Something was wrong with his brother, Dean could tell. Wildness around his eyes, with frantic, wide blown pupils. Maybe they'd drunk too much or not eaten enough, and Sam was half-high on too much booze with nothing to soak it up.
Whatever it was it was hard to care when he gripped tight and hummed Dean right into Dean's skin. Even when his teeth got in on the action and bruised a collarbone or two, it was just… hot.
After hunt sex was always on the agenda and they’d both made sure to be ready before they set out, and now with Sam ever tireless, they ended up with Dean on his back and Sam between his spread legs opening him up with fingers and tongue and — yep, there was that hint of teeth again.
Sam only laughed and lapped at the abraded skin, nudged Dean's legs wider and pressed a palm to Dean's throbbing cock.
“Gotta, need to fill you up, look at you. Just look, Dean. So open and ready I can't stand it.” Sam's words were clear as a bell, not the slurred slip-ups of a tipsy teen just on the wrong side of twenty who couldn't hold his drink; still his eyes held a strange light, pinched somehow, desperate.
"You good down there, Sammy?"
"Be better once we're fucking."
And that was normal, so they ploughed on. Or, at least, Sam ploughed Dean. He felt plundered.
Sam wrapped a hand around Dean’s cock and it was too tight, and too raw, and too fast and Dean — not too proudly — keened. His hips bucked up and Sam's cock twitched against his prostate and he yelled.
Sam's hand smothered his mouth, caught the sound before it could carry and pressed his head forcefully into the mattress.
“Shh! Dad can't hear. He can't know. You're all mine.”
“Let up a little, Jesus, Sam. Fuck, I can't.” He mumbled behind the sweaty palm and pawed at the hand squeezing his dick. Sam backed all the way off for a second before he tumbled back on top of Dean in a bruising rush of long limbs and grasping hands. Dean blinked and smirked at the snnckk of the duct tape roll and laughed as Sam crossed his wrists and wound tape around them until they could barely move.
“Kinky.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows and Sam pressed a palm over his mouth again.
“Keep it down will you?”
More tape, the press of it across his lips, and then Sam was back — held Dean down with his bound hands above his head, as he fucked and fucked and fucked them both to exhaustion.
Sated, filthy, safe, and hurting in all the right places, Dean fell asleep with tape across his mouth and bound wrists and thin boned baby brother still buried inside him.
He woke a few hours later, sleep bleary and confused, to the sound of Sam moving around the dark room. And fuck if he didn’t need more rest than that after dodging witch spells and burning body parts ‘til late into the night.
“What the hell?” he mumbled, belatedly realising that he had a half-stuck piece of tape across his face. “Sam?”
“Shh, Shh,” Sam climbed on top of him and pinned him down. “Don’t disturb Dad, we just, we have to go.”
“Go?” Dean tried to ask but Sam’s hand pressed the tape down again and he sucked in air through his nose in surprise.
“I said be quiet! You have to be quiet, you’re my little secret, can’t let anyone know.” Dean tried to buck up and throw Sam off as he heard the tell-tale rip of more tape and more strips were added to his face but Sam was more awake and on top of him and easily held him down.
Sam’s eyes looked fever bright and his skin was clammy and shit was he ill? Dean tried to roll free but Sam pulled him up by his bound wrists to manhandle him into a pair of grey sweats. It was all he could do to keep his feet under him as Sam picked up their packed bags and steered him from the room.
They wandered past John’s door and Dean tried to pull away, gesture, we should leave a note, at least.
Sam shook his head and pulled harder. Dean’s bare feet dug into the thin carpet and he begged Sam with his eyes to explain. His skin itched beneath the tape but no matter how much he twisted his wrists it wasn’t coming free, and when he reached to clear it from his mouth Sam whined and batted his hands away.
“Please, please Dean. We have to go. I have to have you with me. Not… not leaving you behind. Come on.”
Dean followed out of concern, gave in because Sam said please and he wasn’t hardwired to ignore that. Sam needed help, and by god, Dean was going to give it to him.
Sam drove — because of cause he did, with the way Dean was incapacitated — and Dean tried not to worry. He tried to think. Which would have been a lot easier if Sam went more than a few minutes without reaching across to get his hands on Dean, petting and pawing at everything within reach.
“Shh, I got this, don’t worry.”
Got what? Dean tried to ask.
“Not letting you slip away, not letting anyone take you away. It’s alright, Dean, we’ll be alright.”
He gripped Dean’s arm every time Dean tried to remove the tape to talk and Dean didn’t fight too hard because they were on the damn road, in the fucking dark, and Sam seemed distracted enough. He could figure out what was wrong as long as he kept the kid safe. He fell asleep eventually, with the heavy weight of Sam’s hand resting on his thigh.
He woke to a crick in his neck and a hoodie thrown over his face. He yanked it aside to see it was light out and they were pulled up at a gas station. Sam wasn’t at the pump and he twisted in the seat to see him hurrying out of the little run down building that served as a store front.
“Hey, I’m back, I just had to hide you while I went in there. It's alright. I got you.” Sam threw a carrier bag onto the back seat and leaned over to kiss him.
He seemed annoyed not to be able to get at Dean’s mouth, growled, then sucked a line of hickeys down Dean’s bared throat instead. His hand palmed Dean’s cock and his fingers delved lower, cupped Dean’s balls and Dean widened his legs to let him.
What’s up, Sam? Tell me with your body.
Sam’s skin felt feverish, his hairline tacky with sweat as it knocked against Dean’s chin. His pupils were blown, his hands twitchy. Had he taken something? Was he burning out on some unknown drug? Dean tried to keep him close enough to work out what was running through Sam’s system but Sam made an aborted noise and wrenched away. He threw the car into drive and they were flying out of the gas station like there was a fire behind them, and only the wind would put it out.
Sam reached over to pet at him, stroked his neck, checked his pulse, and then trailed his hand down Dean’s stomach and came to rest on his cock. Dean hummed, and squirmed as Sam stroked him through the sweatpants. He shook his head and Sam squeezed his cock so hard he lost every train of thought.
He watched with concern as Sam muttered incoherent sentences and white knuckled the wheel. He seemed utterly focused on the road except when his eyes lit on Dean, then it was like Dean was the most important thing in the world, at the expense of everything else.
Almost like he was…
No. Fuck. No.
Sam was obsessed.
That damn witch. Sam must have got hit, somehow. That fucking witch made people so obsessed with their hearts desire that they worked themselves to death to get it, or they destroyed themselves with it once they had it. They’d forget to sleep, or eat; they’d make themselves ill with overconsumption or gamble away everything in their lives to buy the one thing they needed most only for their heart to give out with the unfiltered joy of finally getting it.
Sam had been the one in the line of fire when Dean threw the witch onto her own burning altar and a tendril of power had snaked out of the flames. They’d left everything in ashes afterwards, they’d been so careful to destroy it all. Except now Sam was here acting like those poor souls and getting worse by the hour, so obviously they weren’t careful enough.
Sam had what he wanted but what happened when it wasn’t enough? Sam already owned Dean heart and body and soul, so what happened when the spell pulled at him harder and made him want more? What else did either of them have to give except their lives?
He needed to be cautious, tread carefully. Until he could find the counter to the curse or find some other way to help Sam, he’d have to give Sam what he wanted without tipping him too far. It would be a game of checks and balances, letting Sam slake his thirst without watching him drown in it — drown in Dean.
So far he’d let Sam drive without interference while he waited to see where this was going, he trusted Sam with his life after all. But he didn’t necessarily trust Sam with Sam’s own life. Gently, like he was inching towards a horse that might spook or bolt, he touched Sam on the arm. Sam glanced over, he curled his hand on top of Dean’s and smiled.
‘M here, Sam, I’m always here.
Dean pointed out the window and Sam pulled over. Then Dean pointed to his lips, and Sam nodded reluctantly. He winced as the four pieces of tape came free, but smiled.
“Hey, wanna talk about it?”
Sam shook his head. “Just, have’ta just.” He looked frantically back the way they’d come. “Dad,” he said, strangled. “You, me… we’re going, that’s all there is to it.”
“I can help, y’know? You don’t have to do this alone.” Dean rubbed the back of one bound hand across his sore lips.
“It’s… it's, there's nothing to help. I just need you!”
“And I’m here.”
Sam kissed him eagerly, all tongues and spit and hands around Dean’s head.
“Hold up, hold on, no need to rush.”
Sam moaned and his hand slipped into Dean’s waist band searching for gold, digging for the goods. Sam’s fingers were cold but his palm was sweaty and Dean groaned at the clammy feel around his cock.
“Shh, I got this Dean, I got you, I know what I’m doing.”
Sam didn’t stop, wouldn’t slow down and Dean felt him heating up in increments as all his hairs stood on end and Sam’s touch grew frantic. He tried to pull back to force Sam to slow down.
“We have all the time in the world,” he said, hushed enough to make Sam stop and listen.
“We can go slow, not going anywhere Sammy.”
“Feels like you’re gonna slip right out of my fingers,” Sam whispered, buried his nose in Dean’s hair while his hands scrabbled at Dean’s chest, clawed at his arms before he dug them into Dean’s shoulders and breathed.
“You know why that is? That witch got to you, you know that, right?”
Sam scowled. “No, no this isn’t that—”
“You were whammied, I know it doesn't feel like it, but—”
“You’re ruining it,” Sam hissed as he pulled away and harshly pressed down the tape that had been hanging off his chin.
Sam leaned over the bench seat and grabbed a roll of tape from the carrier bag and before Dean knew it Sam was on top of him, straddled his waist and held his arms down. Several turns of silver tape wrapped around his head until his jaw was locked shut. He dropped his head to Sam’s shoulder and Sam cradled him.
“I won’t let anyone take you away from me, not even you.”
I’m not leaving you, not ever, you have to know that.
“We’re gonna be great Dean, gonna be fine.”
The morning went on like that, long silent stretches until the need overcame Sam too strongly. Dean’s throat soon wore a collar of bruises, and he was half-hard the entire time. He was edging himself because he pushed Sam away and pointed back at the road before letting it go further. They kept driving, every mile a marker on Dean’s heart that made him worry more.
Sam had had his hand down Dean’s pants for the last hour, just held his cock while his other hand steered the wheel. Dean didn’t blame him, didn’t even mind, but he was uncomfortable, thirsty, tired, and horny, and Sam wouldn’t let up.
Sam was on him as soon as he pulled over again, grabbed handfuls and mouthfuls of Dean like he’d starve if he didn’t. They ended up outside and Dean couldn’t pry Sam off, couldn’t entice him away and he ended up on his back, naked— sweatpants discarded in the dirt by the side of the road— on the hood of the car with Sam between his legs.
He parted them willingly, but worried nonetheless. Careful, Sam, you’re teetering on the edge of madness here.
“Want you so bad it hurts. Gonna let me in, let me fuck you? Always need more of you Dean, every single second we have to pretend we’re normal is like trying to force my heart not to beat, I’ll burst with it one day.”
You won’t, wouldn’t, not normally. This isn’t you. He frowned, shook his head.
“I might, I could be a ticking time bomb and one day I’ll just… explode and wreck everything. The way I feel is too much. I hate every minute we’re not touching.”
It broke his heart, a little, to hear Sam mutter the kind of ache he repressed himself, sometimes. That Sam ever thought he might ruin their lives with the way he felt was crushing. It killed him that easing Sam’s need for a time would just speed up the curse, but he couldn’t deny Sam either, not like this. He pulled Sam closer the only way he could — wrapped his legs around Sam’s waist and dug his heels into the meat of Sam’s ass. Sam gripped his bound wrists and used them as leverage as he fucked wildly, hips a bruising force of nature that Dean rode as well as he could.
He’d barely stopped to add lube — there was only just enough — and Dean was glad he was still a little sloppy-wet from the night before. Sam leaned over until his face was in the crook of Dean’s neck and pounded until he found his release inside Dean. With Sam's twitching cock pressed on his prostate and their bellies brushing his cock, Dean came too.
Sam didn’t stop to clean them up, just bundled Dean back in the car naked and come-covered and tired, ignoring every protest.
By mid afternoon Dean’s mouth was desert dry, with barely a croak in his throat. Sam shook his head when he gestured for water and Dean despaired of how to get through to Sam. He got more foggy headed as dehydration set in. He went for the tape around his mouth again and Sam wailed and forced Dean down to wind more tape around his body. His torso, this time, kept his arms tight to his sides and his hands uselessly at his waist.
Sam nodded decisively to himself and glugged half a bottle of water that Dean stared at enviously.
“You’ll try to talk me out of it. You’ll try to tell me we have to go back, slow down. I know you Dean, I can see it in your eyes.”
He threw Sam a dirty look and turned away to sulk. He was a mess, leaking come onto the shiny car seat, the scratchy stitching rubbed along his bare ass and made him squirm. His face felt inflamed with the tape, his skin hot and itchy and his hands were tingly down each of his last two fingers.
“Dean look at me… look.” Sam pried his face around and pressed their forehead together. “Please, please don’t be mad, please trust me.”
Dean softened his frown, nodded, and Sam hummed happily. His tongue traced the line of Dean’s jaw and gathered up beads of sweat, his hands tweaked Dean’s nipples and he smiled as Dean jolted with an aborted whine.
Dean found a chance to send up a flare for help next time they had to stop for gas. Grappled in the glove box for the phone until it flipped open with a satisfying snap and he pulled up John’s number with ease.
Sam, witch, cursed. Obsession. Notes n… in Sam’s bag.
Highway 74, north
It took longer than he thought, he made mistakes and had to carefully shift his grip to reach the delete button. He just got the phone into the glove box as Sam came striding back into view.
He calmed his heart and leaned against the window.
He’d called for backup. He’d get Sam help. They just had to wait.
He got fuzzier as evening rolled around, and leaned his head against the cool window glass to ease the pounding in his skull. He gurgled as a cramp set in down his left arm and throbbed through his hand in time with his pulse and the drumming in his ears.
Sam hugged him, nipped along his shoulder and wrapped hands around Dean’s waist.
“You, n me, n baby. It’s all we need. Right? All we need.”
Dean shook his head and groaned. He needed more than this, he needed relief.
And Dad was gonna be so mad. Sam was gonna hate what he was putting Dean through once he was in his right mind again. He should’ve stopped this when he had the chance, caught it before it started.
He sagged and shook his head again. Sam went still, all wound up muscle and hard bones and he gripped Dean too tightly.
“Yes, Dean, it’s all we need. You’re everything. Stop being so worried.”
He looked mournfully over at Sam as the engine started up again. And Sam grabbed him and pulled him close, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and drove with Dean in the crook of his arm.
Sam was hot, burning up, and Dean was so cold in his birthday suit with no food in his body to keep his energy up. He leaned against Sam's hot skin and closed his eyes.
Dad was gonna be so mad.
He caught another chance to text John when Sam pulled over to take a piss, but he fumbled and struggled to focus. He gave the last highway number he could remember and tried to close the phone back in the glove box. It fell out, slipped from his grasp and ended up in the foot well. He tried to kick it under the seat but Sam appeared at his elbow and he froze.
“Dean?” Sam reached down and Dean threw himself on top of Sam to distract him but Sam managed to hold him close and read the texts anyway.
“No, no no no. You can’t have done this. You wouldn’t do this! Dean, fuck, dammit, why? Why would you betray me?”
I didn’t, I’m not, we need help!
“Fuck!” Sam hit the steering wheel and Dean shuddered. He nudged Sam’s chin with his head and spread his legs and Sam whined and turned away. “I know, but you don’t know what you’ve done. I can’t let you ruin this. I’m sorry.”
Sorry for what?
With his arms pinned and his body slow to respond, he was powerless to stop it as Sam encased more of his face, stole his sight, covered his eyes with painfully tight strips that stuck all the way around the back of his head. He shook, and tried to pull away but Sam held fast.
He was blind and mute and he couldn’t help and he was so muddled now, disoriented in the dark. Only Sam’s touch to ground him, just the rumble of the engine as a reminder that he had no idea where they were headed next.
Sam threw him over onto the back seat next time they stopped and he thwumped down in a way he thought might bruise. He wriggled, breath caught, as Sam eased on top of him and a mouth —that had to be a mouth— closed over his cock.
Despite the dehydration his body tried so valiantly to get hard. He shook with it, trembled under Sam’s hands and thrashed his head as the sensation built and built and he got weaker.
“I know, so needy. Like me.”
He didn’t know what he hoped for — more, less? It didn't matter. Sam was tearing him apart starting at his cock and it hurt, but not enough to stop his cock from rising to a half mast. Sam’s weight shifted and straddled him, a knee on either side of his hips. He wondered how the kid still had energy left, he hadn't seen Sam eat all day.
The curse, he remembered belatedly, probably giving Sam a supernatural boost, keeping Sam’s engine running until they would both be dry husks. Sunk down deep into graves of their own making.
God, he was thirsty. He hoped Sam might take the tape off and let him suck down his come, something, anything. Sam was going to fuck them to death and he was desperate for a taste of it.
He laughed, a dry rattling sound. He bucked up into Sam’s heat as Sam sank slowly down onto his cock. He needed warmth, to be grounded, or else he floated dizzily away. Every time Sam slammed on top of his hips he was wonderfully present and aware, every moment in between he was lost in the dark like swimming away from the shore.
Sam made filthy porn star sounds, they echoed around the car and mixed with the wet slapping of skin on skin and Dean started counting them.
One, two, three, five. Wait, four. Six, seven, fuck Sam. Seven nine ten…. ten… twelve? Two is like twelve… two one, one two, two thousand and one, gonna die of dehydration on my brothers dick in two thousand and one and dad's gonna be so mad.
He’s gonna kill us if we die. Sam’s going to kill me, and I’m going to let him because I could never hurt him and now it’s too late.
Late, late too fucking late. Late for a very important date no time no time. Time for what? Gotta keep track, where was I? Thirteen, six-sixteen?
Fuck, Sam! This is too much!
He flinched as hot come splattered his chest, and Sam moaned and dropped on top of him, ground his hips and clenched. Sam’s come was on him, but his own cock felt weak, barely hard, when Sam popped off with a plop. It made Dean want to laugh.
Do it again, Sammy. Pop! Pop goes the weasel.
“Too much? Don’t you want me?” Sam played with his cock, and he weakly rolled his head side to side against the seat. Pressure. Steady. Constant. Sam dug a nail into his slit and he heaved, tried to make a sound but his throat was so dry.
Gonna turn to dust, gonna disappear into Sam and it’ll be over. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. Mud and dirt and graves and then nothing.
“I think… I think it's okay, if you can’t come for me. I’ll just wrap you up safe until you’re ready, 'k?”
He heard a strange sound and Sam stuck something to his cock. He squirmed and gasped nasally as stiff uncomfortable tape wrapped around his cock— tip to root— and then more around his balls too. It hurt. It hurt it hurt it hurt, it was going to hurt so much more when it came off.
If. If it came off.
Sam pressed his legs closed and the stiff corners of the tape dug into his inner thighs, squashed his cock and balls. His gag caught the stifled moan and Sam hummed.
“S’all good. S’ok. All safe for me, not going anywhere.”
He felt a kiss pressed to his forehead and sighed.
Dad’s gonna be so mad.
This will kill him. If we both succumb to this, it’ll kill him.
We’re all gonna die.
He floated for a long time after that. His head lolled and his body rocked with the rhythm of the road; his Baby bumped along beneath him.
Baby. Sweetheart. Sam.
He was filthy. Dried sweat, dried come. Dust and dirt and death. All wrapped up like a present.
He tried to center his thoughts, knew he was spiralling. How long since his last meal? Before the hunt, so at least a day. And he’d only drunk beer and whiskey afterwards, with Sam, sharing mouthfuls and trading kisses. What he wouldn’t do for a whiskey kiss. A hit of something. Wet his mouth, dry him out in a way that felt good.
Good was a strange concept. He’d tried to do good, do right by Sam, and look where it got him. Trussed up like a prized… a prized something.
What was that word?
Pig in a poke. Sam was poking him good. Sam was good, Sam was so, so good and it would destroy him to know how rough he’d been with Dean. Fuckin’ witches. Fucking life, fucking fuck fuck that’s all Sam wanted — to fuck him until there was nothing left to give.
He’d give a lot just to be able to see.
Had they stopped? The car felt like it wasn’t moving, but he moved. Sam’s smell, Sam’s hands. They pulled him out, dragged him backwards on stumbling feet. Why were his feet so out of control? Sam was rough and clumsy with him, bent him at the waist over the trunk of the car and fucked him. Fucked him and fucked him and he wavered in and out of awareness.
Was it even hygienic, at this point? It had been over a day since they’d both cleaned up before the hunt so that they could fuck afterwards whichever way they wanted. He had to be less than ideally spic and span back there now, but it didn’t seem to be slowing Sam down.
Curses don’t care about hygiene, so jot that down.
Down down down, Sam fucked him over the open trunk. Head first, teetering with his crushed hands and stomach balanced on the lip. He couldn’t focus, all there was was Sam, his ass, his partially mummified body and the way Baby jolted.
Sam used him like a living flesh light, grunted and kissed his back and pet his head and then, when Sam was done, his legs were bound together. His ankles, then his knees, Sam was so thorough.
Walk like an Epgyptian he laughed to himself, all encased in dime store silver tape.
“You’re good, so good, so so good.” Sam’s hands shook and he gripped too tight to make up for it and Dean tipped head first into a pit.
Not a pit. The trunk. Sam bent him up to fit, ignored his whisper-quiet moans of protest and the lid pressed on his shoulder as it shut.
Him and Baby, all the way.
Him and Baby and Sam.
He slipped in and out of sleep. More in than out. Everything hurt, a bit, but it was distant. He’d barely used his hands for a day, what did it matter if they were too cold and too numb and his legs cramped just for the hell of it too? All that mattered was Sam, something was wrong with Sam.
He thought he’d been fucked again, slid out onto hard ground and maybe that would explain the gravel poking into his ass. But then again, he could have dreamed it.
Eventually the trunk opened and fresh air sweetened the cloying space.
“Wanna watch the sunrise with you.”
Sam carried him out, he heard the sounds of a forest, pine needles crunched and birds twittered. Sam deposited him on the heat-warmed metal of the hood and cradled him, played with his ass and described the sunrise to Dean. Dean didn’t particularly care about it; he just needed Sam to stop touching him, just for a little bit, just until he could tell what was going on.
“So beautiful, both so beautiful.” Sam trembled and held Dean tighter. “Why does it hurt Dean? It’s never hurt like this before.”
Sick, Sam. You’re sick. Dad’ll help, I told him. He had, hadn't he? Dad will do what I couldn’t, he’ll fix you right up, just gotta wait. Wait. Wait. Stand still a bit.
“You and this car, you’re everything. I could just, if I could just put you together. Hang on, hold on, I have to…”
Sam let Dean go, and he crumpled to the ground with a thud. Knees bruised. Add that to the check list of injuries.
He heard metallic sounds, Sam walked past, pet his head, stuck fingers up his ass. More dirt, more unclean touches. More of Sam, and Dean never had enough to give to make him better.
More sounds, too. Clanks and thunks. He drifted. He curled up, best he could, waited it out. Dad will come. Dad will be so mad. I fucked up, I’m sorry.
Sam had his dick in Dean’s ass again and he clenched uselessly, weakly, around it. Sam felt hotter, clammier, desperate. Distracted. The sounds kept stopping and starting, so did the pain and the hot flesh in his ass. He kind of gave up caring, lost in a fog, in the dark.
And then everything shifted and he was pulled upright, his head lolled to his chest but Sam got him up on his knees and propped up. Cords tightened around his chest, his waist, under his armpits and Sam let go and he… he stayed. Held fast, upright with rough dirt under his kneecaps.
Dirt and dust and Sam.
He smelled motor oil and sighed for his Baby. Such a good smell, reminders of everything he loved. Hands touched him and the viscous sticky fluid was left behind, smeared over his skin. He smelled like afternoons buried in the engine or working beneath the car. Disgusting on his bare body, thick and wrong and Sam kept talking in his ear but his hearing was funny. If only he could open his mouth the oil might get between his lips; he’d take that, a bit of moisture, even if it tasted as inedible as it smelled.
He zoned out again and wondered what the fuck Sam was doing to his Baby. Ride up and save the day, girl, I’ve got nothing left to give.
“Here, here, look. Well, I’ll look for you. Hold on, she’ll be with you in a minute. All of us together.”
He felt fumbling hands at his bound up cock and whined. Sam pulled it out from between his legs and the tape pinched and pulled in all the wrong places. Sams’s hands were a mess of jerks and aborted movements.
‘S getting worse isn’t it? Sorry, I can’t help you, Sammy, not like this.
A firm press at the slit of his cock had him jerk back to awareness, what the fuck? What the hell? He shook his head.
Sam pushed. Something gave. Motor oil and pressure-pain and something slid inside his dick. He’d have screamed, if he could. He panted rough scratchy breaths as the entire world narrowed to the too-fast slide of something inching into his cock.
“There,” Sam breathed. “All together. Just like you should be. I… I always th-think of her when I think of you. Needed you to join up. I think… more.”
What the hell had Sam put inside him? It was stiff and too wide, stretched the thin skin too far and didn't give at all. It pressed up into him, jolted against something inside that felt bad in the best kind of way when his hips jerked and he swayed.
More clanks filtered into his awareness as cool breezes whispered across his skin.
“This! This! Dean, I got this!”
Sam knocked into him full force and he rocked in whatever was holding him up. Was Baby as destroyed as he was? Paint rust and people dust and everything would crumble.
They really were all going to be ruined by this. Dad, please. Hurry. What if he didn’t find them?
Alone, they were alone and he was drifting.
Something smeared against his ass hole and he pitched forward, rocked and struggled even though he couldn't resist at all.
“Stop, stop. I need this, you need it.”
Sam coated him with something, inside his ass and out and the motor oil smell got stronger. It burned his nostrils. He burned. Burned, crumbled, and was remade as Sam pushed something slim and cylindrical into him.
He knew that shape, would know it anywhere. The fucking, the fucking window crank was in his ass. Sam kept pushing it, played with it, worked it in deeper and got rough in frustration.
“It’s not… not enough!”
Dean lost time again, lulled by the sounds of Sam tending to Baby. Sam could work this out, smart kid. Right?
He squeezed and tried to push the thing out of his ass but if his inner muscles would have obeyed him before they wouldn’t now that he’d been fucked for a whole day and been pushed at with the solid piece of metal.
It only came free when Sam yanked it out and Dean did scream then— dry throat or no— as it was wrenched out of him. He screamed again when Sam pushed in something else in its place. A tube. Rigid, but giving when Sam shoved it, hollow and bending slightly as it was forced inside him.
He arched his back and tried to get away. Away away away. It just kept coming. He felt the bulge in his stomach and his brain gave up the game and he checked out for a long time.
He came round again to the smell of gasoline. Something splashed across his torso and he heard it pitter-patter onto the ground.
Shit. No dust. Only ash. Ashes to ashes. I don’t want to burn, Sam. Sam, please I don’t want to go out like this.
But they were hunters, and this was what they did, wasn't it?
“Hey, Buddy, what are you doing?”
Dean tried to whip his head around, but it only rolled it slightly and he strained his ears for more words.
“No, no no. Go away!” Sam shouted, hoarse and desperate.
“I’m just over here son, I’m not coming any closer, that’s okay.”
“Dean’s safe too yeah, I can see how-” John's voice broke and he cleared his throat. “You kept him close, that’s good. You boys together is good, just wanted to come see it for myself.”
“You’re not… not going to try and stop me? Or take him away? I need him.”
“Right. Yeah. Well, I'm here, and… and I have something that will help you with Dean.”
“Really? With Dean?”
“Yeah, if you just put that canister down we could talk about it.”
Sam made a strange humming sound. “Maybe. Have to… need Dean first. Then, then you can show me. I like him, he needs me. That’s all that matters.”
“I can see that. So, you uhh, you do what you need to do and then…”
Sam was behind him, Dean felt hands, cold and weak. They pinched at him. Or maybe that was the tape. Sam tried to get between his legs but they were wrapped tight and they wouldn’t budge. And Sam tried to poke around the thing in his ass and Dean convulsed.
Blunt pressure added more pain to his ass, pressed and pressed and it felt like… felt like a cock trying to work it’s way inside the cylinder that was inside him. No no no. Please!
Sam worked at it for what felt like an age, a day, his whole life. And John was right there, seeing the way he’d come apart, the way he'd been pulled asunder. He’d failed and failed and failed and this was the result.
It hurt so bad, so very bad, as Sam knocked and jolted whatever was nestled in him. Sam gave up eventually with a frustrated noise and ripped the tubing free. Dean blacked out, swamped by the pain, and came to with Sam inside him.
Sam inside, Dad near, Dean lost outside himself where the pain couldn’t get him — where he was separate from it, floating away. Sam engulfed him, body and all and he rolled with it, what else was there to do? He rocked under the rhythm of Sam using his ass and wavered as the pain obliterated thought.
“Can… you can show me that thing now? For Dean? Help me keep Dean?” Sam’s voice was weak, and he pulled out of Dean with a sickening squelch. Dean swung away from consciousness again and was only distantly aware of people moving around him.
Dust soon, Dad’s got the magic ingredient, he knows how to end this. This will never end, it’s going to go on forever and ever this is all there is, I’m gonna die beat to hell, fucked right into the arms of the devil. Should never have let this happen.
Footsteps shuffled, he heard murmured words.
A yelp. A thud. Several grunts. Pounding footfalls, and then hands, lifting his face.
“You’re okay son, you’re okay. I’m gonna get you down.”
Sam? he moaned.
“Took care of him.”
Dean wretched, dry heaved for air that wouldn’t come. No no no.
“He’s knocked out, got him in the trunk ‘til we can fix him up. I have everything we need to break the curse but I wanna get you down first.”
Dean almost passed out with relief. Not dead. Not dead. None of them were dying, not today.
He let John work, was vaguely aware of the sound of ropes being sawed through and chains being undone. He slipped closer to the ground with every new jolt, closer to the earth that could swallow him whole.
He needed the ground to swallow him up because he couldn’t face this, couldn’t look it in the eye. He didn’t want to see what Sam had done, what had become of him, of Baby; didn’t want to see the look in John’s eyes. He’d gonna be so mad, Sam’s gonna hate me for not stopping this. Gonna lose them both. Gonna lose…
“Shh, hey, just a few more. You’re almost free. Hold on, just… please hold on Dean, don’t go anywhere.”
He was floating again, and he tried to anchor himself in his body. If it was important to stay, he could do that. He keeled over, his upper body careened toward the ground and right into John’s waiting arms and he breathed out… and slipped into sleep.
He woke with a start, with his hair being tugged on and his skin being pinched. A wet rag rubbed across his head and he moaned weakly.
“Just softening the glue, nearly there.”
Water, dad, I gotta drink something.
His lips were freed first and Dad spoke to him but it was all nonsense. Cool water landed on his parched and ruined lips, on his deathly dry tongue. It rolled down his chin, slipped down his throat and he drifted and let it happen.
He blinked awake as his limbs were methodically undone, he felt clearer, some fog had lifted.
“Sam’s asleep, I started the counter-spell, but I gave him something to knock him out first. I hope that doesn’t mess it up. Sam’s the one who usually does these sorts of things. Or you. I should’ve made sure you were more prepared for this...”
John spoke and Dean watched as he carefully cut the tape away from Dean’s body strip by strip.
“Hey, you back in the land of the living?” John smiled when he noticed Dean blinking owlishly at him. Dean bobbed his head. He was, wasn’t he?
Yes, fuck yes! Dad lifted a bottle to his lips and Dean didn’t even care that he couldn’t move to hold it, all he wanted was water and sleep… and Sam.
It was over, but it was so, so far from done.
The debris around him on the forest floor was alarming. Chains, ropes, bits of camping gear and parts from Baby’s engine littered the ground. He’d been suspended on his knees between two trees and it painted a picture he didn’t want to look at. It had left him open for Sam to get at him from all sides.
What Sam had done with that access had him retching, half the water he’d swallowed searing his throat on the way back out. He knew he was in copious amounts of pain, but seeing what had caused the pain was too much. The parts of one of Baby’s engine lines, covered in motor oil and blood and other things he didn’t want to think of. It looked enormous, laid motionless on the ground in a puddle of filthy come.
And inside him still, in his raw and aching dick, was the tip of something shiny black.
“I… I didn’t want, I wasn’t sure…” John gestured helplessly at his crotch and Dean grimaced.
“‘Kay.” He nodded, and moved a hand to cover himself.
“Don’t! We’ll… we can get to a hospital, you need a hospital Dean. Fuck.” John ran a hand through his hair.
“Sam?” Dean croaked. “I got this.”
“Fine, okay fine. I’m right here. I’ll patch you both up, best I can. We’ll come back for the car later…”
Dad walked away, Dad was here and he wasn’t mad and he wasn’t disgusted with them, or at least he hid it pretty well if he was. Dean looked down at his throbbing red dick, moved a sluggish hand and began to tug. The high whine that left him wasn't something he could smother if he tried. It burned, felt like it might kill him. Half-dried motor oil and not much else to ease the way. He pulled with blinded white vision until it slid free.
He opened his eyes, not sure when they’d closed, and saw the dipstick from Baby’s engine in his fingers. He whined again, almost laughed, and slumped sideways. John could sort the rest. Dean was done.
Two days in a hospital, one torturous car journey, and three seedy motel beds later they were home, near as they ever came. Sam had been mostly out of it since they broke the spell and Dean was glad. He looked peaceful, serene. He didn’t want to face what Sam would be like when he woke up. The guilt, the shame, the fear.
Whatever the drugs were that John had scored worked wonders, the pain was distant and he was so sleepy he barely had to answer any of John’s questions. Things had gone sideways, fast, and Dean had stayed alive, kept Sam alive, and that seemed to be good enough for John.
John left to trek back for the Impala and Dean didn’t even mind leaving her in John’s hands if it meant he got to be alone with Sam who —four days after the spell was broken— finally seemed to be coming around for good. Dean slipped into bed beside him, shirtless and still too hot as his body fought to heal his injuries.
“Hey,” he said softly as Sam’s eyes flickered open.
Sam grunted, and sighed: “What happened?”
“Witch curse. Got you bad. We fixed it.”
“It’s… it’s all a blur.”
Let’s keep it that way, please.
Sam’s eyes raked him, caught on the collar bone bruises and chafed skin of his face and his ripped out hair, on the welts and irritations around his wrists. “You’re hurt?” Sam jolted upright and wobbled.
“Easy, Easy. You’ve been dead to the world for four days, take it slow.”
“Dean, you… you’re injured!”
“A little, but I’ll live. We’re both gonna be fine.”
He watched as Sam’s eyes roved back and forth, lost about seven hundred miles away on a forest road, next to a wrecked car between two trees. “Just leave it Sam, it’s over, it doesn’t matter.”
“I hurt you,” Sam whispered, wide eyed.
“It wasn’t you.”
“You don’t know that, you don’t.” Sam tried to scramble out of bed and Dean caught his arm.
“Please, sit the hell down and take it easy.”
Sam scrubbed at his face, white as a sheet. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. How can you even look at me, or touch me?”
“It wasn’t you. Something whammied you, forced your hand. I still trust you.”
“Give it time.” He pulled Sam back down and placed his hand on Sam’s chest. “We just need to heal, it’ll be fine.”
“What about Dad?” Sam asked, even more anxious.
“Thinks it was all the witch, and doesn’t seem to want to examine it too closely. He doesn’t know, or refuses to think about it. It’s fine.”
“Stop saying it’s fine, it’s not fine!”
Dean pulled Sam’s hand to his face, kissed the palm and let it settle in the crook of his neck. “Your hands would never do that. I’m gonna look out for you, for us, it won’t happen again.”
“I wish I could be so sure, the thoughts felt like me, like mine… ” Sam had tears in his eyes, a hitch in his breath, and Dean didn’t know how to make it go away.
“Shh, give it time.”
He could see something in Sam that wasn’t there before, though. Somehow it had damaged Sam more than it had hurt him. Sam looked like a cornered animal, scanning the horizon for a way out.
Sam was going to leave, he just knew it.
He knew about the college applications and scholarships, and now something else had happened to force Sam’s hand.
He was going to tear himself to shreds over it, as far away from Dean as he could get, and he’d only come back once he’d made his peace with it.
Just so long as you come back to me. Don't you leave me like this, not for good.
He could be alright, as long as it wasn't forever. He couldn't stand it if this broke them completely, he couldn't live if that was the last time they were ever close.
He moved nearer and curled into Sam's warmth. They were together now and it could be enough, as long as this wasn't the end.
He could wait. As long as Sam came back, he could be okay.
Because they’d lived, they were going to continue to live. Everything was going to be alright, Dean would make sure of it.