Chapter Text
November 2, 1983 - Lawrence, Kansas
John had always believed that nothing was perfect. Maybe it was cynicism he’d picked up during the war or a convenient out to shrug off his own failings. Regardless, he wasn’t too proud of a man to admit when he was wrong.
This moment was perfect.
Contentment warmed him, raising the corners of his lips into a smile that he doubted could ever fade. Mary’s features mirrored his own and brimmed so full of love that he couldn’t begin to comprehend what he had done to deserve even a glimpse of this kind of happiness.
He reached over their sleeping sons and slipped his arm around Mary’s shoulder. When she leaned towards him, the gentle waves of her hair cascaded from her shoulder to mingle with Dean’s blond locks. A few strands must have tickled Dean’s nose because it twitched, and a moment later, big, sleepy eyes blinked up at John.
Dean was nestled on the couch between him and Mary, bathed in the cool light of the television. He slouched with Sammy protectively held on his lap, wrapped in a blanket that made the six month old a nearly oversized bundle that Dean refused to relinquish.
As he stirred, Dean’s eyes moved from Mary to still-sleeping Sammy. By the time those bright eyes found John, a beaming smile had swept over Dean’s face.
“Sammy and me are the cheese,” Dean gleefully declared.
Mary laughed softly while John carded his hand through his son’s hair. “A Winchester sandwich, the best kind,” John agreed.
He leaned in to place a kiss on Dean’s head. With a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, John moved on to capture Mary’s lips. She attempted a look of admonishment, but couldn’t keep a straight face and instead opted to return the kiss before they both straightened on the couch. There was an intoxicating softness to her gaze.
The last thing he wanted was for this moment to end.
Remaining on the couch and saying to hell with the rest of the world did cross his mind, but someone needed to go to work in the morning and someone else had an even bigger job of keeping the two deceptively innocent rascals beside him out of trouble tomorrow.
If they didn’t all get to bed, Sammy, who still dozed in his brother’s arms, would be the only one rested come morning. Even Dean had already lost his burst of energy. He fought back a yawn and his eyelids again looked heavy. Tipping over, Dean nuzzled his cheek back into John’s side.
“I know two slices of cheese that are up way past their bedtime,” Mary said.
“Can’t go to bed,” Dean said, jolting upright. “Watching a movie.”
John chuckled and patted Dean’s shoulder before standing. “The movie ended fifteen minutes ago, kiddo.”
Dean’s face scrunched. His disbelieving eyes darted to the television that was silently airing The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson.
Mary reached up to flick on the lamp as John clicked off the television and shut down the VCR. When John turned back to his family, Dean still looked doubtful, but slowly the tension eased from his face as the boy accepted the inevitable fate of bedtime.
“Happily ever after?” Dean asked.
“Always,” Mary said as she scooped Sammy from Dean’s hold. “Now it’s time for my little princes to get to bed.”
Before Mary could stand, Dean kissed the soft wisps at the top of his little brother’s head. “Night, Sammy.”
“You got that one?” Mary asked.
John moved in on Dean. “Oh, I got him all right.”
“Daddy!” Dean giggled, curling into a ball as John mercilessly tickled his tummy.
When his boy finally surrendered, John hefted him up. Dean wrapped his arms around John’s neck and rested his head against John’s shoulder.
Somehow, Mary’s smile warmed further as she brushed Dean’s bangs aside and placed a kiss on his forehead. “Sleep good, sweetie.”
“’Night, Mommy. Take care of Sammy.”
It seemed ridiculous now that they had ever worried about how Dean would adjust to having a little brother. They’d read all the books and had expected tantrums, fear of abandonment, and a pile of other Freudian mumbo jumbo. What they had gotten was further proof that the world had blessed them with the perfect son.
Dean shifted in his arms as John carried him up the stairs, leaning back far enough to meet his eyes. “I’d save Sammy from the dragons.”
Apparently his son hadn’t missed as much of the movie as John had thought. “I know you would.” John’s arms wrapped more snuggly around his son. “That’s what big brothers are for.”
After a layover in the bathroom, John delivered Dean to bed. With one hand, he folded back the blankets and laid him over the fire truck clad sheets. He straightened out the flannel of Dean’s blue plaid pajamas before pulling up the covers to tuck around him.
Usually Dean would have been eagerly anticipating a story from John or a song from Mary, but tonight he was out the moment he touched down on the mattress. John patted his hand softly over the blankets at Dean’s chest then switched off the lamp.
At the door, he stopped and looked back over the peaceful form of his sleeping son, gently illuminated by the glow from the room’s nightlight. It was the last time he would ever smile at his son.
Later that night, John would see the demon for the first time.
~~~
May 20, 2001 - Seattle, Washington
With a flip of wavy blond hair, the young woman leaned in towards Dean. Her movements were practiced, knowing exactly the angle needed to display an ample view of the cleavage that nearly burst from the confines of her obscenely low-cut tube top.
A sputtered laugh almost escaped Sam’s lips at the indignant look that crossed her face when Dean’s eyes only darted down to fix on the sticky surface of the bar. He would laugh if it didn’t hurt so much to see how uneasy her attention made his brother.
Unlike the last two girls who had tried to pick up Dean, this one was pushing way too hard and fast not to be charging. He wondered if she’d appreciate the irony in the fact that she was propositioning a prostitute to pay her for sex.
Prostitute.
The word slid so easily to his mind, but rang cold and bitter even as only a random thought in Sam’s head. It was what Dad called Dean, but it made his brother sound like just a cheap trick when Dean was so much more than that.
Sam knew that his big brother gave everything just so they had food to eat and gas for the road. Some nights, it was even enough for a half-clean, warm bed. It didn’t make him hate it any less and maybe just made Sam hate Dad more for rubbing it in Dean’s face.
Knowing first-hand just how much that money could mean, Sam wasn’t surprised when the woman didn’t surrender. She leaned in further, resting an elbow on the bar and moving like she planned to climb into Dean’s lap.
Dean jerked as if she’d bitten him. He shot a nervous glance over his shoulder towards the pool tables at the far side of the bar before he scooted away.
He was so close to falling off the edge of his barstool that he had to steady himself with a hand on Sam’s thigh. Dean’s other hand reached around his back and slipped beneath his shirt. Sam didn’t need to see what Dean was doing to know that his hand rested on the Colt.
Sam bristled as he took the cue from his brother. He also began to wonder if the persistent woman was even human or if her fascination with Dean might be about more than just money. He let himself breathe a little when her eyes moved from Dean, just as happy to settle on Sam.
A coy smile played over her scarlet lips. “We could work out a two-for-one rate.”
With a snort, Sam rolled his eyes. He spun on his barstool to face her. It wasn’t until his eyes moved past Dean and he really looked at her that he saw the subtle etching of poorly masked wrinkles beneath the too-heavy application of makeup. He distantly thought it made her look like a clown and shivered. Briefly, he reconsidered the possibility of her being a demon after all.
Right now, he didn’t care what she was. He just wanted her to leave his brother alone.
“He doesn’t talk and we’re not interested.”
Sam’s tone wasn’t rude, but it left no room for discussion. The woman, who was probably old enough to be his mother, pushed off the bar and wordlessly sauntered off. She didn’t leave without sending a wanting look back at Dean before disappearing into the crowd.
Dean was his brother, and Sam wasn’t attracted to guys to begin with, but he wasn’t blind. He knew that despite the self-conscious way Dean held his body, that his brother was ridiculously attractive and Dean’s mysterious silence somehow pulled more attention to him than if he were screaming at the top of his lungs.
A tide of anger rose in Sam at the fact that strangers got off on knowing that Dean didn’t want it, like they thought he was playing hard-to-get for their personal amusement.
He saw it in the eyes of every girl that caught sight of Dean. Growing up, he’d heard it spoken in crude words by more men and demons than he could count. Time and again he’d seen the lust masking their features as they had fumbled into his brother’s pants.
Sam’s grip on his beer tightened hard enough that his fingers numbed. He was afraid that he was near to crushing the glass in his hold and forced his hand to loosen. His nerves were ragged enough without having to sit still while Dean picked chunks of glass from his palm.
This bar was worse than most. It was shoulder-brushing crowded and dark as a theater. Every shadow crawled with could-be demons. Some patrons were far beyond wasted, raucous and unpredictable. Others hunched over secluded booths exchanging hushed conversation over drinks they had barely sipped.
A hearty laugh, deep and unmistakable, rumbled from the pool tables. Dad wasn’t as drunk as he pretended to be, but anyone watching would think he was and he wasn’t exactly sober either. Sam wasn’t sure if their father ever actually was.
Sam’s own beer bottle was only two gulps down and both had only been for show. Most eighteen year olds would be in heaven here, but he wasn’t most teens. There was nothing normal about him or his brother, who sat silently, shifting uncomfortably on the barstool beside him.
The restless movements were the norm for Dean, though he apparently didn’t realize that he never sat still. Anytime Dad bitched about Dean’s squirming, Dean just said “sorry, sir”, and always looked confused, like he didn’t actually know what he’d done.
Sam couldn’t blame Dean for not bothering to figure it out. As far as he could tell, just Dean’s breathing pissed Dad off.
The constant movement out of the corner of his eye was comfortingly familiar and assured him his brother was close, but he knew the ceaseless shifting was a combination of Dean being sore and antsy for a fight that he might not walk away from.
It wasn’t fair that Dean always had to be in pain. Sam wanted to hear his brother laugh, free and proud, like Dad. He would kill for a chuckle or a flash of a smile, even though he was sure he wouldn’t recognize Dean with a grin anymore than he would recognize the sound of his brother’s laughter.
Dean’s ample lips were pressed in a grim line, his dull eyes seemingly calm while darting over the crowd. Sam kept his own eyes fixed straight towards the bar, watching the scene behind them in the mirror. He should be scouting for demons, but his gaze kept drifting to Dean.
For a moment their eyes caught in the reflection. Dean cleared his throat before again fixing his eyes down on the counter. He wordlessly knocked back another shot. Unlike Sam, Dean really was drinking, but Dean held his liquor even better than Dad and if Sam were Dean, he’d want to be drunk too.
Sam took another gulp from his own beer. When he looked up again, Dad was waving towards Dean.
“Strut that pretty ass over here, boy!”
Dean gulped for air as if he was preparing for a deep-sea dive without an air tank. He fumbled with his shot glass, sending it clanking down to the counter before sliding off the barstool. His eyes deadened as he shrugged off his jacket.
Sam didn’t care that it was an act for the con. He hated when Dad talked to Dean like he was a whore instead of his own son. The masked hurt in Dean’s eyes screamed the truth. Despite Dean’s claims of not caring, each lewd comment out of Dad’s mouth tore into him like razor wire.
With a firm grip, Sam grasped Dean’s arm, clutching it until he drew up his brother’s eyes. “You really ready for this?”
“All part of the job.”
It was all Dean ever said. If something was for the hunt, or if it was what Dad wanted, then Dean gave it a free pass. It didn’t matter how wrong it was or how much it hurt, not as long as Dean was the only one getting hurt.
Sam shook his head as he took Dean’s jacket for him. “I hate the fucking job.”
“What we do is important.” Dean stifled a sigh and slipped out of his overshirt. “We’re saving lives, Sammy.”
“So I’ve heard,” Sam snapped.
None of this was Dean’s fault, but he was sick and tired of hearing the old Winchester company line, especially when there were more important things at stake than random strangers they would never meet.
“What about your life? Why’s it gotta be you, Dean?”
“You know why. Can we not do this now?” Dean’s question was weary, sounded wearier every time he asked it.
Sam bit his tongue and squeezed his brother’s arm once more before taking the shirt Dean fumbled with in his hands. He carefully concealed the Colt that Dean had smuggled him inside the fabric.
“Sorry, man.”
He wasn’t sorry for brining it up and he’d damn well keep bringing it up until Dean listened. But it wouldn’t change what was going to happen tonight and Dean already had enough weighing on his shoulders.
Sam reluctantly released his brother and let Dean weave them through the crowd to the pool table Dad had commandeered. Dad already had plenty of company. A group of ravenous-looking men, demons no doubt, circled the table and all had their eyes locked on Dean as he approached.
Dean kept his eyes averted, but his head up and on display as the demons visually undressed him. A wave of jealousy bubbled up to combat Sam’s concern for his brother’s safety. This was the first time he’d come on this particular style of hunt, but from the briefing Dad had given, he knew there was a good chance that these demons would soon have their hands all over Dean.
“Stop dragging your feet,” Dad snapped.
Grabbing Dean’s arm, Dad roughly jerked Dean forward hard enough that he stumbled over his own boots. Sam’s body hurt from the strain of forcing himself to stay back and not rush in to catch his brother.
It was only the leg that Dad threw out against the pool table that caught Dean. With his knee braced against the table, Dad bent Dean forward over his thigh and landed two harsh swats to the seat of his jeans.
The action brought snickers of approval from the audience and a cringe of pain to Dean’s face. Dad kept Dean tender enough that even a light smack would have to hurt and Sam was pretty sure that with as hard as Dad hit, it would hurt plenty even if Dean weren’t already bruised.
Still, it was the shamed flush that colored Dean’s cheeks that had Sam’s blood boiling over. It was hard to see in the low light of the bar, but Sam could read it just as easily in Dean’s eyes.
“This one,” Dad said.
With a quick jerk, Dad had Dean upright and pushed him towards the demons. The largest one didn’t hesitate to latch on and reel Dean in. Dean stood still as the thing inspected him like he was a car the demon was considering taking for a test drive. It took everything Sam had to stay back as its oversized hand inspected the curves beneath Dean’s jeans.
He kept his hand resting on the gun in case one of the demons made a move sooner than expected. Dad wouldn’t approve of giving themselves away as hunters, but with Dean’s life on the line, Sam didn’t give a flying crap.
The demon whispered something against Dean’s ear that made the corner of Dean’s lips curl up into an almost imperceptible snarl before the demon’s eyes shifted to Sam.
“They make a cute pair. If Shaggy is on the table too, maybe we talk.”
Panic flashed over Dean’s face before his pleading eyes fixed on Dad. There was something else being silently conveyed, something that rang of a warning.
Despite what it looked like, Sam knew better than to think that Dean would make any kind of demand of Dad. He could have used Dad’s reaction to translate Dean’s expression if Dad had so much as bothered to meet Dean’s eyes.
“Just that one.” Dad’s tone was unwavering as he finally sent a detached look to Dean. “Trust me, he’s worth it.”
Dean relaxed at the words even as the demon’s thumb roughly played over his lower lip. “Not sure he’s worth as much as we’re wagering.”
There was no hesitation before Dean sunk to his knees.
With a practiced ease, he tucked himself out of sight, partially hidden beneath the pool table and blocked on the other side by the group of demons. Sam couldn’t see what Dean was doing under there, but he didn’t have to. He could see it on the demon’s face when its eyes all but rolled back up into its head.
Sam knew the feeling. That warmth the thought kindled in his gut was quickly extinguished by the fact that it wasn’t him Dean was doting over. Instead his brother was lavishing those same careful strokes of his tongue, which Sam liked to pretend were reserved of him, onto some random demon’s dick.
The thing was panting hard by the time Dad dragged Dean up by the scruff of his t-shirt. The sharp movement tore Dean’s hair free from the grip of the demon’s hands. It gave a dissatisfied grunt, finding its hips jerking hungrily into thin air.
“The starting offer is one hour for him to finish you off and for you to do whatever the hell else you want to him so long as me and my boy get to watch,” John said with a nod towards Sam.
“Fuck this one blind while Shaggy jerks off?”
The demon gave an approving nod, but still pretended to be on the fence as it tucked itself in and pulled Dean back to its side. Dismissive of the crowd, the demon slid Dean’s belt free from the buckle. Sam clenched his jaw as Dean tensed in the demon’s arms.
If Dad planned on letting this thing whip Dean here in front of all these people, Sam was going to blow their cover before it happened. It would only get Dean a worse beating back at their room, but at least it wouldn’t be while he was on display. Dean hated that.
The demon didn’t strip the belt from its loops, only unfastened it from the buckle before unzipping Dean’s fly. Sam caught the flash of dark curls before Dean’s slightly oversized t-shirt flopped down to partially cover him. Dean didn’t even own a pair of underwear, never had as far as Sam knew.
The demon took full advantage of that, shoving into the back of Dean’s low slung jeans. Dean bit his lower lip as the thing’s hand disappeared beneath the denim and he parted his thighs to ease its access.
“Oh yeah...” the demon purred. “That’s one damn tight hole for such a little whore, and already slicked up. Me and my boys, we’re gonna have a good time slopping up your pussy.”
Sam’s grip on the concealed gun tightened dangerously when Dad shared in the laugh. “You just keep telling yourself that. I know whose bed he’s gonna be in tonight.”
Nausea crept up in Sam’s throat at the easy way the words rolled off Dad’s tongue. Then Dad leaned in, dug his fingers into Dean’s hair and jerked his head forward to claim Dean’s lips with his own.
Sam gagged, feeling cold and numb at the lost look in Dean’s eyes before they fell closed with a flutter of lashes. He couldn’t process what he was seeing, but Sam almost thought he saw Dean entwining his tongue with Dad’s.
While he wanted to scratch his eyes out, he settled for squeezing them shut in a futile effort to wipe the visual from his mind, praying like hell that it had only been a trick of the shadows.
By the time he risked opening his eyes again, Dad was laying another hard swat to Dean’s ass. The motion drove Dean forward into the hand of the demon that was now exploring inside the front of Dean’s jeans.
When Dad stepped away to grab a pool cue, the demon pulled out, but didn’t fasten Dean’s pants back up. Instead it shoved Dean towards the others.
“Get him ready for me,” the demon told them as he took his position at the table. “They play while we play.”
There was a challenge in the demon’s eyes as it looked to Dad, but Dad just shrugged easily in reply. “Fair enough. It’s not like this is gonna take long.”
Sam’s eyes darted away from Dad when the group ushered Dean out from beneath the pool table’s light to hide him in the shadows. They stood around him, blocking the view of his lower torso from the other patrons in the bar.
All even Sam could see was Dean’s face, eyes hooded and head lowered as if that could hide him. Despite trying to stand still, Dean twitched and jerked when the hands inside his pants twisted the wrong...or the right way.
“Gonna come all over yourself for me, bitch?”
Sam tried not to hear the words or see the blankness in his brother’s eyes. He tried to stay focused and not think about the fact that no one here would even care if they knew his brother was being molested by a pack of demons. Even Dad didn’t care.
He didn’t get who exactly they were saving. As far as he was concerned, the demons could have every last person here.
His eyes returned to the table as Dad lined up what looked hard, but was an easy shot for him. Sam watched him purposefully throw the shot, and the next three after that.
“Son of a bitch!” Dad threw his pool stick noisily onto the table. The lead demon laughed at Dad’s apparent defeat, grinning like a fool when Dad gave a reluctant nod. “I guess he’s all yours. Take him out the back.”
Dean already looked hazed. The exposed flat of his stomach shined slick where it caught the light and his eyes glistened more than normal. The demon that had been fondling him withdrew its hands while another jerked Dean’s jeans up hard enough that his boots nearly left the floor.
They barely had him zipped up before the large demon came over to close its hand over the nape of Dean’s neck. The action drew a quiet growl from Sam. That was his part of Dean. It was where he comforted him and the demon’s grip there now was being used to cause pain, to claim his brother.
Sam could barely draw in breath as he watched the demon use its hold on Dean’s neck to steer him towards the exit.
“Your head in the game?”
The gruffly spoken question in Sam’s ear made him jump. He had been half way to pulling the Colt from where it was hidden beneath his jacket before he realized it was Dad. Knowing that didn’t actually make him want to pull out the weapon any less.
Sam couldn’t even look at his father as he swallowed down his rage and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
There was no question that Sam would be fully focused on this fight. He had to be. There were five demons and only three of them. With all of the demons focusing on his brother, if something went wrong, Dean would take the first blows of retaliation. Even if they survived, Dad would whip the weight of the defeat into Dean.
The only option was to win.
While this was his first time participating, this kind of hunt wasn’t anything new. Sam didn’t remember a time when Dean hadn’t been bait.
Sam had been nine years old when Dad had carried Dean into their motel room. Dean had been draped pale and motionless in Dad’s arms, loosely wrapped in a blanket and bleeding from places Sam didn’t know people could bleed from. Sam had been sure his brother was dead.
Dad had cooed to Dean that he’d done a good job, that he was proud of him. Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Dean look so content as he had that night that he lay bleeding out in the bathtub.
It might be business as usual, but it still riled Sam up all the more every time it happened. Every time Dean claimed it was necessary. Every time Dad said he was sorry.
~~~
John glowered at his youngest before giving him a nod to take up the rear. Some nights John wondered about Sam. His son claimed to be focused while he was clearly too busy with his head in the clouds to see what was happening right in front of his face.
It was a damn good way to get them all killed.
Even so, there was no time to deal with Sam’s attitude, not on the hunt, not while Dean’s life was on the line. It was bad enough that John had to watch out for Dean while keeping an eye on the demons. He couldn’t hold Sam’s hand too.
Dean had good reasons to be incapable. Too much of his focus had to be devoted to holding back the demon inside of him. Sam didn’t have an excuse outside of stubborn laziness.
It was late spring and the night was cool. A heavy mist fell down around them. It was just enough to be distracting.
John had hoped that things would have dried out from the morning’s rain, but the constant light precipitation kept the streets slick. The standing water was just enough to make John second-guess whether or not he’d brought enough accelerant.
They walked a couple of blocks down the avenue before slipping inside the cover of a poorly boarded-up building. John gave a slight nod of approval at the fact that Dean had managed to lure all five demons into the structure.
The windows had long ago been shattered out and graffiti covered the battered walls. John had scouted the location earlier in the afternoon. He had found and blocked all the exits aside from the one they were walking in, which he’d pried open a couple of hours earlier.
John’s boots crunched over broken glass as he stepped around debris and followed the demons in. He couldn’t risk a glance back to Sam but listened and heard his son’s footfalls closing in behind him.
Holding back, John let Sam step in past him, not trusting that his youngest was on top of his game enough to guard the exit. They couldn’t afford to let even one of the demons escape.
Inside, the shadows were irregular. The only illumination came from the streetlight outside and it had to work its way through the spaces in the boards that were nailed over the empty window panes. Dean continued to move further into the skeletal remains of the building, just far enough to be out of view of the street but still within reach of the light.
John pursed his lips at the defeated bow of Dean’s head. Sometimes his eldest was so convincing with his act that even John was left believing that Dean didn’t want this. Even though he knew better, even though this was necessary regardless of what any of them wanted, the defeated posture nonetheless pulled at John’s heart.
It was only made bearable by the fact that it was impossible to forget what Dean was. Demons were attracted to two things - the innocent and their own kind. With a cover of innocence over the darkness within him, Dean drew them in like moths to a flame.
Aside from benefiting the hunt, this was also the only safe outlet John could provide Dean. There was no other way to let his son get his release without risking the lives of others. Dean’s sexual preferences were disturbingly ugly at best.
“You strip that ass naked.”
At the demon’s order, Dean shot John a glance so quick and subtle that even someone watching Dean closely wouldn’t have seen it unless they knew him.
John nodded an affirmative to his son, silently conveying that they were ready and that Dean should take it as far as the demons would go. The more distracted they were, the better the chance of getting them all.
Out of the corner of his eye, John saw the lines of Sam’s body stiffen. He sent another warning glare towards him. John had already made it clear to his youngest that he couldn’t give the appearance that he was doing anything but enjoying this.
Shifty looks and twitching muscles would alert the demons to a possible attack. One false move and the demons would know they were hunters. Thankfully, Dean’s stripping held the demons transfixed. It always did.
It wasn’t only the body revealed beneath the fabric but the way Dean dismissed his clothing. There was no strip tease. It was just a simple, thoughtless unveiling like someone might do in the privacy of a locked bathroom before stepping into the shower. It was personal and rang of voyeurism to watch it even with a group.
Once fully exposed, Dean’s body read of complete submission. His son barely flinched when the first demon grabbed him and forced him forward against the wall. It was Sam who jerked instead, Sam who still failed to understand his brother at all.
It wasn’t as if John was any less disgusted by this. Nausea stung his throat as he watched Dean grind back into the demon, begging to be fucked raw. It was sick what that thing had turned his son into. The aborted, pained cries that slipped over Dean’s lips were all for show.
There’d been a time when each whimper had gouged John, but there was no longer anything left to hollow out. There was barely anything left of Dean to mourn. No matter how little that thing pinned beneath the demon resembled his son, John still couldn’t let Dean go for reasons of practicality, if not sentimentality.
Dean was the best weapon he had.
~~~
Sam had the Colt all but drawn as he awaited the signal to move in. It didn’t come. His eyes shifted to Dad, expecting to see urgency, but Dad’s hand was nowhere near his weapon. If anything, his stance was more consistent with a stakeout, like he was settling in to wait.
With a quick survey of the area, Sam tried to figure out what he was missing. The exits were blocked and they had all the demons in place. Making Dean strip down now was pointless. It was like Dad wanted to humiliate him.
Sam was left staring in disbelief when he realized that Dad’s gaze was with the demons’, wandering over Dean’s exposed body. He was shaken from his stupor when the largest demon knocked Dean forward against the crumbling sheetrock.
To hell with Dad’s orders. Sam started for his brother. It was only Dad’s hand digging hard into his bicep that held him back.
“Little boy getting jealous?” The demon sent him an ugly smirk and rutted its body up against Dean, pinning him harder against the wall. “Don’t you worry, Shaggy. I’ll do him real good for you.”
Dean was small, blanketed beneath the larger mass that looked like it could crush him. The demon didn’t so much as work a finger in before kicking Dean’s bare feet apart, lining up and savagely thrusting in. Dean’s face twisted, eyes clenching closed and body shuddering against the intrusion.
Sam twisted hard in the grip that held him, fist clenching as he turned on Dad. “Stop this.” The quiet words came out half as a demand and half as a desperate plea.
“Damn it, Sam.” Dad’s eyes were threatening and his whisper harsh as he pulled Sam aside. “You told me you could handle this.”
Sam matched his father glare for glare. “I didn’t know what this was,” he whispered back.
His body shook with rage as he looked past Dad to see Dean’s hands clutching at the wall while the demon’s fingers dug what would become dark bruises into Dean’s hips.
“That thing is....”
Sam couldn’t force the word from his lips, not while he was watching it happen.
Dad gave a solemn nod. “I know.”
He almost sounded sympathetic, but it wasn’t enough and Dad must have known it because he didn’t release Sam’s arm.
“Just settle down and give your brother a chance to enjoy himself.”
Sam abruptly stilled in Dad’s hold. Even his lungs seized at the words, unable to draw in air. He stared into Dad’s eyes and saw only sincerity, heard only honest insistence in Dad’s voice.
Dad actually believed he was doing Dean a favor.
His brother’s breaths were already ragged before the rest of the demons had unzipped their pants. When the largest one finished with him, it stepped back.
Dean stumbled without the demon’s support. Before he could reach for the wall, the thing kicked Dean’s feet out from beneath him. Sick laughter filled the space as Dean hit the floor hard and Sam bucked in Dad’s arms.
“Uppity little prick you got there.”
The demon’s comment made Dean’s unfocused eyes go wide as he followed the demon’s look to Sam. Without waiting to catch his breath, Dean pushed to his knees.
He knelt in a puddle of water amidst the debris, looking between the demons jerking themselves hard like he was silently asking which one was next in line. Sam knew his brother was just trying to draw the focus back to him and it only made Sam angrier.
A demon bent over Dean, hands groping and pinching tender flesh while another pushed Dean forward onto his hands and knees before getting behind him. Dean’s body rocked with the forced rhythm that left him gasping. One of the others took his open mouth as an invitation.
Sam beat futilely against Dad’s chest. He knew first-hand how unbelievably little air Dean needed when he was giving head. He knew Dean wasn’t getting enough now.
His green eyes blinked hazily, face more than just flushed, as the demon clutched him so close Dean’s nose was crushed tight against its hammering pelvis.
Dean still didn’t fight. He didn’t so much as struggle as he choked on the demon’s full length, like he didn’t even care.
The demon’s groans were animalistic right before it left Dean fighting a gag as he tried to both swallow and pull in enough air so that he wouldn’t pass out.
In the middle of everything, Dean froze and met Sam’s eyes.
Dean was still struggling to recover air. His body was moist and shivering from the rain that dripped in through the half-collapsed roof but the cold drips of water weren’t enough to begin to wash away the thick, sticky fluids that the demons shot over his skin.
Through it all, there was a silent request in Dean’s eyes and Sam slowly realized that his fighting with Dad was upsetting Dean as much, if not more than the demons who were ripping into him.
Dean was physically strong enough to stop this at any time and Sam wouldn’t feel the need to fight for him if he believed that Dean would stop it on his own before it killed him, but he wouldn’t. Not unless Dad told him to.
But the only thing in the world Sam trusted was his brother. He gave a reluctant nod before clenching his jaw and shoving away from Dad, whose eyes promised instant death. Sam didn’t care. He just kept several feet between him and Dad and made a show of being the professional voyeur that Dad apparently wanted.
When the demons started taking Dean three at a time, Sam had to look away and wished he could cover his ears to block out the tangled sounds of pleasure and pain.
He didn’t look up again until he heard the door slam closed. Dad’s shout rang loud, echoing through the building’s remains.
“Now, Dean!”
At Dad’s kill order, the five demons surrounding Dean froze in a sickening tableau, all literally caught with their pants down and exchanging confused glances. They had made the mistake of thinking that they had the upper hand just because Dean was the one on his knees.
When the largest demon turned to look at Dad, it parted the way for Sam to see his brother’s face. A joyless smirk cracked over Dean’s swollen lips. His eyes flashed cold, nearly black, as all the softness and hurt bled from him. Staged submission surrendered to raw power.
While Sam cursed Dad’s lack of warning, Dean didn’t need any.
Dean scrambled on all fours for a machete tucked beneath the rubble and then he was on his feet. The blood sprayed over his bare skin as he took down a second demon before Sam and Dad could even surge from the shadows. The head of the first demon hadn’t even yet rolled to a stop.
Dad wouldn’t let them use guns here, he never did when they were in a city and a civilian might respond to the gunshots before they had a chance to clean up the bodies. Instead, the sounds that echoed around them were of cracking bones and the pounding of flesh.
The remaining demons just looked terrified. They screamed that Dean, not them, was the sick monster as they ran for exits that had already been blocked. Dean sprinted for them with movements that were nearly too quick to follow and were too perfectly synchronized to disguise that he wasn’t entirely human.
Every strong line of Dean’s body was on display as he snatched his third demon near one of the broken-out windows. The extenuated lines of his muscles flexed before the sickening twist that left the demon falling heavily to the ground, its head limply angled the wrong way.
Usually Sam didn’t do much aside from keep an eye on the demons, but they didn’t usually go after so many at once. What the demons had done also tended to be ambiguous, just stories that Dad told them. This wasn’t. Sam had seen the thing in front of him forcing into his brother.
Sam knocked the stunned demon back into the wall that his brother had been fucked against. His punches flew viciously into the thing’s face as part of him imagined that it was Dad on the other side of his bloodied fists.
His hits were almost blindly thrown with none of the careful defensive measures Dad had beaten into Dean. He didn’t even see the demon’s fist coming at his face until Dean shoved in to block it. Three strikes from Dean, and the demon’s body lay broken, chest still.
Sam kicked it in the side before Dean steered him away, lying and telling him that it was okay. He wished Dean hadn’t been so quick to end it. It wasn’t enough.
Dean had always finished off Sam’s kills. Sam had the anger, he was mad as hell most of the time, but he lacked Dean’s ability to lay down the savage force needed when weapons weren’t used.
Mostly, he just lacked the stomach.
He knew what these things were, but something about ending them with his own hands still made Sam queasy. Dean always managed to deal the death blows for him in a way that Dad didn’t notice or maybe he just didn’t care.
It was over too fast and not fast enough. They stood still with the sound of the rain splattering and their own heavy breaths. Cars continued to drive by obliviously.
From all the exertion he put out, Dean’s breath should have been the loudest. His chest was heaving, but he tried to hide it, tried to pretend he wasn’t tired and hurting. If he didn’t, it would mean revealing a weakness in front of Dad.
Instead of giving himself a minute, Dean silently helped Dad pile the bodies. Dean strode to retrieve the largest demon’s corpse and as he walked, Sam saw how much his brother was limping. Dean’s face was tight with pain, breath hitching with each step.
Sam hustled to get to the body before Dean. He wouldn’t be able to convince Dean to let him move it alone, the thing was huge, but he could tell that Dean didn’t have enough energy to stop him from helping. His brother didn’t look up from their work, but their movements were synchronized as they both grabbed an arm.
“You okay, Dean?”
“Fine.”
He knew it was a stupid question and the answer came through loud and clear in that simple, pain-filled word. Sam bit his lip. It wasn’t like he could blame Dean for being mad.
Like he always did, Dean picked up on Sam’s tension. Dean took in a deep breath after they heaved the body on the pile with the rest. It wasn’t enough to be convincing, but he tried to put on a strong face before finally meeting Sam’s eyes.
“I’m okay, Sammy. I just-”
“You missed a head,” Dad interrupted.
Dad glared at Dean and sent a curt nod towards the far wall before returning to pouring the fuel from a gas can he must have hidden in the building earlier in the day. Dean’s shoulders slumped again, the tenuous mask falling from his face.
At least Dad didn’t ask for Dean’s belt. Usually all it took was one carpet fiber out of place, sometimes it didn’t even take that. He’d grown up with Dean being routinely punished for nothing at all, but somehow tonight was different.
Sam was pretty sure that he would have pulled a gun on his father if Dad had tried to so much as swat at his brother for slipping up after what had just happened. His stomach was already knotted as he braced for returning to their room where he wouldn’t be able to spare Dean the pain.
“And, Dean,” Dad added, “next time you need to move it along.”
His brother had already turned away so Sam couldn’t see his face, but he heard more than he needed to in the dead tone of Dean’s “yes, sir.”
Every angry word Sam had been about to launch at Dad caught in his throat when he saw Dean bend forward to retrieve the demon’s head. The thick shine of fluids smeared messy between Dean’s thighs was stained red.
When he turned around, Dean’s shoulders tightened under Sam’s gaze. He must have followed Sam’s eyes because he shook his head.
“It’s not mine.”
Sam wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or nauseated.
He settled on staring, detached as his brother heaved the slack-jawed head into the stack of corpses and stepped away to grab his pants. Dean didn’t bother to wipe away any of the fluids, just threw on his clothes over bloody skin faster than seemed humanly possible.
He wondered if Dean thought Dad would ignite the gasoline whether or not Dean was out in time. Then he wondered if maybe Dad really would.
The moment they were out the door, Dean checked to make sure the alley was clear before Dad set his Zippo to the floor. The flame raced down the trail of accelerant and ignited the mounded flesh.
Their long, hurried strides carried them several blocks down the avenue by the time the second explosion came, shooting up a billowing tower of flames.
Whatever Dad used called a hell of a lot more attention than a standard fire would have, but Sam knew it was intended to burn fast and hot. Hot enough to incinerate human flesh before the fire department could arrive.
They couldn’t leave any traces before moving on to the next town.