Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/746532.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester, Sam_Winchester/Other(s)
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, John_Winchester, Jessica_Moore
  Additional Tags:
      Serial_Killers, Demon_Dean_Winchester, Sam_'Boy_King_of_Hell'_Winchester,
      Alternate_Universe_-_Dark, Blood, Murder, Suicide
  Collections:
      Dirty+Bad+Wrong+Hot_Supernatural
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-04-03 Words: 1847
****** My Sweet Prince ******
by lostinmymindforever
Summary
     Sam was Dean's and no one else's
Dean Winchester died when he was 23 years old, not that his father or brother
ever knew. John had retreated to some cabin in the woods not long after Sam had
left for college, and well Sam was on his own for the first time in his life.
After Sammy had left, after his one anchor had deserted him and his father had
retreated to his drunken stupor Dean had been lost in a spiral of depression
that resulted in him taking his own life.
Not six months later he clawed his way out of Hell, by some chance into his own
body, which by some small miracle was whole, no sign of decomposition or the
bullet hole that should have been present in his skull. With no obvious signs
of his death Dean made his way among the world, not sure why or how he was
back. The depression was swiftly returning and he knew that without Sam he
would end things all over again.
It didn’t take much to steal the Impala from John, the man was more drunk than
sober nowadays, and Dean drove like the hounds of Hell were chasing him, drove
nonstop until he was pulling up outside of Sam’s dorm. He watched as Sam walked
towards his building with this girl, this innocent looking blonde who Dean just
hated at first glance. She was touching his Sam on the arm, an innocent
gesture, but it was enough to have Dean seeing red.
Dean didn’t go to Sam, not right away, not until SHE was out of his way. Dean
followed her, cornered her alone, took her somewhere private and gutted her,
destroying the body. She had asked him why, why was he doing this, what had she
done to him, and his only answer was that she had touched what belonged to him.
Her name was Jessica, he had found out that much, and a small part of him was
troubled at what he had done, but Sam was his and his alone, and no one, no one
but Dean was allowed to touch Sammy.
He followed Sam for days, waiting for the right moment, waiting for a time when
it would be safe to go to him and at last he found it. Sam’s roommate was going
away, winter break you see, and Sam was staying behind. He was the only one
left in his dorm, everyone else had a home to go to, and this suited Dean.
To say Sam was shocked to see him was an understatement, but it didn’t take
much for him to let Dean into his room. And it didn’t take much for Dean to
have Sam exactly where he wanted him, naked and panting under him, as if the
last year and a half of them being apart had never happened. Dean was back
where he belonged, buried deep inside Sammy’s body, making Sam moan with
pleasure and pain as Dean took him again and again. It wasn’t long after that
that Dean convinced Sam to leave with him, a few choice words, a few simple
looks, and the fact that Sam had been the last person seen with Jessica didn’t
hurt either.
Her remains had been found, what was left of them that was, her mangled corpse
broken and bloody, no trace of Dean on it, he was too smart for that. And so
they left California, driving for days, only pausing to rest. Sam knew that
Dean had killed Jessica, he knew it the minute her body turned up. It wasn’t
the first time, and Sam knew it wouldn’t be the last time Dean killed for him.
Sam remembers the first time. He’d been barely 12 and there had been this boy,
only a year older than him, who had taken a liking to him. Sam had wanted the
attention, loved the things the boy had done, had shown him. They hadn’t gone
all the way, oh no, Dean saw to that. Dean had come home earlier than Sam had
expected, and the boy had been just about to fuck him, Sam was stretched,
ready, wanting so much, and Dean had walked in.
Sam hadn’t seen the blade in Dean’s hand until it was slashing across the boy’s
throat, and it had turned him on more than even the boy’s touches had. He came
on the spot, staring in morbid fascination as Dean shoved the corpse off of him
and had taken the boys place, entering Sam in one fast almost brutal thrust.
Sam knew he was broken, twisted as much as Dean was. After they were done, both
of them covered in sweat and blood and come, they had disposed of the body,
something they both knew how to do due to their upbringing.
Sam still gets hard thinking of that first kill. That first innocent dead
because he dared to touch what belonged to Dean. The first but far from the
last. The next one came only a few weeks later. They had moved once again and
Sam and Dean were the new kids. This time it was a girl, this pretty little
thing who had taken a liking to Sam. And Sam knew how Dean was, knew just how
Dean would react if he found Sam in a compromising position, and Sam led the
girl to her death.
He had told Dean where he was going, this little place in the woods they had
found, and he led the girl there. She had quickly gotten on her knees, mouth
wrapped around Sam’s cock when Dean walked in. Sam had smiled wickedly,
whispering, “We have company, Sweetheart.”
The girl, Karen, Kristy, Karla, Sam wasn’t sure what, had looked up, eyes wide
with shock, but Dean had just smiled, that little grin of his that made people
think he was safe, that he was one of the good guys. That smile that had people
dropping their pants for him. “Does he want to play too?” the girl had asked.
“Oh, you have no idea, Sweetie,” Dean had practically purred, yanking the girl
up off the ground by her hair, his knife at her throat. “Mm, so pretty, Sammy.
You know how to pick them.”
Sam had grinned, flushed with pride over his choice. His breathing sped up as
he watched Dean carve into the girl, like the artist he was. Sam could still
hear her ragged breaths, the way she fought to breathe, each one sounding more
and more labored as blood poured from her mouth, as Dean shoved him against the
wall, slamming their mouths together, Dean’s hand fisting both of their cocks,
until they came almost at the same time she breathed her last. Her body they
burned, and Dean fucked him feet away from her burning corpse, hands leaving
bruises on Sam’s hips.
Over the years it happened time and again and their father never knew the
truth, never knew how twisted and evil his sons were, never knew how in between
hunts, both human and other, the boys would fuck on a daily basis, but it never
was the same as after a kill. And now Sam was back where he belonged, at Dean’s
side, hunting and killing just like they used to do. Sam hadn’t been with
anyone the whole time he was at college, he had saved himself for Dean. Sam
hadn’t wanted to go, but his father had enrolled him, telling him that one of
them was going to make something of themselves, that one of them was getting
out of the life.
Sam never told Dean that it had been their father’s idea for him to leave, not
until about six months after Dean had came for him. They were out drinking,
scanning the crowd for their next victim, and Dean had flat out asked why he
had left. Sam couldn’t lie to Dean, he never had been able to, and so he told
him. That news, that bit of information had made up Dean’s mind, and by the
next morning they were on the road, driving up to John’s cabin.
John was shocked to see the two of them standing on his doorstep. He broke
down, crying out at the unfairness of it. Telling Dean how disappointed he was
that he hadn’t left well enough alone and let Sam get out. Those words resulted
in Dean backhanding him, and by the time John came to he was chained to the
ceiling, bleeding out slowly.
Sam and Dean were naked on the bed before him, waiting for him to wake before
starting. He wasn’t dying, not yet at least, but both of them knew he’d be dead
by the time they left him. Sam was on his back, legs held against his chest,
and he moaned as Dean leaned in, licking at his hole, teasing him. John tried
to look away, tried to yell at them to stop but he was too weak, from the
booze, from blood loss, and the gag in his mouth prevented his screams from
leaving his mouth.
He watched in horror as Dean licked and fingered Sam into orgasm, watched as
Dean slowly entered Sam’s body before fucking him hard, fast, brutal, Sam
screaming out Dean’s name, clawing at Dean’s back, leaving bloody scratches
along Dean’s flesh. He knew his children were damned, lost, that they had been
tainted ever since Sammy was a baby and the demon had killed their mother. John
knew that nothing he could have done would have ever stopped this, that he had
raised the things he had fought against for so very long.
And in the end when Dean looked over at him, eyes black as night, he knew he
was staring into the depths of Hell, that his precious sons were gone, leaving
these monsters, these demons in their place. He wanted to scream, wanted to
fight, but he was too weak, too broken, and as the two of them crawled from the
bed, bloody and smiling, both of them holding blades in their hands, he knew
his end was near. The last thing he saw was them sharing a kiss, that with
anyone else would have been a pure and wonderful thing, but it was just as
tainted and twisted as his sons had become.
Sam and Dean reached out, blades slashing across John’s throat. They smiled,
falling back onto the bed, Dean taking Sam once more. When they were done they
cleaned up and set the place ablaze, a fitting end to their father, going up in
flames as their mother had so many years prior, it was almost poetic in a way.
They drove from the blaze, a dark contentment filling them. The world was
theirs, theirs to hunt, to kill, to destroy, to rule. Dean smiled over at his
dark prince, the one he knew was destined to rule Hell, and he knew without a
doubt that he’d forever be at his side as his dark consort. It wasn’t a bad
life, and it was only beginning.
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