Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4511547.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, John_Winchester, Bobby_Singer, Pastor
      Jim, Alastair, Castiel, OCs
  Additional Tags:
      Rape_of_a_minor_(not_graphic), ABO_verse, Alpha!Sam, omega!dean, Show
      level_violence, Violence, Blood, Angst, hurt!Dean, Abortion, Emotional
      pain, complications_arising_from_rape_by_a_monster, mpreg_(mild), True
      Mates, spn!AU, Hell, Dysfunctional_Family, Self_Loathing, Mental_Anguish,
      Misunderstandings, Torture, Knotting, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual_Happy_Ending
  Collections:
      Supernatural_and_J2_Big_Bang_2015
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-08-06 Chapters: 7/7 Words: 27353
****** Fractured Bonds ******
by majesticduxk
Summary
 
 
 
 
When Dean was 12 his very first heat turned out to be a brutal disaster.
Complications result in Dean’s left damaged beyond repair, effectively a beta.
Despite this, when Sam first popped his knot, Dean suspected Sam might be his
mate. A few omega hormone shots and he'd know it for sure. But being a
defective omega he didn't think he deserved any alpha, let alone his precious
baby brother. Dean keeps his distance, and when Sam leaves for Stanford he
knows it’s for the best.
Except then John goes missing and Dean has to collect his brother…
Notes
     Please note: This story contains the rape of a minor, with additional
     emotional trauma. There is also a scene with the exorcism of the
     unborn (it's a monster, so child is not the right term).
     These scenes are disturbing. Please do not read if you think you will
     have problems with this.
     There is no graphic sex in this fic, although it does refer to
     knotting
     a/n: Thank you to my wonderful, wonderful artist, sillie82, who kept
     me smiling with their beautiful sketches.
     This was a bit of a challenge for me. The idea came from a prompt on
     the spn kinkmeme, and it would not leave me alone. Suffice it to say,
     this is not my normal sort of story, but it was a challenge, and one
     I was ultimately happy with. I could not have finished it without
     kiltsocks, though, whose support and beta’ing were oh so appreciated.
     Thank you lovely <3
     And to my beta, boykingsbrokencrown, thank you! And to yonkyu for
     more cheerleading.
     And finally thank you to the mods for organising this wonderful
     event!
***** Chapter 1 *****
Chapter 1
It hadn’t been a good week.
In fact, it had been the worst he could remember. The worst since he’d lost
Mary. And yeah, he knew that was saying a lot.
John had been tracking this shifter for a few months now. It should have been
standard: find, kill, salt, burn. But here they were, four months and six
states later, and only now did he realise what he was hunting: not just a
shifter, but one that attacked… he could barely bring himself to think the
words. Little boys. Newly presented little omega’s raped and brutalised. There
was something about… something… something even worse about these monsters that
preyed on little kids. It turned his stomach. He knew he had to stop it.
He realised that even if this monster was human and not supernatural, he’d kill
it.
It turned his thoughts to Dean and Sam. His own little boys.
Even though he didn’t need to worry about them (as the children of beta’s odds
were they were betas too), it had still been hard leaving them tonight. It was
hard every night, of course, but tonight Dean had not been feeling well. Even
as John packed his hunting bag, the little voice whispered to him, “Daddy…
Daddy I don’t feel good…”
Closing his eyes, John breathed deeply. Dean never complained. He must have
been feeling terrible. But John had to leave him home. It wasn’t safe, and John
would have left Dean at home even if he had been in tip top condition. In no
universe was John putting his boy in front of a child molester.
With a stern, “Not now, Dean. I have an important job. You know how it goes,
champ. I have to go, and I need you to be a big boy and stay here. I need you
to look after Sammy. You can do that for me, right?”
Dean had looked at him, eyes shimmering with tears. Flushed and miserable.
“Yes, sir.”
John ruffled his hair, ignoring the fact that he felt warmer than usual. “Make
sure your brother eats. Salt all the doors and windows, make sure the shotgun
is loaded and in easy reach, then you can go to bed.”
Nodding miserably, Dean watched his father walk out the door.
That had been hours ago, and John expected to be home well before now. The
monster did the same thing every night.
Nearly every night.
Biting his lip, John looked around. That never boded well. But since he was
here, he’d give it a few more hours then head back. He was sure his boys were
safe. Dean was a good, obedient boy. He would have put down the salt lines as
soon as he could.
Something buzzed in his head, but he pushed it back. Of course Dean was fine.
It was just because he’d been unwell, and that was… well… unusual.
Focus, Winchester, he firmly told himself. Dean would still be there in
morning. And if he could just stick it out a little longer, this monster
wouldn’t. Glancing at the clock again, John slumped in his seat and settled in
for the wait.
--oo--
The next three hours were excruciating in their slowness. It was three hours
later. Right at the edge of his deadline. Just as he was about to stop and pack
it up for the night, the monster came strolling in. The man (well, that was no
surprise; it always took the body of a man), paused at the door before turning
and looking John straight in the eye.
Fuck! What the fuck! How did it…? What was it doing? It held something up. A
shirt. A little shirt with a batman symbol on it. John’s mind immediately
recalled Dean. Flushed face, teary eyes… and batman shirt.
No!
He didn’t remember leaving the car. He didn’t remember walking up the path. He
must have flown, because next thing he knew, he had the shifter by the throat,
pressed against the door.
“What have you done to my son?”
The thing’s mouth twisted in a smile. Licking it’s lips, it stared at him. “Not
really a son,” It said. All friendly and conversational. “A bitch. A very
pretty little bitch.” John’s hand tightened and it choked out a laugh. “First
heat is always the sweetest.”
--oo--
John killed it. There was no question. Regardless of what it had or hadn’t
done, it was never going to live. But it was a kinder death than it might have
otherwise got. Quick. Silver knife to the jugular before pumping it full of
lead and silver. Stony eyed, John watched it sink to the floor before
decapitating it. Perhaps burning it on the doorstep was over kill, but the son
of a bitch - (no, not that. He’d never be able to use that term again, not
without thinking of the satisfaction in the creatures eye) - the sick, twisted
asshole would never touch another kid again.
--oo--
He didn’t remember the drive home either. Thoughts of Dean, of his baby boy,
filled his head. It had to be lying. It had to be. It knew how to hurt and it
had done it. But… No. Don’t go there. There was no way it had touched his boy.
Pulling into the car park, he took a deep breath. He couldn’t turn up
distressed. It would upset Dean. Sammy was probably asleep and would continue
to sleep. Kid could sleep through anything. Dean was different. Woke up every
time John came home, even if he didn’t say anything.
Deep breath, and John was ready to face whatever awaited him.
--oo--
He wasn’t.
He really wasn’t.
The first think he noticed was the half laid salt line against the door.
Distracted, he told himself. For some reason Dean got distracted. Well. They’d
be having words about that.
One step into the lounge and John knew they wouldn’t be having any words at
all. The room stank of foreign alpha and the sweetness that was an omega’s
heat. He could see blood, a trail to the bathroom, which had been hurriedly
wiped up. Oh god. Oh god. John felt his heart speed up, and his head start to
spin. He felt his knees start to give, but somehow hauled his body upright. He
couldn’t do that. He couldn’t panic. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.
Forcing oxygen into his lungs, he headed towards the bathroom on unsteady feet.
The door was pulled to. There were bloody finger marks against the dirty white
walls. Little finger marks.
Muffled sobs filled his ears. Dean. His baby.
Pushing the door open, he scanned the bathroom.
Dean. Naked. In the corner. Bruises darkening against his hips. Blood smeared
across his skin. Heatscent filled the air, and something… something John chose
to ignore.
“Dean? Baby, it’s me.”
The scared little sound broke John’s heart.
Not as much as the words.
“No! Go away… don’t… please don’t.”
John’s hand fell. His thoughts did white out then.
“No…” the word was a broken whisper.
Dean did look up at that. “Dad… Daddy?”
“Oh god, Dean? Dean… he… he…” What the fuck was he supposed to do? What do you
tell your son who’s been raped by a monster wearing your face?
“Dean. Dean… it’s dad -daddy.”
The lack of trust in the eyes. He thought Dean had lost all his innocence when
he was four. With the way John had made his baby grow up, protect Sammy,
protect…
“Daddy?” The scared hope hurt.
“I killed it, Dean. I killed it. It will never hurt anyo-“ John cut himself
off. Even now… even now he was not putting his son first. “I killed it, Dean,
and it will never hurt you again.”
Under any other circumstance, John would scold his boy for just trusting him.
He had a whole mental list on what sort of monster could be out there, but
right now? He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
For the first time since Mary’s death, he was putting his boy first.
Talking to Dean the whole while, he moved around him and starting running the
bath. When it was full enough – and warm enough (he’s in shock. Warm him) John
picked him up. Dean’s shivering intensified, but he didn’t pull away.
John could smell the fear and sadness and something that was a lot like giving
– up radiating off his boy. He scented at Dean’s throat, feeling the little
body relax in his arms. “Just gonna wash you, buddy. Get you nice and clean.
Then we’ll get you dressed in pyjamas, and into bed.”
--oo--
He sat in the bath, fully clothed, before pulling Dean down on top of him.
John’s clothing seemed to help – not only as a protective layer between their
skin, but the warmth of the water seemed to enhance John’s scent: all father
and home and safe.
Holding Dean against him, he waiting until Dean’s shivering eased before moving
the wetted washcloth gently over his son’s body. Thank god he’d trained Dean to
trust him. Never mind it was that trust that caused this… No. Don’t think that.
Don’t go there. Look after your son.
A deep breath later, John was moving the washcloth over Dean’s body, the soft
movements removing the evidence of the earlier trauma. Even in his own mind he
couldn’t think rape. He couldn’t… Dean moved uncomfortably against him, and
John attempted to reign in his distress. This wasn’t helping Dean. As John
relaxed, so too did Dean. The power of an alpha scent, as much as anything.
(And there was another thing John was not going to think about now. How
something that was supposed to be celebrated had been turned into something
neither of them would ever want to think of again).
Crooning, he gently moved Dean, consciously not looking at the bites and
scratches. It would only make him furious. He knew he had to avoid that at all
costs. If John felt like he was only hanging on by a thread, he couldn’t
imagine what was going on in Dean’s head.
It was all fine until the cloth brushed against Dean’s hip. The reaction was
immediate.
“No! No! NO!” Dean threw his head back, hitting John in the chest. John huffed
a pained sound – he should have known it wouldn’t be so easy – and grabbed onto
Dean’s arms, intent on ensuring Dean didn’t hurt himself.
“No! You can’t! I don’t want… please don’t! Please don’t hurt me again…” The
terrified little voice trailed off into sobs. John was hard pressed not to cry
along with him. At least he’d stopped fighting, instead laying against John,
head buried in his chest, little hands bunching his shirt into fists. John held
him until he’d cried himself out.
Using his most matter of fact voice John spoke to Dean. “I have to clean you
there, buddy.”
Turning sad eyes towards, Dean sniffled and shook his head. John was just
grateful it hadn’t brought on more tears.
“Hurts, Dad.” The voice was a whisper.
Until that moment, John hadn’t thought his heart could break anymore. He didn’t
know how much more he could take, but steeling himself, he spoke to Dean in the
calmest voice he could muster. “I know it hurts, champ. But we need to clean
you all over. I don’t want,” And it didn’t take Dean tensing in his arms to
realise his anger and frustration were bleeding through. Taking (another)
steadying breath he continued. “We need to make sure you’re clean, and that
nothing’s going to get infected. It’ll hurt a little, Dean. Then it will be
over.”
And he prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that it really would be over.
While Dean’s face was hidden in his chest, John allowed his eye to roam over
him, taking in the bites and bruises. He refused to think of what else he’d
removed. As Dean shivered, John stroked a hand over his back. There was no way
Dean wasn’t in pain and shock. And there was nothing John could do about it. He
was so fucking impotent in this! Right now though, he just had to get Dean
clean without causing more damage.
“It’s going to hurt a bit, Dean. There’s no way around it. We’re going to do
it, but we’ll go as slow as you need. So, you gonna work with me here, buddy?”
Slowly, ever so slowly Dean unclenched his hands. He couldn’t look his father
in the eye, but he inclined his head.
Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, John was thankful he didn’t have to force
this on his kid as well. It was traumatic enough thinking… Stop that thought
right there, Winchester, he sternly told himself. Later, when Dean isn’t here.
Think of your son.
Dean trembled the closer the washcloth got to the crease of his buttocks. He
paused, letting Dean settle before moving. By the time he was clean he’d talked
him through three panic attacks. When Dean was finally clean, he let the water
out of the tub, not letting Dean down as he wrapped a towel around him.
At least Dean was clean. At least that monster’s filth was no longer on Dean’s
skin.
Wrapping Dean tightly in the towel, John headed towards the boys’ bedroom, only
to be stopped as Dean pulled frantically at his wet sleeve.
“Dad – no!”
“Dean?”
Dean didn’t say anything, just clung tighter to his father. Honestly, John was
at a loss for what the problem could be. Surely the bath was the worst? John
jiggled him a little.
“Dean? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
Dean bit his lip but said nothing.
“I need you to tell me what’s wrong, Dean. If you don’t tell me, I can’t help.”
Blinking back tears, Dean whispered, “I can’t…”
He waited, but Dean obviously wasn’t going to continue. “Can’t what,” he
prompted.
Dean buried his head in John’s shoulder again. “Can’t go in there. I’m dirty.
Can’t make Sammy dirty.”
Taking a deep breath, John set Dean down on his feet, ignoring the distressed
squeak and the way Dean’s hands reached for him. Grabbing him by the shoulders,
John held him still and looked him straight in the eye.
“Dean. You are not dirty. You did nothing wrong and nothing has changed. I love
you, and Sammy loves you just the same.”
Although John blinked back his tears, he could still see Dean’s expression
clearly. And it indicated a complete lack of agreement.
Sighing, John lifted him into his arms again, and put him on the sofa.
“Ok, then. Wait here, champ. I’ll get us some dry clothes and I’ll be back in a
minute.”
“Dad!”
“You and I will sleep out here. Unless you want to sleep in the same room as
Sam…?” frantically Dean shook his head. Yeah, he didn’t think so. “Dean, I need
to leave you here, buddy. I’ll just be a few minutes. Get some dry clothes and
come right back.”
“Tomorrow…?”
Fuck. Tomorrow. What were they going to do? They couldn’t stay – John hadn’t
been as careful as usual when destroying that sadistic fuck. And there was
Dean. No way was he keeping his boy here a second longer than he needed to. If
he wasn’t so tired, they’d be out the door now, but John knew his body well
enough to know if he drove now he’d end up asleep at the wheel which wouldn’t
end well.
So where to go?
“Tomorrow we’ll leave.”
He left it there. Dean was his good boy, and wouldn’t even think to question
John’s words. “Now, sit tight, Dean. I’ll be back soon.”
Dropping Dean on the sofa, John waited until he’d curled up in the corner
before heading to his room. It took only a few moments to towel himself dry and
change. And… well, since he was here… John quickly and efficiently packed the
room. It’d be easier to leave tomorrow, he justified. And it didn’t take that
long. Not really.
Next stop was the boy’s room. Since he was here he may as well pack it too…
It took a little longer, as he really didn’t want to wake Sam. Although by the
end of it he got the impression that the extra care taken was a waste of time:
nothing short of a bomb going off would wake his youngest. Best work on that,
he noted idly to himself. It was the difference between life and death.
Blanching, John realised he’d taken much longer than expected. Hopefully…
hopefully Dean was asleep.
--oo--
Dean was not asleep.
Dean’s whole body shook with the effort to keep his sobbing quiet.
“Fuck!”
He swept in, pulling Dean into his lap and pulling him tight against his chest,
just wanting to surround Dean with comfort. He pressed Dean’s nose into the
base of his throat, hand curled protectively around his head.
“Shhhhh. It’s ok, buddy. It’s ok. Daddy’s here. I thought you were asleep,
Dean. I’m sorry…”
Dean’s sobs didn’t ease. Instead, if John listened carefully, he could hear
sorry, my fault, dirty and left me.
“Oh, Dean!”
“No, Dean. Not left you. I’d never leave you.” He didn’t even wince at the lie,
just pushed through. “Daddy’s sorry, Dean.”
John didn’t know how long it took for Dean to fall asleep. As soon as the tears
stopped he’d helped Dean into his pyjamas before pulling him back against his
chest. Eventually he felt Dean’s body fall against him. At which point he
couldn’t help but look at every fucking life decision that had brought him
here. Fuck! He’d never apologised so much in his life. He’d never imagined he’d
be apologising to his twelve year old son. Sighing under his breath, he pressed
a kiss to the top of Dean’s head. He was starting to drop off now, so John
could start worrying.
An omega! He hadn’t seen that coming. Or… maybe he had. Dean had certainly
never complained about looking after Sam. And although Dean had been treated as
an adult for a decade, John couldn’t help the bit inside him that cried for his
little boy.
--oo--
John didn’t know when he slipped into an uneasy sleep. What he did know was
that morning came way too soon. His mouth was gummy, and his back hurt from
sleeping sitting up with Dean in his arms. As well as the little body that had
curled up beside him. Looking down at Sammy’s floppy hair, he couldn’t help but
curse himself. He hadn’t even stirred when Sam turned up.
It was as if Sam sensed his increased mental activity. John had barely taken in
Sam’s presence when he was up on his knees, leaning against him.
“Why’re you on the sofa, Daddy?”
Ah. He hadn’t really thought that through. He’d never expected Sam to wake
before him. Biting back a yawn, he tried to think of lies he’d remember.
“Dean wasn’t sleeping – he’s not well, Sammy – so I took him out here until he
felt better.”
Sam was a smart kid. Even at eight he could pick holes in most of John’s best
thought out lies.
And this was not one of his best. John never cuddled with the boys. And when
they were sick he told them to man up. Dean did. Dean had to. Sammy still got
coddled – but by his older brother, never his father.
To John’s surprise, instead of arguing Sam curled up again. He laid his head on
John’s lap, bumping it against Dean. Although he couldn’t see Sam’s expression,
he could hear the pout in his voice.
“Shoulda got me too. I never get to sleep on the couch with you. Not fair,
Dad.”
For the first time in what felt like forever, John smiled. Sammy was still his
perfectly difficult self.
“Life’s not fair, kiddo. Now, listen up. Dean’s still pretty sleepy. Think you
can be my big boy and help me?” Sam was nodding before John finished. “The bags
are already packed. Can you put them in the car?”
Sam nodded, before he noticed John’s arms were still wrapped round Dean, and a
scowl crossed his face. John recognised the stubborn set of his shoulders as
Sam stuck his head more firmly into John’s hip. “Not fair! I didn’t get any
cuddles. Dean should do it.”
Before John could reason with his youngest, Dean stirred against his chest. He
snuggled against John and snuffled at John’s chest. John held his breath. Maybe
Dean would be ok this morning…
Dean’s body tensed and his eyes flew open. John immediately released his arms,
as Dean threw himself back off John. “No – don’t…”
John spared a look at Sam who had shuffled back to the other corner, unable to
take his eyes off his brother. Keeping his voice calm, he said to Sam, “Please
go get the bags, Sam, and put them in car. Dean isn’t well. We need to go
somewhere to help him get better.”
Thankfully Sam didn’t complain. Nodding his head, he leapt off the couch,
running for his room. Shifting his attention back to Dean, John sat up, and
grabbed a blanket that had fallen to the floor. Ignoring the way Dean flinched,
he started with the words he’d repeated every time Dean woke in the night.
“It’s ok, Dean. It’s daddy. And I’m not going to hurt you. I won’t touch you,
buddy, not if you don’t want me too.”
He kept up the quiet talk until Dean’s eyes focused on him again.
“Dadd- dad?”
“We’re heading out, champ. I’m going to carry you to the car.”
Dean was already shaking his head. “I can walk myself.”
John shook his head firmly. “You don’t have a choice right now, Dean.”
Dean didn’t argue with John at the best of times. And he was still in shock,
obviously working as hard as he could to forget what happened yesterday. He had
to, John realised with a start. The monster wore his face while…
“Dad? Dad what’s wrong?”
Right. He still couldn’t think about it. Not yet. Not with two boys – one a
child, the other compromised and unable to deal with Johns emotions. Breathe,
he reminded himself.
“Nothing, Sammy. Bags in the car? Good. Let’s go.”
--oo--
In the end it was easy getting them into the car. Sammy was now very worried
about his brother, and Dean didn’t want to do anything to upset Sammy. And that
worked for all of fifteen minutes. Sam was very attentive towards his brother.
And that could have made the car trip much easier. But Dean shook his hand off.
To John’s surprise, Sam didn’t take it out on Dean. Instead he turned
frustrated eyes on John.
“Where are we going, anyway?”
John didn’t know where to take them. Normally, he would drive them straight to
Sioux Falls, and into Bobby’s house. Despite their differences, John trusted
Bobby. Unfortunately, last time had resulted in Bobby threatening to shoot him
the next time he showed his sorry ass.
At the time, John had rejected the idea that there was anything wrong with his
parenting. Now though… some of the comments were ringing too true for comfort.
There was no way he could go see Bobby. But who else could he trust with a
newly presented, traumatised omega?
John glanced at Dean in the rearview mirror. He looked about as well as
expected. He was still wrapped in the blanket, so the worst of the bites and
bruises were covered, but John couldn’t dwell on it. Not yet. Inside him, his
rage was banked, but a stray thought and… well, let’s just say he wasn’t ready
to terrify his boys.
So where could he take them?
“Dad?”
Wait. There was one man. “Daddy’s friend… Jim.”
Sam leant back and ran the name through is head. “He is… Father? Father Jim? We
don’t need another father. We have you, right, Dad?”
John stoically controlled his eyeroll. Sam sounded truly worried. “It’s Pastor
Jim, Sam. It’s a title for people who are in the religious orders.”
“I knew that,” Sam muttered. Then eyed his father with suspicion. “You aren’t
just leaving us there are you Dad? Because Dean’s sick? I can look after him!
He needs family.”
Groaning inwardly at the belligerent tone, for the first time John considered
that Sammy might be an alpha. John had never cared about the secondary gender
of the boys. He wished he’d though about it more now, with Dean quivering in
the corner after… after that, and Sammy staring at him like he was a monster.
John knew he had a lot to think about, and it needed to wait. “I’m not going to
just leave you, Sam. I told you Dean wasn’t well, and I’m hoping that Pastor
Jim can help.”
To his eternal surprise Sam didn’t continue questioning. Just laid back in the
seat and wrapped himself protectively around his brother.
The journey after that was fairly uneventful. Although it warmed his heart
seeing the way Sammy fussed over his brother. Dean then broke it when he
tentatively snuggled against Sam, craving the smell of family.
John vowed to give his boys what they needed.
--oo--
Pastor Jim welcomed John with a sharp look. When he noticed the boys, they at
least got a warmer welcome. Although that then lead to an accusatory glare from
the good Pastor. John had neither the inclination nor patience to decipher it.
Jim would let him know.
After ushering the boys into the kitchen, Jim set them up with something they
appeared excited about. John felt something in him uncoil as he saw Dean’s
genuine smile. Before he could go and join the boys, Jim informed them he had
to talk to their daddy.
“You can wait here, right? If you’re still hungry, there’s plenty of food, so
help yourselves, ok?”
Sammy nodded enthusiastically, while Dean shot a questioning look at John.
Shrugging to himself, John inclined his head. Jim wasn’t going to offer
something he didn’t mean. Although… John was already questioning if bringing
the boys here was the right thing.
“I think we need to talk, John. My office?”
The tone was mild enough, but Jim’s suspicious expression solidified into
something that was almost rage at his interaction with Dean. What the fuck was
going on here? Had Bobby been in Jim’s ear?
As soon as they were safely ensconced in Jim’s office, John was defending
himself. “I don’t know what Bobby’s said to you, Jim, but I can tell you…”
“I don’t want to hear a word you have to say, John Winchester! You are a
monster!”
John had no idea the pastor had such lungs on him. But that was irrelevant.
“What the fuck, Jim? I come to you for help, and you call me a monster?” He
shook his head, disgusted. He’d hunt Bobby down…”My boys need help and…”
Pastor Jim advanced on him. To his eternal shame, John gave ground. There was
something frightening and righteous in the mans’ intensity. Even when his back
hit the wall, the pastor stalked forward until they were nose to nose.
“Your boys? Your boys? You don’t deserve those boys! What kind of father
impregnates his boy and then…”
Pregnant.
Dean was pregnant.
That change in his scent. The one that John had ignored (because you couldn’t
deal with it, he snarled at himself), was that of his little boy, now ripe with
the new life. Life formed when Dean had been forced by a shifter that looked
like John.
John threw up all over Pastor Jim’s cassock.
--oo--
All sorts of things happened in his office, so Jim was able to easily remove
his spoiled robes, push John into a chair, and get them both a stiff drink.
Sitting on the edge of the desk, Jim stared at the man before him. That had
been quite a reaction. He sipped at the whisky, relishing its burn. He could
already tell it was preferable to whatever he was about to deal with now.
But he didn’t get to where he was by putting off the unavoidable.
He decided to start with an easy question. “So you’re not the father?”
John spat his drink out. A waste of good whisky, but Jim felt some relief.
“Fuck’s sake, Jim! No. No, the… It…”
John was lost for words. Jim stared at him. John was never lost for words. He
defended every stubborn, pig-headed, foolish decision he made with no problem.
And now he was unable? Jim felt a flash of anger, quickly damped down. He’d
already acted rashly – and incorrectly. But how could John call himself a
decent father when his twelve year old son was pregnant! His thoughts were once
more interrupted.
“I didn’t rape my son. A fucking monster wearing my face did.”
Jumping up, he started pacing the room. “My baby boy was fucking attacked and
raped by a shifter wearing my face! He’ll never be able to look at me again
without thinking… and now… a baby… Fuck!”
Jim’s stomach dropped. But he didn’t interrupt. He let John pace and rant and
scream.
“He hurt him. He looked at me and held up Dean’s shirt and laughed.” John
punched the desk and rounded on the pastor. “He died too easy. I wanted… I
wanted it to hurt. I wanted to make him suffer. But I… I couldn’t. I didn’t
know if Dean was ok. I didn’t know…”
John’s voice trailed off. After a moment’s silence, Jim took up the
conversation.
“You did the right thing, John. You did the right thing for Dean. You killed
that…” There wasn’t even a word. It was worse than a monster. It was more than
the nature of the beast. It was perverted. It was hard to think about. “You
killed the monster, John, and then you went home to your son. As a father – and
not just a hunter,” He added sharply when John looked ready to argue. “You are
a father first, John. Your boys should come first.”
John didn’t respond.
“You know what you have to do.”
John didn’t move.
Jim spoke more sharply. “John. You knowwhat you have to do.”
“I can’t hurt my boy anymore.”
The words were whispered, but Jim heard them clearly.
“The child of a monster is a monster, John. Evil. You’ll need to exorcise it.”
Shoulders trembled beneath his palm, but the Pastor pushed on. “It can’t live,
John. And it… you know what happens! Dean won’t survive it. They kill the
hosts.”
Jim kept his distance with words, fighting for a cool that was hard won. While
John ranted and raved out loud, Jim did in his head. Each and every time
something like this happened, some monster unleased its brand of evil on the
land, Jim questioned why. Why did these things happen? And why to the good, the
underserving, the innocent.
Jim felt his heart break. Despite the way John had raised his boys, there were
still innocents. Until yesterday, Dean had not even presented, and Sammy was
still a child… John’s next words mirrored his thoughts.
“He’s just a baby, Jim. How am I supposed to hurt him again.”
The pastor looked at John seriously. “If you want him to live, you have to.”
--oo--
“Are you sure? There’s no other way to remove it? Maybe we’re wrong…”
Jim lost his temper. “We aren’t wrong, John! Sticking your head in the sand
isn’t going to solve a thing! I’ve looked everywhere, I even…”
He trailed off. He still wasn’t sure what caused the bad blood between John and
Bobby Singer, but he was unsure as to how receptive John would be to hearing
Bobby’s name. John shot him a tight smile.
“Bobby’s the best. I wouldn’t let you do anything if you hadn’t spoken to him.”
Blinking, Jim took that in. That was good. Well, except that the only answers
they had were bad.
“It’s going to be painful for Dean. There is no way around it.”
“Why will it hurt him? There’s nothing wrong with Dean!”
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Jim realised the subtle approach wasn’t
working. “The thing is going to have to find its way out of Dean’s body.”
John looked blank, and then paled. “Fuck.”
Jim nodded grimly. “The sooner the better, John.”
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter by majestic_duck_(majesticduxk)
In the end it took a couple of weeks to organise everything for the exorcism.
It was with no small amount of bitterness John noted the perfect weather.
Perfect weather to destroy the last vestiges of his son’s innocence.
The first step was to get Sam away. There was no way in Hell that boy would be
able to be near while Dean was hurting. Even if John thought Sam could control
himself, he wasn’t going hurt both his sons like that.
Making the decision was the easy part. Removing Sam? That was more difficult,
much more difficult that John had imagined. Given the way the boy normally
whined about having to stay home when normal kids got to do normal things –
coupled with the fact he’d been looking after his brother for weeks - John
thought he’d jump at the chance of a day playing with boys his own age. He’d
been wracking his mind for a natural way to get Sam away, and the timing of the
church picnic had been wonderful. The only thing to go his way, really. The
pastor cried off – citing religious reasons and the needs of his flock, but had
asked to see if one of the families with young children would mind taking Sam
for the day.
He’d thought Sam would enjoy it – a day at the beach, food, everything the
youngest Winchester wanted and never got. And yes, John admitted to himself,
normally Sam would have jumped at the chance.
But that was before Dean was injured. Since that God-forsaken night, Sam had
barely left his brother’s side. He’d even growled at John, who in a massive
show of self-restraint didn’t growl back.
It was a close thing though. And it wasn’t like they could fault the boy.
“No, Dad! I can look after Dean! He’s my brother. I’ll do it proper, Dad.
Please, I promise!”
John ran a hand through his hair. “You have done a good job, son. But he…” Jim
watched as John gathered his thoughts. It was obvious Sam didn’t know about the
pregnancy. John hadn’t realised – or had wilfully ignored the evidence, which
was closer to the truth.
Not that he would have told his youngest son, even if he had known. Sam – Jim
realised, looking at the boy – didn’t even know the truth of what had happened
to Dean. Well, it wasn’t his place to say anything, but nothing good could come
of keeping Sam in the dark.
Sighing, Jim turned his back, giving the Winchesters a little more privacy. It
was lucky an omega’s scents changed as soon as they quickened. Even at this
early stage it could be dangerous for Dean. The longer his body harboured the
shifter’s seed, the harder it would be on his little body to remove. Jim had
been perhaps a little light with the truth. This was going to hurt Dean. A lot.
But there was also no other option.
If Dean kept the baby, Dean would die.
--oo--
Eventually John managed to wrestle Sam from Dean’s side.
“What do you think I’m going to do, Sam?” John had eventually shouted.
Sam returned his glare with the most suspicious look Jim had ever seen on any
face, let alone an eight year old. He couldn’t help wondering what John had
done to earn such a look. Although if he really wanted to know, the answers
were right in front of him.
It was Dean who eventually decided it.
“Sammy, I know you wanted to play soccer this weekend. And you can do that now.
It’ll be fun, right?”
Wrenching himself out of his father’s hold, Sam threw himself at Dean. He
didn’t notice the way Dean winced. And Dean didn’t say anything. Just wrapped
his arms around his little brother.
“It’ll do you good.” He then whispered something in Sam’s ear, something that
caused the younger brother to tense, before collapsing in on his brother. They
stayed like that a few moments before Sam pulled back and looked Dean in the
eyes, expression serious.
“You better be here when I get back, Dean.”
Dean laughed, hooking an arm around Sam’s neck, pulling him down and ruffling
his hair. Ignoring the squeaks he wrestled him until both boys were giggling on
the floor.
“Where would I go without you, Sammy?”
As Sam drew in a breath (probably to argue. Jim was figuring these boys out,
and Sam was verylike his father), John intervened. Putting a hand on his
youngest’s shoulder, he got down, and looked Sam in the eye.
“I promise Dean will be here when you get home.”
--oo--
Dean looked on, wide-eyed as Pastor Jim attempted to convince Sam to leave for
the day. If he was honest… he was worried. He felt safe with Sam around. Safer
than with his dad. He knew that was unfair. He knew this was dad. It smelt like
dad. It acted like dad (the normal dad. Right after it happened, dad had been
all gentle and weird. Now he was back to his normal drill sergeant self. The…
the thing that had hurt him looked like dad, but smelt different. So Dean knew.
It was still so hard though, not to jump back when dad reached for him. All he
could see was the… the shifter.
It had hurt him. It hit him, and bit him, and put… put…
Dean’s mind blanked. He still didn’t understand and dad wouldn’t talk about it.
He knew he had changed somehow, and that was why the shifter had… had put
things in his bottom. He hadn’t liked it. That hurt more than anything.
He felt dirty and dad wouldn’t talk about it. He just sat looked at Dean sadly,
or was angry and punched things. He and Sammy were fighting even more.
Sammy. A small smile formed. It was hard to believe that his bratty, annoying
brother was being so… Dean didn’t know how to describe it. It wasn’t clingy. It
was more caring. Sammy was looking after Dean like Sammy was the big brother.
Even though that wasn’t right, even though Dean’s job was to be the big
brother, he couldn’t help but relax when Sammy was around.
Sammy felt safe.
--oo--
“Dad?”
John winced at the tremor in Dean’s voice. Of course he was scared. He’d been
brutally ra… attacked just a few days ago, and now he’d stripped him down to
his briefs and tied him to a chair. And yes. He did feel like a monster.
Especially when Dean looked at him, voice trembling as he blinked away the
tears.
Hunkering down next to him, John ran a soothing hand over his head.
“I know it’s scary, buddy. And we don’t want to do this…” John stopped, at a
loss. How did you explain to your kid he was pregnant and if they didn’t get
rid of it, it would kill him. Fuck, he didn’t even know if he’d had the alpha
and omega talk at school. He was only twelve, for Christ sake!
Jim laid a hand on John’s shoulder. John’s distress was filling the air. Dean,
who was frightened anyway, was starting to hyperventilate at his father’s fear
and anger.
“Take a walk, John.”
“Jim –“
“If you can’t control yourself, get out. This is hard enough for Dean as it is,
without you making it worse. Take a five minute break, then come back. I’ll
explain to De-“
John turned on him, snarling. “You’ll do no such thing. This is hard enough
without some stranger telling him…” Taking a deep breath, John forced his
emotions down. He was good at this. He’d damped everything down since the
moment Mary burnt on the roof. He needed to be calm and collected. For Dean.
Taking another breath, he closed his eyes, before opening them, and slowly
turning back to Dean.
“Baby, the other day…”
John watched as Dean tensed, and his shoulders attempted to hunch in on
themselves. As much as they could, given John had tied him very securely to the
chair. It was safer for all of them. Jim said it would hurt. And John believed
him. If there was any way he could spare Dean the pain… His poor boy couldn’t
hide his flinch when John reached towards him, brushing his hair back from his
face.
“Baby, I know we haven’t talked about it –“
“Don’t want to.”
John sighed. “Well, we have to. At least a little bit. The bad man put
something in you, and we have to get it out.”
He could hear Jim cough behind him. What the fuck did he expect? Dean was
twelve. How much sex education had the kid had, anyway?
Judging by the horrified expression, more than John had realised.
“What? When he… When… Daddy? A ba…”
Dean couldn’t get the words out, and ignoring the flinch, John wrapped Dean in
his arms, pulling him close against his chest.
“It’s not a baby, Dean. It’s something that will hurt you. Pastor Jim, and
Bobby and me have been looking into it, and if we don’t get it out, you’re
going to die.” He ignored the small growl from the Pastor. There was no point
in sugar coating it.
“But dad, if it’s…”
“There’s no discussion on this.” John barked the words. He regretted it, but
couldn’t see another way. This had to happen. It was going to happen. He wasn’t
going to let his son die like this.
Releasing Dean, he leant back on his haunches. Dean was shaking, lips pursed
and staring over John’s shoulder.
“Are we clear, Dean?”
No response. John hardened his heart and sharpened his voice. “I said, are we
clear, Dean?”
Dean nodded slightly. It was the best he was going to get. John wasn’t going to
push for more. This was already more fucked up then he could imagine. Standing,
he ran a gentle hand through Dean’s hair.
“It’s going to hurt, champ. But I’ll be there on the other side. Promise.”
Ignoring the sheen of tears, John walked back to the pastor. He had the
ingredients ready – a nasty, viscous potion, as well as an enchanted trap.
According to Bobby, even at this young age the spawn could survive. Killing it
was apparently more complicated than killing a fully grown shifter, but if they
trapped it they could deal with it.
And there was no way in Hell John was letting the evil thing live.
Jim looked into the cold eyes of John Winchester. He was obviously not dealing
very well – and who could blame him? There wasn’t a lot of information on what
happened to the carriers. And for some reason, John had decided to do the
exorcism himself.
Jim tried one last time. “John, I can do the exorcism. Dean needs his…”
John cut him off. “Dean needs to know I won’t let anything else hurt him.”
He couldn’t help raising an eyebrow. “By hurting him yourself? John, please. We
aren’t talking about a little pain. We’re talking-“
“I know what the deal is, Jim. You can either trust me to know what’s best for
my own son, or you can get out.”
Pursing his lips, Jim nodded. He didn’t like it, but John was Dean’s father.
--oo--
Dean was shaking as John drew the symbols on Dean’s body in an inky black
liquid.
“Dad.”
John concentrated on drawing them correctly, filtering out Dean’s quiet voice.
“Dad!”
Growling, he turned on his son. “What? I have to do these right, Dean,
otherwise we don’t know what will happen.”
“It burns, dad.”
In fact, the symbols drawn across Dean’s belly were starting to smoke.
“Fuck,” John cursed under his breath. He quickly finished the final symbol,
before looking Dean in the eye. “It’s going to hurt, Dean. And you need to be
brave.”
Quickly, John sketched out a salt circle around his done before walking back to
Jim and the container, John quickly drew the symbol that matched the one on
Dean’s belly on the container. Placing it in the salt circle Jim had drawn, the
two men stood behind it, in another salt circle.
“Maybe we shouldn’t draw one around Dean?” Jim murmured the question.
John frowned, but answered. “No. We need it corralled.”
“Well then, how is it going to…”
“For fuck’s sake, Jim! We don’t have time for this.”
Jim nodded and stepped back. He had a bad feeling about this.
--oo--
“Exo multo garbo
Reduco lingo riri
Mesu letuci colloni”
John’s voice droned on. At first Dean sat there as still as he could. The stuff
on his belly burned, but the pain was no worse than other things he’d
experienced. But then dad started talking.
The liquid seemed to sink into his skin, burning as it went.
“Dad!”
“Exo multo garbo
Reduco lingo riri
Mesu letuci colloni”
“Dad! Stop! Please!”
Something seemed to be punching at his stomach, punching through sinew and
muscle and skin.
“Dad! Don’t hurt me! Dad- Daddy! Make it stop! Please stop! Please!
Daaaaaaad!!!”
--oo--
Dean never begged. Dean was his stoic little soldier. And hearing him like
this, hearing him begging and crying? It killed him.
But he didn’t stop.
--oo--
Dean didn’t pass out until the very end. Not until the thing was trapped.
Just another item to add to John’s long list of regrets over this incident: why
the fuck hadn’t John listened? The thing couldn’t get out. The thing had stayed
in the circle, with Dean. It threw itself towards the men, when, unable to
cross the salt line, it turned back on Dean and raked at his shins and arms. It
wasn’t until it clawed its way back onto Dean’s lap that Jim had sprung into
action. (Why? Why couldn’t he have given in sooner? John knew it was his fault,
he’d trained his brave little soldier).
How Dean had clung to consciousness, John had no idea. That would be his fault
too, somehow training his twelve year old to stay conscious through unbearable
pain. The worst thing was? He’d do it again in an instant. This was how you
stayed alive. And John desperately wanted his boy to stay alive.
--oo--
John didn’t know what to feel as he held Dean’s bloody body in his arms. His
belly was ripped and he just didn’t know what to do. John always knew what to
do.
This time though, he hadn’t even waited to see if Jim had captured the thing
before leaping out of his salt circle, dragging Dean into his arms.
“C’mon champ. I just need you to open your eyes. You can do that? You can do
it… c’mon Dean.”
He was begging and he didn’t care. Dean’s pulse was thready and weak, and there
was no way that they could fix him up here. John had never… never expected
this. His face paled as he remembered the thing ripping its way out…
“Jim!”
The pastor was beside him in a second. “Jim! I… I can’t fix this. I can’t fix
my little boy. What do I do?”
--oo--
The pastor had been more prepared than John, apparently. Extra bandages
appeared, and he expertly wrapped Dean’s belly. John was by no means squeamish,
but he couldn’t look… not without seeing his failure and inability to protect
his son.
--oo--
While John was lost in his own world, Jim was busy. The clean-up team was only
waiting on his word. Thank God. The place was a mess. Jim kept his gaze as
focused as possible. It wasn’t that it was worse than some scenes he’d been
present at. It was, however, the first where he’d seen it become like this.
And Dean.
John didn’t even look at Jim as he drew the final sealing sigil on the
container that held the shifter spawn, totally wrapped up in his dying son.
--oo--
John didn’t know how they got to the hospital. He didn’t care. He didn’t care
that he had alienated all the hospital staff with his angry demands, and he
didn’t even care that they thought he’d done this to his son.
How, he had no idea. How do you explain those sorts of injuries? You see, Doc,
a supernatural monster clawed its way out of my son. That’s why he’s ripped to
shreds and possibly dying? He didn’t even try to explain it, just glared at the
world while Pastor Jim gripped his arm and told some bullshit to the staff
there. But that had been hours ago. So long that even John had given up pacing,
throwing himself into a chair.
John sat there, hour after long hour, seemingly asleep. Jim knew that for the
façade it was. Every time a nurse stuck their head in, he was on his feet,
demanding to know how Dean was, where was his son, why wouldn’t anyone tell him
anything!
No one knew anything. No one said anything.
Interminable hours passed, when a thought crossed John’s mind.
“Fuck! Sammy! Jim, you have to…”
Jim had an odd expression on his face. One John didn’t want to decipher. After
a few moments silence, Jim cleared his throat.
“You were… you were otherwise engaged back at the site, so while I organised a
clean-up crew, I also rang the parishioners Sam spent today with. They are fine
with him staying a day.” Jim glanced at the door. No one had been through for
at least three hours. “Or two.”
“What did you say?” John knew he was terse. Sam would know it was about his
brother, and he’d be angry, and terrified. If he could, he’d get Sammy, and
bring him here. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave, not without knowing if Dean
would live.
“Just that there’d been an accident, and we needed to look after Dean. I do
know how to hide the supernatural from civilians,” Jim chided gently.
“It’s not the civilians I’m worried about!”
Jim’s eyes widened in understanding. As he and John sat slumped in chairs at
the hospital waiting room, Jim thought back to his promise to Sam.
--oo--
Eventually someone who was not a nurse came in.
Mr Frederick Wells introduced himself as Dean’s surgeon. A serious looking man,
who was eyeing the two men with extreme mistrust.
Introductions were made, and a heavy silence filled the room. Finally, John
couldn’t stand it.
“My boy – Dean. Is he…”
John’s voice cracked. Dean had to be alive. The doctor would have said
something already. He would have to…
--oo--
Mr Wells removed his glasses from his face, and slowly cleaned them. Examining
them, he put them back on his face and looked again at the two men. The father,
John Winchester, he recalled, looked ready to kill him. The other man held the
father in a restraining grip. Frowning, the surgeon considered. Dean’s injuries
were… he didn’t even know how to describe them. It was like something had cut
him from the inside. It was disturbing. And no one had been able to explain it.
The hospital staff felt like the father was somehow involved, but no one could
prove anything. No one even could even offer an explanation as to what had
happened. And unfortunately, having a bad feeling wasn’t enough. This man was
the boy’s legal guardian, and as such entitled to the information.
Heaving a sigh, he spoke. “Although he is currently stable, Dean’s injuries are
very grave.”
--oo--
He paused again and looked at the two men. John felt like punching him. Of
course the injuries were fucking grave! John held his son’s body as he almost
bled out. The only thing giving him any semblance of control was the fact that
the surgeon was here talking which meant Dean was alive. This guy appeared to
be John’s only chance of finding out what was going on!
--oo--
Mr Wells watched dispassionately as the father’s fists bunched. The other man
laid a hand on him, but Wells was well versed in reading people. It wasn’t that
hand holding him back.
He… he cares about his son, Wells realised. That was… unexpected. The nursing
staff had all been convinced that the father had done something, and then felt
remorse and brought the boy to hospital.
It wasn’t unheard of for alpha fathers to have… issues… with their omega sons.
And John Winchester certainly fit the profile.
But.
The injuries were… different. Wells was well versed in omega injuries, and had
spent hours attempting to stabilise the boy. He knew as much about the boys
injuries as anyone and he still had no idea what had happened.
Narrowing his eyes, he looked at the two men, who looked back. Well, there was
no point in holding back. He was legally obliged to inform the man about the
health of his child. Even if he didn’t trust him.
“I’m sorry for the delay. Dean was… as I said, Dean was gravely injured. He has
required large amounts of blood, and was revived twice on the operating table.”
Wells watched as John Winchester’s face turned pale. For the first time, he
held on to the other man. “He died?”
“He was revived. We don’t believe there will be any issues with brain damage.
However…” the doctor paused. If John Winchester had harmed his child as the
nursing staff thought, he would react here. Wells carefully school his
features. “However his reproductive system is compromised. His omega glands
were affected. In a fully developed omega…” The doctor coughed. “Dean will
never properly present. His scent glands have been destroyed and he won’t be
able to identify – or be identified by – his mate. Also… internal damage was
extensive, and we have removed his uterus.”
John hadn’t reacted, just kept steady eyes on the doctor. Who continued.
“He’ll never live as an omega – his entire sexual and reproductive system have
been compromised. He’ll have no ability to bear children. He’s had his first
heat,” (John growled, but Wells ignored it), “But immature pups – alpha or
omega – don’t come into the maturity for a few years. That means…” he trailed
off. It was hard to explain to someone who didn’t know anatomy. “That means
although his hormone production started, a single heat is not enough to mature
a young omega. That generally takes some years. Because of the damage, Dean’s
body isn’t able to produce the omega hormones, so his body won’t develop.
Although some of this can be mitigated with hormone therapy, I wouldn’t
recommend it immediately. He will need them at some stage, although now his
body is going to have enough trouble repairing itself from this.”
--oo--
John scowled. It was all medical shit. Why wouldn’t the man get to the fucking
point. “What are you saying? How does this affect Dean?”
“He’ll effectively be a beta, Mr Winchester, although all his medical history
will still say…”
John cut him off with a snort. “Dr Wells, I’ve never cared about my boy’s
gender. Alpha, beta, omega, alien. I’ve never paid attention and I’m not going
to now. I didn’t even know until recently,” John cut himself off, but Wells
couldn’t control his eyebrow rise. That was interesting…
“Point is I didn’t care before and I don’t care now, as long as my boy is ok.”
His voice had been rising as he spoke, and John had enough going on without
putting the one person who would tell him anything offside. He lowered his
voice, and asked again. “Is Dean ok?”
Something softened in the doctor’s face, and John realised belatedly they
thought he had done something to Dean. Scrubbing a hand over his face, John
sighed tiredly. He could see their point, but he’d been there for 16 hours. He
was tired and angry and (though he hated to admit it) scared.
“You said he’s stable?”
“Yes. He is in the ICU. He hasn’t regained consciousness, and we don’t expect
that for at least 48 hours. He is on antibiotics and painkillers. And he is in
traction. He has… many… stitches. He’ll always have substantial marking,
particularly in his abdominal region.”
John ignored that. The number didn’t matter. And hunters got scarred as a
matter of course. “Is he out of danger? Can we see him?”
The doctor thought about it for a minute. “Yes. Please remember though, he
isn’t awake. And he doesn’t look good, he’s-“
John couldn’t help snapping. “Take me to my son.”
--oo--
Dean looked worse than John had imagined. And he hadn’t imagined anything good.
He was bruised and covered in scratches that looked like they would bloom with
infection. John longed to cleanse them with holy water, but he couldn’t with
the doctor standing there.
Wires and tubes and cords connected Dean to the machines that were keeping him
alive.
John couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t stay in the room and he couldn’t leave.
He compromised by walking to the door. The doctor and Pastor Jim followed him.
“Is he going to be ok?”
“Mr Winchester, we don’t know. While we are doing the best we can, he isn’t out
of the danger zone. We have to watch for infection, and make sure there wasn’t…
damage we missed when we repaired his abdominals. Even his altered hormonal
status may present some danger.”
John snarled. “You said that didn’t matter. That hormone therapy later would
fix it.” No. that wasn’t quite right. “You said… you said he wouldn’t present?
Is that going to cause a problem?”
“At this stage we don’t know. As I said, his body needs to heal, but hormonal
imbalances could cause severe health problems as he ages. I would suggest
finding yourself a specialist with experience in omega trauma. At the very
least, your son will need to take supplements of some sort. Possibly hormone
shots too. At this stage, though, there is no way to tell how this will affect
Dean specifically. I do urge you to find a regular doctor though.”
Even as the doctor spoke the words, John was dismissing them. And hormone
treatment? Regardless of what John wanted (or Dean needed), there was no way
they could ever afford that. They’d find another way to deal with it. Get back
on the road.
“There is no way my family can afford that,” John informed him bluntly. “So
let’s assume Dean won’t get any supplements. How does that change things?”
The doctor fought back a sigh. It wasn’t like that was a surprise. Nothing
about the Winchesters lead him to believe they had any spare money. Dean was
covered with old scars – things that could have easily been dealt with by a
doctor.
“I don’t know, Mr Winchester. And you won’t know until Dean gets older. The
range of symptoms are wide ranging, and very individual.”
John just stared at him. The doctor twitched, but continued. “As I have told
you, Dean’s injuries are serious. But, based on the best available knowledge,
they won’t kill him. He may experience extreme mood swings, as his body
chemistry fights to stabilise. His growth may be stunted, he may experience
heat like effects, including pain, and need, but he won’t have an actual heat.
He won’t produce slick, pheromones. That’s physical. Of course there are
potentially psychological impacts - not being an omega, but still retaining
some of those omega needs. He will probably still be attracted to alphas, but
unable to attract one, given his omega glands have been extensively damaged.
Even without the use of extended hormone treatment, if you can get a doctor and
work with him for the next six to twelve months, that could significantly
alleviate future symptoms.”
The doctor kept talking, but John tuned him out. It made sense. Hit the problem
in the first six months, and hopefully mitigate what happened down the track.
But that would mean staying in one place, which wasn’t happening. Of course
they would wait for Dean to heal enough to be on the move, but getting back on
the road would be the best for everyone. Get Dean back in training, as soon as
he was able. That way Dean wouldn’t be able to dwell on what had happened. Not
that he would even understand.
“Fuck!” The doctor didn’t even wince at the language. He would have heard worse
in his time.
“How do I explain this to my little boy?” John demanded. The doctor’s
expression showed some sympathy, but other than that he said nothing. Quickly,
John went over what the doctor had said. Dean would (hopefully) be healthy, and
he’d have some hormone issues. Nothing that would stop them in their quest. But
he’d never be whole. Never a proper omega. Still, “It might be for the best
anyway,” he thought out loud. “Not being able to attract or scent his mate.
Even in these times, I can’t imagine an alpha wanting a broken omega.”
Caught up in their own thoughts, no one noticed the scared little boy in the
bed, listening intently to every word.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter by majestic_duck_(majesticduxk)
Sam was of course furious when John arrived home. He launched himself at his
father, little fists flying as he demanded answers.
“You said you’d be here! You said he’d be fine! What did you do to him?”
John almost groaned. He played for time, taking longer than he needed to catch
Sammy’s fists. But the truth was he hadn’t thought this part through. All his
thoughts had been of Dean. Of saving his son. Apart from the eventual thought,
to make sure his youngest was ok, he hadn’t considered Sam, hadn’t even thought
of how to explain it to him. Better think fast Winchester, he thought wryly.
Before John could get his thoughts together, Sam unexpectedly burst into tears,
leaning against his father. John’s arms came round his son automatically,
pulling him close. “Why isn’t Dean here, daddy? Where is he? Where? Is he.. Did
he… is Dean dead?”
Again… In the space of mere hours John’s heart was ready to break again. Before
yesterday he would have told you he was hardened to all this. They were
soldiers. He was a soldier, Dean was. So what the fuck was wrong with him? He
couldn’t afford to get soft. To show compassion was to invite disaster, and he
couldn’t do that to his boys.
“Sam,” John winced internally at the harsh voice. Behind him, he felt Jim step
forward, ready to… Ready to what exactly? Explain to an eight year old boy that
has brother was brutally raped and how they had to… remove… something… that
almost killed him? Good luck, Jim, he thought bitterly. There is no good way to
do this.
There was no good way, but at the fresh wave of tears, John softened his voice.
“Dean’s not dead, Sammy. But he is very sick. We… We had to take him to
hospital. He’s going to be there a while.”
John watched the emotions wash over Sam’s face. Relief that his beloved brother
was alive, anger that John hadn’t protected him. It finally settled into the
stubbornness so typical of his youngest.
“When can I see him?”
Exchanging looks with Jim, John didn’t know how to answer that. He went with
repetition. “Dean’s going to be in hospital for weeks, Sammy. He’s in a special
place at the moment…”
Sam’s brow darkened. “You said he would be here when I got home, dad. You said
I would see him today. So when can I see him,” Sam demanded.
John knew he shouldn’t be getting mad at his son, but he really didn’t need
this. “You can see him when the doctors say you can. Probably not for a few
days, Sam. Dean isn’t awake right now, and they said he probably won’t be awake
for a couple of days. “
Sam’s face paled. That was bad. Really bad. He knew Dean didn’t sleep enough –
he was awake when Sam went to sleep and when Sam woke up too. But this was not
normal.
John watched as his son went from angry alpha to needy little boy.
“Why Dad? Why does he need so much sleep?”
“He got sick, buddy.”
“When can I see him?”
That was the thing about Sam. He was stubborn – persistent John called it on a
good day.
It wasn’t a good day.
“You’ll see him when the doctors say you can, Sam. And that probably won’t be
before he gets home. Now go and-“
“I hate you!” Christ the child had a set of lungs on him! John winced at the
piercing sound. “Dean needs me! You hurt Dean - you hurt him - and now you’re
keeping him from me! I need to look after Dean!”
Sam watched as his little boys eyes flashed red. Fuck. Eight fucking years old
and already… Oh no. Oh no…
The young alpha glared at his rather, repeating “Dean needs me.”
John really didn’t know how to respond. So for possibly the first time in his
life, he tried placating his son. “Sam. I’ll take you to see Dean as soon as
the doctors let me. Ok?”
Both Sam and Father Jim looked stunned at John’s sudden capitulation.
“Go pack. Get a bag of his favourite things together. That way it’ll be ready
when Dean is.”
Throwing a suspicious look at his father, Sam retreated. He didn’t trust John,
but he also wanted to look after Dean. No. Needed. He needed to look after
Dean.
John sighed and turned towards Jim, whose face held just as much suspicion.
“John, what th-“
“His eyes flashed red, Jim. My little boy’s eyes turned red.”
Jim’s face didn’t change. Until his mouth dropped.
“You mean he…” he trailed off. What did that mean for the boys? “Sam and Dean…
mates?”
John nodded grimly. It had just been one disaster after another, and in one
afternoon everyone’s life had been ruined.
--oo--
Sam had done nothing but fight with his father. Although John had let Sam bring
Dean’s bag to the hospital, he wouldn’t let him into the room to see Dean.
And Sam wanted to know why.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust dad… ok. Maybe a tiny part of him didn’t trust
him. But something in Sam needed to see Dean, needed to know that Dean was ok.
That he was alive!
And Dad wouldn’t let him!
Sam had one, and one only visit to the hospital. He’d lost his temper when John
told him he couldn’t see Dean. To his shame he hadn’t been able to control
himself, busting up the waiting room. John had him in the car before he knew
it, and he’d been banned from the hospital. He knew that was dad and not the
nurses that decided that. But there wasn’t a lot he could do about it.
Dad went every day. And every day Sam met him at the door, demanding to know
how Dean was. Was he awake? Was he eating? Why couldn’t he come home? Sam would
look after him! John wouldn’t have to do a thing! And he knew Pastor Jim didn’t
mind if they stayed. And it would be good for him, for Dean, to not have to
move around.
For the most part, John ignored his youngest. Although the fights turned loud
when John informed his son they wouldn’t stay long after Dean left the
hospital. It was during these fights Jim got between them, protecting his home
as much as anything. A sharp glare sent John on his way, gently marshalling Sam
up to his room, to work on something for Dean. Something to make Dean welcome
(and yes, Sam, the Winchesters - all the Winchesters were welcome to stay as
long as they wanted.)
In his heart, Jim knew it wouldn’t be a long stay, but in the meantime it gave
Sam a sense of purpose.
--oo--
Sam was practically vibrating the day Dean was released from hospital. Dad
still didn’t let him come, so he had to wait at home. Anxiously looking at the
door. Anxiously looking at the clock. Anxiously checking their room to make
sure it was perfect.
“What if something goes wrong? What if Dean can’t come home today?”
Sam knew he’d asked Pastor Jim the question more than once.
And it wasn’t an easy question, but Jim was glad of it. For the first week or
so, Sam had drilled John every time he returned from the hospital. What
happened to Dean? Why was he still in hospital?
John snarled and left his youngest, who then turned the questions onto the
Pastor. Also asking why didn’t daddy take better care of Dean? Here they were,
four weeks later (and at least four weeks before they wanted to release Dean,
but Jim didn’t want to know how John’d gotten the hospital to discharge Dean),
and Jim still didn’t know how to answer the questions.
Today, at least, Sam had new questions. Questions that Jim still didn’t know
how to answer but were much more welcome.
Sam was still pestering him when the sound of car on gravel hit their ears.
Before the pastor could take another breath, Sam was out of the room. Jim
followed at a more sedate pace, fixing up the furniture Sam had knocked over in
his haste to greet his brother.
By the time Jim got to the porch, Sam had wrenched open the car door, and was
talking a mile a minute.
“… hard, Dean! But I did it because they wouldn’t let me! I just asked to see
you, I promise! But then I had to stay here and Pastor Jim let me decorate our
room, Dean. You’ll love it! It’s real comfy and I’ve been practising carrying
things up stairs in case you need me to. I wish I hadn’t had to go to the
beach. I’ve missed you.” Sam’s mouth turned down, and Jim shook his head. He
couldn’t even follow the boy’s thought process. At least Sam perked up again.
“Oh! And Pastor Jim said we can stay there as long as we like! But we don’t
have to stay because Bo–“
--oo—
Sam’s eyes went comically wide, and he clapped his hands over his mouth. Bobby
was a surprise, but a quick glance at Dean showed he was barely listening.
Despite the looooong time in hospital, he was still pale and listless. And Dad
wanted them to move again! Go back to hunting. Not that Sam had been asked. He
heard Bobby and Dad and Pastor Jim fighting about it. About how dad should stop
hunting, or if he was hell bent on getting himself killed, at least think of
his boys!
Sam could have told them there was no point. Dean said Dad had a one track
mind, which meant he could only think about one thing, but that one thing meant
everyone was safe. It still wasn’t fair though. Because not everyone was safe.
Dean wasn’t safe! And Dean was still sick.
Surely dad couldn’t look at Dean and think they could go anyway?
Biting his lip, Sam looked at his brother. All he wanted to do was bury his
head in Dean’s scent and wrap his body around him. Sam wanted to protect Dean.
Of course Dean was capable of looking after himself, but… but was he? Dean got
sick. (Sam still didn’t understand how that happened, but he blamed dad,
because although Sam stopped asking, he never forgot what he asked). And Dean
was still sick.
--oo--
John was furious, at both Jim and Bobby. He knew he should leave the boys. He
knew Dean wasn’t up for travel.
But… but how dare his… Fuck! Friends. John considered Bobby and Jim to be his
friends, and to suggest that he leave the boys there? He wouldn’t – couldn’t! –
do that. He’d lost Mary, and now his son had been defiled. How could they
expect him to leave the boys and go? How could he protect them if he wasn’t
fucking there?
Jim’s hands were urging John to calm, while Bobby just looked furious.
“We’re not telling you to leave the boys, you damn idjit!” And Bobby was
yelling. “You can stay too! Or all of you come to Sioux Falls. You know there’s
enough space. The boys could have a stable home…”
Snarling John turned his back. The more sensible part of his brain recognised
they had a point. He knew life on the road wasn’t safe for young kids, even
without that knowledge being brought painfully home. And despite (or perhaps
because of) everything that happened with Dean, the need to bring Mary’s killer
to justice still flowed through his veins, perhaps more strongly than ever.
He couldn’t stay and there was no way on earth he was leaving his boys behind.
Neither Jim nor Bobby seemed to understand, and even if John had been willing,
he was in no state to explain it. Filled with righteous rage at their
judgement, he bundled the boys into the car. Ignoring Sam’s tearful complaints,
the disappointment in the other hunters’ faces, as well as Dean’s muffled gasps
of pain, John bundled the kids and all their meagre belongings into the car and
left without a backward glance.
--oo--
At least the complaining had stopped. Several hours and many miles later Sam
had finally fallen asleep. And John was under no illusion as to how his
youngest felt. It wasn’t even that he disagreed. Now that he’d had time to cool
down, he could see where his friends were coming from. And yes, stability would
be good for the boys.
But.
Even now he’d had time to think about it, he’d do the same thing. Perhaps not
quite so suddenly…
“Fuck!” John slammed his hands on the steering wheel. What was he supposed to
do? His boy was recovering from… John didn’t even know what to call it. It was
almost laughable, really. He was a man who never shied away from the dark side
of life, and here he was, barely able to think the word rape.
Dean, his little soldier, had had his innocence cruelly taken. A tiny part of
John remembered the form the monster had taken. The larger part of him wouldn’t
think on it. Would never think on it. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to
discuss Dean’s… defilement… but that fact that the monster had taken his face?
Growling, John shook his head. He was never going to think about it again.
Instead, he allowed his thoughts to turn back to the road, and his two sleeping
passengers. Dean hadn’t even been home a day when John bundled him into the
car, too angry to allow him even that little time of rest.
Although he’d rushed the boys, he wasn’t blind to the state his son was in. The
hospital had barely patched Dean together before John had bundled the boys into
the car, and away from the meddlesome fools.
He cultivated his anger: he was doing the right thing. He was keeping his boys
as safe as he knew how.
But what was he supposed to do?
“Daddy?”
A soft hand touched his shoulder. John shifted and Dean’s pain streaked brow
came into view.
“Dean you should be-“
But his son interrupted him. “It’s ok, dad. I know we couldn’t stay.”
Even shadowed with pain, Dean’s eyes were still the same. Still looked at John
like he could do no wrong.
And despite his capacity for self-delusion, John didn’t deserve that.
Dean’s hand trembled against John’s shoulder, and he fought against his
instinct to pull the car over and wrap his son in his arms. Cuddle him and tell
him everything was going to be ok.
But he couldn’t. He didn’t know if it would.
“Sleep, Dean.” His voice was gruff. “You need to sleep.”
He watched in the rear view mirror as Dean settled back, blinking away tears.
When he thought John wasn’t looking, he snuggled against Sammy, who shifted in
his sleep, slipping an arm around Dean’s waist.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter by majestic_duck_(majesticduxk)
Dean regained his health.
Slowly.
Sam bustled around, cajoling Dean into doing everything the doctor ordered –
take his vitamins, sleep, do the gentle (painful) exercises. There were many
afternoons John returned to find Sam curled protectively around Dean on the
couch. Sam’s eyes dared John to say anything.
John just tightened his lips and didn’t say anything. If it had been Dean, John
would have just ordered him to leave his brother be, and expect to be obeyed.
But John couldn’t order Sam to do a single fucking thing – or in this case, to
not do something. The boy was incredibly stubborn, and coupled with the heavy
knowledge that Sam was Dean’s alpha, well, there was no point in telling Sam to
let Dean do it himself.
In the end John convinced himself that it was for the best. It wasn’t as if
Dean would want him touching him, or even being anywhere near him. Not after…
Shaking his head, John attempted to dispel the thoughts, but he knew there was
a shadow in his eye every time he looked at his eldest.
--oo--
During those first few weeks, Sam had a lot of questions about what happened to
Dean and what was wrong with him now. Why wasn’t he getting better faster? What
should Sam do? Why wasn’t John helping?
He didn’t ask Dean though. He knew it would upset his brother, and Sam didn’t
want to do that. So he harassed John until John yelled at him to shut up. That
Sam didn’t need to know everything, and if Sam asked one more time he’d regret
it.
“I don’t want to hear about this ever again!”
It was only later he realised that Dean had taken the order on board too. John
really should have known better, but by the time he realised, it was too late.
He was a little ashamed to admit his relief at Dean’s silence. He’d honestly
planned to talk to Dean, at least to discuss his hormone issues. But really,
what could he say? He had no fucking idea, and he wasn’t going to turn around
and start talking about it with Dean.
Closing his eyes, John took a deep breath. This was one of but a few moments
when he was forced to acknowledge his lack of parenting was hurting his boys.
Knowing this though, he still wasn’t going to talk to Dean. If anything, he was
less inclined. John never wanted to think of it again.
--oo--
“And I don’t want to hear about this ever again!”
While John was yelling at Sam, Dean knew that the message was for him too.
There was something wrong with him. Something big. Dad knew too, and looked at
him with angry eyes, when he bothered to look at him at all.
When he thought hard, he could remember the doctor in the hospital telling dad
and Pastor Jim that he was broken. But try as he might, he just couldn’t
remember anything else. Memories of the hospital were hazy with pain and fear –
but he’d just admit that to himself. No one else needed to know what a baby he
was. He was… quiet… after it happened. Talking was too exhausting. Breathing
was exhausting. And around him dad and Sam fought. Dean knew it was his fault.
And he knew not to talk about it.
With enough effort, and enough time, he even forgot about it.
Mostly.
--oo--
“Five more laps, Dean. What are you doing slacking off like that? You know
better!”
“Yes sir,” Dean puffed as he ran past.
Although he was being punished for slacking off, John didn’t know whether to be
happy or not. Dean was turning sixteen. Omega things happened at sixteen.
It would have been the perfect time to sit down with Dean. To discuss it. But
who was John to go against the teachings of a lifetime? John hoped and prayed
to a god he didn’t believe in that nothing would happen.
And spent a lot of time away from the boys. There was nothing he could do, and
no point staying when his time could be better spent tracking down Mary’s
killer.
(He still breathed a sigh of relief each time he came home to find everything
the same. Or came home to find Dean spending time with beta girls. Not that he
could show that relief. Someone would ask questions. To stave off Sam’s
suspicious comments, the moment John was home he sent Dean off to run laps. It
was the only way he could keep his boys safe).
--oo--
“Dean!”
Before Dean could respond, Sam had crowded him against the kitchen counter.
Again.
Gently, Dean pushed his brother back. Sam was sixteen and had hormones racing
through his body. He was an alpha, Dean thought fondly. A cranky, demanding,
bossy alpha. Luckily, he’d had years to get used to it. Dean had turned sixteen
and while outwardly his body didn’t change, something had.
He started craving Sam. Sam had always been touchy and now Sam’s touch was
equal parts soothing and painful. Taking a sneaky breath, Dean let Sam’s scent
soothe his body. He’d take what he could, knowing this was all he could hope
for.
Because Sam deserved the best, and Dean was broken and damaged beyond repair.
“You need to get to school, Sammy. I know you have a test today.”
Dean loved his brother too much to make him suffer.
--oo--
Dean was wrong. Dirty and broken in ways he didn’t understand. Staring at the
mirror, Dean ran a gentle finger over the scars. Even after all these years,
the marks were there. They’d never talked about it, and in the past when Dean
exposed his belly, his dad’s eyes would drift there. Sometimes he looked as if
he wanted to say something, but he never did. And these days he never even
looked like he wanted to say anything.
But sometimes… sometimes Dean wished dad would sit him down and talk to him.
Tell him it was okay. That he was okay. Because even now he had phantom pains.
And fear. And that sense of being wrong. Remind him that dad didn’t do it.
But how could he say anything? He was daddy’s good little soldier, and soldiers
don’t get hugged and rocked to sleep and told it was ok. Soldiers did what they
told and were stoic in the face of danger. Soldiers thought only of their
orders. They didn’t see their daddy’s face lurking in half forgotten
nightmares.
Dean didn’t feel like a soldier. Dean felt like the broken omega he was. But he
couldn’t tell dad that. Couldn’t let him down any more. Not again.
His thoughts were interrupted
“Dean! Get your ass down here.”
Taking a deep breath, Dean smoothed his features. Time to go play piggy in the
middle with his loving family.
--oo--
And it only got worse over the years.
“Fuck you! You don’t get to tell us - me - what to do! You don’t give a damn
about us! What are we? Cannon fodder? Thanks a fucki-“
Dean winced at the sound of broken glass. That would be dad throwing his bottle
to the ground. And in 4, 3, 2, 1-
“See if you can talk some sense into your brother, Dean.”
“Where’re you going, da-“
John turned on his eldest son. “For fuck’s sake! I don’t have to explain myself
to you or Sam! Make sure we’re packed and ready to go before I get home.”
“We’re not leaving tonight.”
Sam was definitely an alpha - angry and aggressive and hated being thwarted.
Dean knew that was his fault. Sure
That was Sam. Sam had really filled out, Dean reflected. He may only be 18, but
already he was bigger than Dean. And Dean wasn’t a small man. Sam was also a
typical alpha.
Sighing to himself, Dean picked himself up off the sofa. “Hey, Sammy-“
Sam turned on him. “I can’t believe you agree with him! He treats you like
shit, Dean! Well, me too,” he added bitterly. “But at least I’m a-“
“Don’t. Fucking. Say. It.”
--oo--
Dean winced as Sam slammed out of the house.
Sure, his brother hated being disagreed with, but it was more than that. It was
the mates thing.
“Fuck,” he cursed quietly. He really didn’t need this. They really didn’t need
this. He could go get some hormone shots to check it out but…
“Fuck!” This time he was louder.
He thought he’d left all that behind. That once he was… changed that would be
it. Maybe there would be a little longing, but all on his side. Why was Sam’s
alpha telling him that Dean was his mate? Dean was a broken omega, not good for
anything. Well, with such mixed messages, it was no surprise that Sam was
confused.
--oo--
Sam was confused.
Dean was his father figure. Dean had raised him. Dean was family.
John had been an absent parent at best. But things definitely changed for the
worse after they left Pastor Jim’s. As soon as Dean was mobile, John was out
the door. Just another thing he couldn’t forgive his father for. Dean had
needed him – needed his father. Sam still didn’t know what happened, but even
as a stubborn eight year old he knew that Dean needed his dad!
But Dean hadn’t had that. Instead Dean had been forced to care for Sam before
he was able to look after himself.
Because Sam needed Dean, and Dean would never let Sam suffer. So when he was
still barely able to stand, Dean had taught a scrawny eight year old how to
take care of himself.
Freak, they’d called him. He hadn’t cared about the others, but his fists
always spoke loudly when they called him freak. And it was a name that followed
him. Because it was true. He was a freak.
He was in love with the man who raised him. He was in love with his brother.
And not only in love with him, but lusted after him. He couldn’t help but pop
his knot when Dean stepped out of the shower. He wanted to push Dean down and
lick him, tasting Dean.
If Dean had been an omega? Well, that might have been almost acceptable. But
Dean was a beta. Which made Sam the freak.
--oo--
“Why are alpha/beta pairings so wrong?”
He was willing to overlook it if Dean was. Because it was getting worse. Dean
occupied his every thought. Sam was leaning on folded arms, homework spread
across the table. He’d come back, a little shame faced. After a peace offering
of pie, Dean had forgiven him, and Sam had set up in the dining room, trying to
think about math, and algebra, and still all he could think about was Dean.
Of pulling his brother towards him, capturing him between his legs and nuzzling
his belly. Of spreading Dean across the table and fucking him until… Sam didn’t
even know what else he was thinking. It definitely involved his cock, and
Dean’s ass, and he wanted it but it was wrong and it wasn’t fair and –
“…Sammy. Alpha’s generally aren’t attracted to beta’s. I think it’s a breeding
thing.”
Caught up in his thoughts, Sam missed the start of Dean’s answer. Sam blushed
as his brother mentioned breeding. Stupid hormones. Although the image of Dean
big with his child…
Fuck! He shouldn’t be thinking these things. It was wrong! But… but he couldn’t
think of anyone but Dean. He’d tried. But no one measured up. You know there’s
something wrong with you if you compare everyone to your beta brother and they
all come up lacking.
“Thanks, Dean. Gotta go to the library. See you for dinner?”
--oo--
Dean blinked at the sudden change. Sammy had just come back…
“Ah… sure.”
Before he’d finished speaking, Sam was up and had his bag slung across his
shoulder.
“Wait! Remember dad gets home tonight, so try and be back at a decent –“
The door slammed.
“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” Dean muttered.
Sam was behaving like a class A brat, and the problem? Dean couldn’t find it in
him to be mad about it. It hurt him. It hurt his heart, knowing that he was
everything Sam needed and at the same time nothing. He should just tell Sam
what had happened, so he knew that he was wasting his time with Dean butchered
beyond redemption.
But he couldn’t do it. Laughing wryly, he turned back to cleaning the kitchen.
Like he needed more proof of what a coward he was. It wasn’t like it would help
anything anyway. Sam deserved good things in his life, and Dean was no good.
For the first time in a long time Dean wished he could talk to Dad. How was
that gonna work though? John could barely look at Dean, let alone speak to him.
Dean wiped the ready tears from his eyes. Why the fuck had they turned up? It
wasn't like it was any different. Just another person Dean had failed. Dean’s
life, really.
(That's not quite true, a little voice whispered. Remember when you were
little? Remember the way dad would pick you up and hug you and tell you
everything was going to be alright? Hasn't done that in a while, has he? Hasn't
done that since you fucked up so spectacularly.)
"Shut up!"
Dean punched the bench, feeling the skin give way on his knuckles. Christ that
hurt, but the physical pain was better than the hurt the words caused. Taking a
deep breath, he looked at his hands. It was messy, but certainly not the worst
injury he'd ever experienced. He should be able to get it cleaned up and
(hopefully) dad and Sam shouldn't notice a thing.
Then again, why would they? It wasn't as if Dean was important.
--oo--
Sam wasn't there when he got home.
"Dean. Where's your brother?"
Inside John winced. He couldn't even pleasantly greet his son now?
Surreptitiously he eyed his eldest. He didn't look too upset.
(But then again, why would he? Sometimes he’d seen Dean’s hurt, Dean’s sadness
that his father could barely look at him. But John could never forget that he'd
failed Dean. It was there all the time. In the scars on his body. In his lack
of scent. Everything about Dean highlighted John’s failure as a father.)
(And John hated to fail.)
"Dean?"
And he couldn't even spare a kind word. It just hurt too much. He's little boy
scarred and changed because John was a terrible father.
"Library. He had some assignment he had to finish. He'll be back soon, dad."
Growling, John grabbed himself a beer. "He'd better. We're leaving in the
morning."
Dean blanched. "But dad, we've just gotten here! Sam's finally settled and-"
"You arguing, boy?" John barked the words. Settled. Of course his omega son
wanted to be settled. But John couldn't do that. They were too broken. And
since John couldn't protect his own boys, he did the next best thing: trained
them to protect everyone else. It was for the best, wasn't it?
Fuck. John took another long swallow. Was there something in the air? He hadn't
questioned his own decisions for a long time. It was just the way it was,
Winchesters made hard decisions and then lived with them.
"No, dad, I just–"
The door slammed, heralding the arrival of his youngest.
"Sammy? That you?"
Sam stalked in, all teenage attitude. "Of course it's me. Who else is it going
to be? You suddenly get friends or something?"
He was on his feet, stalking towards his son (and Christ! When did Sammy get so
big?)
"Watch your tone, son. I'm your father, and you will respect me!"
Sam was laughing. "Respect you? Respect you? What have you done to deserve our
respect? You frogmarch us around the country, fucking up Dean and mine's life?
You aren't a father! A father takes care of his kids, doesn't treat them like
expendable-"
The silence that followed the slap was deafening.
Sam's eyes narrowed, even as one hand brushed his cheek. "This is how you earn
respect, huh?"
"Sam-"
But his son was already stalking out. Fuck. Could that have gone worse?
"What's his problem, Dean?"
Dean jumped, obviously not expecting his father to turn on him. "What? Dad,
he’s just…”
It was the perfect opportunity to talk to his father. To talk about the… omega
thing. But. John’s face was set. There was anger in his shoulders, and Dean
didn’t feel like being on the end of his father’s rage. Yeah. He was a coward.
“He’s just… I’m pretty sure he’ll be presenting as an alpha in a few weeks.
It’s hard enough without having to move ar-“
Wincing as the bottle was slammed against the table, Dean held his tongue. “I
don’t want to hear it, Dean. You know how important our job is! Or suddenly
you’re too good to care about the innocent people out there? There are more
people in this world than your brother, Dean, and it’s high time you remembered
that.”
John slammed out of the room, and Dean stared after him, pale faced. Yeah.
Definitely the right decision. Still, Dean wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt more
alone.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter by majestic_duck_(majesticduxk)
Sam had hoped that things would change, hoped that his sick feelings for his
brother would pass. But his first wet dream when he popped his knot? Dean. All
Dean.
All he could think of was Dean spread out underneath him, Dean begging for his
knot, Dean moaning as Sam fucked him. Filled him. Claimed him.
It was embarrassing enough going into rut at home. Dad had been… weirdly happy
about it. He congratulated Sam, told him to keep the bathroom clean, and then
got the hell out. Sam was relieved in a way. He’d had no control over his
thoughts, and if John knew that Sam was thinking about Dean… well, he was glad
it never came up.
Although thinking about Dean…
Grimacing, Sam raised his hand, thankful that his history teacher was a beta
and couldn’t smell his horniness. The bell rang as he made his way to the
bathroom, and Sam was super fucking grateful he had a free period. At least
he’d be able to get rid of his boner.
Sure, all alphas popped the inappropriate knot, but this was beyond ridiculous.
Just thinking about his brother was enough to get him coming in his pants.
Freak, he thought sadly, as he wiped himself down. I’m such a fucking freak.
All his life all he wanted to do was protect Dean. And now it seemed the
biggest threat was actually Sam.
Angrily he wiped tears away. Dean deserved better than that. Better than him.
--oo--
It was never ending.
The battles between the newly presented alpha and his drill sergeant father
just got worse and worse.
And Dean couldn’t deal with it. The endless battles over nothing. The shouting,
the screaming, the anger. It shouldn’t have mattered: after all, he was a
Winchester, he fought fucking evil, but he was brought to his knees every time
by the anger between his father and brother.
He’d tried to mediate and got thrown into a wall for it. His family had been
mildly apologetic, and Sam and John had managed to not fight for two days. But
that was it. And now they fought worse than ever.
So Dean avoided it. Instead, he soothed his soul in a pretty girl. Every night
he went out, and every night he came back to his furious family. But Dean could
weather that anger. It was easier than the way they went for each other.
He was mildly curious though. For a start, he couldn’t believe they even
noticed he was gone. But they did. And why the fuck did they even care?
John was furious with him – did Dean even know who these people were?What they
were? Did he think about what they could do to him? Dean had a fucking
responsibility to be on call.
And Sam… Sammy was furious too.
Dean had staggered in at some ungodly time, and Sam was up, staring pointedly
at Dean’s empty bed. Groaning, Dean headed to bathroom to shower, hoping that
Sam would fall asleep by the time he was out. It was a faint hope. One squashed
as soon as Dean threw himself on his bed.
“You’re worth more than this, Dean? Why do you do it? Treat yourself like
you’re worth… nothing?”
What was Dean supposed to say to that? He’d lost track of how often they’d had
the same conversation. Rolling on his back, he eyed his brother. Sam stormed
around, staring at Dean. His fists were clenched at his side, eyes tinged red
with alpha anger. Dean was too sad and tired to figure out his brother.
And too tired to lie.
“I’m so sick of the fighting.”
Sam stopped mid pace.
“What?”
Sitting up, Dean looked at his younger brother seriously. He was struck by how
grownup he was. Little Sammy wasn’t a kid anymore. He was taller and broader
than Dean. He was strong and sure and unhappy. And it was Dean’s fault.
“You and dad. I hate the fighting. So I get out. And if I meet someone who
gives me a little comfort, well, what’s the problem with that? It’s not the end
of the world, it’s not like,” And Dean had to steel himself. This was going to
hurt. “It’s not like I’m your mate, Sam.”
And there it was. The expression that Dean never wanted to put on his brother’s
face.
Shock.
Betrayal.
And heart wrenching sadness.
Dean was hurting the person he loved most in the world and telling himself it
was for the best? That wasn’t helping at all
--oo--
It was just a matter of time before Sam left. Sam was meant for bigger and
better things. And although Dean had given him that reason to leave, he still
thought it would take longer than eleven days.
Eleven fucking days.
Sam had planned this. He’d applied for university, been fucking accepted, and
how long had he known? Dean’s thoughts were interrupted by a screaming match.
Somehow, Dean knew it would be the last one.
“Any other parent would be proud! Proud that I’d done this! But you? Are you
proud? Of course not! You’re too caught up in mom-“
“I don’t want to hear a word about your mother! You know why we do this!”
“Mom’s dead!”
Dean’s eyes closed as he thought of the lonely, scared little boys growing up
on the road. He thought he’d done ok, he’d certainly done his best by Sam.
Looks like his best wasn’t good enough.
“Mom’s been gone a long time, dad. And we’re still here. Remember your sons?
The two kids you threw into the back of a car and forgot abou-“
A bottle smashed and chair crashed to the floor.
“I never forgot about you!” John roared. “Everything I’ve done has been to keep
you safe! You know what we do is important!”
“Important!” Sam was now loud enough to speak over his father. “Important? You
destroyed my life, dad! Why is my life less important than someone else’s? Some
fucking stranger that you’ve never met, and will never meet again?”
Silence. Dean shifted uncomfortably. That never meant anything good.
“There’s no point talking to you, is there? All you’ve ever seen are soldiers
for your vengeance. Well, that’s not me, dad. Not anymore. I don’t need this,
and I don’t need you.”
John’s growl could have rivalled that of an alpha. “You don’t need me? Fine,
Sam. But if you leave, don’t bother coming back.”
And John left. Dean could hear him slamming about before he thundered down the
steps.
“We’re leaving in the morning, Dean.”
“Dad-“
“For fuck’s sake! I don’t ask much, Dean! Just do what your fucking told for
once!”
Pale and silent, Dean watched his father storm out of the house before slamming
the door. Turning, he found Sam, bag already packed and an argument on his
face.
“I don’t want to hear it, Dean.”
Dean had opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Sam was leaving.
Sam’s bag was already packed.
Shaking his head, Dean tried to make sense of it as he stared at Sam. His
brother. His best friend. Whose bag was already packed.
Sam… who was Dean’s most important person was leaving, had planned it, and
hadn’t even bothered to tell Dean about it. Well, it wasn’t as if he didn’t
know where he stood. And wasn’t this what he wanted for his brother? To live
the life he wanted: successful. Normal. Safe. Dean knew he had to let him go.
He couldn’t stand in the way of his brothers’ dreams.
Clearing his throat, Dean fought for words. “Dad… Dad didn’t take the car. Can
I drive you to the bus stop, Sammy?”
--oo--
Drinking alone at the bar, Dean wondered how his life had actually managed to
get worse. He already knew he was nothing to his father, but being discarded
within ten days of Sam leaving? Yeah, that was hard.
Eleven plus ten. Twenty one. Three weeks and he’d been thrown away by everyone
he knew and loved.
Well, it wasn’t like it was surprising.
“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here all alone?”
Turning hard eyes on the stranger beside him, Dean blinked. He was tall with
shaggy hair and nicely built. It was stupid. It was fucking stupid, but he
needed the comfort.
Raising an arched eyebrow, Dean let a smirk grace his lips.
“What makes you think I’m alone?”
Dean let himself be caught up in the flirtatious banter, and later in the
strength and heat of a stranger’s body.
He could do this.
Dean was good at this.
Dean was good at pretending the outside world didn’t exist.
--oo--
Six months later he wasn't so sure. It was his third trip to the emergency
department in as many weeks, and the trail to find his father was going cold.
He didn't want to go get Sam.
Well he did. But then again, he didn't.
He missed his brother. Sam was a part of him, and it was like a knife to the
guts whenever his thoughts turned to his brother. And it wasn’t just thoughts.
A tall man with long hair. A set up of dimples. Even when he was at a library,
seeing a big man hunched over a desk made Dean hurt and ache in ways he barely
understood.
He never sought them out though, these reminders of Sam. Not since that first
time. It was too painful. It reminded Dean of all he had lost.
Of course he soldiered on. It was what he was trained to do, all he knew. He
was functioning but it still felt like part of him was missing.
But that wasn't a good enough reason to find Sam. Especially since Sam... Sam
was doing well. Every opportunity he got, Dean swung through town, checking
that his little brother was still ok. And Sam was ok. More than ok. He seemed
to spend all his time in the library (well, once a nerd, always a nerd), and he
bartended two nights a week (Dean wasn't sure if that was because he wanted to
or needed to. It's not like they'd had a chance to discuss the scholarship).
So Sam was doing well. He'd escaped, just like he'd always wanted to. It wasn’t
right or fair that Dean was even considering dragging him back into it. Huffing
a laugh, Dean finished his whiskey and ordered another. God, he was such an
asshole. He was going to get his brother, wasn't he?
--oo--
If Sam thought it hurt when Dean was there but didn't want him, it hurt a
thousand times worse when Dean wasn't there. And it pissed him off. Because
here he was, at college and it was filled with all sorts of people. Normal
people. The sorts of people Sam had always wanted to be around.
And all he did was miss Dean.
Instead of throwing himself into the new life, and becoming the normal person
he knew he could be, he was hurting. It was like he was missing a part of
himself.
At least it clarified one thing: Sam was even more of a freak than he'd
thought. He'd somehow managed to convince himself that his brother - his beta
brother - was his soulmate. And even though that was wrong, it couldn’t be, Sam
couldn’t shake the feeling. Instead of being complete and fulfilled, he was
rudderless.
He didn't know what to do: despite his issues with John there had been some…
consistency to the old man’s orders. Without anything to push against, Sam fell
back on old habits: research and training. Even now, here at Stanford, where
the world was his fucking oyster, his favourite place was the library. He could
hide from the world, and at the same time do a vaguely normal student thing.
Such a fucking fake. Six months he’d been here, and all his time was spent at
the library, the gym, and the bar he worked at. It wasn't so different to the
thousands of students he saw every day. The normal ones. Luckily, Sam had
plenty of practice playing a role.
--oo--
Six months went by fast, Sam reflected as he shot his tip-winning smile at a
large group of college girls. They tittered and flirted back, so hopefully he'd
have a big tip in a few hours’ time.
He needed to focus on them, because tonight was going to be a bad night.
Sitting at the bar was a man who looked like Dean. And yeah, that was exactly
what he needed, to spend the night mooning over a brother who probably never
gave him a second thought.
Turning away, Sam focused on the groups around him. He still couldn't help but
tense up when Dean - the Dean lookalike - moved towards him.
“What, not even a hello?”
Sam dropped the glass and Dean laughed as glass the glass smashed.
“Well, I’ve had worse greetings, Sammy.”
--oo--
There wasn’t any question that Sam would go. Of course he would. Because the
burn was still there. The want – no - the need to have his brother. It had been
so hard without him, and Sam wasn’t going to turn away this opportunity to have
even a little taste of what could, should, be his.
Sam took every opportunity to touch his brother: checked each and every wound,
however small; offered his hand to help him stand; bumped shoulders while they
waited in the cold; brushed their fingers when he handed Dean a beer, and while
Dean accepted it, he never initiated anything.
Not even once.
Dean couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d punched Sam and rejected him
outright. But this hurt more. Each kind pat, each smile as he eased from under
Sam’s hand, each of these was a knife in the heart.
And still Sam couldn’t leave.
In bed at night, after Dean had fallen asleep, he’d sit and stare at his
brother. Sam couldn’t help but stare at the shadow of Dean’s lashes as they
brushed against lightly freckled cheeks, and at the rise and fall of his chest.
Sam listened to the soft snuffle as he slept. Like this, Dean was so soft, so
vulnerable. Sam needed to look after his brother.
And at the same time, even though Sam hated himself, he ached.
Did he want to fuck his brother? Absolutely. In his mind’s eye he could see
Dean’s pretty freckles obscured with come. If he closed his eyes, he could
picture Dean on his hands and knees as Sam watched himself stretch Dean’s
little hole, little huffing breaths as Sam breached him.
Muffling a groan, Sam squeezed his cock. That was always a favourite fantasy…
Dean’s perfect ass filled by Sam.
And only by Sam.
It wasn’t just that he wanted to fuck Dean into the mattress, and mark him so
no one would ever look at him again. Or at least they could look, but not
touch. Never touch. And despite Dean’s philandering ways, Sam would keep him so
satisfied he wouldn’t want to look anywhere else.
Dean wouldn’t need to seek comfort and protection from anyone else, ever again.
Sam would provide it all.
Sam wanted to care for Dean. To wrap him in his arms, and hold him at night.
Make him feel safe enough that he could cry, and kiss away those tears. Yes, he
wanted to own and claim and have. But he also wanted to protect and provide and
care for Dean.
Sam was in love with Dean. There was no two ways about it.
A frustrated snort escaped him. Glancing at the window, Sam squinted as the sun
peeked over the horizon. He’d been staring at his brother all night. All
fucking night! Yeah, Sam was a sick twisted fuck, and a smart man would leave.
Now. But now he had his brother back in his life, he couldn’t leave. He wasn’t
that strong.
But he couldn’t be here staring at Dean when he woke up. Forcing himself to his
feet, he shed his clothes, replacing them with sweats. He’d work off his lust
the old fashioned Winchester way: physical exhaustion.
--oo--
The door swung too and Dean’s opened his eyes.
Fuck.
The scent of distress was in the air. Dean knew he was lucky – fucked up as he
was, he could just taste the edge of despair. If he was fully functioning,
well, there’s no way he could have laid there as his alpha watched him all
night.
No.
Not his alpha. Never his alpha.
He’d hoped that Sam would move on. He’d hoped for Sam’s sake. Because there was
nothing but pain if they continued down this path. Dean deserved it: he’d
fucked up and never stopped paying the price, but that didn’t mean Sam deserved
it.
He was going to have to leave. Sam obviously wouldn’t. And Dean would always do
what was right for his brother. If there was just another way… But no matter
how hard he thought about it, there weren’t other options. How could he admit
how broken he was… how he had failed.
The decision hurt, but he was sure it would hurt Sam more any other way
--oo--
The longer they were on the road, the harder it got.
Sam never said anything, but Dean knew his brother. Probably better than he
knew himself. Sam wasn’t sleeping. Sam watched over Dean. At night. Which meant
Dean couldn’t sleep, worried as he was about Sam. When they hunted, more often
than not, they came back with cuts and bruises. And the injuries were getting
worse. Sam was getting hurt and it was Dean’s fault. He had to say something.
“Sammy… we’re partners. Hunting partners. You know that right?”
Staring at the gash in his thigh, Sam only grunted. When he’d seen the spirit
heading straight for Dean, he hadn’t been able to control himself. Without
thought he’d thrown himself in front of Dean, receiving for his efforts a knife
to the thigh and a scolding from his brother.
And the twisted part? He loved it. Dean wouldn’t say anything if he didn’t
care. And now, fuzzy from painkillers, he couldn’t keep the sappy expression
from his face, as Dean leaned over his lap, pink tongue peeking out as he
concentrated on Sam’s thigh. Which, when you thought about it, was very close
to another much more interesting region.
To his disappointment, although not to his surprise, Dean’s eyes never strayed.
Finishing the last stitch, he stretched. Arms reached up, and his shirt shifted
as Dean reached higher. Sam’s eyes narrowed. There was old scarring across
Dean’s belly: scars he didn’t remember seeing before.
Before he had a change to say anything, Dean spoke.
“Sam. This isn’t working. It’s… I don’t know.” Pausing, Sam could see Dean
fighting for words. When they finally came, they were quiet and broken. It
reminded Sam of something… but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “Don’t you
trust me?”
In his haste to reassure Dean, Sam pulled his stitches. Earning a growl and a
heavy hand to the chest.
“Stay the fuck down, Sam. I just finished and you popped half of them.”
Scowling, Sam stared at his brother. “I trust you, Dean. I’ve always trusted
you.”
And it was true. He always trusted Dean. It was just that he needed to keep him
safe. That was more important. He wasn’t stupid enough to tell his brother
that, though.
--oo--
“Why would you do that Dean?!”
Wincing, Dean didn’t respond. There wasn’t really an answer Sam would accept.
Stoically. Dean kept walking towards the bed, hoping that the silence would
stop his brother. But of course Sam never let anything go. Especially something
as important as this.
“Answer me, Dean! Why?” Sam was in his face, big body crowding Dean until his
back was up against the wall.
Dean wanted to look away, but Sam’s angry eyes wouldn’t let him go. Eventually,
Dean had to answer.
“I couldn’t let you die.” The words were terse, belying the emotion. Of course
Sam heard it.
“Fuck!” Sam slammed Dean against the wall, staring him in the eyes. “How could
you? How could you do that? I’m not worth it!”
It was Dean’s turn to push. Shoving Sam away, he stormed across the room. He
needed space. He needed as much space as he could get. And Sam wasn’t in the
mood to abide by their unspoken rules. Fucker was even following him now.
“You don’t get to make that decision! Next time you’re lying dead in my arms,
Sam, maybe then I’ll be willing to let you fucking die! But it’s not your time!
It’s not your time! And as long as I have a way, Sam, I’m not going to let it
happen. You deserve… you deserve good things, Sam-“
“And you don’t?”
Sam knew he was shouting. What was he supposed to do?
“Why don’t you, Dean? What’s so wrong with you that you don’t deserve to live?
You’re…” He trailed off. Dean was what? The most important thing in his life?
What the fuck was Sam supposed to do?
A heavy silence fell over the room.
“How long?”
Slowly Dean looked at him, mouth working a little, before he coughed and looked
away. Sam felt his eyes narrow.
“How long, Dean?”
Twisting away, Dean muttered, hiding his words under his breath, and something
inSam’s heart broke. He was back in his brother’s space, once more pushing him
against the wall.
“Dean.”
“A year, Sam! I got a year. Your life for a…”
Sam couldn’t listen to another word. Storming out, he didn’t know what the fuck
he was going to do, but he wasn’t losing his brother.
--oo--
He wasn’t going to.
“We’re going to fix this Dean. We’re going to find a way to save you.”
Dean didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. There was no way to save him.
--oo--
A year passes quickly when you seek the holy grail.
While Sam put all his efforts into fixing the problem, Dean let loose. He ate
and drank and fucked whatever he wanted.
Except his brother.
Never his brother.
He knew it made Sam angry, seeing Dean with a different body on his arm every
night. He knew Sam was angry because he didn’t understand why he was angry.
Dean knew Sam wanted him and thought it was wrong, thought that he was broken.
Dean never told him that it Dean that was broken. What was the point? He only
had a year and then would Sam be able to move on. Telling him the truth? It
would just hurt him more, and Dean had hurt him enough. Dean was broken and
never good enough for Sam.
--oo--
Eventually, even Sam had to admit defeat. But true to himself, it was only on
the last day.
“I can’t lose you, Dean.”
Nodding his head, Dean did what he’d wanted to do for as long as he remembered.
He pulled Sam into his arms and hugged him close. There was a split second
where Sam’s body was tense and unyielding, and then he collapsed on his
brother, shedding the tears he’d been holding back.
“You can’t go, Dean! You can’t! You’re mine. I… lo-“
Dean silenced him with a kiss. It was his last gift to the brother he loved.
Sam clung to him, lips desperately pressed against his as their tears mingled.
The howls of the hounds drew closer, and Dean pushed Sam back.
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
“Dean-“
“You’re a great man, Sam. You deserve the best. Remember that.”
Sam refused to turn away from Dean’s final moments. Refused to turn away as his
clothes shredded and his skin did too. Refused to turn away as the man he loved
was torn to strips in front of him.
--oo--
“Son, I really think –“
“I don’t want to hear it.”
Bobby sighed as he watched Sam dig the grave.
“Sam, I really think –“
Throwing the shovel on the ground, Sam rounded on the older hunter.
“I said, I don’t want to hear it! I know what we should do! But there is no
fucking way I am going to salt and burn my brother!”
A small part of him regretted being so rude to Bobby. The larger part was so
wild with grief he didn’t care.
Dean was gone. His Dean was gone. Sam hadn’t been able to save him, and there
wasn’t a single fucking thing that Bobby could do about it.
Silence reigned as Sam lowered Deans’ coffin into the ground. Neither man spoke
as Sam filled in the grave, each shovelful of dirt taking his brother further
away.
When the last of the soil had been patted down, Bobby moved from his spot.
Wrapping a hand around Sam’s shoulder he pulled him down. It was an awkward
hug. The hug of a man not used to showing affection.
“Come on, son. Let’s go home.”
The words were rough, but it was all it took for Sam’s dam of tears to break.
“I’m going to find a way, Bobby. I’m going to find a way to bring him back!”
Bobby didn’t argue. There would be plenty of time for that.
--oo--
Before he broke, Alastair spent a lot of time at Dean’s belly. Lovingly slicing
along the scars again and again and again. Sometimes he took John’s face and
body as he fucked him, laughing as a demon burst its way out of Dean’s belly.
Laughing as Dean screamed himself hoarse. Laughing as he did it again and
again.
--oo--
“You really fucked up, Dean.” Alastair licked along his ear. “Sam was your
mate. And the fact that you were a broken shell means nothing. Your blood still
called to him. He couldn’t forget you. You destroyed him, Dean. Because you
were careless and stupid, you destroyed him.”
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter by majestic_duck_(majesticduxk)
All he remembered was a white light.
No. That wasn’t quite true. He remembered holding the knife, the slice of metal
through…
Dean threw up at the side of the road. Wiping his mouth, he hoped to forget
what had happened.
Of course he wouldn’t. Just another way he fucked up.
--oo--
When he realised he was in Sioux Falls, he laughed. Of course Sam had brought
him here. It was, after all, the closest thing they’d had to a home. And Bobby
was the closest thing they’d had to a family.
John. Dean blinked back tears. How could he forget dad? Of course he hadn’t
thought of his father in a while. Not since he’d learned to block out
Alastair’s voice.
Once again Dean threw up at the side of the road. Hopefully by the time he made
it to Bobby’s he’d have his weak, traitorous mind under control.
--oo--
He was shaking by the time he reached Bobby’s. Exhaustion, maybe. Couldn’t be
he was worried about his reception…
He still needed to steel himself before he knocked on the door.
--oo--
Sitting at the table, he could overhear the conversation.
“… No, Sam. I don’t know. But it is him. What? Of course I did! What do you
take me for, damn idjit!”
There was a moment of silence and Dean smiled. He could imagine exactly what
Sam was saying.
“Yes! I did that too! Sam Winchester, don’t try to teach your grandmother to
suck eggs! I was hunter before you were born, and I certainly don’t need
lessons on how to figure out if a… What? Yes, Sam. I know your brother went to
hel- fuck! I gotta go. Just come as quick as you can.”
Dean was over the sink and throwing up. Idly he noted that just the word was
enough to turn his stomach.
Bobby was rubbing his back and telling him it was ok. It wasn’t, but it was
nice of him to pretend. And Dean would do his part in acting the lie.
“This is fuckin’ weird, man.”
The two men looked at each other before laughing. It really was fucking weird.
--oo--
Bobby gave him space. For a day and a half he gave Dean space. And he still
somehow managed to be there when Dean needed him: to rub his back, bring him
water, or put his shivering, pathetic self back to bed.
The uneasy peace couldn’t last.
“Sam’ll be here soon. Is there anything you want to tell me, Dean?”
Rather than answer, Dean took a sip of his beer. Was there anything he wanted
to tell Bobby? Was Bobby asking about he- that place? (Dean’s stomach heaved a
warning. Seriously? He couldn’t even think the word? This was going to get
messy).
“Dean…”
Slamming down the bottle, Dean turned his strongest glare on the hunter. “I
don’t want to talk about it, Bobby. I can’t fucking talk about it! I can’t even
say the word. Unless,” and Dean’s lips twitched in a humourless smile, “You
want to me to redecorate the house?”
Heaving a sigh, the older hunter stared at him. Before quietly stating, “I’ll
let it pass, Dean. But do you think Sam will?”
What Dean really wanted to do, was kick something. Kick and punch until
whatever it was left him alone. But you couldn’t do that, not to soft words
spoken by the closest thing Dean had to a father.
“No. No, he won’t Bobby. He’ll push and pry until he knows, but the problem?
The problem is I don’t know! One moment I was… there… the next I remember, I
saw a white light and then I was digging my way out of a box, spitting up
dirt.”
Dean’s brows drew down in a frown. “And I will be having words with Sam about
that. That was a fucking stupid thing to do.”
“More stupid than selling your soul?”
Dean jumped as Sam loomed in the doorway. Fuck! He wasn’t ready for this – Sam
wasn’t supposed to be here until the morning. But Dean wasn’t stupid enough to
bring up the obvious speeding. His brother was all crossed arms, and mistrust,
and Dean wanted nothing more than to throw himself into his brother’s arms.
What?
--oo--
Sam stared at the man in front of him. It looked like Dean. Sounded like Dean.
But it couldn’t be Dean.
Because Dean was his beta brother, and this man smelt like mate.
--oo--
Next thing Dean knew there was a strong arm pressed against his throat as his
back hit the wall. A deep growl reverberated in his ear.
“Who the fuck are you, and what have you done with my brother?”
Dean couldn’t respond if he wanted to. Not only was Sam’s arm pressed hard
against his throat, but more than that, he was struck by Sam’s heady scent:
earth, and musk, and something sweet. It was nothing he’d ever smelt before.
“What the fuck?” Ok, so he mouthed it rather than said it as Sam’s arm was
fucking immovable. Grappling at the arm, he scowled at his brother. Even that
was hard, when all he wanted to do was bare his throat. And that was really
fucking scary.
Suddenly he was released. Sliding down the wall, he felt his throat. There were
going to be bruises. In the background he could hear Bobby yelling at Sam.
“You idjit! What’re you doing? We just got your brother back! There’s no
guaranteeing he’ll get back a second time!”
“That’s a good point, Bobby. How exactly did you get back, Dean?”
Sam’s voice was sharp, and Dean just shrugged. He might have answered if Sam
hadn’t just tried to strangle him, but, well, surely he was allowed to feel a
little unimpressed.
Apparently not, he thought, as Bobby hit the back of his head.
“Answer the damn question, Dean. The sooner we get this sorted the better.”
Bobby turned laser eyes on him. “And I would really like to know too.”
--oo--
Sam hadn’t bought the white light explanation. Not until Castiel, angel of the
motherfucking Lord, turned up and shattered all Bobby’s windows.
Sam hadn’t initially noticed, he’d been so busy staring at Dean. How did he not
notice the house exploding? Dean didn’t really understand why, but he wasn’t
going to argue with Sam in a full Alpha Rage. At least it wasn’t currently
directed at him. Angry Sam was intimidating. And sexy.
But it was a hopeless standoff. Sam didn’t stand a chance against one of
heaven’s soldiers. He still didn’t back down.
And that did things to Dean…
“What did you do to him?”
Wow. Now Sam had Castiel against the wall. And hot as it was, it was a bad
idea, Sam… very bad id-
Dean winced as Sam flew across the other side of the room, crashing down on the
couch. Before he could shake his head and get his bearings, Castiel was on him,
blade (and where the fuck did that come from?) pressed to Sam’s throat.
“I gripped your brother tight and raised him from perdition. I stormed Hell to
rescue him and remade him anew. You think a pitiful human like you can harm
me?”
Of course Sam didn’t just lie down and take it. He wouldn’t be Sam if he made
things easy. Instead he pushed himself to his feet, shaking off Dean’s helping
hands. Dean winced at the bruises already showing on his arms. And was Sam
favouring his hand…?
“What do you want with Dean? Why would you do that?”
“Dean has as destiny. He is needed on Earth. And we need you to stay with him,
and help him.”
Dean was probably the most surprised to realise Heaven had a use for him. Not
that he had an opportunity to think about why an angel would rescue him. And he
didn’t think about it now, as Sam’s look of betrayal froze him. Why? What
happened? What had he done now?
Dean frantically ran over the conversation. Sure, he’d stopped listening, too
caught up in the fact he’d been rescued by an angel, and angels didn’t exist.
But obviously they did, as the douche in front of them indicated. Shit. What
had he said?
“What destiny?”
Frowning, Dean turned towards his brother. What was Sam’s problem? If anyone
should be asking questions, it should be him.
“Although that isn’t the whole truth.” The angel paused, staring off at nothing
and everything. It was fucking creepy, if you asked Dean.
Sam obviously wanted to beat the truth out of the angel, but given the way he
was favouring his hand… Dean guessed the angel hadn’t gone as gently as it
first appeared. Firmly, he stifled any inclinations to check Sam was ok. It
wasn’t welcome.
The silence continued, until Sam growled.
“Then what is the whole truth?”
The angel pursed his lips, obviously not used to mere mortals questioning him.
Better not hang out with the Winchesters then, Dean thought, lips quirking. The
angel sent him a look, and Dean started. What? The fuckers read minds?
Making a show of turning towards Sam, Castiel’s laser eyes sought the alpha’s.
Whereas Dean’s inclination was to turn his eyes away, Sam growled and puffed up
his chest. The angel’s expression didn’t waver.
“You, Sam Winchester, and your brother Dean Winchester, are the chosen vessels
of the archangels Michael and Lucifer.”
“What does that mean? A vessel? Is that like a demon meat suit?”
Dean lost track of the conversation, thinking instead on the angels.
Archangel’s if Castiel was to be believed, and Dean wasn’t yet convinced.
Still, vessels to the most powerful angels in all of creation? That probably
meant something. He’d think about it more later. Right now he was still too
busy processing the fact that an angel had pulled him from hell. Of course he
should probably feel a little more strongly than that, but he had just been
pulled from hell, so being an angel suit wasn’t on top of his list of things to
think about. Still…
“So whose vessel am I?”
Bobby coughed and Sam actually looked at him.
“You think that is the important thing here, Dean? Which angel wants to wear
you?”
“There wasn’t any choice.” Castiel’s voice broke through. “Sam here is an
alpha, created to be Lucifer’s perfect vessel. And Michael…”
Castiel trailed off and Dean’s grin, which had been hiding, appeared again. So
Sammy was a bad boy! Not that that was any surprise. What was more surprising
was the angel’s vaguely uncomfortable expression. Given he hadn’t looked
anything other than superior or pissed off. Who would have thought it?
“Michael… Michael needs his mate, and Dea–“
The roar that rent the air stopped even the angel.
“You dare play with us?”
Dropping to his knees, Dean lowered his head. It was instinctive. He’d seen Sam
angry before, but never like this. He didn’t know what to compare it to.
Pressure built in the room, before with a flicker of sound the angel
disappeared.
Blessed silence filled the room. Dean cautiously raised his eyes, only to find
Sam leaning heavily against the wall. All his protective instincts were back,
as he sprang to his feet.
“Sam? Are you ok? The angel didn’t do anything did he?” He moved towards his
Sam, only find his back pressed against the wall. Again. He was really getting
sick of this.
But before he could yell at his brother, Sam’s nose was in his neck. Inhaling
deeply before a growl shook his body. Pushing himself back, Sam strode across
the room, straight for the door. Hand on the handle, he paused, taking a deep
breath before looking back at Dean. And Dean was stunned at the loss in his
eyes. What the fuck? What was wrong with Sammy?
“Sammy…”
“How could they? How could they do this, Dean? And why? Everything I wanted…
but I… you…”
Given Sam was normally gifted with speech, this was more than worrying.
Reaching one hand out, Dean moved towards Sam, and couldn’t help but feel hurt
when Sam batted his hand away and backed out of reach.
Now Dean felt his anger build: any decent brother would be fucking glad he was
back! But Sam? Of course he wasn’t he was angry at Dean. He’d been splashed and
cut, and yes, he got that. He would do exactly the same thing. But to have his
brother turn on him – to be accused and attacked even after Dean had passed all
those tests.
And now, now that the freaking angel (and yes that was still weird, but Dean
wasn’t going to think about it) had confirmed that Dean was exactly who he said
he was, even with that, Sam was backing away!
Dean was back and Sam was leaving him.
No. No, that was not his heart breaking. And those weren’t tears in his eyes.
“I have to go. I’ll be back. Later.”
Hands clenched by his side, Dean watched as his brother walked out the door.
Again.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
--oo--
Sam drove until it was too dangerous not to stop. He’d come straight to
Bobby’s, kept going on desperation alone.
Because Dean.
Dean who he thought was lost. Dean who he hadn’t stopped thinking about it
since he was killed in front of him. Dean who had been dragged down to hell.
Was back.
Dean was back and the angels had done something to him.
Dean smelt like his mate, like every fantasy he’d ever created. Everything he’d
ever wanted was right in front of him but it was wrong. It had to be wrong.
Sam was glad he’d pulled over. He didn’t even realise he was crying, until
heavy sobs shook his whole body. Dean was back, and what had Sam done? Run
away. Left and was grieving for the future he’d wanted and would never get.
Dean was back and what the fuck was wrong with him?
Sam cried until there was nothing left. He cried until he fell asleep. He slept
so deeply he didn’t hear the buzz of the phone throughout the night.
--oo--
He felt better when he woke. Worn out, but better. The light of day brought
resolution, and he knew what he had to do: go on as if nothing had changed.
He’d wanted his brother for years, and yeah, it would be hard, given he smelt
so fucking perfect, but he was not his hormones.
Dean was still his brother.
(And if his dick wasn’t quite on board, well, hadn’t Sam always said it was
mind over matter? Time to put that into practise.)
--oo--
“Where is he?”
Sam could hear Dean before he was even at the door.
“He never answered the phone. He always answers the phone! Why wouldn’t he
answer the phone?”
“Dean…”
Bobby’s voice had obviously been attempting reason for a while. Dean was having
none of it.
“It’s been twelve hours and I haven’t heard from him. I’m goin-“
The front door was flung open just as Sam raised his hand to knock.
Unexpectedly, he was face to face with his brother. Silence rippled between
them.
“Dean?” Bobby’s voice was worried.
As the older man rounded the corner, Dean flung himself at Sam. Grunting a
little under the force, Sam automatically wrapped his hands around his brother,
breathing in the intoxicating scent. Which went straight to his cock.
Fuck. He wanted his brother. He’d wanted him since he knew what it meant. And
now he was here, smelling the way he’d always dreamed off. In any other
universe, this would be their happy ending, because Dean was his mate. His.
But in this universe the Winchester luck was against them. Because this was
just part of some angel plan. Dean wasn’t an omega, he was just caught up in
some angel game: he wasn’t Sam’s mate, he was Lucifer’s mate. And Sam loved
Dean too much to claim him just because of angel politics. He couldn’t hurt him
like that.
He breathed shallowly and willed his erection down. This was going to be harder
than he thought. The alpha part of him that he’d suppressed was out and ready
to go, urging Sam to push his brother down, kiss him, fuck him, mark him, and
claim him as he’d always dreamt of. Claim him so no one else – and nothing else
would ever take him away.
Sam held Dean until Dean leant back, and punched Sam in the chest. Hard.
“Ow!”
“What the fuck, Sammy? You never just run off like that! And you fucking answer
the phone! I didn’t know what happened to you! I didn’t know if you were ok!
I…”
Dean’s breath caught, and Sam couldn’t stay strong against the shimmer of tears
in his brother’s eyes. And it was stupid – and masochistic - but Sam hugged his
brother again, feeling the way Dean moulded to his body. He felt perfect.
“I can’t lose you, Sammy. You’re important. You’re-“
Sam cut him off. “I’m sorry I left, Dean. But… fuck.”
He didn’t know what to say. Letting go of Dean he pushed past into the kitchen.
And then wished he hadn’t, as Bobby was standing there. This conversation was
going to be uncomfortable enough as it was.
Still. If he hadn’t run away like a child, Dean and he could have had this
conversation privately. It was a just penance.
Taking a deep breath Sam could taste Dean. Why the fuck was he everywhere now?
Who was fucking playing with them now? Sam turned and fought for calm. Tapping
his fingers against his thigh, he sought the words that would make this ok.
Were there any?
“Dean. I… I’m sorry. I just couldn’t believe it was you. It’s been hard. You
were gone-” His voice broke and Sam fought back tears. It had been fucking
hard, like half of his self had been ripped away. Blinking rapidly, he felt
Bobby’s hand on his shoulder, and for once was grateful for the older hunters
stabilising presence.
“To be honest, I don’t think I really… really dealt with your… your death.”
Fuck. Was that first time he’d said it? “I… Bobby and I… we looked to bring you
back.”
Sam winced at the look on his brothers’ face. “I know! I know I promised. But I
couldn’t! Surely you understand? For the same reason you made the fucking deal
I couldn’t… you aren’t meant to be in Hell.”
“Sammy–”
Sam shook his head and looked away. He just needed to talk. “You were gone, and
I –“
“Look, Sammy, I –“
“Let me finish.” Shit. That was his alpha voice. He never used it! Well… not
since yesterday, when Dean had come back smelling so fucking sweet… fuck. Not
what he should be thinking about. “You were gone, and I didn’t know what to do.
And when you came back? Fucking miracle. I know I reacted… badly,” And yeah,
that was an understatement, “But it was all wrong.”
He was making a mess of this. How do you explain to your brother that he’s been
created as a living breathing fantasy? There was no way to explain that, so Sam
cut to the chase.
“You’re safe with me.”
--oo--
Dean blinked at the abrupt change in topic. While he itched to interrupt, he
couldn’t. He’d never realised how compelling an alpha’s voice was. What with
how fucked his body had been, he’d had no response to anything alpha. And he
wasn’t particularly pleased with the current situation. And Sam ploughed on,
with more words he didn’t want to hear.
“I promise I won’t touch you, Dean. You don’t have to ever worry about that.”
Sam’s voice rang with sincerity. He could do this. He would do this. “You’re my
brother and I love you. And I’ll keep you safe.”
Sam wouldn’t look at Dean. Couldn’t stand to see the pity, or disgust that
might be there. So on that promise he ran. Again.
“Just heading to town. Need gas, but I’ll be back soon.”
--oo--
Silence met Sam’s abrupt departure. Dean’s mouth opened and closed a few times,
but no sound came out. Unfortunately his eyes leaked. Bobby coughed
uncomfortably and clapped him on the shoulder.
“I’ll be inside if you need me.”
For the third time in his life, Dean’s heart was breaking. Cas had changed him.
He knew that, felt it. It had taken a little while, but it added up: he could
scent Sam, he reacted to Alpha voice, and his need to show his throat all the
fucking time. Somehow he’d been brought back as if the past had never been, and
Sam, his mate, didn’t want to touch him. Didn’t want him.
Gathering himself, Dean stuffed the hurt down. It wasn’t about him. It never
had been. Sammy had grown up and didn’t need him. Dean could be the big
brother. He could do this.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter by majestic_duck_(majesticduxk)
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
It wasn’t as easy as Sam hoped.
Dean was always there, with his intoxicating scent and his reminder of what
could have been. Rather than dwell on the soft curve of Dean’s ass, or the
bare, smooth skin of his throat, Sam’s mind turned to the angels, and why they
were doing this. None of it made sense. It couldn’t just be about Michael and
Lucifer, could it? Because if that was so important, why the hell hadn’t they
done anything earlier, before Dean went to hell? Why now? And why was that so
important that they fucked Dean over?
Was it a test? They’d sent Dean to Hell, while Sam… shaking his head, Sam
attempted to remove that idea. What was he doing, comparing his lust for Dean
to Dean’s time in hell?
Sick. Freak. Wrong.
Dean had made it clear he didn’t want Sam like that. And all Sam could do was
think about his brother. The more he tried to not think about him, the more
Dean’s image filled his mind.
And it was just getting worse.
Because Dean was getting sexier by the day.
There was an extra sway to his hips. Such gorgeous hips they were. Gently
rounded, leading the eye to that perfectly perky–
No! No. Sam was not going to think about how fuckable Dean’s ass was. How
perfectly it would fit in his hands, as he squeezed, and kneaded and–
Pressing a palm firmly against his burgeoning erection, Sam was fighting a
losing battle. What was wrong with him?
--oo--
Dean felt hot. Not sexy, although he must have been looking halfway alright, if
the number of alphas cosying up to him was any indication. And, much as he
hated to admit it, it was nice. Nice to be appreciated, to be noticed. Even as
he enjoyed the attention, something in him was worried about it.
It being Sam.
Since they’d reunited and left Bobby’s it had just been the two of them. It
should have been perfect, but since Sam had made it clear he didn’t want him,
Dean had done his best to curb his lustful intent. And it was hard. It was
fucking hard. Dean had always had an interest in his brother, but it had been
easy to subdue. Now that he could scent Sam… Well, it just proved how fucked up
he really was. Sam could surely scent him too. And his arousal.
The whole thing was embarrassing enough without Sammy knowing his brother had a
hard on for him.
So Dean had practised ignoring his brother’s presence when they weren’t
working, and thankfully it was working. Even though Sam was here at the bar,
Dean could let his eyes drift over the men present. This was good. He could
notice other people. He didn’t need Sam. As if by providence, a burly alpha
caught his eye. He was tall and dark and looked like he knew how to show an
omega a good time.
And Dean was an omega who wanted a good time. A wicked grin tilted his lips and
Dean felt his ass throb hotly.
His ass? What the fuck? He’d fucked around a lot, but he’d never… he’d never
felt like he was dripping from his…
Oh fuck.
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.
--oo--
He’d been staring morosely at his beer until the smell of distress - Dean’s
distress – filled the air. Head jerking up, he was on his feet before his mind
caught up with his body. Unerring he headed towards Dean, who was in a corner
with an alpha casually standing over him. He was close. Too fucking close.
A snarl was ripped from his lips, and he stalked towards the two men. All he
knew was he had to get Dean. Dean was his.
--oo--
There was death in Sam’s eye. With his head bowed Dean couldn’t see it, but he
could sure feel it as his brother stalked towards them. Sam was mad and it was
his fault. Why couldn’t Dean do anything right, could he?
He must have whimpered, because the alpha was touching his shoulder, talking in
a soft voice.
“A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be out. Certainly not alone.”
When Dean looked up he could see the lust in the alpha’s eye. But also concern.
And he couldn’t help but lean into towards the man. There was a softness that
Dean needed. He’d been tough for too long. Hiding his feelings from Sam,
careful to never push himself where he wasn’t wanted, but now things were
different. Now Dean needed.
The alpha kept talking. “You shouldn’t be out, baby. Let me take you–“
Between one word and the next the alpha moved. Dean whined, already missing the
touch, but before he could bring himself to open his eyes, a heavy hand fell on
Dean’s shoulder. A familiar hand, that pulled him back into a hot, hard, chest.
It smelt like safety and home and Dean collapsed against it.
Sammy.
--oo--
“Keep your hands off him, he’s mine.”
The alphas demeanour changed. He drew his body up, and instead of soft words,
there was more than a hint of angry possessive growl. Dean’s shivering
intensified and Sam felt his anger spike.
“He’s not yours.”
The challenge couldn’t have been clearer. Sam snarled his next words. “Touch
him again, and I’ll kill you.”
It wasn’t an idle threat. Although neither alpha took their eyes off each
other, they could feel the way the bar shifted. Sam could smell the alphas, and
there were too many of them. He couldn’t protect Dean from all of them. He
needed to get out of there, get them out of there…
“Sammy?”
Dean’s voice was soft, and Sam couldn’t help but look down. A stupid move in a
dominance battle, but Dean’s needs came first. Like it or not, they always had.
And right now, Dean needed.
His brothers face was flushed, eyes glazed and his lips looked plump and Sam
wanted to taste them.
“Please… Sammy…”
Angry growling stole his attention. Sam snarled back.
“What kind of alpha are you? If that’s your omega, why aren’t you looking after
him?”
Sam almost laughed. Dean wasn’t an omega. Despite all the evidence to the
contrary, Dean was…
… Leaking slick. Dean was leaking slick.
Sam didn’t trust the angels, and didn’t - couldn’t - believe them. But now he
could feel. Dean’s pants were soaked and sticking wetly to Sam’s? It was
finally enough to cut through his self-delusions.
Dean was an omega in heat. His omega. Fortunately he didn’t need to think. His
body, running on instinct, knew what to do. Lifting Dean into his arms, he felt
Dean pressing his face into Sam. Dean snuffled a little, before purring,
licking and nibbling at the base of Sam’s throat.
The rest of the room fell away. It seemed that no time at all passed between
Sam carrying Dean out, buckling him into the passenger seat and then carrying
Dean into their hotel room.
Gently, Sam laid Dean on the bed, backing away to try and clear his nose.
Immediately, Dean rolled onto his belly, reaching towards Sam. Sam’s breath
caught in his throat: Dean was beautiful. He was soft and needy and he wanted
Sam. Sam’s inner alpha purred at the wanton moans and the pretty way he begged.
“Please, Sammy! Need you! Need you in me, Sammy. Please, Sammy, fuck me! Mark
me!” Looking up at the alpha Dean inclined his chin, baring his throat to Sam’s
dark gaze. “Claim me.”
Ironically, it was those words that stopped Sam in his tracks. While all Sam
wanted to do was to fuck his brother, he couldn’t. He’d promised. He wasn’t
going to hurt his brother. He wasn’t going to fuck things up more, to make them
fall into the angels plot.
Dean was worth more than that.
Tearing at his hair, Sam backed away. Dean’s mouth dropped open, and tears
filled his eyes.
“Sammy?” Oh god. The pain in Dean’s voice…
“Christ, Dean! You’re killing me! I can’t do it. I won’t do it! I won’t hurt
you…”
The words were not what Dean wanted to here. Suddenly, instead of the heat-
scent of omega – ripe, sweet, ready omega – the room stunk of rejection and
hurt. Sam’s heart clenched. He did that. This was his fault.
But he’d made a promise he intended to keep.
“No, Dean. I can’t.”
Later, Sam would wonder what he thought would happen. Relief? Relief that Sam
kept his word? Perhaps thanks for not falling in with the angel plans. Maybe
anger, because Dean was horny and liked getting his own way.
What he actually got was heartbreak and betrayal as Dean keened his rejection.
There was no other word for the sorrow that breached Dean’s throat.
Sam aborted his step forward. This was a test. He knew the angels still tested
him. It didn’t make it any easier. Especially when Dean’s words broke through
his sobs.
“Why, Sammy? Why? I thought… I thought I was good enough now. I thought you
wanted me too. What’s wrong with me?”
Sam snarled, all his anger at the angels colouring his voice. “You? There’s
nothing wrong with you, Dean. But I’m not going to rape you! You think I don’t
know what the angels are doing? That they aren’t taunting me with everything
I’ve always wanted? You’re in heat, Dean! They did that to you! And I’m not
going to make things worse, I can’t. I love-”
Sam was yelling by the end. Turning, he faced the wall, hands clenched as he
fought for control. Dean… Dean smelt perfect. Hopes and dreams presented on a
tasting platter. Sam had no intention of dining tonight. He wasn’t playing the
angels’ games.
But he’d have his revenge. Dean deserved more than this.
He left the room, Dean’s cries echoed in his ear. And Sam’s heart broke. It
felt like he was his omega.
He shut the door, and leant heavily against it. Out here he could still feel
the pull of his brother, but he could resist it. He could feed his anger at the
angels for doing this to him. For hurting the both of them. What kind of
sadistic asses did this?
Sam leant against the door and listened to Dean’s cries, feeling them cut him,
wishing he could do something to ease his brothers’ pain. He sat outside the
door, listening to Dean: to his heartbreaking sobs, and his begging for his
alpha, for his Sammy.
He listened until he could take it no more. Now he needed answers.
--oo--
Although Sam was a proud man, he wasn’t above asking – when there were no other
options.
He drove to the forest, knowing he was unlikely to come across people there.
Standing in a clearing, he shifted slightly, wishing he had something that
could kill an angel. Or at the very least harm one. He wanted to make them hurt
as much he was. As much as Dean was.
“Castiel, oh Angel of the Lord. What the fuck are you doing to my brother?”
Sam waited. And there was nothing.
Figured.
Well, even if they weren’t going to listen, Sam still had things to say.
“I could have saved Dean, you know. I didn’t need you. I didn’t fucking need
you to interfere! We were getting there. Bobby and I… we were getting there.
And if I’d saved him? I wouldn’t have messed him around like that! I thought
angels were supposed to be good, but you’re just sick fucks.” Sam flinched,
almost expecting to be smote. After all, who in their right mind maligned an
angel of the lord? When nothing happened, he grew a little bolder. Castiel
wasn’t going to kill him.
Yet.
“That’s right, sick and twisted bastards. And we don’t’ deserve this! Dean
doesn’t deserve this! He’s a good man who shouldn’t be fucked over for no
fucking reason! And why? Why are you doing this to us? To mess with me? Because
if you know everything, you know I’m in love with my brother! It was hard…”
Sam trailed off. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. It was just all so
unfair. He could have lived with it, if it was just him. He’d been in love with
his brother for so long that the rest of their lives made no difference.
But the way they were hurting Dean? It wasn’t fucking ok.
“It is not the angels who are hurting your brother, Sam Winchester.”
Sam jumped before he could stop himself. Fucking angels appearing out of
nowhere. Fists balled at his sides, he turned to face Castiel, sneer firmly
planted on his face.
“Not the angels? If you could see my brother…”
“I did, in fact, see your brother.” Castiel interrupted him. “When I realised
that he was alone, and in heat,” there was no way Sam could escape the pointed
rebuke, “- I went to see him.”
Sam didn’t remember moving, but he had the angel up against a tree, arm held
against his throat.
“Do not touch him.”
Next moment Sam was face first in bark, one arm pulled behind his back, as a
very pissed off angel of the lord hissed in his ear. “You dare tell me what to
do? You who leaves an omega in his first heat-“
“Which he wouldn’t be having if it weren’t for you sickos!”
Sam tensed himself, ready for he had no idea what. The silence that followed
was unexpected. Abruptly Sam was released. Scrubbing at his face, Sam turned to
face the angel. Castiel head was tilted as he stared at Sam in surprise.
“What do you mean?”
What?
Castiel stared at Sam for a long moment, like he was trying to read his mind.
Fucking asshole probably was. The slight lip tilt confirmed Sam’s thoughts.
Gritting his teeth, he waited. He didn’t like it, but it felt like there was
something important to come…
“I didn’t make your brother an omega.”
“Bullshit!” Sam stalked toward the angel before he realised what he was doing.
And while Sam was big, imposing, angry alpha, the angel didn’t even flinch.
“I stormed the depths of hell and rescued your brother. I gripped him tight and
raised him from perdition, rebuilding his physical form even as his soul lay in
my hands, crying out to me to save it, to heal it. I rebuilt Dean Winchester,
and I rebuilt him whole. And know this, Sam Winchester; I changed nothing of
the true nature of your brother.”
“Dean had no-”
Filled with impotent rage, Sam stormed towards the angel. At least, that was
his intention. Between one moment and the next, he was on the ground, hands
covering his ears as an almighty shriek rent the air. Looking up, he saw the
angel approaching, glowing with righteous might. Always a little odd, he was
now completely otherworldly. In that moment. Sam can’t believe he doubted that
Castiel was an angel.
Sam closed his eyes as the angel’s hand descended. He held his breath, as the
angel’s fingers brushed against his forehead.
And in that moment Sam realised that he wasn’t ready to die.
He’s not ready to leave Dean.
And he’s certainly not ready for the images the angel shows to him.
[CasSamShowdownColor1500]
--oo--
Collapsing to his knees, Sam stared at the angel.
“Dean’s mine? Dean’s always been mine?”
Castiel may have responded, but Sam wasn’t listening, his mind was racing as
unexplained things fell into place. Fuck! It explained so much. Dean… his poor
Dean, thinking Sam wouldn’t want him. And now they’ve been given this second
chance. Now Sam has the opportunity to look after…
“Fuck!”
Sam was the fucking worst. Ignorance was no excuse. It didn’t matter that he
never wanted to hurt Dean – he was! Dean – his omega – thought he was being
rejecting. Dean was having his first heat since that happened and Sam left him
alone. In pain. In need.
“Take me to Dean.”
The angel stared at him for a moment, but Sam growled. For the first time in a
long time, Sam knew exactly where he needed to be.
“Take me to my mate.”
--oo--
Castiel left Sam outside the hotel without another word. Not like there was
much to talk about. Not between the two of them.
But now he was here, Sam had no fucking idea what to do. What the fuck should
he say to his brother? And why did no one tell him?
Of course it all made a sick kind of sense. Slowly making his way to their
room, Sam’s stomach was tied up in knots. God! What if he’s fucked up so
completely that Dean, his Dean, won’t look at him again? What if he’s lost him
for good?
--oo--
Any thoughts of apology fled when he opened the door and scented delicious,
needy, ripe omega. Sam felt his knees give, and he clutched at the doorframe in
an attempt to stay upright. Gasping for breath, it just made things worse: all
he could taste was Dean.
Fighting for control, Dean’s little moan of Sammy undid all his good work. With
a growl reverberating in his chest, Sam stalked towards the bed, the constant
refrain of Dean, mine, mate, claim doing nothing to cool his head. Reaching for
Dean, Sam readied himself to claim his omega when his brothers’ broken words
penetrated the red fog.
“Sam… Sammy, I’m sorry… I need you, Sam. Please don’t leave me. I’m sorry…”
Abruptly Sam’s head cleared. The sweet scent of omega was still present, but
now the notes of distress and fear and rejection were clear.
“Oh, Dean!”
Sorrow dripped from his every pore as he pulled the shivering, crying omega to
his chest. Firmly grasping the nape of Dean’s neck, he pushed his brother’s
nose against his throat, letting his alpha scent soothe the distressed omega.
For long moments Sam thought it hadn’t worked, but slowly, slowly the shivering
stop, and slowly, slowly, the heartbreaking litany ceased.
“Sammy?”
Dean’s voice was so unsure, and Sam held him closer. Fighting against the hold
– and Sam had to restrain himself from growling – Dean looked at Sam. The utter
dejection in those beautiful eyes broke Sam’s heart anew.
Breathing deeply, Sam steadied himself. He couldn’t afford to lose control –
Dean was already Sam peppered Dean’s brow with kisses.
“I’m sorry, Dean. So sorry. I should never have left you. I won’t ever again.
I’ll look after you, Dean. You’re safe now, Sammy’s here. Look at me, baby.
Just look at me. I’ll never leave you again.”
--oo--
Dean feels soft hands stroking him. His face is pushed into somewhere soft,
somewhere that smells divine, and something in him relaxes. For the first time
he can remember, he feels safe.
Alpha, his mind tells him. His alpha is here and will look after him. Dean can
relax now.
But Dean’s brain keeps working. Because that can’t be right. Sammy left. Dean
was a bad omega, no good, not worthy, not right, so Sam left. Dean wasn’t good
enough for Sam, so Sammy left.
“Shhhhhhh. Shhhhh. It’s alright, Dean. I was wrong to go. I’ll never leave you
again. Because you’re mine, Dean. My omega. You’re so good, so perfect… will
you let me look after you, Dean? Can I take care of you?”
--oo--
Sam had imagined this moment, for as long as he lived. In that hidden corner of
his mind, where he stored his most fucked up fantasies he held Dean. In that
corner, he was primitive, biting, and snarling, and claiming and taking.
But now that Dean was in his arms, Sam could reign in the alpha. Did he still
want to fuck Dean six ways to Sunday? Abso-fucking-lutely. But his scared,
beautiful, loved mate needed more than that. Sam knew he and Dean would never
talk about what Castiel told him, about Dean’s first time. Despite the fact
that Sam wanted to shake Dean, for believing that could - should - keep them
apart, there was going to be no closure.
All he could do now was show his mate, his precious mate how much he loved him,
how precious he could be. With gentle touches, and sweet, soothing sounds, Sam
petted his mate, taking only what was freely given – until Dean fucking bit
him!
“For fuck’s sake, Sammy! Are we fucking or not?”
Sam took that for the permission it was.
--oo--
“Next time I’ll be gentle.”
Despite Sam’s best intentions, he hadn’t been. Laving the mark on Dean’s neck,
Sam couldn’t hide his satisfied purr. Finally, finally Dean was his. As if to
prove a point, his hips jerked, knot pulled against Dean’s rim.
“Fuck off, Sam!”
Rather than answer, Sam ran a soothing hand over his omegas’ hip. Dean grumbled
a little longer, before relaxing back into Sam’s embrace. Dean was safe in his
arms, where he’d always belonged.
“Never gonna hurt you again, Dean. Never going to leave you alone. It’s you and
me from now on, Dean, and that’s never going to change.”
Dean shifted in his hands, but didn’t respond. Maybe he needed more.
“I love you, Dean. I love you now, and I’ve loved you always. I’ll never hurt
you again. You’re mine! I’ll never let you be lonely or scared… I want… I want
us to make a home! I want to watch you grow big with our children. I want to
love you each and every day for the rest of our loves. I love you, Dean.”
Sam’s heart was in his mouth as he waited for Dean’s response.
Maybe it was too soon? Was Sam rushing? Dean was never one for chick flick
moments, and this was sappy and was it inappropriate? Just hours before Sam had
been telling Dean he’d never touch him! He was going too fast. Fuck, Dean was
going to run before they had a chance to sort this. And Sam had already shown
he couldn’t be trusted. He’d left Dean, his omega - in heat omega - to go and
chat with a fucking angel! How was going to prove himself worthy of the amazing
man his brother was?
Before Sam’s panic could overrun him, Dean’s soft snores reached his ears.
Shit. Had Dean even heard a word he’d said? And was that a good thing or a bad
thing. Stifling a laugh, Sam wrapped big arms around his brother, drawing him
back against his chest. He couldn’t stop the little moan of pleasure when Dean
pushed back against him, losing himself again in the feel of Dean’s tight ass
as his knot throbbed and his cock jerked, filling Dean even more full.
He couldn’t wait to tease Dean’s messy hole in the morning. Possessive warmth
filled him. And he could do that. Dean would spread his legs and let Sam take
what he needed. Because Dean loved him too. Despite the not very alpha like
panic attack (which wouldn’t surprise Dean in the slightest, if Sam ever told
him about it. Which he had no intention of doing), Sam knew he was possessive.
It was going to be an interesting ride, one Sam was looking forward to.
Smiling, Sam curled his body around his sleeping brother. They could have their
chick flick moment in the morning.
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you for reading! As I said, this one was a real challenge for
     me, and I am glad to be at the other end of it :)
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!