Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2122602.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester, John_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester, John_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Extremely_Dubious_Consent, Child_Abuse, Bondage, Feral_Dean, Weecest,
      daddycest, Dark, Slight_Pain_&_Blood, Manipulation, Roughness, Complete,
      Bottom!Sam
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-08-12 Words: 2565
****** Handle It ******
by currybuzz
Summary
     Dean has heats. Dean wants Sam as his bitch. Every heat that goes by
     without Sam, Dean gets more aggressive. John decides to alleviate the
     problem.
Notes
     READ THE WARNINGS. Sam is 9 and 12 in sexual scenes. The daddycest is
     unwanted on both sides, but Dean does rape Sam. Sam 'consents'
     because he was manipulated into it. There is implied ongoing sexual
     abuse perpetuated by Dean that John pointedly ignores.
Dean was never supposed to be on that hunt.
He was only thirteen then. John taught him about guns, knives, and the
fundamentals about monsters; he was only just introducing these things to Sam.
Dean was older, though. He needed to know for himself, for this lifestyle, and
for Sam.
“I know,” John remembers Dean saying one day; “I have to protect Sam. He’s
mine.”
John waited, but Dean never continued. “Yeah,” he told Dean softly, “Sam’s your
little brother.” His oldest nodded, like what was said had been the same thing.
Maybe that’s where this current problem came from. John should have never
pushed Sam onto Dean, but then again, he should have never had Dean with him on
that hunt.
John was hunting a pagan goddess for dogs. Some fool made a sacrifice to her
for his dying dog, and it worked. The goddess was brought to this town. Dogs
began to become overly aggressive; attacking nearly everyone in town. Families
were doing their best to appease their normally passive pets so that they
wouldn’t rip one of their limbs off.
He should have kept Dean and Sam both locked up tight, but instead he brought
Dean out on a harmless follow-up of the most recent dog attack. It wasn’t
harmless.
The goddess was there. John has pushed Dean back and fought with silver; he
managed to cut her badly, and she revealed her true form. John wasn’t surprised
by the human-dog before him, and he wasn’t surprised when she repeatedly tried
to bit him.
John was surprised when she managed to bit his son.
He killed her. Of course he killed her.
Everything was fine at first. John even began to think of it as a blessing. He
had performed every test possible, and Dean was definitely still human. He was
faster, stronger, sharper, and every sense was heightened more than before.
Everything was fine until it wasn’t. It was good until Dean had his first heat
six months after the accident.
John didn’t even know what was happening at first. He thought Dean was sick.
His son was sweating bullets, moaning, shaking; the first sign that something
was wrong was when he noticed his irises were way too large along with his
pupils.
It was killing him, John thought. He was frantic. He had to find a way to save
him.
He didn’t even notice when Dean had grabbed Sam and forced his little brother
under him and began to hump desperately. He didn’t even turn around when he
heard Sam cry out; he only yelled for him to behave.
He only turned when Sam’s whimpers continued and he heard him beg for Dean to
stop. John yelled; he demanded Dean to get off.
Dean growled and tightened his grip on Sam, biting and holding Sam’s tiny body
against him. When John reached out for him, he received a bloody bit and
vicious nails in his arm.
He wrenched back and froze. Watched as his nine year old was forced into the
carpet with Dean’s strong thrusts against his body, how Sam cried and squirmed
and tried to get away. It only made it worse. Dean only got rougher.
John still didn’t move as Sam cried to Dean, told him he was scared, it hurt,
please stop. He didn’t react when Sam begged for John to help instead, called
out for his daddy, but John was afraid Dean would only hurt him worse if he
forcefully pulled them apart.
He tried to speak softly to Dean, told him to calm down, tried to tell Sam to
just be still and then maybe Dean won’t be so rough.
Sam only cried harder; he tried to wrench away again. Dean bit his neck hard
enough for blood. After several minutes, Dean groaned loudly and froze.
Dean breathed heavily, nuzzled against Sam’s hair and licked at his cheek. He
began to pet down Sam’s body. Now that he was out of his faze, he seemed to
realize that he could take the clothes off. He pushed his hands up Sam’s shirt,
and that’s when John finally acted.
“No, Dean, stop,” He commanded. He reached for Sam to pick him up, wipe his
tears, and get him the hell away from Dean.
The reaction was immediate and violent. Dean lunged for John, hands outreached
for his throat and teeth bared.
John managed to throw Dean towards the bed after a moment of hesitation,
scooping Sam up, and retreating to the bathroom.
He thought he could handle this. He managed to find a hooker that night. He
forced Dean down, put a condom on him, and just let him fuck. He got a separate
room for Sam. Patched him up, told him it was okay, don’t worry; it’s not going
to happen again.
It’d only be two times a year. It’d be fine. Controlled.
It was until it wasn’t.
It was a slow build up. John noticed, but he ignored it; he buried it.
Dean got rougher with Sam. Grabbed him, forced him to wrestle even when Sam
complained, just so he could force Sam to submit. He slept wrapped around his
brother with intention. John couldn’t get close.
It got worse over time. John had to keep more and more of a distance from Sam
to appease Dean.
It wasn’t so bad. Dean was mostly affectionate, protective. That was good. John
thought that could be handled.
Then it was bad. The way Dean forced Sam under him, on his belly, in training.
How he held him down and breathed into his neck. John could see that Sam was
skittish in those times, but he knew better than to fight back at that point.
Perhaps he remembered that night.
Dean forced Sam in corners sometimes. Put his arms on either side of him,
leaned in too close and too possessive. John learned to stop trying to
interfere.
He started calling Sam a bitch, sometimes John heard him say ‘my bitch’. He
tried to get Dean to stop, but after every attempt or lecture, Dean would be
even rougher with Sam the next time he pinned his little brother under him.
This could be handled though. Perhaps if it was just this, John could have
fixed it somehow.
It was the heats.
The second one wasn’t so bad. It lasted longer, and Dean was aggressive for a
few weeks afterwards. H even bit Sam during training that bordered on violent.
The third heat was only a month earlier than expected. Dean was practically
feral. The aggression lasted for a month after that one.
The fourth one was also a month earlier. John had to pay the hooker extra for
the damage. The aggression didn’t seem to fade. It flared up at random times.
After the fifth one, which lasted twice as long as the others with the
aggression twice as bad, John knew what was wrong.
He knew it from the way Dean held Sam to him, how he growled when John came
close to Sam.
So when Dean starts sweating and his eyes begin to change; John tells Dean to
wait in the bathroom, locked up, as usual. He knows his heat is coming. John is
supposed to put Sam in another room and go get a prostitute.
Instead he sits his twelve year old down and says, “Do you love Dean, Sammy?”
Sam’s eyes are wide. There’s confusion, a bit of worry. “Of course.”
“Dean’s in a lot of pain, Sammy. You can help. Don’t you want to?”
Of course Sam says yes.
“Good, because he needs you Sam.” John says. He feels sick for what he knows he
has to do.
There’s silence. “What,” Sam’s unsure, “What do I need to do? I wanna make Dean
better.”
“You just,” John feels his voice break. He breathes heavily. “You just have to
be real good, okay? Start by taking off your clothes.”
Sam recoils, folds his arms over his chest, “W-Why do I have to do that?”
“Don’t you trust me, Sam?” John asks, “Don’t you want to help Dean?”
Sam’s voice is so small when he says ‘yes’. He doesn’t do anything to take off
his clothes, so John reaches over and helps him wiggle out of his shirt.
“Come on, Sam. For Dean, remember? Be good for him. He can’t get better without
you.”
Sam’s trembling, but he does it. He sits on the bed naked, watching his father.
John’s shaking; he wills it down. He doesn’t want to scare Sam.
“Lay on your stomach.”
“Why?” Sam whines. He looks at his clothes on the floor longingly.
“Sam.”
Sam rolls onto his stomach, hides his face. John sighs in relief. He grabs a
few things and rests on the bed beside Sam.
“Good job, Sammy. You’re going to be great for your brother.” John gently pulls
Sam’s wrists toward the headboard; he doesn’t trust him not to struggle.
As he’s securing the knot, Sam is gently pulling it, asking why he’s tied up.
“It’ll make it easier,” John says. “It’ll be okay. Be still, okay? It won’t
hurt.”
Now Sam is scared, twisting, but he can’t get out of the hold, “What won’t
hurt? I don’t-“
“Don’t want to help Dean?” John manipulates. Sam is pliant again.
John doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t know if he can, but he knows that he
has to. If he doesn’t, Dean will rip him up. It’d be torture.
John forces Sam’s legs apart, ignores Sam’s complaints and sits between them.
He grabs the bottle of lube.
“It’s going to be cold,” He warns. Sam asks what will be, but John can’t
answer.
He lubes two of his fingers before holding the bottle in them; he uses the
other hand to push and hold one cheek apart. He’s tuning Sam’s alarmed cries
out and squirts some lube directly onto his hole. He’s trembling when he’s
rubbing his two fingers against it.
“Daddy, please, please don’t, what are you, I don’t want to anymore, stop,” Sam
won’t stop.
“Sam,” John warns, “I’ll gag you. Be quiet.”
He slowly pushes his index inside. Sam’s gasping and arching away, and John can
hear cries in his voice. He moves clinically, not wanting to think about it
more than he has to.
He twirls his finger. Pushes it in and out. Adds more lube. Sam’s getting
louder, and John resists the urge to smack him.
He’s in a trance. He forces another one inside, knows it can’t hurt as much as
Sam’s sobbing makes it seem. He pumps them. Curls them. Sam keeps saying stop
and no, but there isn’t anywhere to go. He keeps going, begins to scissors.
He’s snaps out of it because of a loud crack resounding throughout the room.
He looks up, finally hearing the shouts from the bathroom.
“What’re you doing!” It’s almost a pure growl. “I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking
kill you! Get away from Sam! Sam! Sam!” Another crack. Dean’s trying to break
the door down.
John grunts. He leaves the bed briefly, comes back and ties a handkerchief
around Sam’s mouth.
“You’re doing well, Sammy. It’ll be fine, okay? Just pipe down.” He pets Sam’s
hair, frowns when Sam wrenches his head away.
He sits back down. This isn’t. It’s not as terrible as he anticipated. He
doesn’t want to puke.
He starts again, two fingers sliding in without much resistance. That’s good.
Dean eventually calms down without the sound of Sam’s cries. John spends the
next thirty minutes stretching Sam until he’s convinced it’s good enough. The
sounds coming through the fabric is pathetic, twists John’s heart.
He gently takes out the cloth. He wipes Sam’s tears.
“Are you ready to help Dean?” He asks softly. Sam shakes his head.
“Don’t wanna. Please.” Sam begs.
“You have to.” John says. “He’s hurting. He’ll only get worse. It won’t hurt.”
Sam eventually says okay. John breathes a sigh of relief. Deep down, he knows
it isn’t consent, but John’s willful. He can ignore it. Sam said it was okay.
“You have to be still, okay, Sam? Don’t move or try to get away. It’ll be over
quicker.” It wouldn’t be, but it’d be less rough. He doesn’t want to say that
though. He pauses. “Do you want the gag back?”
Sam’s shake is violent. “No, please-“
“Okay, okay…” John’s stalling. He knows. “Keep your legs spread, okay? Or I’ll
have to tie them.”
Tears streak down Sam’s face and John pretends not to notice. He leaves to get
Dean.
It’s easier now than the first few times. Dean knows, even in his feral state,
that if he lets John put the condom on him, he gets to fuck sooner.
It’s different this time. The condom isn’t there, it’s just the lube. More than
usual.
Dean’s eager, bounds into the room, but once he saw who his bitch was, he
freezes.
He stalks to the bed like a predator. He is. He crawls up behind Sam, runs his
hand down his little brother’s back, his nails sharp. Sam whimpers, but doesn’t
move.
Dean leans down and licks at Sam’s entrance. He groans, eyes closing and grabs
Sam harshly. Sam is trembling, but he stays still. John is proud, almost says
so, but he doesn’t think Dean would appreciate it.
Dean’s mounting Sam. He presses his hips tight against Sam’s ass and begins to
rock. He whines, his thrusts getting harder.
Sam starts to think it isn’t so bad. There’s no carpet burn or bloody bites
like that time two years ago. There just aren’t any clothes.
Then Dean catches Sam’s rim. He slams in, all at once. Sam screams.
Dean’s panting. Gripping hard enough to bruise. There’s no wait, no patience.
He’s fucking into his Sam, his bitch, brutally.
Sam tries to get away. He lifts up. He twists his wrists for freedom. Dean
slams his face into the mattress. His hand is cruel on the back of his head,
pushing down and gripping hair.
Sam’s still struggling, so Dean bites his shoulder, his neck, whatever he can
reach. He’s fucking hard, no mercy. Sam screams, sobs, and begs. All he can get
out is “stop” and “please”.
Minutes pass, and Sam finally gives up, tears on his cheeks. He’s just
whimpering.
Dean finally comes. He lays heavy on Sam’s back, stays inside. He whines,
licking Sam’s neck and biting.
“Is it over?” Sam whispers after minutes pass. “Is he better? Can it stop?”
Dean doesn’t respond to the words. He doesn’t understand. He growls when John
speaks, jerking his hips against Sam to show his mark. Sam gasps and squirms.
The grip gets painful again.
“Sam,” John continues despite Dean’s displeasure, “If you want Dean to be
better, you have to do it a few more times. Don’t worry, you did great. It’ll
only be a few more days.”
Sam’s eyes snap to him, mouth open. He doesn’t say a word. Can’t.
He can handle this, John thinks. Dean does turn out to be less aggressive after
his heats. Sammy’s more pliant too which is a plus. It’s only twice a year.
It’ll be fine.
And if he hears Sam whimpering late at night during times nowhere near the
heats, he pretends he doesn’t know what’s happening.
What could he do, though?
Dean was never supposed to be on that hunt.
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