naked body.

"What?" Dean asked. "It's not like you haven't seen it before."

"Doesn't mean I want to see it now." Sam countered. "I'm trying to tell you that I'm worried, and you're standing there naked."

Dean crossed the room. Sam cringed as he got closer. "I'm not going to hurt you." Dean said, frowning.

"I-I know." Sam didn't look like he knew that, one arm half raised to protect himself.

"So what is it I'm doing to you in these dreams that's got you so fucking jumpy, eh, Sam?"

Sam's face was turning red and he was shaking his head, the water bottle crushed in his hand. "Just….leave me alone, Dean."

Dean reached for him, but Sam smacked his hand away and in a flash of anger, Dean hit him. Sam staggered back into the wall, lifting a hand to his cheek. Dean backed away, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

Sam sagged against the wall, sliding down until he was on the floor. It was clear he was done talking as he turned his face away from Dean.

"Suit yourself, Sam. I'm going to shower."



***


He didn't move until he heard the shower come on. Then, Sam slowly moved to the bed and pulled himself up onto his feet.

If Dean knew what he'd been dreaming…Sam shook his head. He was beginning to think that maybe he should just…leave. Get some space between him and his brother so he could think without Dean all over him.

The dreams had gotten worse, escalating from Dean slapping him around and the forced blow job, to what was tantamount to actual rape. Or it would, except in the dream Sam came every single time…and when he woke up, it was obvious it wasn’t just in his dream.

He woke up sore, his body clenched tight, his cock still hard…and then there were the bruises. Like the drugs and the memory loss and the lethargy, Sam couldn’t explain them.

Except for that they corresponded to the abuse Dean dished out in his dream. The big spot on his ribs was just beginning to fade. In his dream, Dean had punched him in that spot repeatedly the first time he’d…and this morning he’d found deep, finger shaped bruises on both hips after waking up from a dream in which Dean held him down and raped him, his fingers digging into Sam’s skin.

He couldn’t explain any of it, he just knew that it was fucked up.

He was fucked up.

And he was tired.

He sat on the bed to take his shoes off. He heard the shower turn off, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to get up and take his turn. He didn’t bother to strip out of his jeans, just took his jacket off, dropping it beside the bed as he laid down, his eyes closing.

He heard Dean come out of the bathroom, felt him stand between the beds staring down at him. Anger radiated from him. Sam fought the urge to cringe away, just keep his eyes closed and go to sleep.

The dream snared him almost instantly, a flurry of fists and fury slamming him into a wall, Dean’s voice a snarl as he pinned Sam and stripped him naked, handcuffing his wrists behind his back before throwing him to the bed.

“Dean, please.” Sam pleaded, trying to crawl away. “Please don’t.”

“You need this, Sammy. You know you do.” His hands moved Sam easily, positioning him on his knees, legs apart, his face in the comforter which already reeked of sex. Something hard slapped across his upturned ass, over and over until Sam screamed, his body trembling. “You deserve this. You need to be punished.”

His stomach twisted, knowing somehow Dean was right. He did deserve it, need it. “You’re sick Sam. I'm saving you.” Dean said, his hand curling now around Sam’s erect cock and tugging down it dry, making Sam hiss out and try to pull away. “Don’t tell me you don’t want it.”

He couldn’t deny it, not when the evidence was there in his brother’s hand. Then Dean was holding his hips, shoving into him and Sam was screaming again, screaming and coming. Dean finished and spanked him again…and then it was back to the fists and the wall…and it went on forever, in a loop.

“Sam.”

He pulled away from the hot hand on his face. “No. Dean…no more…can’t…”

“Sammy.” Two hands grabbed his face, held him still.

Sam opened his eyes. The weak light of the nightstand lamp made him blink up at his brother’s face. “Dean?” He was sweating and panting, and he hurt all over. Once again, he was naked, his cock hard, the smell of come lifting from the wet spot on the sheet.

Sam shrank away from his brother, shame rising against the tears on his face. “Don’t…” He shook his head. “I…don’t know what…”

Dean sat on the bed beside him, naked himself. “It’s okay. It was a dream.”

Sam shook his head again. “I…I don’t think so.” In fact, he was kind of sure, because he could feel…something…he reached behind him with one shaking hand…his ass was sore and oozing. His hand came back with a pinkish fluid…and his wrist was marked…like he’d been fighting against handcuffs.

“You…” Sam pulled away from him, though there wasn’t far to go. “You…raped me.”

Dean was frowning at him like he was a lunatic. “Sam, I haven’t touched you.”

He got out of the bed on the other side, despite his nakedness and Dean gasped. There were bruises on Sam’s chest and abdomen and thighs. “Sam, what the hell?”

It didn’t make sense. “Dean…you…in my dreams…you did this.” Sam inched down the wall toward the bathroom. “How…how…”

Dean stood, his expression changing. “Witch?” His concern was different now, like he finally had something to blame it all on. “How long?”

Sam couldn’t follow him. “W-what?”

“The dreams, how long?”

“I don’t know.” Sam answered. It was all a blur. “Couple weeks?”

Dean swore and took a step toward Sam, stopping when Sam cringed. “Fuck, why didn’t you say something?”

“You were so angry.” Sam closed his eyes, tried to think past the dream-memory of Dean forcing himself into Sam’s ass. “It was just arguing…and then fighting…and then…” The shaking was getting worse and his ass was dripping. “I’m going crazy.” He nodded to himself.

“Are you okay?”

Sam blinked at his brother. What kind of question was that?

“Physically?” Dean clarified. “Is anything broken, damaged?”

“I…don’t think so?”

Dean nodded. “Get cleaned up. Down time starts now. We’re going to Bobby’s.”


***


Sam dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand to fight off the fatigue that threatened to make him sleep. He couldn’t handle more dreams.

Dean paced behind the car, on the phone while he pumped gas.

Sam hadn’t slept since that last dream, almost thirty hours.

Dean’s face was set and hard as he got back into the car. He had a bottle of water in his hand that he handed to Sam. “You should try to sleep.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“You are so not fine. Here.” He pulled a ziploc bag out of his jacket pocket. It was filled with pills. “Knock your ass out, you won’t dream then.”

“You don’t know that.” Sam argued, opening the water and taking a sip.

“It’s the best I’ve got Sam. Look, you’re exhausted. Give yourself a fighting chance.”

Sam took the bag, fishing out two of the pills. “What did Bobby say?”

Dean started the car. “He told me to make you sleep and get us back there.”

“Did you…” Sam licked his lips. “Tell him?”

“Not everything.” He pulled them back on the road. “Take the pills Sam. You should sleep the rest of the way.”


***


Sam pulled himself through the sluggish sludge of the drugs, fighting his way up from dreamless sleep into the dark that surrounded him. He wasn't in the car, or some motel room and this sure as hell wasn't Bobby's house.

He choked down the panic and slowly lifted his head from the cold concrete. It wasn't dark, he was blindfolded. His jaw ached, his mouth held open around something in his mouth.

He couldn't move much. He was on his knees and elbows, folded in on himself. Heavy leather restraints bound his arms together, from elbows to wrists, and something was bound around his legs and back, leather too from the feel of it. His ankles were bound and judging from the limited movement, the restraints were held to the ground somehow.

He was naked, he realized slowly…and he wasn't alone.

Someone was in the room. A hand ghosted over his bare back, over his naked ass. It touched him, rubbing over him as if it had every right, separating his ass cheeks, fondling his balls and cock. To Sam's dismay his cock was hard with the handling. He tried to pull away, to escape the possessive touch, but he had no where to go.

There was a heavy slap against his ass, then footsteps. "Fuck him. Hard."

Sam yelled into the gag and fought the restraints, but that didn't stop hands from pressing in against bruises already on his hips, holding him in place as a cock, barely slicked on lube at all, breached his ass, shoving in fast and hard. It was brutal, hands digging into his skin, the cock slamming into him…but then it was over and Sam panted around the gag, tried to hear the murmuring voices in the room.

The possessive hand was back, rubbing fingers into the come oozing out of him, smearing it over his skin before sliding down to grab his cock, jacking him hard enough that it was nearly painful, laughing as Sam spilled come.

Then the room went quiet. Sam panted and lowered his head to the floor, trying to convince himself it was just another dream.


***


Dean remembered now.

He paced the tiny room, fuming with the memory.

All of it.

It was his fault.

He had raped his own brother. More than once. Fed him drugs, fucked with his head. Raped him.

His body shook, the smell of his own come still clinging to him. His stomach lurched and he leaned into the wall as he threw up.

He could still hear Sam screaming around the gag, feel the tension in his body as he thrashed against the very effective restraints. His stomach seized again, but there was nothing left to bring up and Dean could only spit and hold his stomach as the feeling passed.

Dean exhaled and stood upright, stepping away from the small puddle. He stalked toward the door, but stopped at the white line two feet away. No matter what he tried he couldn't make himself step over the line, couldn't reach for the knob.

"Fuck." He stalked away again, to the small bed that was the only furniture in the room. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

Now that he was back here, where it started, the memory came without work. It had started when he and Sam had run into the bastard in a mini-mart on Christmas eve the year before. Sam remembered him before Dean had, though neither one of them could remember much more than a first name.

Jesse Clampton.

Dean remembered it now.

Jesse Clampton had been a senior in the high school where they'd spent Sam's junior year. And up until that night in the mini-mart, that was about all Dean knew about the bastard.

Now though…now he knew that he'd had a crush on Sam. Not that he'd ever acted on it, though apparently he spied on him enough to figure out that the Winchesters were not your average American family…and sometime after they blew town, Jesse had discovered the occult…not surprising given the town he lived in and the area's history.

And then they'd run into him.

Dean would never have even thought about him again, except for the fact that the bastard had set a trap for Sam…and had caught Dean in it instead. He'd gone to sleep in a motel bed on that job he'd done alone, and woke up naked, strapped down to an exam table about to get fucked up the ass.

When Jesse had finished he'd told Dean all about his elaborate plan and how Dean had fucked it up, but it was okay, because he'd spent the time Dean was unconscious altering it and now it was even better, because rather than just making Sam his mindless slave, he was going to have Dean break Sam for him and give him to Jesse like a gift.

And he had. Or nearly so. Sam was…close to losing it all together. It wasn't going to take a lot more.

Dean's hand dropped to his cock, his fingers searching out the mark. Clampton had pumped him full of drugs, that made it hard to think and made his dick hard and then the chanting had begun, and the searing pain as the brand burned into his skin.

It was a sigil, less than an inch around, burned into the base of his dick, underneath, where it wouldn't be easily visible even walking around naked and hard. The magic that went into creating it was ancient and powerful, binding him to obedience.

Clampton had sealed it with blood, cutting open his thumb and pressing it against the angry, hot flesh as he continued chanting, binding Dean not just to be obedient, but to specifically be obedient to him.

And then he had sent him back to Sam with orders to forget until he say Clampton again. Over the next months Clampton called, directing Dean to be angry, to start walking around naked when they were alone, to drug Sam's water and his food, sometimes with sedatives or pain killers, sometimes with speed.

He should up from time to time, calling Dean away, forcing him to submit to acts of sex, just to prove that he was in control.

Then came the night he demanded that Dean drug Sam deeply with sedatives and Viagra and let Clampton into the hotel room. He'd forced Dean to strip Sam naked and hit his sleeping brother before he'd sucked Sam's cock, all the while Clampton watched, fingering some medallion.

Clampton was never far away after that, and each night the abuse got worse. Dean had forced his cock into his brother's mouth, then he'd raped him, pinning him, restraining him and fucking his ass in a fury.

Each night, as Clampton left, he told Dean to forget it again, gave him other memories, false memories to hold the place of what he forgot. And then, when Sam was falling apart, Clampton had called him and told him it was time to come home.

Dean had driven all night while Sam slept beside him. Drove up into the warehouse and just…gave his brother over. He'd been forced to watch as Sam was carried into his prison, a room about the same size as the one Dean was trapped in, with no windows and just the one door with no knob on the inside.

Clampton had ordered Dean to strip Sam and bind him, blindfold and gag him…and they waited. Once Sam was awake, Clampton had touched him, then grinned at Dean and told him to fuck him.

And Dean had.

Just fucked him. On command. The door opened and Jesse stood there grinning at him. His dark hair was slicked back and he'd shaved the facial hair he'd had when Dean had been here before. His black suit looked expensive as he leaned on the door, watching Dean.

"Sam's awake."

"Fuck you." Dean growled.

Jesse smirked. "Now, Dean. You know better than to try to piss me off. Kneel."

Dean fumed as his knees bent and he did as he was told. "That's better."

Jesse stepped into the room, shoving his groin in Dean's face. "Now, make me believe you like it."

Dean's hands moved of their own accord to his zipper, easing his cock out. Dean's mouth opened, his tongue sliding over the head and down the side before he took the cock into him, moaning as if he wanted it.

Clampton chuckled, petting through Dean's hair. "Such a good boy."

He wanted nothing more than to bite the fuck down and relieve the bastard of his manhood, but he couldn't make his mouth obey, could only suck and lick over the damn cock like it was a fucking lollipop until Clampton was suddenly holding his head and shoving into his throat as he came. "Swallow."

Dean did as he was told, his face flushing with anger and humiliation. Clampton stood back and tucked himself in. "Very good. You're getting better at that. Time to teach your brother that skill. Get up."

He stood, huffing in frustration.

"Lets just go over the rules Dean. Recite."

It was one of the bastard's favorite games, to make him recite whatever commands were currently programmed into him. Dean fought the compulsion, but Clampton snapped his fingers and Dean's mouth betrayed him. "I will be aroused whenever I see Sam. I will hurt Sam whenever he says my name. I will not tell anyone why I must obey."

"Very good. Come."

He stepped away and Dean followed, the only time he was allowed over the white line on the floor was at command, either directly from Clampton, or from one of his massive guards.

They moved down the corridor under the main floor of the warehouse, the level converted to serve Clampton's perverse desire to own the two Winchester brothers…though Dean suspected that he and Sam were not the only unfortunate souls currently being held there.

They stopped in front of a door with a window in it. Dean could see Sam, his arms bound and held over his head as he sort of squatted against the wall, his knees covering his nakedness. Bruises covered him and his head hung limply against his chest.

"Now then, you're going to go in there and make him suck your cock. Use whatever force is necessary to subdue him and come in his mouth."

The door was opened and Dean was shoved into the room. Sam looked up slowly, his eyes widening as he saw Dean. Blood rushed to Dean's cock, hardening it despite every desire to disobey.

Sam blinked at him, his mouth opening, then closing again as Dean fought his orders. His first steps across the room were jerky, but as he lost the fight, his hand shot out and fisted in Sam's hair, pulling him away from the wall.

"Dean, I—" Dean's fist tightened in his hair and Dean grabbed Sam's face with his free hand, squeezing until he could hear Sam whimper.

"Don't make me hurt you." Dean ground out from between clenched teeth, hoping he could make Sam understand.

Tears leaked out of Sam's eyes. Dean released his hold on Sam's face. He had to find a way to make this as easy on his brother as he could…but his options were limited. "Open your mouth."

Sam blinked up at him, very clearly not understanding. "Dean, please—"

Before he could even try to prevent it, Dean hit him hard across the face. Huffing out his disgust, he squatted down so he was on eye level with Sam. "Don't make me hurt you." He swallowed as Sam looked up at him, betrayal in his eyes. Dean closed his eyes and tried to reason his way past his orders. He licked his lips and looked Sam in the eye. "Say my name."

"Dean?"

Dean punched Sam hard in the chest, then grabbed his face to make him look at him. "Don't make me hurt you, understand?"

Sam nodded jerkily and Dean echoed it. "Good. Now, open your mouth." Dean stood again, holding Sam's head by the hair with one hand and his insanely hard cock with the other. The compulsion to fulfill his orders was becoming urgent. Dean stepped closer as Sam's mouth opened hesitantly.

He bucked away when Dean got close enough to put his dick on Sam's lip, but he was largely pinned in place and it didn't take much for Dean to force his way in. He didn't try to fight as the compulsion took over and he shoved himself into Sam's mouth, even as Sam gagged around him. He moved fast, pressing Sam's head against the wall as he fucked him.

When he finally came, Sam choked and coughed, spitting some of it out, though he swallowed a fair amount. Dean backed off, his anger filling him. He wanted to apologize, to tell Sam why, but he knew he wouldn't be able to.

He went back to the door and it opened, Jesse shoving a tray at him with two bowls, a length of black cloth and a ball gag on it. "Feed him like a dog, give him water. See if he needs to pee. There's a bucket in the corner. When he's done, chain him down to the floor. Blindfold him and gag him."

Dean swallowed and took the tray, moving back into the room. Sam eyed him suspiciously, not that Dean could blame him. He put the tray down and brought the two bowls closer to Sam. "Easy. I'm going to take your arms down."

His cock was still ridiculously hard being this close to Sam and it made the task harder for the distraction. He unhooked the leather restraints from the chain that hung down the wall, but left them connected at Sam's wrists. His hands were gentle as he could make them as they eased Sam to his knees. "Here, eat."

Dean put the bowl with what looked like grits or something similar in front of Sam, then put the water beside it. Sam shook his head, leaning in on himself, holding his bound hands in his lap. Dean petted over his brother's head, shrinking back when Sam pulled away.

"If you don't eat I'll have to punish you, Sam." Dean heard himself say, though the words weren't his own. "You don't want me to punish you."

The room wasn't a lot different than his own, but for the lack of even the bed. There were chains and pulleys above them, hooks embedded in the concrete walls and floors for tying Sam down in various positions, and on the wall by the door hung a variety of tools for punishment.

Dean knew the touch of every single one of them.

He glanced at the door where he knew Clampton was watching him. "Please, Sam. I don't want to hurt you." Dean whispered, trying to put as much of himself into the words as he could. "Just eat a little of it."

Sam's eyes darted to the door and back to Dean and Dean nodded, hoping Sam could tell that this wasn't Dean's doing, that someone else was making him behave like this. Slowly, Sam lowered his head, his tongue moving to lap up some of the cold mealy mush. He made a face, but swallowed. After a few more licks, he moved his face to the water bowl, licking that up a little more eagerly.

"Good boy." Dean murmured, petting over his head. "Up." Dean stood, drawing Sam up with him and walking him to the corner bucket. "Pee."

Sam looked at him, horrified. "W-what?"

Dean rubbed a hand over his back. "Do it now, or you'll make a mess later."

"D-I can't."

Dean checked the door behind them, confirming that Clampton couldn't see them in the corner. He pressed himself close to Sam, putting his arms around him and holding him. "Please Sammy. Please. I’m trying…I can't…" His throat closed up around the words and he closed his eyes. "Please, just do it so I don't have to hurt you."

"Who…who's outside that door?" Sam asked, leaning back a little to look.

Dean couldn't answer him though. "It's going to get worse." Dean said softly instead, his hand moving up Sam's back. "Please Sammy."

"I don't have to go." Sam said, shuffling back away from Dean. "Tell me what the fuck is going on, Dean."

His hand shot out and backhanded Sam across the face, sending him staggering backward. Dean followed him across the cell, crowding him into the wall and grabbing his cock, squeezing until Sam stopped struggling.

He used his hold on his brother's cock to drag him away from the wall and forced him to his knees. He reached with his other hand and lifted the ball gag from the tray. Sam shook his head, but with another squeeze, he stopped. Dean lifted the gag, shoving the ball into Sam's mouth and snapping it shut behind his head. Then he tied the blindfold on.

Sam struggled as Dean forced him down, stretching his arms up over his head and locking the restraints to an eye-bolt there. He moved down Sam's legs and secured those as well, leaving Sam helpless on the floor.

The door opened and Clampton came into the room with one of the big guards behind him. He was carrying a tray himself, though it wasn't food and water. Wordlessly, Clampton beckoned Dean away from Sam as the big guy knelt beside him. His gloved hands wiped rubbing alcohol over a spot on Sam's chest, just under the collarbone, then lifted a heavy needle.

Dean shook his head as he realized what was about to happen, but he could do nothing but watch helplessly as a thick section of skin was pinched up and Sam screamed around the gag as the needle was shoved through it. He thrashed against the restraints as the needle came out and a heavy silver ring was threaded through and tightened.

Clampton tugged on Dean's arm and gestured for the door. Once the door was closed, Clampton nodded. "Thank you Carl. That will be all for now. Take Dean to his room."